Lights Over Cloud Lake

by Nathan Hystad

Oscar waved us inside, and there was a plastic table set up, a mattress on the ground, with dirty clothing strewn about. I hoped he didn’t live in here full time. He flipped open an old laptop and activated a program.

  “There we go. It clicks on with movement.” Oscar didn’t seem as concerned with losing one of his tour members as he did with capturing an image of the object. He scrolled through video, and on one frame, there was a bright flash; then it stopped, the sky dark once more.

  “Why didn’t it work?” he asked, staring at the screen. He rewound it and tried again.

  “Come on,” Clark said. “We’d better call the police.”

  July 15th – 2020

  I was exhausted by the time I got to Cabin Ten and didn’t even bother to unpack my tent and other supplies. We’d been unable to find Frank, and Sheriff McCrae and the rest of the department were working on it now. After asking me and Clark a few questions, they sent us on our way. It was nine in the morning when I fell to my mattress, wishing for sleep.

  Part of me thought it was all a ruse, one to give Oscar some publicity. It had to be. This Frank character was wearing a Trust No One hat, and was the only person sleeping outside a tent under the open skies. It was a big publicity stunt, and that was what I was going to write it as. I pieced together the night’s events as I tried to sleep, but just when I was about to fall asleep, I remembered I was supposed to meet John for a boat ride today.

  I had a few hours left, but no desire to play around on the water any longer. This town was triggering all sorts of emotions and memories to flood in, and I didn’t think it was wise to be here any longer than possible. The Kick-Off started tomorrow, and for some reason, I felt it was a mistake to leave before then. I was going to get my damn closure on Cloud Lake, and I couldn’t do that without making it through tomorrow.

  My thoughts drifted to Clark, standing there close to me, telling me about a girl he’d wronged, and I pictured him there that night, kissing me instead, and fell asleep with a smile.

  When I woke, the sun had moved to the other side of the cabin, and I rolled over, grabbing my phone. I had a text from a friend in New York, asking if I had dinner plans. Obviously, I hadn’t mentioned where I was headed before I left. There were numerous emails in the inbox, and the time showed two in the afternoon. My head ached slightly, but it subsided as I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

  My bare feet carried me into the living room, and I opened the curtains, letting in sunlight. It was stuffy in here, and I cranked some windows wide, letting fresh air inside. I saw Clare by the water again, this time with a cup of coffee. I wanted to go talk to her, to see how she was after yesterday, but I couldn’t bring myself to go out there quite yet.

  I was ravenous, and I quickly whipped up scrambled eggs, consuming them in minutes and making coffee before having a shower. I texted John, asking what time we were supposed to meet up, hoping that he hadn’t been waiting for my call all day. He was a busy guy with a business to run, so I doubted he had the day off anyway. He didn’t reply right away, and I set the phone down, pulling out the laptop.

  I scanned my inbox for anything of interest, finding a new one from Blaire. She’d already sent me about ten edited photos from last night: everything I’d asked for, and more. The last image was of Clark and me talking beside the cornfield, him chasing after me after I avoided listening to Oscar talk about Jessica Carver.

  I zoomed in, seeing Clark standing near, leaning toward me in a protective manner. What would he say if he knew I was Jessica from that summer? He’d probably be furious I’d lied to him, but I was okay with the consequences. I’d be gone in a couple of days, and Clark would remain in Cloud Lake.

  I replied, thanking Blaire for the images and asking her to send an invoice, hitting send. The next message was from Barns. I opened it and read the short but sweet message.

  Hi Eva,

  I hope everything is good with the story. I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact. It’s been a busy week here at the office.

  I’m sorry. For everything.

  Chris Barns

  I read it again and again. It was nothing like his usual emails, and I focused on his last four words. What was he apologizing for? The magazine closing? I was way past that. I was going to reply, but after reading it one last time, I left it in the inbox for future contemplation.

  Oscar Neville’s book was still sitting there unread, and I pushed away the urge to comb over what he’d said about me. I got the gist. It was almost three thirty when I figured I may as well head over to John’s place, since I knew where he lived. He’d probably be off work in an hour, and he’d have the pleasure of arriving home to find me waiting for him. It wasn’t stalkerish at all.

