Paradox Lake Read online

  Smart ass that my precious daughter is, she adds one of those winking smiley-faced emojis at the end of the sentence. Does she think I’m about to get laid? Do I think I’m about to get laid?

  It’s entirely possible …

  Tim comes back in. He hands me a long-stemmed glass of red. He’s holding an identical glass. He stands before me, looking into my eyes.

  “So what shall we drink to, Rose?” he asks.

  “To Paradox Lake?” I suggest.

  “How about to us,” he says.

  I feel my face fill with warm blood. My stomach goes even tighter than before, and whatever is happening in my most sensitive of areas is not entirely unpleasant, I must say. I steal a nervous sip of wine. In fact, I drink almost half the glass. He, too, takes a sip, but it’s a careful sip. That’s when something happens. Something magical. Almost on cue, we both set our glasses onto the coffee table. We don’t proceed to take one another in our arms. We freaking lunge at one another.

  Next thing I know we’re on the couch, kissing passionately, our tongues and lips playing, our teeth nibbling. Tim places his hands on my breasts, and I feel electric shocks swim up and down my body. He skillfully uses both hands to pull my t-shirt up and over my head, exposing my black bra and the breasts that fill it. Almost unconsciously, I’ve got my hand on his midsection and I’m rubbing his considerable erection through his jeans. He’s responding by gyrating his hips.

  He reaches around my back, unclasps my bra. It falls off of me, and he immediately begins to suckle on my hard-as-a-rock nipples. The way he sucks and nibbles on them with his lips, tongue, and teeth drives me insane. I feel his hand unbuckling my belt, and then unbuttoning my jeans. I feel his hand slip inside and his fingers on my wetness. He knows precisely where to touch me. That’s when I return the favor by unbuckling his belt buckle and unbuttoning his jeans. I pull his pants and boxers all the way down to his boots and he does the same for me.

  Rolling onto my back, I open my legs for him, and he enters me. He takes it slow, and gentle, and sweet. I’m so ready for him, it’s like I’ve been waiting for this very moment in time for all my life. I want all of him in me, and I want him to be me and I want to be him, and I never want us to separate. He places his hand on my face and runs his fingers through my hair and never once does he stop looking into my eyes with his deep blue eyes. His motions are slow at first, and I try to move with him, in synch with him, until he begins to go faster and faster.

  I can hear myself moaning now, and I listen to his breaths while our thighs thrust against one another’s. He dives into me and bites my neck, and it makes me crazy with pleasure. I can tell then that we’re coming to that wonderful place together … that place that I never want to end, but to go on and on forever. When his lips connect with mine, he releases and I release and it’s like we’re never, ever going to be separated from one another.

  When the time is passed, he doesn’t just back off and get dressed as so many men will. Instead, he continues to hold me, continues to run his hands through my hair, continues to kiss my neck, continues to stay inside me, his hardness not abating in the least. When he begins his motions again, I can hardly believe it. Is Tim really a middle-aged man? Or is he a seventeen-year-old in disguise? The thought almost makes me laugh while he picks up speed and I pick up speed along with him, and before we know it, we are both revisiting that special place for a second time. It’s pure magic. It’s also sweet love. Love like I’ve never before experienced. Not even with Charlie, God rest his soul.

  Minutes later, we’re both sitting on the couch, still undressed, but not shy about our nakedness. We’re drinking another glass of wine and laughing like we’re not two acquaintances who only met a few days ago, but instead, two old lovers who’ve known one another forever and ever. It is, quite possibly, the most precious time I have ever spent with a man. And I am most definitely falling in love, although this is nothing I would ever tell Tim. Not yet anyway.

  I finish my wine and feel a start in my heart.

  “Oh dear Lord,” I say, setting my glass down on the coffee table and standing. “I’ve really got to go. Anna will be worried sick.”

  Pulling up my underwear and jeans, I finish getting dressed. Tim gets up and gets dressed too.

  “My apologies,” he says. “I’ve kept you too late.”

  I check my phone. Nothing from Anna. No texts, no calls. I’m sure that’s a good thing. It means she’s distracted with her friends. Turning to Tim.

