Good, he thought. Go. He was glad to be alone. It gave him time to think. He had an uneasy feeling, or maybe it was more than that, something pushing him closer to the edge, ever since the sheriff had started asking questions. Even Caroline had asked him about Billy. He had been vague with his answers, sticking to the facts she had already confessed to knowing after reading an old Lake Reporter. Why Mrs. Nester had given his daughter those old newspapers baffled him. What was she looking to get out of it? And what in the hell were Jo and Johnny whispering about the night before?
He kicked the sheets off and ran his hand down his face. He felt as though he were on a collision course with the past, and everything he had worked so hard for was slipping away. He had done it all for the love of Jo. And he’d do it again if he had to. He wasn’t going to lie here and take it.
The cabin was empty except for Johnny snoring in the back bedroom. Damn kid could sleep the day away. Kevin decided to head down to the lake for the latest news. He wasn’t two steps out the door when he spotted the young woman Patricia stumbling down the dirt road. Her hair was tied in messy braids underneath a big crazy sun hat. Her blouse and flowing skirt looked slept in. Her sandals slapped the bottoms of her feet as she wove her way down the hill. If Kevin didn’t know better, he’d think she was drunk.
She didn’t notice him. How could she with her back to him and her head down? He had heard who she was from a couple of the fishermen the last time he was in the bar. Patricia was little Pattie Dugan, daughter of Bob and Jean, the couple who had come to the lake every summer for years and then one year had packed up and left, never to return. He had stopped listening to the gossip after that. It didn’t matter why the Dugans had stopped coming. He was more interested in what made Patricia, Pattie, come back.
He started following her, lagging far enough behind so she wouldn’t hear him—or if she did, she wouldn’t be alarmed. It was the road everyone in the colony took to the lake unless they took the path that cut through the woods, but which most adults avoided for practical reasons, bugs, poison ivy, or Cougar, Stimpy’s noisy, pathetic dog.
The sun was high in the sky, promising another hot day. He reached into his pocket for the pack of smokes. He paused briefly to light up. The Pavilion was open for business, and it was bustling. The parking lot was full of lake locals and their tents. Everyone was preparing for the Trout Festival. Heil was a man who got his way more often than not. He was a man who got things done, and nothing was going to stop this festival from taking place. It was one of the biggest money-makers of the season. People from all around the Poconos area, from all different vacation sites, flocked to the lake for a day of fishing, food, and crafts. The locals made a killing.
Kevin watched Patricia shuffle through the chaos. Most people got out of her way and looked a little guilty upon seeing her. The underwater recovery team was in the middle of lake doing their job. A few fishing boats were also out on the lake, but they respectfully kept their distance from the watercraft, although if they had any respect, they wouldn’t be out there at all.
Patricia stopped and gazed out at the lake. She started walking again, heading straight for the docks. Kevin followed, stopping briefly to say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, Megan’s parents, who were carrying their beach chairs, obviously going to the swimming area to enjoy the day, drowning, be damned. Stimpy had his men working near the docks. Nate waved as Kevin passed. There were too many distractions, and Patricia was almost clear to the other side of the lake by the time Kevin broke free from the crowd. He passed Eddie’s cabin and found Sheila sitting outside on the front porch with a cup of coffee and the Lake Reporter. He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it.
“Join me,” Sheila said.
He glanced in the direction in which Patricia had been walking along the docks. Then he sat next to Sheila, deciding it was better to chat for a few minutes than make up some lie about where he was going and what he was doing.
“Eddie’s inside sleeping it off. And to think I’m usually the one who can’t handle the alcohol.” She laughed.
They reminisced about their partying days, and for a moment it felt like old times, how easily they had reverted to their teenage selves just by being together under the hot summer sun by the lake.
But after a few minutes of idle chitchat, the underwater recovery team’s watercraft pulled alongside the floating pier and silenced them. Kevin became keenly aware of a distance that spread between them—the space that never seemed to have closed after Billy had died. In ways, his death bound them to each other, and at the same time tore them apart. The little girl’s drowning, the recovery team on the lake—both were reminders you could never go back.
Sheila drank from her coffee cup, keeping her eyes over the rim and on the watercraft. Kevin sensed she wanted something from him. He wiped his palms on his shorts.
“You know,” she said, “Sheriff Borg stopped by to see me. He told me they confirmed the bones are Billy’s.”
He didn’t say anything, only nodded. So the DNA results were in.
“He asked if I knew how Billy might’ve hurt his arm.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I didn’t know.”
Sheila had never asked him any questions about his version of what had happened the night Billy had drowned. She believed the story he had given to Sheriff Borg back then. Although he suspected she had known he and Jo had been sneaking around behind Billy’s back. He wondered if she also assumed like the sheriff had that there had been a fight between them that night. If she did, he wasn’t going to admit to anything. Not now. Not ever.
“I don’t know anything about it either,” he said, and stood. “I hope Eddie feels better.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed toward the dock in the direction of Hawkes’ cabin, where Patricia had stopped and was now standing outside the front door.
* * *
Kevin lingered on the pier by the fishing boats, waiting for Patricia’s next move but pretending to look over the boats as though he were thinking about renting one for the afternoon. There was a time when he had enjoyed fishing, or rather he had acted like he did. Everything he did at the lake, every summer, had been centered on Billy. Billy loved to fish. To be fair, so did Eddie. Two of his best friends enjoyed the sport, so Kevin figured he should too.
But he didn’t.
It wasn’t that he got motion sickness from rocking on the water or that he wasn’t good at casting a line. He just didn’t see the point in spending hours on a boat to catch a fish, only to turn around and toss it back again. He’d have rather played his guitar, written his own songs, and hung out on the beach with Jo while she had tanned in her red bikini.
There had been countless times when he had watched her stretch her body on the towel, her flat stomach practically concave, leaving a gap in her bikini bottoms. He had imagined sliding his hand inside that gap, running his palm over her silky hair, slipping his fingers between her legs. And once, he’d had to pick up his guitar and put it in his lap to hide the erection in his shorts.
But like so many of his fantasies back then, even that one had been interrupted. A shadow had cut across her torso. Billy had dropped down on top of her and started doing pushups. His back was slick with sweat. His muscles bulged. Jo had laughed and pushed him away, pretending to be angry he had blocked the sun.
“Let’s head out on the boat,” Billy said to Kevin. “And leave the girls to their tanning.”
Kevin had forgotten Sheila was lying on the beach towel on the other side of Jo. He placed his fingers on the guitar strings, thinking about a song to play and the shrinking erection in his shorts. “I think I’ll stick around here for awhile.”