Paradox Lake Page 16

  “We’ll make this work, Rose,” he says. “You, me, and Anna.”

  I see my daughter in my head. She really likes Tim. I’m sure she can learn to love him too. She will always love Tony, but things change and it’s time for us to move on. I will always consider him special, always have love for him for being there for us. But then why am I so afraid to tell him the truth? Why am I dreading his visit next Saturday?

  Tim turns onto the main road. We sit in a happy, contented quiet until the town comes into view.

  “We’re gonna be a tad late for church,” he says. “But I’m sure the good Lord will give us a break.”

  “I’ve been late for church going on ten years now,” I say.

  He laughs and pulls into the church parking lot. Finding a space towards the back, he kills the engine.

  “We’ll sneak in quietly and sit in the back,” he says, taking hold of my hand, leading me to the front of the old, white, wood clapboard church.

  When we come to the wood doors, he slowly opens them. We step inside to the booming voice of the short, balding, paunchy priest. The church is maybe half filled with local parishioners and, of course, we stick out like two sore thumbs when we enter ten full minutes late.

  The priest looks up from the Bible passage he’s reading aloud on the podium.

  “Nice to see you can join us, Mr. Ferguson,” the priest says.

  The entire congregation turns and glares at us over their shoulders.

  “Snagged,” Tim says, under his breath. Then, “Glad to be here, Father O’Connor. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Suddenly I feel like I’m living in a fishbowl. I see the all the curious faces staring at me, staring through me, and I see the portly priest eyeing me, and behind him, the crucified Jesus hanging on the far wall. They are all looking at us like they know Tim and I just had sex inside his truck. For a quick second, I feel like my dress is still hiked up over my chest. I actually touch my thighs just to make sure the hem is where it should be. I offer up a polite smile, but I can’t help believe everyone thinks of me as the city woman who arrived in Paradox only this week with her daughter and who is already sleeping with the town’s most eligible bachelor. Not that it’s anyone’s business. But you know how small towns can be.

  We sit down in the wood pew and the priest continues with his reading. Now that everyone has refocused their attention on Father O’Conner, I can’t help but take a casual look around. Mostly rural folk dressed in cheap Walmart clothing, their faces withdrawn and old despite their years. My eyes are suddenly drawn to the first pew. I feel a slight start in my heart when I see Tim’s employee, Ed. The stocky, bald man is dressed like he always is, in his overalls and t-shirt, work boots no doubt on his feet. He slowly turns, as if he senses I’m staring at him. He locks onto my eyes and smiles, his brown crooked teeth pressed together.

  I turn away from him, and stare down at my hands folded in my lap. Tim places his left hand on my thigh. It’s not meant as a sexual gesture. It is, instead, something to calm me, since I’m sure by now he knows how uncomfortable I feel. In his right hand, he’s holding a pair of red rosary beads. He’s pressing each bead with his index finger and thumb while quietly whispering one Our Father after another. He’s a remarkable man. A terrific lover, a terrific friend, the town’s most successful businessman—at least as far as I know—and he’s also deeply spiritual.

  I decide then and there not to allow my nerves to get to me. In fact, I too start to whisper prayers in my head. I say the Lord’s Prayer and then a Hail Mary. I pray for my daughters, both alive and departed. I pray for Charlie, and I even pray for Tony. I know he’ll be trying to call and/or text me soon, and I’ll have no choice but to ignore him. I pray the Lord forgive me and I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

  The rain pours down while Father O’Connor offers up a short homily about everyone getting along, no matter what your politics, no matter what your religion. He makes a reference to his time as a prison chaplain, how his door was always open to all faiths and all persuasions. He reminds us how divided we’ve become as a nation and how we must rise above bigotry and become unified once more. Or else we’ll find ourselves in a terrible civil war for which no one will escape unaffected. Strong words for a country priest who can’t wait to hit up Bunny’s Bar.

