Paradox Lake Page 14

  Using the sculpting knife, I carve the lips into a precise kind of half smile, half pout. It’s a matter of keeping one eye on the newspaper photo of Sarah and the other on the bust. As I’ve said before, it’s not really me who’s creating something here. It’s a force I can’t begin to explain. Only that it controls me and not the other way around. I don’t consciously move my fingers. They just move. It’s as though I am a conduit for some higher power or spirit. Can art be taught? To an extent, yes. But having taught hundreds of students for more than twenty years now, I’m a firm believer that true artistic talent is something you’re born with, like the color of your hair, or your height, or your ability to run a mile in less than seven minutes.

  Anna’s sudden presence in the dining room nearly scares the skin off my bones.

  “Anna,” I say, “how long have you been standing there?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “You were concentrating so hard, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She’s wearing her long, red Lady Gaga t-shirt and her feet are bear. Her dark hair is long, and parted in the middle. Her face is smooth, her lips full, her eyes big, brown, and wet. She’s glowing in the firelight. My eyes shift from the bust of Sarah to my daughter and then to the newspaper photo tacked to the wall. Maybe my imagination is running away with itself again, but I swear I’m seeing the same little girl. Only she’s not so little anymore. Like Sarah was when she was abducted so many years ago, Anna is blossoming into a beautiful young woman, and doing so right before my very eyes.

  Standing, I say, “I was gonna grab another coffee, honey. Do you want me to fix you something to eat?”

  “I don’t want to bother you,” she says.

  I’m sensing a sadness in her this morning. Maybe it has something to do with the weather. More than likely, it’s the hormones raging through her pubescent body.

  “I’ve been up and at ’em since before the dawn,” I say. “I could use a break by now.”

  “That was a bad storm,” she says. “Are we gonna get more of them?”

  “It knocked out the power.”

  “How did you fix it?” she asks.

  “I had to turn the breakers back on. The box is in the basement.” She crosses her arms over her chest, like the mere mention of the word basement gives her a case of the chills. Like mother like daughter.

  “You actually went down there, Mom?”

  “No choice, hon,” I say, stepping out of the room. “You gotta do what you gotta do if you want power.”

  “I guess so,” she says.

  We both head into the kitchen. She takes a seat at the kitchen table and peers out the big picture window.

  “Drats,” she says a little under her breath. “The weather continues to suck.”

  I gaze out the big picture window. The lightning has abated for now, but the rain is steady.

  “I have a feeling we’re gonna be bailing out the boat,” I say.

  “If it hasn’t sunk already,” she says. Then, refocusing on me. “Hey, if the rain stops for a while, maybe we can go fishing.”

  I place my hand on her shoulder.

  “Absolutely,” I say. “For now, what would you like for breakfast? I’ll make you anything you want.”

  “Even pancakes?” she says.

  “It’s the weekend,” I say. “Even pancakes.”

  Her mood is suddenly elevated.

  “I must have died and gone to heaven,” she says, as if to prove my point.

  “Bite you tongue,” I say.

  She bites her tongue, like the simple gesture will prevent her from dying. Ever. I go to the cabinet over the stove, pull down the box of pancake mix. My eyes fill, because I realize, suddenly, that Anna is all I have left in the world besides ghosts.

  CHAPTER 30

  AS IF THE God of good weather has been listening to our prayers, the sun is managing to poke its way out of the clouds by the time we’ve finished a big grand slam breakfast of pancakes, sausage links, and over-easy eggs.

  Carrying my plate to the sink, I say, “I’m not eating another thing until dinner tonight.”

  “That’s right,” Anna says, “I almost forgot. You have a hot and heavy date tonight with Tim.”

  My cell phone vibrates on the counter.

  “Speak of the devil,” I say. “It’s a text from Tim.”

  Placing the plate in the sink along with the other dirty pans, I open the text.

  That was wonderful last night … Can’t wait to see you later for church … We can confess our sins LOL

  I can’t help but laugh aloud.

