Paradox Lake Read online

  What big hands you have.

  What big claws.

  The better to snatch you up and tear into your flesh.

  CHAPTER 16

  AS SOON AS I arrive home, I call out for Anna while carting the groceries into the kitchen. She answers with a “Hi, Rosie.” She sounds happy. We’re on a roll here and it warms the heart. However, a couple hours hanging out in bed and texting—or talking—on the phone is much too much.

  Making my way back to the stairs, I bark, “Come help me with dinner, honey!”

  “Oh, really, like now?” she says.

  “Really,” I say. Then, clapping my hands. “Chop, chop.”

  “Chop, chop,” she repeats. “What does that mean, Rosie?”

  “It means get your little butt down here now and let’s have some fun. It’s mom and daughter time.”

  “Okay, give me a minute, Rosie.”

  Back in the kitchen, I pull out the hamburger and start making the patties. I add plenty of salt and pepper for flavor. When Anna comes in, I ask her to start on peeling the potatoes.

  “Boring,” she says.

  “Hey,” I say, “all chefs gotta start somewhere.”

  Anna peels the potatoes over the sink and I flatten the hamburger patties with all the care and precision I put into my sculptures. I notice her iPhone is set on the kitchen table. When the screen lights up with a WhatsApp call from little Jake Walls, I nearly burst out laughing.

  “Ummm, phone call, Anna,” I say.

  She turns quick, her face turning beet red.

  “Aren’t you gonna get it?” I press.

  “He can wait,” she says, continuing with her peeling.

  I finish up the last patty.

  “So you guys are WhatsApping now,” I say. “You just talk, right?”

  She doesn’t look at me. Rather, I can tell she’s refusing to look at me, like I might find the answers I’m looking for in her expression.

  “Of course, Mom,” she says, a little too defensively for my tastes. “What else do you think we do?”

  I start on shucking the corn over the garbage pail.

  “I was young once, Anna,” I say. “I know what it’s like to have needs. You’re growing up into a very attractive young lady. You’re going to be desirable to lots of boys, some of them older and far more experienced than you. Not all of them will be like innocent little Jake Walls.”

  She finishes peeling the last potato and sets it on a paper towel beside the other two.

  “Oh my God,” she says, “are we like having, the talk?”

  Now it’s me who’s blushing.

  “What talk?” I say, stupidly.

  “You know, Mom,” she says, “like, the talk.”

  Without answering her, I go to the fridge, pull out a can of Stella. I pop the top, steal a deep swig of the cold beer.

  “Snagged,” I say as soon as I come up for air.

  Anna bends over in laughter. I, too, laugh. What the hell else is there to do?

  “The funniest thing about this,” I say, “is you probably know more about sex than I do.”

  “I’ll let you know when I finally have it,” she says.

  “Which, my still very maturing, yet still adolescent young lady, will not be for quite some time. Are we in agreement?”

  “We’re in agreement, Rosie,” she says. “Just the thought of doing it makes me a little nauseous.”

  “Good,” I say. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  With all the food prepped, there’s only one last thing to do. Clean up and dress into something a little more presentable. I take a quick shower, dry my hair, and slip into a brown, summer-weight, shoulder-strap dress. Since I’m in a funky mood, I choose a pair of brown cowboy boots to go with it. I slip some silver bracelets on along with some matching necklaces. Gazing at myself in the big mirror attached to the dresser of drawers in the upstairs master bedroom, I realize I don’t look half bad for a woman who will never see forty again.

  Heading out of the bedroom, I make a check on Anna. I’m surprised to see that she too has decided to dress up a little. By that, I mean she’s put on a pair of clean, high-waisted blue jeans, a pair of clean white Ked sneakers, and a black t-shirt that says “The Beatles” in big white letters. Her hair is pulled back neatly in a ponytail.

  “Do you even know who the Beatles were?” I ask. “I hardly even remember them myself.”

  “Paul is my fave,” she says. Then, singing, “I love you, Paul, oh yes I do. When you’re not with me, I’m blue …”

  Oh the power of YouTube.

