Cabin by the Lake

by Desiree Douglas

  Vivian had always been quick to give out her love, and was intensely loyal. But she was also deeply wounded when someone she cared about hurt her. Lydia cringed inside, remembering the hateful words she had thrown in that sweet woman’s face a decade ago. Thankfully, Vivian was also a woman who was quick to forgive and forget when amends were made.

  She was sorry that it took her so long to patch things up with her aunt, but she was so ashamed that she hadn’t been able to face her; too afraid things could never be the same between them. She was just glad to be back in Aunt Vi’s good graces now, and hoped that Mike knew what a solid friend Vivian was to have on his side.

  By the time she tuned into their conversation, a tablecloth was spread on the ground and a platter of ham sandwiches, chips and dill pickles were grouped in the center. She sat down, cross-legged, and loaded up a paper plate.

  “I’ve got some steaks marinating for supper,” Vivian said. “I think it’s time to fire up the grill for the first time this year.”

  “Mmm,” said Lydia. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, no occasion.” She nervously straightened the tablecloth. “It’s just that it’s Friday night and, well, that’s enough of an occasion, right?”

  “Sure,” Mike agreed. “TGIF.”

  “And,” she continued, trying to sound casual, “Dugger Vines brought the mail by today and he said he’s got a sofa he’s getting rid of and wondered if we’d like to have it for the cabin.”

  Lydia took a bite of sandwich, nodded, and waited for Vivian to go on. Her aunt seemed reluctant to continue.

  “And what did you say?”

  “And I asked how much he wanted for it, and he said he’d take a home-cooked meal and, well, the next thing I knew, I’d invited him over tonight for steaks and baked potatoes on the grill,” she finished in a rush.

  Mike looked at Lydia and they both suddenly began to talk over each other, explaining why they wouldn’t be intruding on Vivian’s private cookout.

  “I won’t be hungry after this big—”

  “I’ll just run into town and pick up—”

  “—lunch I just ate,” he said.

  “—some fast food,” said Lydia. “Don’t worry about us; we can fend for ourselves.”

  “No, no,” Vivian said in dismay. “You two have to be there. Please. It would just be too weird for Dugger and me to cook out without his Carol and my Todd being there. It’s seems too much like a date or something. What would we talk about all that time?” She picked up an empty paper plate and began to vigorously fan herself.

  Understanding dawned, and both Mike and Lydia again began to talk at once.

  “I’m sure we—”

  “I wouldn’t dream of—”

  Lydia held up her hand, laughing. “I will be there if it makes you feel better, Aunt Vi. Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

  “Count me in,” said Mike, reaching over to pat Vivian’s knee.

  “Oh thank goodness!” She looked close to tears and was fanning her face like mad. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking when I invited him. Dugger was always smooth with the ladies—I guess that’s why I chose Todd over him in the first place—and I was in over my head this morning before I knew it. He left and I panicked.”

  “But he’s a nice guy, right?” said Mike.

  “Oh yes, he was a good husband to Carol. And she was a live wire, too, just like him; they made a good couple. He’s the kind of guy who would do anything for anybody. I love him to death, but… I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure Todd would approve.”

  “It’ll be okay, Aunt Vi.” Lydia said, looking at Mike. “I… we promise.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed with enthusiasm, meeting Lydia’s eyes with a look that left her feeling confused inside, as if they shared a secret or something.

  “If you say so,” said Vivian. “Thank you both.” Feeling greatly relieved, she began to clear the remains of their lunch.

  Lydia helped her to her feet and hugged her tightly. “I love you, Aunt Vi.”

  “I love you too, honey. Dugger said he’d be here by six and the steaks should be ready by seven. Don’t be late!”

  After Vivian left, Lydia and Mike inspected their work, and they were both pleased by what they had done. The cabinets inside, even though they were now primer-white, showed how much lighter the space would be when they were finished. It was easy to see that when the cream paint went on, the warm color would fit the light and airy mood they were going for, and they knew they were on the right track.

  “I think the primer is dry on the doors,” she said. “I’m ready to paint them.”

  The cabinets inside were still a little tacky to the touch, so he joined her on the doors project. She was nervous and felt an increasing need to fill the silence as they worked. She racked her brain for any neutral source of conversation. “So, the hinges and knobs are soaking; have you checked to see how they look?”

  “I scrubbed a few with a wire brush and they’re going to clean up well.”

  “I guess the question is, then, are they retro and cool, or are they just simply old and need to be replaced?”

  “Let’s look at them.” He grabbed the bucket holding the hardware and fished out some pieces, drying off the ones that were clean.

  She fitted them to the doors and drawer fronts and stood back to look. “I kind of like them. They definitely scream 1950-something but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with them. In fact, I think they’re perfect.”

  “I agree. They are very retro, but they’re the real thing, and I think it still works. If we freshened up the black paint, they would be good as new. That is great news, because this stuff can get very pricey.”

  “Yes, and I think if we tried to replace them with something too modern, it would look out of place and like we were trying too hard. After all, this is still going to be old and rustic, even after everything we’re doing.” She handed the hardware back to Mike. Her hands brushed against his palms as she carefully transferred the handles and, like an electric current, an unexpected—and unwelcomed—jolt shot through her middle and she nearly dropped them, drawing away from his touch so suddenly.