  “That was one of the shortest, but sweetest, dare I say it, loveliest dates I’ve ever had,” I say. “I love the spontaneity of it all.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a kiss on him. He kisses me back and holds me tightly.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he says. “Just wait till tomorrow and our dinner date. It’s going to be quite the night.”

  Heading around the couch, I grab my keys.

  “What time, Tim?” I ask, wishing it were already tomorrow.

  Coming around the couch, he meets me at the vestibule.

  “Not sure how much you’ll be into this or if you’re even a Catholic, but I generally make the four-thirty Mass in town on Saturday. I’ll understand if church is not your thing. But if you’re into it, we can go together and then head over to Schroon right after. It’s always a short Mass since the priest likes to belly up to Bunny’s Bar as fast as possible on a Saturday to start working on his Sunday hangover.”

  I can’t help but laugh at this. Welcome to small-town life …

  “Well,” I say, “in truth, I haven’t been to church since … well, I don’t know the last time I was in church. But sure, I’d be happy to attend Mass with you.”

  “Great,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at the house at four fifteen. And, as an added bonus, I know you’ll need to think about dinner for Anna. We have delicious homemade premade meals in the general store. What does she like? We have just about anything you can imagine.”

  Where on God’s earth did this man come from? He makes love like he invented it. He owns his own business. He’s brave enough to chase after a wild animal—or a potential wild animal, anyway. He believes in God and he practices his faith, and he is perhaps the most thoughtful man I have ever met in my life. Perhaps even more thoughtful than Charlie, and that’s truly saying something. And, yes, even more considerate than Tony.

  “Do you have cheese and macaroni?”

  “Do we have cheese and macaroni?” he says, wide-eyed. “We have the best cheese and macaroni this side of Lake Champlain. My sister, Kathy, makes it herself inside her kitchen at home. I’ll bring two. One for Anna and another for you the next day.”

  “You are a very generous man,” I say.

  He wraps his arms around me once more, kisses me.

  “I’m not too bad in the hay either,” he says.

  “I can second that,” I say. “I hope I’m no slouch.”

  “You rock my world, Rose.”

  With that, I squeeze him and kiss him one last time. Then, opening the door, I blow him a kiss and head back down the steps to my Mini Cooper. Before I get to the final step, it dawns on me that the last time I was in church was for Charlie’s funeral.

  CHAPTER 28

  HIS BIG EARS make out a car pulling up in the driveway. How the Wolf hates to leave Anna all alone in her bedroom. He’s had the most wonderful time listening to her, smelling her scent, fantasizing about all the things they will soon do together. Turning away from the bedroom, he silently heads back down the stairs on all fours, gallops across the living room floor into the kitchen and down the basement stairs.

  Raising himself up on his hind legs, he pulls the string on the overhead light and returns the basement to blackness. He makes his way on two feet back through the fresh spider webs to the Bilco door. He exits the Moore house and, once again dropping to all fours, scoots his way back into the forest through the Paradox Lake trailhead.

  What incredible speed and power you hav
e.

  The better to chase you down and rip you to shreds, my Little Red Riding Hood.

  CHAPTER 29

  COMING THROUGH THE front door, I immediately call out for Anna.

  “Hi, Mom,” she says, much to my relief. “That took a while. Wonder what you were doing all that time? Oh wait, you don’t have to tell me.”

  Oh good, she’s still being a wise ass. That’s a good sign. A very good sign. But that still doesn’t take away from the guilt I’m feeling, first, for leaving Anna alone for so long, and second, for drifting from Tony.

  “I’ll be right up, honey,” I say. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to bring you a snack?”

  “How about some popcorn and some Netflix before bed?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I say, even if it is getting a little late.

  But truth is, I need something to take my mind off of Tim and Tony, and maybe a little quality time with my girl will do the trick.

  Setting my keys onto the end table beside the boat keys, I head into the kitchen, grab a clean dish towel under the sink, and dry my hair with it. That’s when I notice the door to the basement is open. Not all the way, but it’s definitely been opened. For a split second, I think about calling back up to Anna to see if she went downstairs. But then, why the heck would she want to go down there into that spider-infested cave? The wind is picking up outside and the rain is falling harder and harder. Jagged streaks of lightning are flashing over the lake, rumbles of thunder reverberating against the many mountains that surround the big body of water.

