Chapter 3 #2
Naked, he walked out his back door toward the lake, wading in the water just enough to cover his feet.
Bending down, he cupped and lowered his hands, and the lake water flowed in for him to pour over his head and body three times in honor of the three lineages that had lived and died here for generations.
“Let me stand in the chasm with honor, courage, and your wise guidance,” he said to the spirits, then opened his eyes. This pocket of heaven was all he had left. All he had left that mattered.
“You were born in the Stillwater River, mijo,” his grandfather had told him when he was four years old.
The first of many tellings of his birth.
“I was over there.” He pointed toward the far side of the St. James home.
“Where the river feeds into the lake, with my daughter, your mother, and your abuela. You were lazy. Two weeks late. But one night your madre said she heard the river calling to her. Me and your abuela followed her to the water where she began to sing, because the waters, she said, they sang to her. At the end of her song the current was flowing strong, fast, so chaotic, and from this turbulence you come, making it impossible to grab hold of you. I knew true terror that day, mijo. You were in the water so long we were certain you had drowned. And my Lydia, my child, she lost consciousness and I grabbed her and pulled her to the side of the river, then we pulled you out. I pull you out, mijo, and in the darkness all I see are large luminous eyes the color of the river bottom looking at me. You were so calm, so peaceful. And again, I knew terror, but also the greatest joy. Our miracle. My heart, it grew five times its size. I cut you free of your mother and later we all watched as your abuela gave your placenta to the waters. You are of this place. Claimed. They chose you—this land, these waters, they chose you. They are your inheritance.”
His grandfather had laughed softly.
“The human fish, your abuela called you, and fish…” His grandfather tapped him on the nose. “They need water to breathe, to live.”
Santiago stood and breathed in the dawning day.
He glanced at the other two homes on the lake.
To the right side of the shore’s arc was Julian St. James’s property.
Julian stayed to himself for the most part, doing his thing and interacting with the community at his whim.
He’d inherited the place nearly five years ago and most in town thought he was a serial killer.
He wasn’t.
To the left about a quarter mile away on the other side of his house was the Moor home.
It’s where old Mrs. Willoby lived. She was the only owner up here who was not indigenous to this land.
Old Mrs. Willoby’s daughter usually came in the mornings, so he would check in on her this evening when he got off work and didn’t have to socialize with her family.
Speaking of work, he needed to finish getting ready.
He had a feeling the mayor and his mother were going to be a boil on his ass after yesterday.
There’d undoubtedly be another threat to his job as that seemed to be their go-to tactic for trying to exert control.
He was half ready to let them have their way because the idea of retirement kept worming itself into his conscious, telling him he didn’t have to wear a badge to help maintain the peace.
But the idea of the greedy incompetence taking a further hold on the town, in the midst of this drug epidemic.
.. He didn’t want to see Shrouded Lake destroyed in the same way as so many other small towns in the Smoky Mountains.
Do your fucking job!
He growled, grabbed his coffee and muffin and stomped out of the house.
That woman… He’d wanted to de-escalate a volatile situation as quickly as possible.
Carrying her away was the quickest way; it felt as right as breathing.
And that smack on the ass, she deserved that shit, he justified, only to acknowledge seconds later that she’d be well within her rights to file a complaint.
He was sick of this.
The number of times the memory of that woman entered his mind, like a fucking siren call, bringing him back to her again and again, was enough to erase the existence of whatever peace he was trying to hold on to, and that lack of control made him want to punch something. Just the thought of her...
He got in his cruiser and headed down the mountain.
He didn’t like that he was allowing her to have space in his life, didn’t like that she so easily made him act out of character.
But she was just passing through. His mind would release her once it no longer had anything to feed off. Then everything would return to normal.
Lauren knotted her braids at the crown of her head and let them fall in a sloppy ponytail between her shoulder blades.
Wearing loose black pajama bottom pants and an off-the-shoulder black top, she slid off the bed into her flip flops and made her way downstairs where she smelled food cooking.
She could practically hear bacon fat sizzling, the scent of coffee beckoning.
She wasn’t a coffee snob per se, but she prayed the coffee was as rich and strong as it smelled.
She wasn’t in the mood for some watered-down coffee-adjacent substance.
She needed the alchemy of flavor and strength to make her an even remotely decent human being because her sleep-beast did not like daylight, morning, or morning conversation. And that was since birth.
“Oh, well look who’s an early riser,” Mrs. Lina Bertrand, the bed and breakfast’s owner, sang out from the stove when Lauren entered the kitchen. “I must say, neither Audrey nor I had any faith that the city girl would be up before noon.”
Lauren stopped to scan the space before acknowledging either woman.
“To avoid any violence or confusion, please point me in the direction of the caffeine. I smell it. I know it’s here. I just need…”
“Oh dear, come sit down. Lina, fill a cup for her. My old Jimmy was an inarticulate beast before he got his first cup. I know the signs of a soul on the edge.”
Ms. Audry sat Lauren down in the chair beside hers and Ms. Lina slid a mug across the island, right below Lauren’s nose. Cream and sugar followed. Lauren dashed in a half teaspoon of sugar and stirred.
Both women looked aghast as she lifted the cup to her mouth.
“You really should consider a little cream to—” Ms. Lina began.
Lauren shook her head. “Can’t do dairy. Or meat.”
“Oh, good lord Audrey, she’s a vegan.”
“My fool mind plum forgot.” Ms. Audrey apologized.