  The sound of a truck pulling up outside makes my pulse pick up speed. My stomach goes a little bit tight and my mouth goes dry.

  “Looks like your date is here, Rosie,” Anna says with a sly smile. “Do we need to talk about anything?”

  “Haha,” I say. “Very funny.”

  The truck door opens and slams shut. Then, footsteps up onto the porch and a solid knock on the front wood door.

  “Showtime,” I say, heading down the stairs.

  “Just be yourself, Rosie,” Anna says.

  “That’s what worries me,” I say, coming to the door, seeing Tim’s handsome bearded face on the opposite side of it.

  I unlock the door and open it.

  “How silly of me,” I say. “I should have left it open for you, Tim.”

  He’s holding a wine bottle in one hand and a Ferguson General Store bag in the other. A bouquet of wildflowers is sticking out of the bag. Like yesterday, he’s wearing Levi’s jeans, cowboy boots, and a denim work shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of his muscular pecs.

  “Hey, safety first,” he says.

  “Well, come on in,” I say, opening the screen door for him.

  Anna comes down the stairs. She smiles kindly.

  “Hello, Mr. Ferguson,” she says.

  “Oh please,” he says. “Call me Tim, Anna. Mr. Ferguson was my dad.”

  I can tell my daughter is thrilled about this since it will make her feel like more of an adult. Why is it kids want to grow up so fast?

  “Sure thing, Tim,” she says.

  “Anna,” I say, “do you have something you want to say to Tim?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says, “thanks so much for the book.”

  Tim looks dumbfounded.

  “What book?” he asks.

  “Little Red Riding Hood,” Anna says. “The rare edition you pointed out yesterday at the store. You left it on the door for me. Thanks so much.”

  His eyes go wide.

  “Oh yes,” he says, laughing. “Slipped my mind. I must be having a senior moment. Glad you like it.” Then, refocusing on me, “Where shall I put the goods?”

  “Oh my,” I say, “bring them right into the kitchen.”

  He does as I suggest. Meanwhile, I’m a little confused as to how he can’t remember dropping the book off this morning. But then, maybe he’s been having a super busy day. He is pretty much Paradox’s only means for food, gas, booze, and Lotto Quickdraw, after all. He pulls out the flowers and hands them to me as I enter into the kitchen.

  “Wildflowers,” I say. “My favorite.”

  I find an old vase in the cabinet over the sink, add some tap water to it, and then place the flowers inside. Setting them on the table, I pull out the wine and a six-pack of Mountain Dew.

  “I’d love one of those,” he says, gesturing towards the soda.

  “I’ll take one, too,” Anna says, “if that’s cool.”

  “I’m gonna crack the wine if no one minds,” I say.

  “No one minds,” Tim says while pulling the tab open on a can of Mountain Dew and handing it to Anna. Then, “Hey, Anna, you want to help me start a fire in the firepit?”

  “Sure,” she says.

  “You two can start the grill too,” I say.

  “We’re on it,” Tim says, grabbing a can of soda for himself. “Come on, Anna.”

  She gladly goes with him. I’ve never seen her so chipper and eage
r to please around an adult. It’s really something to see. Just two days ago she was miserable at the prospect of having to spend three months in the woods. Now all she does is smile. Who would have thunk it?

  How am I doing, Allison?

  Just fine, Rosie.

  Charlie, you there?

  Keep it up, babe. You deserve to be loved. But if you fall too hard, you’re gonna have an issue with Tony. Just saying.

  I’ll try and not to get too excited.

  But as I watch Tim and Anna gather up some firewood, my happiness knows no bounds.

  CHAPTER 17

  WE COOK AND then feast on the burgers, homemade French fries, and corn. When we’re through, we have coffee and share a homemade apple pie that is to die for. I drink half the bottle of wine and by the time everything is cleaned up and the sun is setting, I’m feeling pretty good. I’m not sure if she truly feels like it, or if she’s purposely giving Tim and me some privacy, but Anna excuses herself and heads back up to her room.