  Dan’s truck was noticeably absent from Cabin Nine, and I felt bad I hadn’t gone to talk to Clare. I just didn’t have the energy for her drama today, not after last night. I knew I had to call the sheriff’s department later to follow up on Frank’s situation, and fully expected it to be revealed that Oscar had set the whole thing up. On my way out, I saw Trevor, the young guy who worked there, offer a wave, and it was only after I saw him in the rearview mirror from the road that it clicked that he’d wanted to talk to me. I’d just stop by later, or in the morning, to see what he wanted.

  The drive to John’s didn’t take long, and I knew the roads like the back of my hand. I avoided looking at Grandma’s cabin as I parked outside John’s. It was almost hard to think of it as John’s when I knew Mr. Martin had owned it. Each time I glanced at the porch or the dock, I saw Peter Martin staring at me.

  I texted John once again, letting him know I was at his place; I didn’t want to startle him. After sitting in the car with the windows all rolled down for five minutes, I decided to stroll over toward Grandma’s. There was a definitive line in the grass where John stopped mowing. Grandma’s old yard was covered in knee-high weeds and thick, unruly grass. It deserved better. At that moment, I wished Dad had sold it instead of ignoring it. Grandma would have hated to see it like this.

  The grass draped over the cobblestone pathway, weeds erupting from between the bricks, making the walk uneven as I meandered to the porch. Several of the windows were broken, and someone had been there to board them up. I wondered who’d taken the time to do it. The water called to me, and I made my way through the unkempt beach to the dock. I slipped my sandals off and stepped up, feeling the wood beneath my bare feet for the first time in nearly twenty years.

  The dock was a little rickety, and potentially rotten, but the water wasn’t deep. My purse was in the car, and I left my cell with my sandals as I carefully walked to the edge of the dock, taking in the view. It looked much the same, but I could see the big houses across the lake shimmering in the distance. Other than that, it was almost like being transported to a different time at a familiar place.

  I sat at the end, my toes dipping into the water. My feet swayed through the water, and I closed my eyes, almost hearing my grandma’s voice, smelling her cooking. God, I’d lost a lot that summer, and Grandma would always be the biggest absence. If only I could have seen her one more time, been able to say goodbye like Dad and Zoe had. It wasn’t fair.

  But instead of wallowing in self-pity, I made my way to the shed and found the old lawnmower. Dad had taught me to use it, but this one was too old, too rusted out to fire up, so I moved over to John’s rental and opened his shed. Inside, the tools were aged but pristine, and after pressing the choke and pulling the cord twice, the engine rumbled to life. I brought it over to Grandma’s and started to cut the lawn. I regretted not having the sandals, my feet and ankles decimated by the roughage, but in twenty minutes, the small yard was cleaned up. I found some garbage under the brush and borrowed a bag from John’s to toss it into.

  It was an hour later by the time I’d watered her old plants and hosed the sidewalk off, picking weeds from between the stones. Before I knew it, I had half of John’s shed contents spread out, and Grandma’s place appeared almost liveable
, at least from the outside. I dumped the remains of the firepit into the garbage bag and stood to appreciate the scene. I saw the large ash tree on the side of the property, separating her from the other neighbors, and found the lines cut into the trunk.

  I laughed as I recalled my dad carving them when Zoe and I were only five and seven. He told us he had to, because our last name was Carver. The lines depicting our heights were deep, and Zoe and I had been so small, even though the tree had grown since then.

  The house started to draw my attention, and I decided to look inside. When I stepped on the porch, I peered through a window, which was greasy and dirty. I used a hand to wipe away a clear spot, and it was a disaster. I was sure there had to be a few rodents and God knows what else living inside, and I left the front door closed. There wasn’t anything left here for me.

  I checked the time, seeing that it was well after eight already. The sun was descending in the sky, and John still hadn’t texted. It was time to go. I touched the lawn mower handle and pushed it over to the shed, beginning the cleanup process.