  Maybe the wind somehow affected the door and caused it to open. Or maybe the ghost of Sarah Anne opened it—ha-ha. But this stuff is no laughing matter. Ghosts of loved ones have surrounded me most of my adult life. I am never far from their memory, never far from hearing their voices or feeling their presence, even if they no longer exist on this good earth.

  I close the door. If it had a lock, I’d engage it, but it doesn’t.

  I go to the cabinet above the stove, find a bag of microwave popcorn, place it in the microwave, and press the popcorn icon on the machine. While the bag spins and inflates and the kernels begin to pop, I open a beer and take a long drink. After what I experienced tonight with Tim, it is positively the best beer I have ever tasted. My heart is pounding for him right now, and I feel as if my entire body is falling into a bottomless pit of ecstasy and pure love. But damn, if I don’t feel guilty about Tony.

  Drinking some more beer, I pull my cell phone from my pocket, check to see if he has called or texted. I’m a little surprised to see that he hasn’t. It’s going on nine and he’s quiet. But then it dawns on me that it’s Friday, which means he’ll have been at Lanies Bar since maybe three that afternoon. If he isn’t already two sheets to the wind whooping it up with both his guy- and girlfriends, he’s quickly on his way to getting there. My gut speaks to me, however. It tells me to get ahead of the situation before he decides to call at midnight, drunk as a rabid skunk, feeling sorry for himself and calling me a selfish jerk for leaving him all alone—Tony would never, ever call me a bitch even under the worst circumstances.

  While the popcorn pops machine-gun style inside the machine, I text, Heading to bed Tone. Goodnight XO.

  Again, the XO is not me being hypocritical. It is me averting what would surely be a panicked phone call from him. I lower the ringer volume then to emergency calls only. It’s only a matter of time until he texts back and there’s no telling how upset he might be with me. Or perhaps I’m blowing this entirely out of proportion. One thing is for sure, when he arrives next Saturday, I am going to tell him the truth about Tim and me. It’s the least I can do for a man who has been so good to me and my daughter over the years. Naturally, he’s going to be mad and upset with me—okay, that’s when he might finally use the B word—but I truly hope we can one day be friends again and that he wants to remain in Anna’s life.

  Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I open the microwave and pull out the bag of popcorn. Opening it in a way that the hot air doesn’t scald my face, I carry it and my beer to the back door. I make sure it’s locked. Then, I head into the living room, make sure the front door is locked. Satisfied that all the hatches have been battened down, I once more leave the light on in the kitchen.

  It’s the little things that put me at ease in the old house on Paradox Lake.

  I fall for it again. I fall asleep with Anna in her bed after three back-to-back episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Sleep comes easy with the cool breeze coming off the lake and the lonely loon crying, Saaaarrrrr … Saaaarrrrr … Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr …

  I’m walking the Paradox Lake Trail. It’s not dark under the canopy of trees, but instead an almost heavenly light washes over it. Every leaf on every tree sparkles and radiates in the sun’s brilliance. It warms me from the inside out, like a heated blanket. I have no fear. I only feel the need to keep moving, deeper and deeper into the thick forest.

  Then, up ahead, I see a person. It’s a girl. I only see her back so it’s impossible to make out who exactly she is. She’s tall. Her hair is long and dark. She’s wearing white Keds sneakers, cut-off jean shorts, and a red t-shirt with the four faces of the Beatles printed on the back.

  “Anna,” I call out. “Wait up. Anna, wait up.”

  The girl stops, turns.

  “Anna isn’t with us any longer,” says Sarah Anne Moore.

  I wake up with a start, heart pounding in my chest, sweat covering my brow, my t-shirt nearly soaked through. The sun is up, but it’s raining hard outside. A flash of lightning strikes close by. It’s followed by a huge crash of thunder that seems to rock the house. I glance at Anna. Her eyes are open and she raises her head up off the pillow.

