Lake of Secrets

by Shay Lee Giertz

  Lake of Secrets

  Shay Lee Giertz

  LAKE OF SECRETS

  BY SHAY LEE GIERTZ

  Published by Late November Literary

  Winston Salem, NC 27107

  ISBN: 978-1-7352800-3-5

  Copyright 2020 by SHAY LEE GIERTZ

  Cover design by Sweet N’ Spicy designs

  Interior design by Late November Literary

  Available in print or online. Visit latenovemberliterary.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters and events come from the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any brand names, places, or trademarks remain the property of their respective owners and are only used for fictional purposes.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020944765

  Giertz, Shay Lee.

  Lake Of Secrets / Shay Lee Giertz 1st ed.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedicated to both my grandmothers—Shirley Giertz and Darlene Jones—who taught me and loved me unconditionally.

  London, England

  1

  The last-minute of the last day of school defies the law of physics. I’m not a physics expert. But I do know enough to embrace the possibility that the last-minute lasts much longer than sixty seconds. And the longer I stare at the enormous clock over the doorway, the more I’m absolutely certain of it.

  It doesn’t help that my uniform sticks to me, and my legs stick to the wooden chair. Thanks, of course, to the wonderful St. Francis Catholic School where air conditioning is right there next to the antichrist.

  When Sister Mary Lucia finally checks the time—and even that seems in slow motion—she clears her throat and says with a slight Irish accent, “All right, put down your pencils. The exam has come to a close.”

  Every student in the room had already put down their pencils. I go to stand up but hear Sister Mary Lucia cough again. “A final prayer to Saint Joseph for protection as you leave here for the summer months.”

  I groan.

  One look from the nun and my head is bowed. She draws in a deep breath and begins.

  My hand rests on my camera, as I sneak a peek at her. I’m tempted to pull out my Nikon and frame the shot. The lighting may be off, but it would make a great black-and-white. Better yet, I could pin it on my dartboard and use it for target practice.

  Her chubby face snaps up, and her beady eyes glare at me like she knows what I’m thinking, and she disapproves. Her prayer continues, but the temptation is too much.

  I slide the camera out and pull off the lens cap. I raise the camera and focus the shot. The nostrils on her pug nose slightly flare with each intake of breath, and I smirk. Perfect. I wait for it…

  I take the picture, lower the camera, and bow my head.

  She gives a slight pause, and I can feel her penetrating gaze scan over me and the rest of the class. She finishes reciting the prayer. Now all of us stare at her like we’re ready to pop.

  “Class Dismissed.”

  Amen.

  I peel my sticky legs away from the chair and push out of class without bothering to tuck in my white shirt or to fix the length of my skirt. Normally, a few of the nuns walk around with a ruler for that very reason, but I’m on a mission. Once outside the door, I pull out the Nikon and study the picture. I can feel the slow smile spread across my face.

  “You look quite sinister right now,” Alisa says. I glance up quickly but look back down. She pushes herself against me and stares at the picture. “Oh, that is riotous.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “There are endless possibilities.” I put the camera away and grin at my best friend. Alisa and I found each other back in primary school when we were the last to be picked for a schoolyard game. I don’t even remember what the game was, and neither does Alisa, which shows how unconcerned and inept the both of us are when it comes to team sports.

  Now my red-headed friend and I hug and squeal simultaneously. “It’s finally here! Our last day of this awful place. Well, at least for a few months,” she says. “Maybe forever for you. Did you find out yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Early acceptance into the university is huge. How can they keep you waiting?”

  “They already told me everything will go through. It’s just not official yet.”

  Alisa squeals again and nearly jumps on me.

  Someone coughs behind us, and we immediately separate. Sister Mary Lucia lifts her eyes to mine. When standing, I’m a good couple inches taller than her, then again, so is everyone else. After a few awkward seconds, she hands me a manila envelope with the school’s official seal. “I was supposed to give this to you, but you left my class before I could.”

  “Thank you, sister.” I reach for the envelope.

  She pulls it back and does that eyebrow thing. “Taking pictures is an enjoyable hobby, I’m sure, but it is terribly distracting. Especially during prayer.”

  I swallow and instinctively rest my hand on the school bag that holds my camera. I give a slight nod, which seems to satisfy her, and she extends the envelope again.

  Once I have the envelope in my hand, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “Happy summer, girls,” she says with her slight Irish lilt before waddling away.

  “That Irish Abbey she came from needs to take her back,” Alisa says under her breath.

  “I’m only glad she didn’t ask for the picture.” I glance at the envelope, then stuff it in my bag.

  “What are you doing? Take that back out right now and show this delinquent how smart girls finish first.” When I don’t move to show her, she sets her hands on her hips. “You show me that, and I’ll show you this.” She pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket.

  My eyes widen and my palms start to sweat. “Is that—?”

  “The list? But of course. You will be the envy of all of London.”

  I turn to see Alisa wave a sheet of paper in front of my face. I pause to scan it. “You invited everyone,” I say. “There are at least a hundred people on this list.”