  “Goodnight, Anna,” Tim says.

  That’s when she does something nothing short of miraculous. She wraps her arms around Tim, gives him a bear hug. Tim gazes at me, offers me a wink, then pats her back gently.

  “Sweet dreams, Anna,” he says.

  She turns to me, gives me a hug.

  “Good luck,” she whispers in my ear.

  With that, she heads back inside to reconvene with her iPhone and her friends.

  “Guess it’s just you and me, Tim,” I say.

  “How about a little friendly fireside chat,” he suggests.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” I say.

  Taking hold of the wine bottle on the table, I fill my mug and seat myself on one of the Adirondack chairs that surrounds the firepit. If this isn’t heaven on earth, I don’t know what is. Tim sits beside me, his coffee cup in hand. For a time, we just stare into the bright red-orange flames, listening to the good sound of the dry pine wood popping and snapping. Leaning forward, Tim adds another small log, then sits back.

  “I know about the girl,” I say after a time.

  “Excuse me?” he says.

  “The girl who was murdered back in 1986. Sarah Anne Moore. I know she lived in this house. They sort of skipped that bit of info in the Airbnb description.”

  He nods slowly, both his hands wrapped around the coffee mug.

  “That was a terrible time for all of Paradox,” he says. “I was barely out of college then, working for my dad in the store. The Moores were terrific people. Terrific customers. He, the father, was friends with my dad. They used to play seniors pickup basketball at the high school gym on Monday nights. He and Mrs. Moore attended my wedding. I remember when she was pregnant with Sarah back when I was in grade school.” Shaking his head once more. “Just a terrible tragedy.”

  “Whatever happened to the Moores?”

  Cocking his head over his shoulder, like he’s about to say something along the lines of, what the hell ever happens to two heartbroken people whose only child was murdered in cold blood?

  “He died in his sleep maybe five years after Sarah passed,” he says, somewhat under his breath. “An ice fisherman found Mary Moore’s body floating faceup in the lake as the ice was receding the next spring.” He looks at me, the firelight reflected in his eyes. “She was still dressed in her nightgown. She must have gotten up one morning, walked out onto the dock, and jumped into the water that doesn’t freeze around the dock. She’d been in the lake for so long, she was almost unrecognizable to the coroner. If not for the ice, there wouldn’t have been much of anything left.”

  I sip some of the wine. It’s not doing much for numbing the sadness that’s building in my heart. In my head, I can’t help but picture the crucifix that hangs on the wall in the kitchen.

  “What about the man who did it? Theodore, I believe the newspapers called him. Did he go to prison forever?”

  He nods again, sips his coffee, his eyes now refocused on the fire.

  “They sent him to a maximum-security psychiatric prison in upstate western New York, due to the very violent nature of the murder. He used his teeth on Sarah, just like a rabid animal. Bit her hundreds of times.” Glancing at me. “He tried to bite her face off, Rose.”

  “Oh dear God,” I say, suddenly feeling slightly sick to my stomach. “I’m not sure I want to hear any more.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Acting on instinct, I take hold of his hand, squeeze it.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I just can’t imagine a human being doing something like that to another human being.”

  I go to remove my hand, but he squeezes my fingers. When I don’t let go, neither does he. My heart goes from sad and somewhat sickened to happy and content in three seconds flat. That’s when I hear the howling again.

  Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrrr …

  I sit up straight.

  “You hear that, Tim?” I say.

  “Hear what?” he asks.

  Saaaaaarrrrrrrrrr …

  “That,” I say. “That noise. That howling. What the heck is that?”

  He grins.

  “Oh that’s just a loon,” he says. “They like to call out for their mates at night. They only have one mate in their lifetime, and they are forever in love. It’s as instinctual as breathing. They don’t know any other way.”

  I squeeze his hand once more.

  “That just might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever told me,” I say.

  Then, coming from upstairs in the house.

