Paradox Lake Page 3

  “This looks like our turn,” I say.

  The truck turns onto a two-track that’s flanked by thick, tall pines, white birch trees, and scrub brush. I follow, feeling the Mini Cooper buck and bounce along the uneven road.

  “We should have a Jeep, Mom,” Anna points out, her right hand gripping the handlebar mounted above the passenger-side window. “Tony’s Jeep.”

  “Had I known it was going to be this rough,” I say, “I would have asked him to switch up. Not that he would ever give up his precious Jeep.”

  We continue on for about a half mile, until Tim hooks a right onto a gravel drive that is a whole lot smoother than the two-track. Thank the good Lord. The smell is pure pine and the air fresh. Soon we can see the small wood clapboard house and beyond it, Paradox Lake. My heart is beating, because I haven’t been this excited in a long time. When you work on a college campus there’s almost never any alone time, other than when you lock yourself in your studio at night, and even then the night owl students are always knocking on your door, asking if you wouldn’t mind taking a quick look at their sculptures, drawings, or paintings. Not that I mind. It’s my job after all. But students never produce anything of quality. They are graded on the promise they display, the dedication to their art, and their potential to become a worthwhile artist. But I digress.

  Tim pulls up to the front of the little house and gets out. I pull up beside him and kill the engine.

  Turning to Anna. “Ready to do this, honey? Ready to start our new adventure?”

  “Do I have a choice, Rosie?” she says. “I’ve been kidnapped and dragged to the jungle by my own mother.”

  I smile, give her thigh a pinch.

  “I promise it will be fun,” I say.

  She pulls out her smartphone, searches for a signal.

  “You know something?” she says, “I think my phone works.”

  “There must be a tower nearby,” I point out.

  “Thank God!”

  She opens the door and gets out, dare I say it, enthusiastically.

  “Thank God is right,” I whisper.

  Opening the door, I slip out from behind the wheel and give the humble house a good look. It’s simple but it’s also quaint, if not perfect. Tim approaches me. Recalling the instructions emailed to me by the Airbnb owner, the keys to the place are supposed to be stored in the mailbox, which is mounted to the wall beside the front door. Climbing the porch steps, I go to the front door and stick my hand in the mailbox. I pull out a small white envelope. Inside it are two identical keys. No note, no further directions, nothing.

  “Some welcome party,” I say, with a scrunched brow. “Just a set of keys and that’s it.”

  “I guess the owner is into his minimalism,” Tim says.

  “Or maybe he just wants to keep me guessing about how things work around here.”

  “How about I give you folks a hand unpacking?”

  “You’re too kind, Tim,” I say, opening the screen door and unlocking the front, wood door. “But if it’s not too early, there will be a beer or two in it for you.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Quit the stuff fifteen years ago,” he says. “Best move I ever made. I actually get up with the dawn now. Every day is a gift.”

  “Wow,” I say, pocketing the keys, “good for you. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to survive without a cold beer or a glass of wine at the end of the day.”

  “Nothing wrong with that either,” he says. Then, “Pop the hatchback and I’ll grab some stuff.”

  “Anna can help too.” I look over both shoulders for her, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Anna?” I call out.

  “Don’t worry about her,” he says. “She’s just getting acquainted with the place and the lake. We got this, you and me, Rose.”

  “You sure?”

  “Never more so,” he says with a smile.

  As he grabs two overfilled duffels from out of the back of the Mini Cooper, he locks his eyes on mine. I feel something then. Something in my stomach. It’s more than a friendly smile. It’s the kind of smile that tells me this man is developing a crush. I have to be honest here, I am too. Oh no, poor Tony. I’m not away from him for a half day and already I have my sights set on someone else. Oh well, what’s the old saying? All’s fair in love and war.

  It takes maybe three trips back and forth from the front porch to the car to unpack everything. That’s when I get to take a tour of the house. I’ve already mentioned the front porch. It’s got a swing that hangs from four ceiling-mounted chains. Some potted plants hang from the porch eaves and the wood slat floor has recently been stained along with the house’s wood siding. Whoever owns the place certainly takes care of it, even if they don’t live here anymore.

  Unlocking the front door, I step inside. I’m immediately hit with cool, sweet-smelling air. There’s also a hint of burning wood, like a fire was recently roaring in the massive stone fireplace that’s located on the opposite side of the living room. Pressed up against the wall immediately facing us is an upright piano.

  “You play?” Tim says as he enters, two duffel bags gripped in his hands.

  He sets the bags onto the floor.

  “Not a lick,” I say. “Sculpture and painting are my thing.”

  “Thus all the bags of clay powder,” he says. “You nearly broke my back.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, setting my hand on his arm, “but you asked for it.”

  I feel more of that wonderful tingling in my stomach when I touch him. I wonder if he does too, because for a long beat we seem frozen in time. But then he heads over to the piano, sits down. He takes a moment to position his hands over the keys. Then he starts in on a clunky version of “Love Is a Many Splendored Thing.”

  When he’s through with a few bars, he stands back up and takes a bow. I can’t help but clap.

  “I heard someone playing piano,” Anna says as she enters into the living room through the open front door.

