“Why doesn’t anyone warn them? Why don’t they tell them about the dangers of swimming here?” she asked, thinking about the diver, wondering whether he could feel the temperature drop through the dry suit as he dove closer and closer to the bottom. He would start at the farthest point from the boat and systematically work his way back, sweeping the area with his hands into a center line and then outward, double searching each section at a time, kicking up silt, making it that much harder to navigate, searching blind.
“The signs are posted,” Eddie said. “And advertising three drownings in the last sixteen years wouldn’t be good for business.”
“Posting signs on the beach and in the Pavilion isn’t enough.”
“No matter what you do, it’s never enough.”
She supposed that could be true, but she would never accept that it was fair. Then again, what in life was ever fair?
After a long pause he added, “They found something. It’s the only reason they’d still be out there.”
She agreed.
The diver emerged and handed something to the three men on the boat. It was much too small for a body, even a child’s body.
The sheriff, Dave Borg, appeared on the beach. He stopped and talked to Heil. Heil nodded continually to whatever the sheriff was saying, rubbing his chin and appearing troubled about something.
Thunder continued to rumble. The men on the boat moved quickly. They looked to be securing their equipment, no doubt eager to get off the water. The wind picked up, bending the branches of trees and scattering leaves. The sheriff and Heil made their way onto the dock, waiting for the recovery team to come in.
“I’m going to find out what’s going on,” Eddie said. “Watch the bar.”
“Yeah, okay.” She turned around, but there was no one in the bar to watch.
She stood alone on the balcony. Thunder clapped. The recovery team reached the dock where the sheriff and Heil waited. From where she stood, she couldn’t tell what was passed to the sheriff, but it was definitely a bag, and she believed it contained whatever they had found on the lake bottom. One of the deputies charged onto the dock, taking orders and then dashing away, passing Eddie on the beach.
The recovery team finished securing their watercraft and rushed for cover from the storm that was quickly making its way over the mountain. Eddie met with the sheriff and Heil when they stepped off the dock. Heil was shaking his head, hiking his shorts over his expansive waistline. Thunder roared across the sky. The wind whirled, whipping Jo’s hair across her face.
The men were talking, arguing. Heil was waving his stumpy arms around. Eddie stood between them. He was hunched over, looking more and more uncomfortable as time passed, covering his stomach as though he’d been sucker-punched. Heil pointed at him and motioned toward the Pavilion and bar. A few more words were exchanged, the men shouting as the storm moved overhead. They hurried into the Pavilion. After another minute or two Eddie returned to the balcony.
“You’re never going to believe it.” He gripped the rail. The wind continued to howl. The first few drops of rain sprinkled her cheeks.
“Is it something from the little girl?” She had to holler over the wind.
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s got nothing to do with the girl.”
“Then what?” A bolt of lightning split the sky.
Eddie took ahold of her arm and pulled her off the balcony and into the bar just in time. The rain came pouring down, blowing sideways in the wind, hammering against the building. Thunder cracked. Something in Eddie’s eyes frightened her. “What is it? What did they find?”
“Bones,” he shouted. “They think they found Billy’s bones.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The air was thick with humidity, fermenting what was rotten in the lake. At times it smelled like dead fish, dank and feral. Other times it smelled like a thousand decaying lily pads and plant life, sodden and moldy. Tonight it smelled a little bit like both.
Caroline breathed into the palm of her hand to keep from getting sick. She was standing under the overhang on the top step of the Pavilion. The sheriff’s deputy had chased her off the beach, forcing her inside and out of the storm. She had backed up slowly at first, breathing into her cupped hand, unable to move her eyes away from the water. A loud crack of thunder had felt as though it shook the ground beneath her feet. When she had turned, she caught sight of her mother on the bar balcony. Even in the dark she could see the haunted look on her mother’s face, the one that thrashed her insides and kept her hidden inside herself. It could be days until her mother surfaced.
Lightning flashed. Thunder stomped and bumped across the sky. One of the deputies escorted Sara’s mother to his vehicle. She was in for a long night. The underwater recovery team had packed their gear and gone home. They weren’t expected to return until morning.
“There you are.” Gram pulled Caroline into her arms. “You didn’t come home for supper. You know you’re supposed to check in and let me know your plans.”
“Didn’t you hear?” She stepped back and searched Gram’s wrinkled and worn face, her thinning white hair, and her eyes, where the youthful spirit sparkled even in dark times. It was the sparkle Caroline relied on and looked for, a sign to tell her everything was going to be all right.
“Yes, I heard,” Gram said. Rain poured onto the roof of the Pavilion, battering the old building with its onslaught. She yelled over the storm, “Let’s go home. You must be starving.”
Gram had told her once that she had seen enough death in her lifetime, and she didn’t like to talk about it. She had said, “It is what it is, and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop it.” She told Caroline it was something everyone had to live with, and Caroline often wondered if Gram had been referring to something more personal, someone in her past other than Pop.
She followed Gram through the Pavilion. The pool table and pinball machines stood empty. The jukebox remained quiet. A few people milled around the snack stand, but the loud rain halted any conversation they may have otherwise had. They hurried through the wind and rain to Gram’s big Oldsmobile parked on the other side of the Pavilion, far away from the beach. They were soaked by the time they reached the car. Caroline was wet and cold. Goose bumps prickled her skin.
Back at the cabin, Caroline ate two helpings of Gram’s infamous homemade macaroni and cheese, a favorite comfort food, before curling up in her new hand-stitched quilt in her bedroom. She tucked her hands under her chin. The storm had been fierce but quick, lasting thirty minutes or less. A welcomed breeze blew through the open window. The cool air swept over her sun-kissed skin, sending shivers up and down her arms and legs.
“I’m scared,” she said to Willow, the name she had given the big weeping willow tree outside her bedroom window. In response it brushed its branches against the side of the cabin and scratched at the screen.
Ever since she was little, she had talked to Willow, her imaginary friend who just happened to be a tree. It was silly really to think of a tree in this way, but Willow was one of the constants during her summers at the lake. He listened when she couldn’t find the words to talk with her mother or Gram. He never rolled his eyes or sulked the way Megan sometimes did when they’d disagree over something stupid. He didn’t pick on her or make fun of her like Johnny did. Willow was there when she closed her eyes at night, every night. She imagined him standing guard while she slept. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. He would protect her. And he was always there the moment she opened her eyes the next morning.
Although she hadn’t talked to Willow much over the last few summers, tonight she fell into past habits, needing to feel secure. As always he was there, towering high above the cabin, watching. His branches reached toward anyone who paused long enough to gaze at his splendor. Sometimes she’d climb into the crook of his arms and listen to his leaves in the summer breeze. Other times she’d read to him from one of her mystery novels. She imagined he liked mysteries as much as she did.