Chapter 21
Olivia, Eric, and I retreat early for the night, none of us wanting to incur Laelynn’s wrath any further.
In the guest bed, I lie stiff beneath borrowed sheets, jaw clenched, her voice still scraping at my nerves.
On any other day, I would simply tell her off and be gone.
But tonight, I’m marooned—no car, no way out.
Her house, her rules. All I can do is swallow the bitter taste and lie there, stewing in it.
I’m reminded of the cost of accepting favors. It feels like when I accept the gift, in exchange I give up the freedom to be myself. To tell someone what I really think of them.
I imagine what I’d say if I could: That she’s a passive-aggressive tyrant.
That she has a wonderful, doting husband, whom she bosses around like a damn dog.
That she acts like she deserves it. As though we all exist to serve her.
She doesn’t understand how fragile life is.
How fate can steal everything in an instant.
Am I being too harsh? She’s just trying to protect her kids. Be a conscientious mother. A supportive wife.
No.
That’s what she wants you to think. Always the victim. The martyr. But she gives herself away.
It’s her snide tone. Even when I’m trying to do her a favor. I’m sure you weren’t. Trouble seems to follow you. With that smug, self-satisfied expression on her face. Like I’m still twelve years old. Like she knows something I don’t. I’d like to choke it right out of her.
I lie in bed, my toes curling, my head pulsing, and my fury building.
My body cooks beneath the duvet, and the crickets’ screech seems to grow with my anger.
I don’t care if it offends the Parkers. I have to leave this place.
Every day I’m here, a layer of myself is flayed away—by Laelynn, the girls, the island.
I’ll talk to Eric and Olivia tomorrow.
I drift off, the dark thoughts infecting my mind, and I feel myself tossing and turning, clenching my teeth and flexing my muscles. Rage builds inside my subconscious. I’m running through the grass. From someone. No, toward someone. The lake is ahead of me. Black. Ready to swallow me whole.
The next morning I wake up, my bed and hair drenched in sweat, my heart slamming in my chest, my muscles burning.
My hands are raw from clenching. I suck in air like I’ve just surfaced from drowning, a guttural sound tearing from my chest. The nightmare lingers at the edges of my mind, something about water, about sinking, about drowning.
The weight presses against my chest, but the details slip away the moment I blink into consciousness.
I sit up and shake my head as if I can physically knock the nightmare out of my brain.
My room stands in stark contrast to my dreams. Sunlight glows beneath the curtains, illuminating the sailboats on my wallpaper, making them appear as if they’re about to set sail.
A lonely loon call echoes off the lake. My nose catches a hint of morning dew.
I’m safe.
I shove my nightmare aside and drag myself out of bed.
As I run the toothbrush over my teeth and make my bed, I remind myself it was all a dream.
I tear off my drenched pajamas, throw on a swimsuit, and steel myself for another day in paradise.
I peek my head out my bedroom door, hoping I won’t bump into Laelynn on her way to her retreat.
Laelynn.
She was in my dream. Was she drowning me?
I check beside the back door for evidence she’s still here. Fortunately, the purse and suitcase she left beside the door are gone.
She’s gone.
Thank God.
I exhale, and a smile drifts across my face, the kind of smile you get when finals are over and summer’s just begun. Only now, in her absence, do I recognize the weight she carried into every room.
My phone buzzes. It’s Carlos.
Hey, I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news is I had to fill in for someone at work, so it looks like I won’t get there until tomorrow evening. The good news is that will give me time for one more ab workout. ?? Will text you when I make it to the Twin Cities.
I smile and drop my phone to my chest. Part of me always assumed Carlos would bail, like so many of the bros I’ve dated before him. Now it’s becoming real. Carlos, here. The thought lands with an unexpected thud.
A curl of unease sneaks through me. Why? Is it because I haven’t been with a man in nearly a year? Maybe it’s that nagging part of me that thinks Carlos is just a little too slick. Or is it because of Eric? Because of Laelynn?
Laelynn’s gone.
That shouldn’t matter. He’s married, after all. But it does. There’s still that twelve-year-old girl in me saying, “Are you kidding? You get to spend the weekend alone (sort of) with Eric Parker.”
I start typing.
Sorry to do this, but I need to cancel. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I get back.
I wait for a reaction. Will he be angry? Disappointed? Sarcastic?
No response.
I throw my phone onto my bed like it might explode, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake but too scared to reverse myself.
As I creep into the living room, I notice I’m the only one up.