  “What is it?” Anna says, standing up from the table and carrying her plate to the sink.

  “Tim’s so funny,” I say.

  She attempts to snatch the phone from my hand, but I’m too fast for her.

  “Don’t even think about it, woman,” I say.

  “You guys are getting hot and heavy,” she says. “Better tell the big Tony.”

  Her words hit me the wrong way, and a sudden jolt of anger fills my veins.

  “Damnit, Anna, if you say that one more time, I swear I’m taking your phone away.”

  Her eyes grow wide and tears fill them.

  “Oh my God,” she says, “I was only like joking, Mom. You don’t have to freaking scream at me.”

  She storms off in a huff, pounding each tread as she ascends the stairs. I wait for the inevitable door slam. When it comes, my body shudders. I place both hands on the countertop, as if to hold up my heavy, dead weight. She’s right, of course. She was only joking and I snapped. Maybe I’m overtired. Maybe I slept like crap last night. Maybe I’m suffering from a case of the guilts over Tony. Maybe I’m still upset over the nightmare. Maybe I’m spooked by Sarah Anne’s memory and the fact that she looks so much like my daughter. Maybe I’m spooked by this house and the ghosts of the people who lived here. Maybe I’m spooked by the ghosts of Allison and Charlie. Maybe it’s all of the above.

  “God forgive me,” I say.

  Don’t be so tough on yourself, Rosie. My little sis is twelve now, and her emotions are running wild.

  She’s right, Rose. This is all a part of growing up.

  Thanks, guys, but I snapped at her and I shouldn’t have.

  Agreed, Rosie, you did fly off the handle a little.

  But it happens.

  I’ll head up and apologize, Allison. Then we’ll go out in the boat and hopefully forget the whole thing.

  Good idea, Rose. I sure wish I could have had the chance to take my second daughter fishing, but …

  “But you had to go and put the business end of a pistol barrel in your mouth, Charlie,” I say aloud. Yeah, I guess you could say I’m still a little bitter about how my husband checked out, even after all these years.

  Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, I cross over the living room. My eyes catch sight of the now dying fire. Slowly, I take the stairs and then go to Anna’s room. I knock gently.

  “Anna,” I say, in a singsong voice. “Can I come in?”

  “Go away. I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say. “You’re just mad. And you know what? I don’t blame you. I did jump down your throat. And that’s something I almost never do, and I promise you it won’t happen again. At least, I’ll try for it to never happen again.”

  Silence. A heavy dreadful silence.

  “Anna,” I say like a question. “Come on, give me a second chance.”

  More silence, until I hear the sounds of footsteps. Then the door opening slowly, and a beautiful, teary-eyed face peering out.

  “Okay,” she says, opening the door wider.

  She goes to her bed and sits down on the end of it. I can’t help but wonder if Sarah Anne had done this very thing with her own mother way back when. Almost surely, she did. I sit down beside her and take her in my arms, hug her tightly. Then, gazing into her eyes, I wipe her tears. She sniffles.

  “Sorry I shouted at you,” she says.

  “Me too,” I s
ay. Then, “You know what this is all about, don’t you, Anna?”

  “Tony,” Anna says without hesitation.

  It’s precisely what’s on my mind. Precisely what’s bothering me more than anything else.

  “You feel like you’re cheating on him with Tim,” my daughter goes on.

  “Yup,” I say. “That’s it exactly.”

  “But you already told me you plan on talking with him about it, Mom. It means you’re already doing the right thing. So don’t get so touchy about it. Just follow through.”

  I set my hand on her thigh.

  “Shouldn’t it be me giving you life advice, kiddo?”

  “You do,” she says. “I mean, you’re always telling me what to do and what not to do.”

  “Fair enough,” I say. “Here’s another bit of advice for when you have kids of your own. Don’t fly off the handle at them unnecessarily.”

  She giggles. It’s a priceless giggle.