  “Yes, that is the point of a party, isn’t it? And since I’m assuming that envelope in your bag contains the wondrous news of you never having to step foot in this place again, I say that a party is in order.”

  “I can’t have that many people in our townhouse.”

  Alisa sighs. She takes being my best friend way too seriously. Almost like it is a burden she must bear. The martyr. “Ginnie, this is what you wanted, remember? I want to have fun this summer,” she says, trying to mimic my voice. She’s not very good at it. “I want to have adventures. To show Leo that I’m more than a girl who attends Catholic school, takes pictures, collects bugs, and sometimes takes pictures of bugs!”

  “Shh!” I look around to make sure no one heard. “Lower your voice. And don’t make me sound weird.” Leo is my crush. My lovely, blonde hair, blue-eyed heartthrob. The boy who could be Justin Bieber’s younger brother. But he’s also the one who doesn’t know I exist. Well, technically, he knows I exist. Mostly because during our first year at Saint Francis he paid me to complete his school work for the entire year. It was quite lucrative, but my father found out and ended that.

  Alisa gives me an exasperated expression. “You are weird. Anyhow, this is the list. Your Dad will be out of town for three weeks. That means you have more than enough time to party, snog, and put the house back in tip-top order.”

  My face heats up at the idea
of kissing Leo. “But a hundred people? I don’t know half of them! And the half I know, I don’t talk to!”

  Kids walk by, and one says, “Thanks for the invite, Ginnie. It sounds posh. See you Saturday.”

  I wave and mumble something incoherent.

  “See,” Alisa says in excitement. “This is it. The start of our lives.”

  I have never understood Alisa’s fascination with crowds of people. Alisa attends every party and tries to persuade me to join. Occasionally I will, but I would much rather stay home and document the new inventory Dad brings home from the lab. He is an entomologist, not that Alisa could even say the word. Part of documenting the bugs is taking pictures. I go a bit overboard and add some flair to it, but just because they’re bugs doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have a decent picture taken of them, right? Just the same, I would have to lock our study. Other kids might not appreciate Dad’s and my fascination with insects.

  But I do want Leo to notice me. My geekdom has kept me dateless for far too many evenings.

  “Come on,” she says, “You know you’re just as excited as I am. Three weeks without parental supervision.”

  Technically, Mum would be watching me, but that’s technically. She’s a model. Not one of those big-wig ones who are size negative two, but she likes to think she is. Her big contract is with Sally’s Apparel catalogue. No one under fifty has ever heard of it. Their biggest sellers are girdles, minimizers, and muumuus. Still, she is so self-centered, she left me and Dad because we weighed her down. Dad and she have stayed friends, more for my benefit, but she definitely isn’t going to be watching me too closely. Her idea of adult-supervision is to call me periodically to make sure I am alive.

  “Okay, I’m a little excited.” I glance at the list again and shrug. Might as well live a little. Leo may show up, and if Leo showed up… “Can I borrow one of your dresses?”

  Alisa throws her arms around me and squeals. “Everyone will be drooling by the time I get done with you. You will look more gorgeous than Cinderella. Not that you look anything like her.”

  “I look nothing like her, and which Cinderella are you talking? There’re hundreds of versions.”

  “Any of them. Your hair is dark, and your skin is olive, not to mention you’re a bit curvier…”

  “Hey! Curvy is another word for chubby!”

  “No, it’s not. Are any of the Kardashians chubby? I think not.”

  “I don’t look like any of them either.”

  “Maybe like a distant cousin.”

  “You are horrible! Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I look like because my Prince Charming is going to love me for me.” At least that’s what I’ve told myself since I was five.

  “My sentiments exactly. But who wants Prince Charming when there’s Prince…Leo?”

  We’re giggling and acting completely childish when Leo—yes, that’s the newly coined Prince Leo—stands in front of us.

  “So, I hear you wenches are throwing a party.”

  Alisa and I act a bit shell-shocked, but eventually, Alisa recovers enough to nod.

  “See you there,” he says and gives me a lopsided grin. “Bye, Ginnie.”

  Alisa shoves her elbow into my ribs.

  “Bye!” I shout.

  Leo laughs and leaves. I, however, nearly die from the gorgeousness of him. And the pain in my ribs, of course.

  “Thanks a lot, you loon. My ribs will be bruised.”

  “We have work to do,” Alisa says and pulls me out into the hot afternoon sun.

  “Ugh,” I moan. “This heatwave is killing me.” I surreptitiously sniff at my armpits.

  “Stop smelling your nasty pits.”

  “Shh!” I order her, embarrassed at her lack of tact. “I’m checking to see if they’re fresh.”

  “You don’t stink. Your hair, on the other hand, looks awful. Must you always wear it in a ponytail?”

  “I like my hair.” I spot the motorcycle and slow down.

  “Why is your father at school?” Alisa's eyes widen. She grabs the list from my hands and shoves it in her front pocket. “He does realize that you’re eighteen, practically in college, and no longer need an escort, right?”

  He never picks me up at school. I normally take the London bus to the house or walk on the rare occasion I want the exercise.

