Chapter 8
The sun had set long ago by the time Bonnie drove into Lake Placid.
It was surprisingly dark; she wasn’t used to driving around the area at night. Usually, they left Albany early in the morning so they could be there for as many days as possible, and once they’d arrived, they rarely went anywhere after dinner. The lake house was made for long evenings grilling in the backyard and sipping cocktails on the terrace outside the master bedroom. It was meant for a slow, easy life.
Driving with nothing but the stars and her own headlights to guide the way, Bonnie felt like a criminal. There weren’t any other cars on the road, and most of the buildings she passed were dark and silent. She felt like a cat burglar creeping toward the house, even though it was hers—well, she thought it was hers. So far, no one had popped up with a foreclosure sign or any stern warnings about repaying debts or collecting collateral.
It wasn’t just the house, though. She couldn’t shake the swell of anxiety about her car’s title. If the repo man was looking for her car, too, she might technically be a criminal hiding the vehicle away up here. But these were unusual and desperate times. Bonnie was simply doing what she had to do to survive. She had to trust that everything would, eventually, work out.
She parked in the driveway and walked around to the deck at the back. It was closer to the bedrooms and less conspicuous than the front door. After all of the hubbub with her neighbors back in the city, she was looking forward to a bit more privacy. It wasn’t quite peak vacation season yet, so most of the houses up here would be unoccupied, at least for a while. Soon enough, the lake would be bustling with locals, vacationers, and tourists, but for now, it was a tranquil retreat.
Bonnie inhaled a few deep lungfuls of fresh Adirondack air. Already, her shoulders were unbundling, and the tension in her jaw and stomach had relaxed the slightest bit. It was familiar and soothing in a way nothing had been since Peter’s death. Satisfied that she could have at least one peaceful night, Bonnie stepped into the house with her suitcase, leaving the sliding glass door open, the screen in place.
She pulled a few drop cloths off the living room furniture. A light breeze from outside carried fresh air in, and minute by minute, the house started to come alive. The quiet here was different from Albany. Instead of the constant hum of traffic, the background noises were all natural—crickets, wind rustling through trees, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Everything about it was more pleasant than what Bonnie had experienced back in the city.
Exhausted, she sank onto the couch, facing the glass doors, and soaked in the sight. A parade of memories danced through her mind. She remembered the first time they brought James up here. He’d been so small, and his tiny pair of swim trunks, printed with dinosaurs, was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. She’d put him in the snuggly and carried him down the path that led from their backyard to the shore of Mirror Lake. In that moment, Bonnie had thought she could never be happier. The sun was warm on their faces; she had her husband and son and all this beautiful Adirondack wilderness.
Then Jackie was born, and the happiness multiplied. Every year, Bonnie watched her kids grow up in the backyard. They’d chase each other with water balloons through the grass in their brightly colored swimsuits, their shrieks of laughter lifting her heart. By the second day, the deck would be covered in sand, tracked back from the shore after epic sandcastle-building competitions and long afternoon swims.
As kids, James and Jackie loved the lake as much as Bonnie did. But as they got older, they turned into what most children eventually become: moody teenagers. Once they started hanging out with their friends, dating, and signing up for summer activities, it was harder to convince them to come up for more than a day or two. Gone were the long weeks of bliss. Bonnie had to make do with Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends, bookends to lonelier days she spent at the lake with Peter.
He was always willing to come up to the house, but he brought his work with him. He had a home office there for that reason. It wasn’t that he’d started working more when the kids were teenagers, though. Bonnie just noticed it more because, without the kids running wild in the grass, her days were emptier. Instead of slicing watermelon and tomatoes, making pasta salads and pitchers of lemonade, she spent her days reading in the hammock or taking long walks on her own while she waited for Peter’s workday to wrap up.
She sighed wistfully, thinking about all the plans she and Peter had for this house before he passed. When they bought it, it had been modest—only a few bedrooms and no porch. It was on a large lot, though, and as Peter made more and more money, they’d taken advantage of the space. They added to it and improved it a little at a time until it reached its current grandeur.
Now the house could easily sleep twelve, and there was a massive dining table perfect for family meals with potential grandchildren. James and Jackie seemed hyper-focused on their careers, but Bonnie had long imagined having the house full of happy children again someday. She’d pictured Peter on the deck in the rocking chair beside her, sipping iced tea and finally relaxing, his mind off work.
Now she had this big, lonely house all to herself.
Thanks to their renovation efforts, it was the nicest one in town—except, perhaps, for the house next door. That was the one sore spot in all of Bonnie’s lake memories. Pete was locked into some kind of endless competition with the Barlows for who could have the most incredible property in the village. When they built a new deck, Peter built a newer, bigger one. When Peter added motion-sensor lights to the patio where the brick oven and grill were, the Barlows installed a sound system for their outdoor movie theater. No home improvement project was too small for the other family to notice.
Bonnie never understood the need to one-up each other. She was content to enjoy what they’d already built. Time and time again, she’d thought they were done tearing the house apart to remake it better, and year after year, Peter would prove her wrong. As ridiculous as she thought it was, though, he genuinely seemed to enjoy it. He liked working on the projects or supervising subcontractors for tasks he didn’t have time to do himself. As long as it didn’t disrupt her enjoyment of the property, Bonnie was content to let Peter have his strange fun.
Those memories put a smile on her face again. After all of her frustration with Peter, it was nice to think about something softer. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life resenting him for one mistake he never got the chance to fix. They’d had plenty of good years together, and she would much rather think about those. So many of the walls in this house held his vision, courage, and determination. Focusing on that, Bonnie felt herself relax even further, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. She hadn’t smiled in ages.
A knock on the door startled her out of her hard-won peace. At this hour, she didn’t know who would be at the door—or why. She couldn’t imagine it was a good reason. All the feelings of sneaking into the neighborhood had her senses primed for danger, and now, adrenaline soared through her.
She whipped her head around to spy through the glass on the front door on the other side of the house, but no one was there. She turned back toward the deck just in time to see Jack Barlow setting a pile of papers on the side table next to the porch chairs.
“What are you doing?” Her heart thundered in her chest, causing her words to come out sharp and harsh as if she were speaking to an unruly teenager with a roll of toilet paper in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other. “You can’t sneak up on people in the dark like that!”
Jack held up his hands in surrender and took a step back from the open door. “Sorry, Bonnie. I saw the car pull in a few minutes ago and figured you’d still be up. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“The porch light is off, Jack.” Her tone had calmed some, though not by much.
“Apologies,” he said with his hands still in the air. “Clearly, you’re not up for visitors. I’ll be going.”
He turned on his heel and headed down the steps leading off the deck toward his house next door. His footsteps were so loud she wondered how she’d missed his approach. Then again, maybe he’d been the one sneaking through the night. Why he wanted to scare Bonnie was beyond her.
Once she was certain he’d crossed back over the property line, she cautiously stood to see what was so important he couldn’t wait until the morning to bring her. Aware of how loud his steps had been on the deck, she slowly eased the screen door open and stepped cautiously onto the sun-baked boards. On the table was a stack of mail.
She picked it up, curious. It was a lot of mail—months’ and months’ worth. She didn’t know why it had been collecting—they had a service that held their mail until they were in town to avoid this very scenario. But obviously, something had happened; wires got crossed. Something was lost in translation.
Bonnie sighed. Jack had done her a favor. It wasn’t his fault her nerves were fried and she was jumpy. She’d been terribly rude to him when he was simply being a good neighbor. Peter might have been locked in a sick renovation competition with him, but Bonnie didn’t have any reason to dislike Jack, so she decided to do the right thing: apologize for leaping down his throat.