  “I got ’em,” he said, catching a couple before they hit the ground.

  She was dismayed at how much just a touch from him affected her. This was not good. Be cool, Lydia, she warned herself. That was easier said than done when cool didn’t come naturally. She concentrated on channeling her inner Whitey Boggs and picked up her paint roller.

  The job went quickly. As they washed out their brushes and rollers for the day, Mike gazed out over the lake. “Time for another project.” He stretched backwards with a contented groan, his hands at the small of his back. “But I’ll tell you, I sure do wish we had a boat. If we did, I’d play hooky and take a little ride on the lake.”

  “We do have a boat,” she said. “It’s a canoe. Or at least we used to have one.”

  “Where is it?”

  She pointed north along the shoreline. “That’s where we always pulled it up on the shore. Let’s see if it’s still there.”

  The undergrowth and small trees had grown up over the years and at first they couldn’t find the canoe. “I think we’re going to need a machete to get it out,” she said when she spotted it.

  “Let’s see.” He waded through the vines and saplings. He rapped his knuckles on the overturned canoe, almost invisible with debris, and smiled. Using a fallen branch for leverage, he dug it under the edge of the boat and got it up just enough to get his fingers underneath.

  “Be careful,” she warned. “No telling what’s under there.”

  With a good bit of effort, working together, they wrested the aluminum boat from nature’s arms and dragged it down to the shore line. She beamed. “I can’t believe it’s still here. It’s filthy, though.” She slipped out of her tennis shoes and waded into the lake, tugging the canoe after her. “Yikes, the water’s freezing!”

  “I’m
going to grab some rags and a bucket,” he said, jogging back to the cabin. When he returned, he too was wearing shorts, and carried a bucketful of rags, a spray bottle of 409 and a couple of red Solo cups with which to rinse and bail.

  She couldn’t help but notice how muscular and well built his legs were, and she hoped she wasn’t leering like Ace Colbert as he placed his cell phone on the shore and waded into the water.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said with a gasp. “This water is icy!”

  “It’ll feel good in a month or so,” she assured him, squirting cleanser around the inside of the boat. Before long, they had worked up a sweat and the canoe was looking better and better. The coolness of the water was beginning to feel good.

  He scrubbed hard on what looked to be rust. “This is not coming off.”

  “It’s probably an old blood stain.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Blood? I hesitate to even ask.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, it’s the stupidest story.”

  “Let’s hear it.” He splashed water in her direction. “You can’t claim a mysterious stain is blood and then leave it hanging.”

  “Hey,” she protested, sending a handful of water spraying back at him. He dodged, retaliated, and soon they were both drenched and laughing like kids. “Watch it, buddy, or there’s going to be a new blood stain,” she threatened.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Truce! Now tell me, if this is really blood, how it got here.”

  “Are you saying you doubt my word?” She narrowed her eyes in mock seriousness.

  “All I’m saying is that this looks like a crime scene.” He gave her a suspicious look. “Did any of your cousins turn up missing, by any chance?”

  She burst out laughing. “No, but it seems like we were always trying to kill ourselves somehow or other. See that big tree over there?” she said, pointing.

  He nodded.

  “There used to be a rope with a big knot on the end of it hanging from that big branch. One summer when my sister Brittany and I were about fourteen and twelve, maybe, we were in the canoe when a couple of boys from the tourist side of the lake came by on jet skis. Let’s just say that we used all the good sense that kids use at that age and soon we were playing this great game we made up called Dodge Boat.”

  “What’s Dodge Boat?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyway, Brittany and this one guy—Gus, I think his name was—started swinging out on that rope, trying to see how close to the boat they could get without hitting it.”

  “Nooo,” Mike moaned.

  “Yes. Gus’s friend and I were in the boat, and our job was to—”

  “Oh no!”

  “I’m afraid so. We paddled like crazy, once we saw their trajectory, to try to make them land in the boat.” She laughed at his face, contorted in sympathetic pain. “I told you it was the stupidest story ever.”

  “Let me guess. You and Gus’s friend won?”

  “You’d have to say it was a tie,” she said. “Gus didn’t exactly land in the boat, but he sure didn’t land in the water.”

  “And?”

  “And there was blood, and there were paramedics involved. Needless to say, Brittany and I were grounded from the canoe for the rest of that vacation, and Dodge Boat was banned forever.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” He looked at the stain again and gave it one final swipe with his rag. “Well, whatever it is, it’s not coming off.”

  “I swear it’s blood. At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!”

  He grinned. “Let’s take her out for a spin. We’ve got time.”

  “Sure,” she readily agreed, then slapped her forehead with her palm. “Oh no, if the paddles are where the canoe was, we will need a machete to find them.”

  “I saw several sets of oars hanging in the garage,” he said.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” she said, wading out of the water. She hopped on one foot and then the other, slipping into her tennis shoes. “I’ll race ya.” With that, she took off running in the direction of the house.

  “Hey! No fair!” he called after her.