  Dad sees me and waves me over. He looks ridiculous. He still has on his white lab coat, and his one pant leg is partly tucked into his frayed sock. How he managed to score with my mother might be a mystery until you took off his helmet. With his strong chin and wavy black hair, he doesn’t necessarily appear as nerdy as he is. But trust me when I say he’s as nerdy as they come. He’s tried to date a few women after Mum, but when they find out what he does for a living and just what a nerd he is, they don’t stay for long. Dad says he’s given up on women and is focusing on bugs. I told him to never tell anyone else he said that.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say, wondering if he’s already found out what my plans are for the next three weeks.

  “Hi, Mr. Paxton,” Alisa smiles and waves. With her two red braids and wide grin, she appears as innocent as a little school girl. But she’s the president of our thespian club, so she’s quite good at acting. That party list is no doubt burning a hole in her pocket.

  “Say good-bye to Alisa,” Dad says and hands me my helmet. “We need to hurry.”

  I look from him to her. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “I’ll stop by.”

  “No can do,” Dad says impatiently. “We need to leave immediately.”

  Panic settles in, but I have no time to contemplate anything because Dad revs the engine and motions for me to hurry.

  Alisa throws me a worried glance. “Call me!”

  I nod and get on the motorcycle. Now all the students in the schoolyard are watching. I even see Leo out of the corner of my eye pausing to take a look. I turn away in complete humiliation. What a sight my Dad and I must make. Especially Dad. Couldn’t he at least have taken off the horrendous white lab coat?

  I make sure my bag is secure, then yell over the engine. “So, what’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

  “America,” he yells back. “Your grandmother had a heart attack.”

  The words sink deep inside me. I wonder if it is possible for a person to feel total disappointment and complete horror at the same time.

  One thing I know for sure. My plans for the most amazing summer have just been sucked down the loo.

  2

  Dad’s back is to me as he packs his bag. “This is not up for discussion.”

  “But you said that you’re hopeful Gran will make a full recovery.”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Wouldn’t it be less stressful if your whiny daughter wasn’t there?” It is a selfish argument. What kind of person am I? My grandmother—the only one I have a real relationship with—just had a heart attack, and my thoughts keep traveling back to Leo and the thought of what it would be like to kiss him. Trust me, I am not proud of myself at the moment.

  “The real question is why you’re standing there arguing with me when you should be packing.”

  “Explain why I have to go? You were leaving for three weeks anyway.” He’s not listening to me, which annoys me even further. I am in full tantrum mode…and it isn’t pretty. I resist the urge to stamp my foot.

  “It’s a little different when I’m only an hour’s drive away. Not an entire continent apart!”

  “We wouldn’t be a continent apart. More like an ocean ride apart. And an ocean is nothing more than a really big lake filled with salt.”

  “The ocean is bigger than the continents! Now go pack your bags.”

  “What about Aunt Sue? She’s right there in Michigan.”

  “She’s already with her. Does that excuse us from our responsibility?”

  “You could go. It’s a great idea. Mum is watching me, so I have one parent here.” This is a weak argument, and one look from Dad says it all.

&nb
sp; “Virginia,” he starts.

  Let me just say that my father is the only person in the history of ever that I allow to call me by my birth name. A girl cannot live in London and be named after one of the first states on the continent of America. Dad thought he was paying homage to his birth country since he had to live over here to be with Mum, but I have never been appreciative. Mum doesn’t even call me by my birth name. She says she was half-drugged when Dad asked her to name me that.

  Dad walks over to me where I stand with my arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in anger and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Virginia,” he says again in a softer tone. “If your mother agreed to let you stay over with her, I would be tempted to let you stay. I’ve already tried to contact her. Three times.”

  That hits my heart like a flaming arrow.

  Dad must sense that because he changes the subject. “Your Gran is very sick. Wouldn’t you want to see her?”

  Oh, lovely. Guilt.

  “Of course I would,” I say, truly meaning it. “I haven’t seen her since Christmas holiday, but…”

  “This isn’t the whole summer. I’m going for a couple of weeks. Martin’s taking the conference, so it works out perfectly. That means we’ll be back in London before July.”

  I feel my resolve evaporating.

  But the party…Leo…

  Then Dad throws in the clincher. “I know that your relationship with your mother is…complicated. But Gran was a wonderful mother to me, and I need to be there for her. And I need you to be there for me.”

  What is a girl supposed to say to that? Ever since Gramps passed away two years ago, I’ve sensed Dad’s restlessness here in England. He’s never fit in with the English culture, not that we’re terribly different, well, not me at any rate. He, on the other hand, has never even tried. He works in the lab and comes home to study more bugs with me, or to plop into his chair with a beer and the remote control. Gran talks with him all the time via phone or video chat, but I try to avoid much of the conversation because she will invariably ask me about the University of Michigan and when will I follow in my father’s footsteps and carry the Paxton family maize-and-blue banner. My father, along with the rest of his family, seems to forget that I am perfectly content in my homeland. If I had my way I would apprentice under some high-end travel photographer and work my way up to my dreams. No college required. But Dad is the only family I’ve got. The only one who’s ever been there for me.