  When it comes time to take Communion, I follow Tim up the center aisle to Father O’Connor. I almost find it entirely appropriate that lightning and an artillery-like thunderclap strikes the moment I take the Holy Communion in my hand and place it in my mouth. It’s almost like the good Lord is trying to tell the priest that I don’t deserve to take part in the sacred act.

  Oh well, too late now …

  But there is something about the way the priest looks into my eyes with his deep brown eyes. It’s not like he’s disappointed in me. How could he be? He has no idea who I am, after all. It’s more like he’s trying to tell me something, or relay something to me. Just what that something is, I have no idea. Or perhaps, I’m just over-imagining things as usual.

  As we return to our pew, more lightning and thunder pounds Paradox. The noise reverberates inside the old church, makes the presence of God seem all the more real. We sit and we pray some more, Tim intently making sure he runs through his entire rosary. Father O’Connor asks us to stand one final time, and he gives us his blessing, tells us to go in peace and serve the Lord. Something I intend to do more of, going forward with Tim. That is, if it’s our fate to go forward together.

  Flanked by his bored-looking altar boys, Father O’Connor makes his way to the front of the church. We pile out and each member shakes his hand and tells him what a terrific homily he gave. When it comes time for Tim and me to greet him, Tim doesn’t just shake his hand, but instead, gives him a hug.

  “Father,” he says, “I’d like to introduce you to Rose. She and her daughter, Anna, are staying at the old Moore house for a few months. Rose is a famous artist.”

  I shake the old priest’s thick hand and smile politely.

  “Well, I’m an art professor, too, Father,” I clarify. “Tim is too kind because I only wish I were a famous artist.”

  Father O’Connor looks me in the eye.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rose,” he says. “Perhaps one day I can pay a visit and meet Anna. You are both welcome at our church, of course.”

  His offer to pay a visit takes me a little by surprise. But that’s the way priests are, I guess. Country priests.

  “I would like that, Father,” I say. “You can get in touch with me through my website. Rose Conley dot com.”

  “I’ll look it up,” he says. “Have a blessed evening.”

  We’re about to turn and head back for the truck, when Creepy Ed approaches the priest. Tim can’t help but notice him.

  “Heading back to the store, Ed?” Tim inquires.

  “Yes, boss,” Ed says in his weird, boyish, high-pitched voice. “I’ll be sure to lock up tonight.”

  “Good,” Tim says. “I’ll talk with you later.”

  “Yes, boss,” Ed says. Then, to the priest. “That was a nice service, Father. Can we pray together again sometime?”

  Father O’Connor nods. “You know you’re always welcome in my church, Theodore.”

  “I like it when we pray together, Father. Just you, me, and Jesus.”

  “I like it, too, Theodore. Now do as Mr. Ferguson says, and get back to work.”

  “Yes, Father,” Ed says. “I am going back to work right now.”

  Theodore …

  We watch Ed shuffle across the parking lot in the steady rain to his truck. In my head, I can’t help but picture him carrying that animal skin out the front door of his house and hanging it on that big wood rack around back. I can’t help but see him toss a bloody chunk of raw red meat to his chained-up dog. The man truly gives me the creeps. If not for him and the persistent memory of Sarah Anne’s murder, Paradox would be perfect.

  “Ready?” Tim says, taking hold of my h
and.

  I’m suddenly broken out of my spell.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “For a second there,” Tim says, “you looked like you were seeing a ghost.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was just remembering something.”

  Theodore … the man who killed Sarah … It’s got to be a coincidence for sure …

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Famished,” I lie.

  As we make our way back to Tim’s pickup, Ed’s truck pulls out of the lot in the direction of the General Store. Eating. It’s the last thing I feel like doing right now.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE ITALIAN RESTAURANT in Schroon overlooks the lake that bears the same name. Since the exterior patio is enclosed, we’re able to sit outside even though it’s still storming. The food is decent enough, but as I said, I’m not entirely hungry. I guess it must be a combination of seeing Creepy Ed and worrying about Anna. I’m also more than a little disturbed that Ed’s real name is Theodore. How many Theodores are there in the world? A lot, I guess. But how many Theodores refer to themselves as Ed? A lot less, I’d wager. And how many Theodores who refer to themselves as Ed come from Paradox Lake? Perhaps just one?