  “What the heck was that?” she says, groggily.

  “Just a storm, honey,” I say. “Go back to sleep. It’s early.”

  Slipping out of bed, I go to the window and close it. I glance at my watch. Five fifty in the a.m. Do I head to my bedroom and sleep for another hour? Once I’m up, I’m up. Heading into the bathroom, I flick on the overhead light, but it doesn’t work. Must be the bulb is out. I make a mental note to change the light bulb. Washing my face and brushing my teeth, I then head into my bedroom and slip my feet into a pair of new flip-flops I picked up at the Target along with a new bathing suit and some underwear. Making my way downstairs to make the coffee, I feel a chill run up my spine. It’s downright cold in the house, so I decide then and there to start the fire Tim prepared for us in the living room fireplace the day we arrived.

  “Good old Tim,” I say, now recalling our lovemaking from the night before.

  I also recall my dream about seeing Sarah Anne in the woods, and I try and shake it out of my head. My subconscious loves to play dirty tricks on me sometimes. Nightmares. I guess it’s how we all deal with our deepest fears. I make my way into the kitchen and turn on the light. It, too, doesn’t go on. I flick the switch a couple of times but no luck. Another lightning bolt flashes and yet another thunderous explosion takes my breath away. Apparently, thunderstorms on the lake are almost Biblical events.

  I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s not working.

  “Damn,” I whisper to myself. “Power’s out.”

  I recall Tim telling me the breaker board is down in the basement. Why does it have to be in the basement, for God’s sake? First things first. Since I know the gas stove will work if I ignite the burner with a lit match, I decide to make some tea. Pouring some tap water into a pan, I put it on the stove, then open the gas valve. A pack of matches is stored over the sink in a shot glass. I grab the pack, strike a match, open the gas on the burner, and fire it up. With that done, I head into the living room and strike another match. Taking a knee, I bring the lit match to the newspaper stuffed under the dry logs in the fireplace, and pray that it takes.

  Turns out Tim’s fire-building skills are top notch, because it takes right away. Or perhaps the draft on the chimney is that good. Probably a little of both. By the ti
me the fire is going strong and warming the house, my water is boiling. I pour it into a mug that’s loaded with a fresh tea bag. Now that I have no choice but to attack the electrical problem, I go to the counter and grab the flashlight. I test it to see if the batteries are still working. The light is bright and strong. I really have no excuse not to head down into what is surely a creepy dungeon.

  Opening the door, I shine the light on the old wood stairs. The rough wood beam ceiling is covered in spider webs. A big black spider crawls along one of the beams, trying to escape the light. It makes my skin crawl. Still, I take my first step and a second, and so on until I come to the packed dirt floor. I scan the flashlight on the wide-open room. There’s not much to see but more spider webs. The smell is mold and mildew. A pile of old, green-mold-covered furniture is stacked up against the stone wall foundation to my left, while to my right, mounted to the center of the wall, is a 4x4 piece of plywood. Attached to its center is the metal breaker box.

  I go to the breaker box, open it. Shining the flashlight on it, I find the tripped breakers, and pull them back into position. You can almost feel the electricity powering up the house. It’s like blood being fed to the veins. The light from the kitchen overhead bleeds down the old stairs. I feel a cool breeze coming from over my left shoulder. It chills me to the bone. I can’t help but shake the feeling that someone or something is standing in the pitch darkness on the opposite side of the room. I feel like it’s watching me.

  I feel something crawl over my foot. It’s a long centipede.

  “Oh Jesus,” I spit, shaking the insect off.

  Heart suddenly stuffed in my throat, it’s all I can do to bound back up the stairs to the safety of the kitchen. I close the door and remind myself to speak with Tim about installing a dead bolt.

  The storms come and go for most of the early morning. Now that I have power, I switch from tea to coffee and work fiendishly on my new project. I’ve begun to shape the neck and some of the upper chest. I’ve given her a small silver cross attached to a delicate chain that hangs from her neck. Creating the chain alone cost me over an hour of my time. It’s precision work, but it’s also something I need to get right if I’m going to pull this bust off.