  Much to my surprise, she’s carrying her own duffel bag.

  “Our new friend, Tim, is multi-talented,” I say.

  “Aw shucks,” he says, in a mock hillbilly voice. “I used to play a lot, but not anymore.”

  “You’re invited to play for us anytime,” I say.

  Anna rolls her eyes.

  “Where’s my bedroom?” she inquires.

  “Upstairs,” I say, gesturing with my hand to the staircase that’s directly in front of me. “Why don’t you head up and claim your space.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she says, trudging up the wood steps.

  “Let’s give the rest of the place a look,” Tim says.

  I follow him into the kitchen. It’s large enough to eat in. There’s a kitchen table set by a big window that looks out onto the lake, and plenty of cooking and counter space. The appliances are relatively new, and the stove is powered by natural gas, which is a plus. At the other end of the long kitchen is a pantry with a counter and a couple of stools set under it for a quaint breakfast nook. Next to the kitchen is a dining room that contains a long harvest table. A sunroom sports a heavy wood table along with a couple wicker chairs. It will make the perfect art studio once I get rid of the chairs.

  Tim looks into my eyes.

  “I only just met you, Rose,” he says. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are one happy camper right about now.”

  “You have no idea,” I say. “And I haven’t even seen the lake yet.”

  “Shall we?” he says.

  “Yes, we shall.”

  Together, Tim and I head out back by way of the two kitchen doors, one of them wood with glass panes embedded in it, the other a screen door. A path leads down to a dock. The rocky shore contains a few massive pine trees that provide excellent shade and there’s a firepit that’s been used recently, judging by the burnt logs inside it. Two hunter-green Adirondack chairs have been placed before the pit. Placed a few feet away from the pit
is a charcoal cooker and a picnic table. A few feet behind the picnic table is a long pile of stacked firewood that’s covered in clear plastic.

  “I have a feeling we’ll be spending a lot of time out here,” I say.

  “Break out the wine,” Tim says.

  Once again, I find myself gently touching his forearm.

  “I’ll buy some Pepsis for you,” I say.

  “I like me some Mountain Dew,” he says. “Was a time I loved my Jack Daniel’s.”

  “Done,” I say, getting his drift. “Mountain Dew it is.”

  Heading down to the dock, I gaze out onto the pristine lake. The view is gorgeous and the lake is so still and clear it looks like glass.

  “Why do they call it Paradox Lake, Tim?” I ask.

  He’s making his way towards the woodpile when he stops and faces me.

  “Paradox refers to an old Iroquois Indian adage,” he says. “In this case, when translated, it means water flowing backwards.”

  “Really,” I say. “Not sure I understand.”

  “In the spring, when the mountain runoff occurs, the lake gets really high. The resulting runoff flows into the nearby Schroon River. But because the Schroon River gets really high and is located at a higher elevation than Paradox, the river water actually reverses course and flows back into our lake. The fish love it because along with the backflow comes a whole lot of food. Big fat juicy worms.”

  “Big fat juicy fish,” I say.

  “You betcha,” he says. “Best in the Adirondack Park, you ask me. We’ll have to catch a whole bunch of perch and have a fish fry some weekend.”

  “Hi, Mom,” comes the booming sound of my daughter’s voice.

  Startled, I turn around to see her standing inside her open bedroom window.

  “I have the best room in the house,” she says, not without a smile.

  “Great, honey,” I say. “It’s all yours.”

  “And the cell phone connection is great,” she adds, before disappearing.

  I turn back around, face the lake once more. Could it be that Anna’s attitude over our little Adirondack Mountain adventure is adjusting for the better? We’ll have to wait and see. Now if only little Jake Walls will stay true to her. Now that would be a bonus.

  “What do you think, Tim?” I ask. “Maybe my daughter really is liking it here, after all.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Tim?”

  Turning around, I spot something strange. Tim is standing over the wood pile, his back to me. He’s staring into the woods behind the pile. It’s like he sees something I don’t see.

  “Tim,” I call out, “are you okay?”

  But again, he doesn’t answer. He’s standing there, stone stiff, just gazing into the forest as if he’s mesmerized by a spell that’s been cast upon him by a ghost or a goblin.

  “Tim!” I bark.

  He then shakes his head, as if breaking himself out of the spell. He slowly about-faces.

  “Sorry,” he says, his face suddenly pale, his nice smile no longer painting his face. “I sort of drifted away for a second.” Then, doing his best to make a happy face, “You said something?”

  I’m not sure how to react to his little bit of, how shall I put it? Leave taking? Probably the best reaction is no reaction at all. Could be he was simply thinking about something he had to do or something he’d forgotten about and only just remembered. Could be he was remembering someone close to him who died at some point. Someone he never quite got over, like a wife or a child. Hell, maybe he was watching the squirrels.

  “I said, I think Anna is going to be very happy here,” I say.

  He nods.

  “This is a very happy place,” he says. “Especially for you girls.”

  Especially for you girls …

  Interesting choice of words. But I’m guessing he’s just being genuine.

  “Tell you what,” he says, “I’ll bring in some firewood for you. Even in late summer the nights get pretty chilly. I’ll also turn the water on and check the breaker box in the basement.”