  Anna home alone …

  I’ve checked my phone a dozen times already and she hasn’t texted or called, so that’s a good thing. Or is it? However, Tony has already texted twice and called three times.

  What’s going on? is the first text.

  Why won’t you answer your phone????!!!! is the second, rather emphatic one.

  Even though I promised myself I wouldn’t text or speak with him while I was out with Tim, I respond with this one short, overly simple text: Out for dinner. Will call when I get home.

  Cryptic enough, but I think it gave him enough of a hint to stop serial calling me.

  Tim and I share a bottle of red wine, while I mostly shuffle my spaghetti and meatballs around on my plate to at least give the impression that I’m enjoying my food.

  “Something wrong, Rose?” Tim says after a time. “This is like the best Italian restaurant north of Albany.”

  He’s already most of the way through his veal parmesan.

  I smile. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. But everything’s perfect.”

  He sips his wine, sets the glass back down.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he says.

  “I guess I’m just worried about Anna,” I say.

  I might ask him about Ed. Or Theodore, that is. But something inside me tells me not to bring it up. I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing him of hiring a child murderer.

  “I get it,” he says. “I know if I lost a child, I’d be super protective over the one I have left.”

  “That about sums it up,” I say.

  “But if you don’t mind my saying so, I can bet dollars to donuts she’s a young lady who can take care of herself. She’s very smart, and she’s developing into a very attractive woman. You should be proud.”

  His words are encouraging on one hand and a little unexpected on the other. Maybe some people might interpret his noticing Anna’s development as creepy. But because it’s Tim, I know he means what he’s saying and that it comes from the bottom of his heart. At least, that’s what I want to believe.

  My phone vibrates and chimes inside my bag.

  Not again, Tony …

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I need to get that.”

  “No worries,” he says.

  I look at the screen. I’ll be damned if it isn’t indeed another text from Tony. The man will just not let up. But then, who can blame him?

  Getting up from the table.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Take your time,” Tim offers.

  Grabbing my leather bag, I head into the restaurant, find the ladies’ room, and enter into the empty stall. As I sit myself down, I stare at my phone and Tony’s text.

  I really feel like driving up there tonight. Something doesn’t feel right Rose.

  My stomach cramps.

  Be patient T, I text. We’ll see you next Saturday.

  I quickly check to see if Anna has left any messages. Nothing. Returning the phone to my bag, I finish up my business and then wash my hands and give my face a glance in the mirror. I decide to freshen up the little bit of makeup I have on, then head back out to the table.

  “You don’t look too happy,” Tim says, while wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

  “Tony,” I say, sitting back down.

  I notice he’s refilled my wineglass. Tim, the overly thoughtful.

  “Oh no,” he says.

  “He wants to come up,” I say, taking a deep drink of my wine. “Tonight.”

  “That might be a little awkward.”

  “Naturally, I told him to relax and wait till this weekend.”

  He looks at me a bit sheepishly. “When do you, ahhhh, plan on dropping the bomb?”

  Now he smiles slyly. But I’m not much in the mood for smiling.

  “I’m sorry,” he goes on. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, Rose. And I certainly don’t mean to press. If you need me to back off, I can.”

  Shaking my head.

  “Oh no,” I say, “you’re fine. I guess I’m just having a bad case of the guilts.”

  He sips some more wine.

  “If you were married and even if you lived with him, I’d say you should feel guilty. But the fact that you’ve decided to leave him for three months to start another chapter of your life in a new place tells me you were already finished with the relationship long before you met me. My two cents, of course.”

  His words are spot on.