  July 13th – 2001

  Dad finally gave in and let me go out on my own. It was Friday, the day of the Summer Kick-Off party. I think Grandma had something to do with his leniency, because he told us our grounding was over with, as long as we proved what grownups we could be today. He was sunburned from a trip on the water the morning before, and he sent me to the market to buy some sunscreen. Dad slipped a ten into my palm and told me to order a slushie with the change. What, was I ten? I was surprised he didn’t try to ruffle my hair while he said it.

  It felt great riding my bike, the wind blowing my hair around my face, the smells of the season thick and heady today. Everyone looked like they were in good moods. It was the perfect summer day: tourists were out spending money, the weather was at its peak, there wasn’t a cloud above Cloud Lake, and it didn’t hurt that it was Friday.

  I kept my eyes peeled for Clark, hoping I’d run into him before resorting to hunting him down, but he was nowhere in sight. Buddy’s Diner was packed, cars of all sorts parked along the street and across the way in the gravel overflow lot that was rarely used.

  There were balloons along the windows, celebrating the Summer Kick-Off, and now I finally understood what the fuss was about. They were doing a pancake breakfast sponsored by the town of Cloud Lake, with all proceeds going to fund the party. I saw a few familiar faces among the line-up and went by the door, poking my head inside, my bike leaning against the wall of the building.

  I recognized some of the kids Clark had been hanging out with inside, all overdressed in the blistering morning. I felt like an outsider in my white shorts and pink tank top as I pressed through the line, heading over to their group.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, and a girl glanced up, her eyes expressing nothing but disinterest.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  A nervous bead of sweat dripped onto my forehead. “Have you seen Clark today?” I glanced around, thinking maybe I’d missed him in the crowd.

  The girl eyed me with distaste and scoffed. “Is that a no?” I asked her.

  One of the boys replied, the one Zoe had been chatting with. “Where’s your sister?”

  “At home. Have you seen Clark or not?” My hands went to my hips, like a scornful mother.

  “He’s working,” the boy said. “Your sister going to be at the beach later?”

  “Do you know where he’s cutting grass?” I asked.

  “Answer me first,” he said.

  “Fine. Yes, Zoe, my sister, is going to be at the party this afternoon. Clark?”

  The boy grinned, and I could see all the adolescent thoughts threatening to hurt his brain as he likely started to picture my sister in a bikini. “Clark’s cutting the park across from Town Square. Tell Zoe I’ll be looking for her.”

  I nodded and started for the door, when I heard the waitress call for me. She was young, pretty, and I heard someone call her Izzy, though her nametag said Isabelle. “You. Did I see you on a bike?” she asked.

  I fidgeted with my necklace, the one Grandma had given me. I’d put it on that morning when I left, feeling the need for a connection to my mom. I’d slipped it on after leaving the cabin and tried to remind myself to take it off again before seeing Dad. “Sure. My bike’s outside.”

  “We’re out of syrup, can you believe it? None of us can escape to grab some more. Would you be able to run to the market for me?” She had a look of desperation I couldn’t ignore.

  “What kind?” I asked as she slipped me fifty dollars. My eyes went wide. That was a lot of syrup.

  “Whatever they have, the bigger the better. Can you ride with bags on the handles?” she asked, as if suddenly seeing how dumb it was to ask a girl on a bike to buy groceries.

  “I’ll be right back.” I ran out the door, onto my bike, and rocketed down the sidewalk, heading for the store. It was only two blocks, and the doors were wide open, the AC issue still not solved. I shoved my bike in the rack and walked inside, feeling the wind of large floor fans blow against the skin of my bare legs.

  I quickly found Dad’s sunscreen and grabbed a cart, loading as many cans and squeeze bottles of syrup as I could. The check-out woman eyed me oddly as I pushed the cart up.

  “I like to bathe in it,” I said jokingly, but she didn’t even crack a smile. I threw a pack of gum onto the conveyor and waited for her to double-pack them all. Soon I left with three dollars of change and five heavy bags of syrup.

  Balancing them wasn’t easy, and when I started forward, my knees kept hitting the bags.