  “Mom,” Anna calls out. “Did you hear the noise again?”

  “It’s just a loon, dolly,” I say. “That’s what Tim says anyway.”

  “Oh good,” she says. “Because I thought it might be the Big Bad Wolf.”

  Once more I’m reminded of the rare edition that was left on our doorstep. Could it be that Tim left it for us, but is too embarrassed to admit it? Rather, that’s why he said it slipped his mind? Some men try really hard at first and then pull back a little in fear of being too needy. In any case, it was a beautiful gesture.

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Tim?” I say.

  He nods. “Shoot.”

  “Whatever happened to you and your wife?”

  He purses his lips and releases my hand. Crap, if I knew he was going to do that, I wouldn’t have posed the question in the first place.

  “We had two children, early on. Two boys. Tim Junior and Jason. They’re grown adults now living down in the city building video games.”

  “Wow, good for them,” I say.

  “Will be when they start making some money,” he says, not without a wry laugh. “But as for their mother, we drifted apart years ago. One day in the early two-thousands I came back from the store after I locked it up for the night, and she was gone, along with most of the furniture, plus our bank account and any cash we had in the safe in the bedroom closet.”

  “Oh God, I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  He smiles sadly. “No worries. Like I said, we’d been drifting apart terribly, and I could always make more money. We’re actually on better terms now. You know, for the sake of the boys. She’s remarried, happily I assume, to a stockbroker. They live in Westchester, which is nice because she gets to see the boys a lot.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “It is,” he says. Then, dumping what’s left of his coffee, and standing. “Well, I’ve got an early one. I’d best be getting back. I had a wonderful time with you and Anna, Rose. Truly, I did.”

  I set my mug on the chair’s armrest and stand. I face him, the firelight reflecting off his handsome face. He takes both my hands in his. He leans into me, and I lean into him, and for the first time, we kiss. Is there anything in this world like that first kiss? It’s magical, no matter what age you happen to be when it comes calling for you.

  When we release, we hug one another tightly.

  “I had a terrific time, too,” I say, feel
ing my heart pounding inside my ribs. “Perhaps we’ll do it again in a couple of days?”

  “I’d like that,” he says, taking hold of my left hand while together we make our way slowly toward the house. “You know what? This might sound silly, but I have a gift certificate to a really good Italian restaurant in Schroon that I’ve been dying to use. Would you be interested in an early dinner Saturday night, Rose?”

  I’m walking, but my feet don’t feel like they’re touching the ground.

  “I’d absolutely love to, Tim,” I say. “If it’s early enough, Anna can stay here by herself.”

  Just then, a vibration in my back pocket. It tells me someone is texting me. I can bet who that someone is. Tony. It’s like a subconscious alarm has just gone off inside his head.

  We head back into the house and I see Tim to the front door. He nods in the direction of the fireplace.

  “You still haven’t lit the fire I built you,” he observes.

  “There’s been no need,” I say. “The nights thus far have been beautiful.”

  “It starts getting cooler in September. Tomorrow is the first, so give it a few days and you’ll be using it all the time. I guarantee it.”

  “Well, I’m sure with you having prepped it, the fire will burn instantly.”

  “That’s a beautiful old stone fireplace,” he says. “You almost never see them anymore. Most people nowadays stick to wood stoves since they are so much more efficient.”

  For a beat or two, we both stare at the beautiful stone fireplace.

  “I can picture them in my head, Tim,” I say, after a long beat. “The Moores sitting by the fire, enjoying the night.” Turning towards the piano. “Maybe Sarah learned to play that very piano.”

  In my head, I picture the long-dark-haired girl seated on the round stool, the slender gentle fingers on her hands tickling the keys.

  “Simpler times,” he says. “The Moores were very much alive and very happy. Trust me when I say they had no idea the fate that awaited them.”

  “A fate worse than hell on earth,” I say, shaking my head as if to break myself out of my spell. “Now I’m beginning to sound like a drama queen. You’ll have to forgive me.”