  “I’m sure I’ll have my moments,” she says. “Especially if Jake Walls pisses me off.”

  We both burst out laughing at that one.

  “Can you imagine your wedding day with Jake?” I say. “They’d have to make him stand on a soapbox so he can kiss the bride.”

  We laugh some more until I get up and point at the window.

  “Look, the sun is out, sweetheart. Who knows for how long? What say you put on your bathing suit and some shorts and go bail out the Whaler. Meantime, I’ll clean the kitchen and then we’ll take a ride out on the lake.”

  She springs up, like she’s been injected with a dose of optimism.

  “Awesome,” she says. “I’ll grab a couple of fishing poles and the tackle box.”

  “Tackle box?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it came with the place. I found it in the garage along with the poles when I was snooping around after we first got here.”

  I can’t help but wonder if the stuff belonged to the Moores.

  “We have a plan, Houston,” I say, exiting the bedroom.

  I enter my own bedroom and dress into my new, black, one-piece suit. Then, I grab a pair of tan shorts and slip into those too. I put my flip-flops back on while grabbing a baseball hat and a pair of Aviator sunglasses. I also grab some sun screen for the both of us.

  “See you downstairs, Anna,” I say.

  “Be right there, Rosie.”

  Rosie …

  The ship that is my fragile family has once again been righted. For now.

  By the time I’m done with the dishes, Anna has bailed out the Whaler. I remind myself to ask Tim if he has a cover for the boat. Or perhaps there’s a cover in the garage. That is, if the Moores had a boat, which I can only assume they did. I spot the two fishing poles, which have been placed inside the stern-mounted plastic pole holders—Dad had similar ones mounted on his boat—while a big, plastic tackle box is set on the bench at the front of the center console.

  “I almost forgot some snacks and some drinks,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Thought you weren’t eating anymore ’till your date with Tim tonight?” Anna asks.

  “Something about the fresh air,” I say. “It makes me hungry.”

  “And horny,” Anna says under her breath as I head back up to the house.

  “I heard that,” I say.

  “Ooopsies,” she says.

  Grabbing a box of Ritz crackers, and two bottles of spring water, I head back outside and hop into the boat.

  “That’s your idea of snacks?” Anna says.

  “Who doesn’t love Ritz?” I say.

  She starts the outboard. It sputters to life and idles pleasantly.

  “You mind getting the lines, Rosie?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I say, jumping out of the boat.

  I undo the bow line, toss it into the boat. I repeat the process with the stern. Then, as the boat is slowly drifting away from the dock, I jump back in.

  “Sure you got this, Anna?”

  “Sure as you know what, Rosie.”

  You should see the expression on her face. The only way to describe it is she’s glowing. She grips the chrome-plated throttle and gives the boat a little gas. The outboard engine revs, and soon the boat is pulling out and away from the dock. She maintains a slow speed until we’re past a red buoy. She then really gives it the gas, and we take off like a rocket for the middle of the lake.

  Our hair is blowing and the cool wind that whips our faces is like heaven on earth. Boating is like flying. The motion is fast and furious, the craft never stable. But at the same time, the feeling is pure power and freedom. I just sit back and allow Anna to do the driving while she stands at the helm, her eyes poised out ahead, searching for the perfect place to slow down and perhaps drop a line. A place that Tim revealed to her. Or so I can only assume.

  When we come to that place, not far from one of the lake’s many small islands, she slows the boat to a crawl and allows it to drift towards the shallower water. When we’ve gone far enough, she kills the engine and tosses out the anchor.

  “Let’s try our luck, Rosie,” she says.

  “You fish, honey,” I say. “I’m gonna work on catching some rays while we have a little sun for a change.”

  “Suit yourself,” she says, taking hold of one of the rods.

  She casts out towards the shoreline and slowly reels in. I’ll be darned if she isn’t a natural.

  “Maybe tomorrow we can get some worms from the general store,” she says. “Tim says live bait always works better than these spinners we’re using.”