  “Need a hand?” a voice asked.

  A glance over my shoulder showed me it was Clark. He was on a bicycle himself, and he was covered in small green blades of grass, especially his ankles. He had on plastic sunglasses and a sideways grin that meant trouble, but made me want to reach out and kiss him.

  “I’d love some help.” I pushed three bags toward him, and he peeked inside.

  “Should I ask?” he laughed.

  “Nope. We’re going to the diner,” I said, taking the lead.

  In a minute, we were leaning our bikes beside each other along Buddy’s exterior wall, the line-up outside the door now. Even from here I could smell the pancakes, bacon, and sausages frying away from inside. Clark took all five bags, not letting me carry any of it, and I held a finger up, searching through the bags for my gum and sunscreen.

  “You work here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just part time. I think I’ll hand in my resignation today,” I joked, and he grinned again. I liked it when he smiled at me. It made everything in the world feel all right.

  Isabelle noticed us and came over, taking the bags. “And you even found backup. Good work, kid.” She dropped the syrup off at the kitchen and returned, slipping a twenty-dollar bill into my hand. “You saved our butts. Thank you.”

  I left it on the counter. “Consider it a tip.”

  “At least let me feed you.” She hesitated but took the twenty back with the grace of a royal and maneuvered to the front of the line, where a cook was flipping flapjacks onto the next patron’s plate.

  “Want to eat?” Clark asked me.

  “I could eat,” I replied shyly.

  A few minutes later, we were outside, on a bench across the street, each with a Styrofoam plate full of meat and cooked batter.

  “I didn’t know if I was going to see you again,” Clark said before taking a bite of pancake.

  I poked at a sausage. “My dad found out we sneaked out, and he smelled beer on Zoe’s breath. It wasn’t good.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you. Most of the kids around here can come and go as they please, as long as they’re home by eleven.”

  “How about you?” I asked him. This time, it was me who inched over, accidentally touching his leg with my knee. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

  “My parents are pretty cool. I don’t really like to drink or smoke or any
of that. There aren’t a lot of choices in friends around here. It’s a small town. When the summer’s over and the tourists leave, school starts, and it’s slim pickings there too. I kind of just hang with whoever’s my age, I guess.”

  “You can hang out with me. I’m here all summer,” I said, wondering when I’d gotten so brazen.

  He finally glanced over at me, and I lifted a finger, wiping a speck of pancake from his lips. “I’d like that. Speaking of which, you heading to the beach today for the Kick-Off?”

  “I sure am. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. It might be my grandma’s last one,” I said quietly.

  “Is she moving?” he asked.

  “No. Cancer. She’s supposed to be at the hospital, but she knows it’s the end. I can see it in her eyes. I heard my dad arguing with her, but she wants to be at home. She wants to live a normal life for her last few days, instead of being surrounded by scrubs and beeping machines. Her words.” I stared at my feet as I spoke, and Clark’s arm settled around my shoulder, pulling me closer. It felt… right.

  “I’m so sorry, Jess. That must be really hard for you,” he said, and we sat there in silence while we pretended to eat, but mostly moved our food around our messy plates.

  Eventually, Clark patted his knees with his palms and cleared his throat. “I have four more yards to cut, but I’ll see you at the beach?” His eyes were blue and expressive. I wondered if he might kiss me, but the mood was sullen since bringing up Grandma.

  “You bet. What time are you getting there?” I asked, maybe a little too hopefully.

  “Around four. My parents are coming too, but I’ll be able to blow them off,” he said with a smirk. “Want me to ride home with you?”

  I thought about it and took the opportunity. “Sure. That’d be nice.” We headed over to our bikes, and soon we were racing down the side roads, making for the lake and Grandma’s cabin. We arrived ten minutes later, and Clark pulled up short of the driveway, skidding to a halt on the gravel.

  “I’d better go. See you later,” he said, and I noticed his line of sight steer to the cabin, where Zoe was standing in her bikini. She lifted a hand and waved at us, at Clark, and before I knew it, Clark was gone, dust kicking up as he pedaled quickly.