  “Last one there’s a rotten egg,” she yelled over her shoulder, pulling out the childhood taunt as if she used it every day.

  In moments he was hot on her heels, both of them laughing and breathless when they reached the garage. They swung open the doors and he pointed to the back wall. “Up there on the left,” he said. Three pairs of paddles hung across the wall on hooks.

  “Let’s take the middle ones,” she said. She idly noted the fresh trail his feet made in the dust as he walked around the table saw to the back corner. Then she noticed something else.

  “Mike? Look at this,” she said, pointing to the steps leading to the loft.

  He stopped and looked where she was indicating.

  “Have you been up in the loft? I was just looking at all the footprints we’ve made in here, and I don’t remember seeing the area around the stairs disturbed earlier.”

  “No, I haven’t. Vivian may have been up there looking for something.” He climbed the stairs to have a look. Some small pieces of furniture, random chairs and bookcases were stored up there. Footprints led behind the furniture where more of the dust was disturbed, as if someone had spent some time back there. “Back here in the corner are some wadded-up candy wrappers and a couple of cigarette butts that have been ground out,” he called down. “It looks as if someone’s been here recently. And I can still smell the smoke.”

  “Aunt Vi doesn’t smoke. Not that I know of, at least.” She remembered the uneasy feeling of being watched earlier, and shuddered.

  “Do you notice anything missing?” He looked around at all of Todd’s tools, still hanging in place.

  “Not that I can see. I’ll ask Aunt Vi. She may have been in here looking for something, but I have a funny feeling about it.”

  “It was probably a vagrant looking for a dry place to sleep. But we should probably get a lock put on. There’s a small fortune in tools and machinery in here.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she agreed. “Surely Uncle Todd has extra locks and keys around here somewhere.” But their search was for nothing, and they decided to pick one up when they went to town Saturday.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said with a troubled look over her shoulder. They took the paddles with them, and before long they were out on the lake, skimming over the surface. It felt wonderful, the soft spring afternoon like a gift after a particularly harsh winter.

  She put down her paddle and let Mike handle it alone. She lay back against the end of the boat, her eyes closed and her face turned up to the sun. She trailed her fingers in the water as she listened sleepily to the hypnotic sound of his paddle gently slapping the water.

  He looked at her, thinking that he would die a happy man if his last memory was of this moment. Sitting in the canoe on this peaceful lake far from shore, looking at Lydia’s beautiful serene face bathed in sunlight was something he wanted to remember. He loved that tiny smile tugging on the corners of her mouth that he was coming to know so well.

  At that moment his phone rang and she opened one eye. She expected him to ignore it, once again.

  He accepted the call when he saw who it was. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this; it could be important.”

  “What’s up?” he said. “Yes, I did say you could call any time, day or night.” He listened. “No, I’m not busy, but could this wait a few minutes?” He looked around, as if he could find a private corner; then resigned himself to being stuck in the middle of the lake in front of Lydia during the call.

  “No, I understand, just tell me what the problem is.” After a minute or so, a smile began to play across his mouth.

  “You asked her today? And when’s the prom? Tomorrow night!” He ran his free hand through his hair, exasperated. “That’s what happens when you ask a girl out, Einstein. Sometimes
girls say yes.”

  She sat up, smiling as she tried to read between the lines.

  “I know you need a tux, and that’s not all you’re going to need, but don’t panic. Hang on; I’m going to give you a number.” He thumbed through his directory. “Okay, write this down.”

  She could barely contain her curiosity while he read off the phone number.

  “Got it? Okay, that’s Max’s Evening Wear, you know where that is? Right. You hightail it on down there when we hang up and tell him I said to take care of it. Yeah, he can text me.” He listened again.

  “Wait. You call Sarah, find out what color her dress is, and ask her if she wants a regular corsage or a wrist corsage.” He paused. “Yes, they still do that,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “Then go by Bergin Flowers, order the corsage and tell them to put it on my account. Next—are you writing this down?

  “Okay, then call Gordy and tell him I said to arrange for a limo to pick you up, and dinner reservations at wherever you want to go after the prom. Find out where everyone else is going.”

  He turned his back to Lydia, as if that would afford him some privacy. He listened again and nodded. He’d heard this before. “I know Gordy doesn’t like you; big deal, he doesn’t like me either, but don’t let him give you a hard time. He’s the best and that’s what I pay him for,” he said in a low tone. “Yes, he’ll try to play the weekend card, but just remind him—very respectfully, please—that he works for me twenty-four/seven.”

  Lydia was once again reminded that Mike was not the homeless vagabond she had thought him to be. The part of his conversation she could hear made her wonder, joking so easily about having someone hired to be at his beck and call. Now he sounded more like someone who might actually have a bit of wealth and power. But that fact was at odds with the way he carried himself. He sure didn’t behave in a way that made her believe he was anything more than an ordinary guy who worked for a living—when he wasn’t hiking strange trails.

  He seemed so normal, someone that she got along with well—rich or poor—someone she could fall in love with in a heartbeat. She could freely admit that to herself now. But that was beside the point. He had Kendall, and if that was the kind of woman he was attracted to, she knew full well that he could never be attracted to her. She and Kendall Riley were complete opposites.