I conduct my morning routine of tidying, folding the couch blankets, coffee-sipping, and stretching, then grab a beach towel and walk down to the lake.
For the first time on this “vacation,” everything is as I imagined it would be.
There’s no one around. No phones ringing.
No clients nagging me with artificially imposed deadlines.
No analysts pestering me with questions about waterfall charts. It’s just me and the chrysanthemums.
I stroll down to the water. The oaks rustle in the wind, the loon serenades me, the dock wood massages my bare feet.
The sun rises over the glass lake. The veil has lifted.
I’m alone. At peace. My nightmare from the previous night evaporates.
I shove the unanswered questions about the strange note and Heathcliff aside and bask in the morning dew.
I grab one of the Parkers’ canoes and step into the rear. The canoe wobbles, and I’m this close to tipping in ass over teakettle when I catch myself. Close call.
It might be a good day after all.
I grab the oar and gently stroke the water, easing the canoe into the lake.
I’m nearly past the dock when a voice calls out behind me.
“Wait for me, loser,” shouts Olivia, bouncing down the hill like a gummy bear, wearing an oversize Minnesota Twins sweatshirt, her French braids bobbing.
I smile and pause my paddling, but I’m drifting past the dock now. I paddle backward, but she keeps her pace, jogging along the dock, spotless white sneakers, long, athletic strides gaining steam. She’s going to jump for it like a cop chasing a criminal in an action movie.
“Don’t you do it,” I say, half terrified, half laughing.
“Oh, I’m doing it,” she says, sprinting toward the edge of the dock. “Brace yourself.”
“Olivia, no, we’re going to tip!”
But it’s too late. She launches herself off one foot into the air toward the canoe.
As she floats through the sky, she tucks her knees and lands perfectly in the front seat.
I flinch, preparing to be drenched, but the vessel only wobbles.
The perfect blend of sheer skill and dumb luck—that’s Olivia.
“Yesss. Nailed it,” she says, hands raised.
I shake my head in awe and press a hand to my chest. “You did. But I think you also gave me a heart attack.”
She pivots and winks. “That’s what I’m here for. So, where are we going?”
“We are not going anywhere. Somebody’s got to watch the twins. And in your haste to jump into the canoe, you forgot a paddle.”
“That’s what my dad is for. And I didn’t forget a paddle. I just figured you would chauffeur me around.”
“Oh, did you now?”
“Yeah, from the look of those scrawny arms, you could use the exercise.”
“Wow. Shots fired. Well, you should know that your captain’s itinerary today is to paddle around the island and check out Gale Island. Apparently, it’s a lone island with a single house. Basically, my dream.”
“Of course you have an itinerary. Okay, sounds like a plan to me.” She points ahead of us like George Washington crossing the Delaware. “Paddle, peasant.”
I laugh and start paddling, enjoying the rhythm of the oar driving through the water, the gentle scrape of sanded wood in my hands.
We both sit in silence, savoring the sounds of the parting water, the birds, the rustling elms. Occasionally, a house peeks out from the trees.
There’s a wonderful variety of personal retreats: old wood-sided lake homes, new brick castles, Tudors.
We wave to a silver-haired couple with fair Norwegian skin and rosy cheeks sitting on their patio sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.
Something loosens in me as we drift away from the island.
Even if it’s just fifty feet offshore. I’ve escaped; the bent trees and creeping vines, mysterious notes, mysterious men. If only for a moment.
Olivia breaks the silence as if sensing my thoughts.
“I’m sorry about your run-in with Russ Neuman yesterday. That had to freak you out a little.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t my ideal hiking partner.”
“You said he mentioned a ghost?”
I tighten my grip on the paddle. “Yep.”
Her voice shifts suddenly serious. “What did he tell you exactly?”
“He said there was a little girl who fell off a Ferris wheel, like…” I pause, not wanting to bring up the past.
Olivia turns and looks at me. “Like me, you mean?”
I drop my head. “Yeah, like you.”
She turns fully now, facing me.
“You know that wasn’t your fault, right? I was showing off, and I went too far.” Her eyes hunt mine, demanding contact.
“I know, but I could have grabbed you.” I pause a beat, and my voice cracks. “I should have grabbed you.”
Olivia looks out over the water. A pontoon boat moseys by in the distance, sending a soft ripple through the lake. “We were twelve years old, CharBar. It was a stupid mistake. I’m over it. You should get over it too.”
“I know.” I nod, but the guilt hangs in my chest like a boulder.