  “Let me help you with the wood,” I say. “I’m glad you’re taking care of the basement. I can’t imagine it’s pleasant down there.”

  “The basement is a bit dark and spooky,” he says as he pushes away the plastic and begins to gather up wood in his arms. “By the way, when you grab the wood, watch out for spiders.”

  I feel a chill run up my backbone.

  “I hate spiders, Tim,” I say.

  “You do, huh?” he says, making his way towards the kitchen door with a load of wood cradled in his long arms. “Then you’re gonna love Paradox Lake. Get it?”

  CHAPTER 6

  IT ONLY TAKES a few minutes to fill up the firewood rack inside the house. Tim cleans out the used embers and then prepares the fireplace with newspaper, some dry pine kindling wood, and a couple of starter logs. He also makes double sure the chimney flu is open so we don’t smoke ourselves out whenever we decide to light the fire.

  I make sure Anna comes back downstairs to say goodbye and to thank Tim for all his kindness and hard work. She doesn’t hop down the stairs, but instead trudges down them, like each of her feet have suddenly put on fifty pounds apiece since we arrived.

  Oh my God, teenagers and their ever-changing moods …

  I want to ask her what’s the matter, but I want to wait until Tim is gone first before the tears and the anger start flying. He bids us both a smiley so long. But before he goes, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. It’s got his name, cell number, and the Ferguson General Store vintage green pickup truck logo printed on it.

  “Call me,” he says. “Call me if you need anything. You understand, Rose? Anything at all.”

  I slip the card into my jeans pocket.

  “I will,” I say. “You’ve been very kind, Tim.”

  He turns, starts down the porch steps. That’s when the thought comes to me.

  “Hey, Tim,” I say. “Would you like to come for dinner tomorrow night? Nothing fancy. Maybe just burgers on the grill.”

  He faces me and smiles, ear to ear.

  “I’d love that,” he says. “I’ll bring some wine for the campfire, that is, if it doesn’t rain. For your enjoyment only, of course. And some Mountain Dew for me and Anna.”

  “Terrific,” my PO’d daughter whispers under her breath.

  Turning back around once more, Tim hops in his truck and takes off. For the first time since we arrived here, I feel very much alone with my daughter. It’s both an exhilarating and scary feeling at the same time. I gaze into her angry eyes.

  “I’m sure glad your love life has picked up since we got here, Rosie,” she says, the sarcasm drooling from her lips.

  I could haul off and slap the brat, but I’m a twenty-first-century mom. Meaning, I give in to my child’s every whim.

  “Okay,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “What’s happened now?”

  “Nicole,” she says.

  It’s all she has to say for me to know things are not kosher with the best friend after all.

  “Jake,” I say.

  “Nicole asked him to take her to the fall mixer since, get this, I won’t be around.”

  Her face is so tight it’s like the skin is about to split down the center. I can also tell she’s about to cry, but she’s trying her best to hold back the tears. Not because she’s afraid to cry in front of me, but because she doesn’t want to give Nicole the satisfaction, even though Nicole would have no idea.

  Taking her in my arms, I hug her tightly. She might be taller than my five feet four now, but she’s still my baby girl. She starts to cry and I shush her, just like I used to do when she was a toddler and fell flat on her face trying to race from the dining room into the kitchen to grab a chocolate chip cookie fresh from the oven. Once, she split her lip after tripping on the sidewalk outside our house. We raced to the ER in Tony’s Jeep where they stopped the bleeding with four stitches to the underside of her low
er lip. The tiny scar is still there.

  “I hate this place,” she says through her tears.

  “Oh, honey,” I say, “I know it’s hard right now. But give it a chance. It’s really so beautiful, I’m sure you’ll learn to love it.”

  She releases me and wipes her tears from her face with the backs of her hands.

  “You really think so, Mom?”

  “I know so,” I say. “You’ve been given a special gift. You don’t have to go to a real school for a full semester. Instead, you can do all your learning in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Nicole is just jealous. That’s what this is all about.”

  Her face lights up a little. “You really think so?”

  I place my hand on her shoulder.

  “Trust me, kiddo,” I say. “I know so.”

  She smiles and gives me another tight hug.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she says. “I’ll do my best to be happy.”

  She yawns then. A long, deep yawn.

  “Easy with that,” I say. “It might be contagious.”

  “I didn’t sleep at all last night thinking about this trip,” she says.

  “Why don’t you lie down,” I say, checking my watch. “Dinner isn’t for a while. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Okay,” she says, “I could use a little nap.”

  Turning, she heads for the stairs.

  “And Anna?” I say.

  “Yes, Rosie,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder.

  “Maybe give the texting a rest.”

  She nods.

  “Okay,” she says. “I get it.”

  She climbs the stairs to her new bedroom overlooking Paradox Lake.

  “Glad someone gets it,” I whisper.

  CHAPTER 7

  BY THE TIME I’ve carted all my pottery equipment—bags of powdered clay mix, whole blocks of clay, sculpture table, and stool—into the sunroom, I’m ready for a cold one. What did my dad used to call it? Miller time.