The first trickle of hot dark liquid made Lauren still, then smile. The coffee was strong, like Turkish-street-vendor-boiling-a-pot-on-the-sidewalk strong.
Lauren closed her eyes, body relaxing as the coffee slid down her throat, strong, smooth, delicious.
“I don’t think I’m ever leaving.” She sighed when she opened her eyes. “Bacon also smells heavenly by the way.”
“That’s bona fide bacon from Ocef Farms, Ms. Green. The best treated hogs in the country. No meat substitute can compare,” Ms. Lina stated.
As if she was saying something with her pro-pork stand, Lauren thought, rolling her eyes as she lowered her head to take another swallow of coffee.
Reminding herself that she didn’t have to use her mental energy to quibble over her harm reductive stance related to certain meats, because she wasn’t morally against consuming meat, she couldn’t resist the pull to help them understand why she minimized, not eliminated her consumption.
“I will always love the smell of bacon, but I’ll probably never eat it again.
I avoid eating particular meats but if push comes to shove, I will devour a steak or a pork chop.
In moderation. After I had to have a partial hysterectomy due to tumors, I was told to eat more of what will heal and strengthen my body than poison it.
Bacon is poison that feeds cancerous cells, proliferates them as does any processed meat.
I’ll always love the smell of bacon Ms. Lina, but I won’t eat it. ”
Ms. Lina nodded and faced the stove.
“Well, your choice is more than understandable,” she said as she continued stirring the grits. She stopped and turned back to Lauren. “I’m sorry you went through what you went through, mija.”
Ms. Audrey nodded, sadly rubbing Lauren’s back.
Lauren’s throat tightened and her eyes burned as tears filled them.
These women, these strangers, were apologizing to her about something that happened over a decade ago.
Something that outside of the risk of having surgery meant little to nothing to her as she knew since her early college years that she didn’t want children.
Derrick had vehemently echoed her sentiments.
But now he was about to have a child with a woman who’d been raised in the same home as her, who she’d protected, who she’d known in her heart as sister.
And nobody, not one person who purported to love, trust, or respect her had offered any kind of care, any kind of concern or sorrow for her pain.
“Look what you’ve gone and done, Carolina Bertrand!” Ms. Audrey hissed, passing Lauren a napkin.
The concern Ms. Audrey showed made the tears come harder and faster, and Lauren curled over into herself, hands covering her face, trying to hide the agony she’d fought against every mile of being on the road.
She focused on taking deep breaths and the tears stopped flowing when she denied them the emotional energy.
Using the napkin Ms. Audrey handed her, she wiped her face and sat upright again.
“Sorry for causing you any distress,” Lauren mumbled as she reached for her coffee with both hands. She emptied the cup and pushed it toward Ms. Lina for more.
“This wasn’t about the surgery. That was a blessing, and I walked away with my life, so win-win.” She reached out for the mug the moment Ms. Lina filled it. The coffee felt like the closest thing to emotional armor she could cling to in the moment.
“Those tears were about another kind of loss. The loss of having your heart ripped out, stomped on, and stabbed into pulpy nonexistence.”
Ms. Audrey’s lips pursed, Ms. Lina fisted the neck of her shirt in mortification.
“Sorry, but that’s what it felt like. What was worse, no one even acknowledged that my heart had even been torn out. That I was supposed to be the bigger person, forgive and accept.”
“Oh damn that!” Ms. Audrey snapped, startling Lauren out of her verbal ruminations.
“Somebody abuses your love and trust, you got the right to never forgive or never accept it.”
“Right!” Lauren agreed through a fresh trickling of tears and laughter.
“A dios mio.” Ms. Lina frowned looking around her kitchen. “Almost everything I have is meat or dairy. I haven’t put butter in the grits yet!”
Lauren waved off Ms. Lina’s concerns and stood.
“Don’t worry about me, I’m going to walk over to the market I saw a couple blocks over and get some fruit and shop around. Want anything while I’m out?”
“No child, go on get your food and explore some since you said you’ll be here a few days.”
Upstairs, Lauren got her bag and slid on a pair of between the toe slippers with a big display of wispy gray fluff in the front. She stopped back by the kitchen and waved goodbye as Ms. Lina was adding food to Ms. Audrey’s plate.
“Sweetheart, don’t you want to...um, get changed out of your bed clothes?” Ms. Lina asked as she went to add extra bacon to the plate.
Mrs. Audry held up her hand and waved the bacon off.
“I think I’ll pass, thank you kindly. I’ve been wanting to eat a little healthier. Maybe I’ll develop the same curves Lauren has.”
Ms. Lina snorted.
“Some of us are made with curves. You have a lovely aesthetic, Audrey, never discount that.”
Ms. Audrey threw a napkin at her friend.
“Actually, today would be a sleep-late day back in the city.”
“Which city is that now?” Ms. Lina asked.
“San Francisco. I am on a sabbatical. This town is lucky I’m willing to put clothes on at all. No more four in the morning wake-ups. No more corporate attire. No more traffic-filled hours going into the city.” Lauren resumed her trek to the front door.
“It would be interesting to see what the sheriff would do if he saw you walking naked around town,” Ms. Audrey said loudly.
“I would love to see what mi sobrino would do,” Lauren heard Ms. Lina say as she shut the front door on the older women’s tittering laughter.
To hell with the sheriff. She smiled with evil intensions, determined to make sure he endured her petty version of hell over the duration of her time in Shrouded Lake.
The prick.