  “Your grandfather and uncles always swore by worms when they fished.”

  “Did you use worms, too, Mom?”

  “Me, touch a worm?” I say. “Are you kidding?”

  “You didn’t mind touching the fish,” she says, reeling in her line and quickly casting it out again.

  “Worms are different,” I say.

  I steal a Ritz cracker and take a drink of water, then sit back in the padded seat. It’s such a pleasure watching my daughter, I can’t even find the words to express it. But then I hear something ominous coming from out of the distance. A low rumble of thunder. Turning, I see something that’s best described as horrifying. The clouds are low lying, but they also take up the entire sky. These are not your everyday overcast gray clouds. These clouds are black and tinged with purple. Lightning is flashing from them, striking the lake. A wall of rain curtains the horizon. The cold wind that’s accompanying it is already beginning to blow. Blow hard. What I’m witnessing here is not just a storm, but a major weather event.

  My pulse suddenly races.

  “Anna,” I say, standing. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

  Gazing over her shoulder, her eyes go wide and her face a distinct shade of pale. She reels in, sets her pole in the pole holder.

  “Oh my God, Mom,” she says.

  “Should we head for the island?” I ask.

  “There’s nowhere to dock,” she correctly points out. “We’ll lose the boat and be stranded.”

  “Let’s just go now,” I say. “Head back in the opposite direction for home. Maybe we can outrun it.”

  Anna immediately begins pulling up the anchor. When she’s done, she goes to the cockpit, fires up the engine, and pushes the stick. The Whaler engine revs and the boat lurches forward. She immediately turns the bow in the direction of the house while, behind us, the massive storm is picking up speed.

  “Hurry,” I shout, over the noise.

  “It’s going as fast as it can!” she barks.

  The wind is whipping our faces. Even when we shout, it’s almost impossible to hear one another. The bottom of the boat is slapping against the lake. The strange thing is, I can feel the wind from the storm against my back. It’s an almost icy, harsh wind. Turning again, I can see that the black and purple clouds have overtaken us. We’re about to be drenched in the pouring rain. We’re in the middle of the lake, and we can’t even see our home yet, much less the land i
t sits on.

  A jagged lightning bolt strikes the lake maybe ten feet in front of us. The thunder concussion that immediately follows sounds like a bomb has exploded inside the boat. Anna screams and let’s go of the wheel. The boat lurches to the side so forcefully, I’m convinced we’re about to capsize. We both fall onto our sides, while the engine stalls, and the boat rights itself. Anna is crying now.

  “I’m sorry!” she screams. “I’m sorry, Mama!”

  I manage to get myself back up while the rain pounds us along with the wind gusts. If I didn’t know any better, this storm is about to produce a tornado. If that happens, they will never find my or my daughter’s body. Shifting myself to the wheel, I turn the key to restart the engine. It sputters and sputters, but won’t start.

  “Shit!” I bark.

  Another lightning strike. This one even closer. The electricity in it causes the fine hairs on my body to stand at attention. The crack of thunder steals my breath away. Anna is screaming like she’s convinced we’re about to die. I try the starter again. The engine sputters once more. It just won’t turn over.

  “What’s wrong?” Anna desperately shouts. “Why won’t it start, Mom?”

  “It’s got to be flooded,” I say, my face and eyes drowning in rainwater.

  Turning, I glance at the red, twelve-gallon plastic gas tank that’s attached to the outboard motor by a black rubber hose.

  “Try again,” she insists.

  I turn the key. Again, nothing but a sputter. But there is a very loud, if not thunderous, noise coming from behind me. Spinning around on the balls of my feet, I spot something that makes my heart sink. It’s a tunnel of water. A tornado, only not made of wind. It is, instead, made of water. A water spout.

  “God help us,” I whisper.

  Turning back to the starter, I gaze up at the black-purple sky.

  Please, dear God, help us. Just this once and I will do anything for you …

  “Mom, please, we’ve got to get out of here!”