  “Maybe I’m having a tough time convincing myself of that, Tim,” I say. “Like I told you, Tony has been there for us for a long time. I love him, but I’m not in love with him anymore.”

  He reaches across the table, takes my hand in his.

  “And us?” he says.

  “I’m in love with you, Tim,” I say, my eyes filling with tears. “I am most definitely falling in love with you.”

  We box up our leftovers, and Tim pays the bill using the gift certificate he’d been talking about. As we exit the restaurant, I’m feeling a little tipsy. At one point, I trip on my way out the front door. If not for Tim grabbing hold of my arm, I would fall flat on my face. What a way to end our date, with a broken nose and my two front teeth knocked out.

  “Easy, lady,” he says. “I guess that wine did a job on you.”

  “Gee whiz.” I say. “I recall only having two glasses.”

  “You had a teensy bit more than that, Rose,” he says. “I counted four glasses.”

  “Okay,” I say, “how about we call it three and a half ?”

  “Fair enough,” he says. “Tell you what. How about some ice cream? The rain has stopped for now and we can walk around the town for a bit.”

  I’m not sure what’s happening, but the more I walk, the dizzier I feel. It’s almost like I’ve been drugged. Or perhaps I’m just exhausted from today’s adventures out on the lake.

  “If it’s all the same to you, Tim,” I say, “I’d like to get home to Anna. Why don’t you hang out with us for a little while? Maybe we can watch some Netflix together.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he says. “Shall we stop for more wine?”

  “If you’d like some,” I say.

  We arrive at the truck and he opens the passenger-side door for me. I’m suddenly so weak, I’m having trouble hopping up inside. He reaches over me with the doggy bag of food, sets it on the center console, then literally lifts me up and sets me on the seat.

  “Why thank you, Sir Lancelot,” I say, my words sounding not like they’re coming from my mouth, but instead from someone else’s. It’s as if I’m caught up in a vivid dream.

  “By all means, my lady,” he says, buckling my seat belt for me.

  Shutting the door, he comes around to the dr
iver’s side, opens the door, and gets in. Slipping the key in the ignition, he starts the motor and throws the transmission in reverse. I’m staring at his movements, but he’s going in and out of focus. Before he backs out, he sets his hand on my bare thigh, and runs his fingers up my legs until they touch my sex. I’m not sure if he’s trying to be sexy or not, but this is not exactly the time or the place for this. I want him to stop, but I don’t have strength enough to stop him.

  When I feel his fingers slip inside my underwear and enter me, I try to tell him to cut it out, but no words will come. A wave of ice-cold water feels like it’s washing over me. I go to open the door, but …

  BOOK II

  THE STORM

  CHAPTER 34

  THE RAIN HAS stopped for now, but the clouds are only getting thicker, blacker, more purple. When the Big Bad Wolf stares directly up at the cloud cover, he can make out the jolts and bolts of electricity that are forming inside them.

  What big dark eyes you have.

  The better to see you in the dark.

  He knows that soon the rains will begin again, and the storm that will accompany them will be so severe, it will frighten the entire town of Paradox. He gallops through the wet, rain-soaked forest like a hungry beast chasing down his prey.

  What speed you have.

  The easier to chase you down and eat you.

  By the time he comes to the Paradox Lake trailhead he’s breathing heavily, but he hardly notices it. He’s drooling from hunger and his body is soaked with sweat. He’s ripe for a kill and tonight is the Wolf’s night. He scoots past the woodpile and along the brush-covered side of the old house until he comes to the Bilco doors. He opens the metal door and descends into the damp darkness, the spider webs sticking to his face and bare arms.

  When a spider crawls down his face, he makes sure to open his mouth and allow the hairy black insect to enter into it. He then chomps down on the spider, its big belly popping and releasing its creamy mix of putrid, puss-covered baby spiders. He chews the spider and its children carefully, then swallows. It’s his small revenge for the wolf spider that hatched a million little babies inside his skin.