Laura bit her lip hard, so hard she could taste blood. She put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder and drew her close. “Sweetheart. Why don’t you sit down here next to Mommy and tell me exactly what you say, okay?”
⸙
BIT DREW A DEEP BREATH and said, “There were boys out there, Mom. Down by the lake last night. And they were looking straight up at me through the sliding glass doors. I heard them laughing.”
Laura squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Oh, honey, why didn’t you come get me?”
Bit hesitated. “I was going to. But then they went away."
“Went away? How do you mean?”
Bit shrugged again. “I don’t know. First, they were there, down on the beach, just like I said. Then they were gone. They...disappeared.”
Laura’s blue eyes drifted automatically toward the lake. Her daughter had an active imagination, but she had never known her to lie. Ever. If she said she saw something, then she likely saw something. “Maybe it was something blowing around in the storm," Laura surmised. "You know, shadows, pieces of driftwood. We’re in a strange place, and at night it’s easy for our eyes to play tricks on us.”
Bit tightened up. "I knew you wouldn't believe me."
"Oh, sweetheart, it's not that. If you say you saw something down there, I believe you. It's just that I'm trying to look at all possible explanations. Little boys don't just come out in the middle of the night during a storm."
“I'm not lying, Mom. I know what I saw."
Chapter Eleven
A FINE MIST CURLED LOW OVER the shimmering, green-tinted lake. Far out over the water, a pair of white herons swooped low, stabbed their long, dagger-like beaks into the waves, then rose majestically and resumed their aerial acrobatics.
Laura and Bit walked hand in hand along the curving shoreline, both clad in jeans and light sweaters, laughing, joking, pausing now and then to skip stones or to check out some of the weirdly-shaped driftwood that had washed up from last night’s storm.
They rounded a wooded bend and came to a narrow foot-path that arched up from the beach and disappeared in the woods. Laura noticed the sloping roofline of a small chalet poking over the trees. She got a whiff of wood-smoke, then looked up and saw a thin plume wafting up from a stone chimney.
“Somebody’s home,” she said to herself.
It was a pleasant sight—smoke rising from a stone chimney in the woods.
She noticed a narrow trail leading up to the house. She was about to go investigate when she heard Bit’s excited voice behind her on the beach.
“Mom, come look what I’ve found!”
Laura turned away from the trail leading up to the mysterious little chalet and headed toward her daughter. She found her squatting over the sand, scrutinizing a small coin she held in her hands. “Look, Mom, isn’t it cool? It was just lying over there on the beach.”
Bit handed the coin to Laura to examine. “Looks like an old silver dollar. I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
“Is it very old?” Bit asked excitedly.
“Hard to tell. The date’s worn off, but, from the looks of it, it must be at least a hundred years old. Maybe older.”
“Wow, I’ll bet it’s worth a fortune!”
“Could be. We’ll ask Brad when he gets here. He knows a lot about old coins.”
Bit hesitated a moment, then looked up at her mother. “Mom, Brad knows a lot about everything, doesn’t he?”
Laura laughed. “He’s smart, but I wouldn't say he’s that smart.”
“Can I keep it then?”
“I don’t see why not. You said you found it on the beach.”
Bit nodded, pointing. “Yes, ma’am, right over there.” A moment later, Bit said, “Maybe there’s more…”
“Let’s not get greedy,” her mother replied.
⸙
THEY CONTINUED UP THE BEACH, eyes scanning the sand for more buried treasure. For some reason, Laura suddenly realized that she felt happier than she had in years. As she and Bit strolled and skipped along the shore, she almost felt guilty about feeling so good. But the sensation was real, and it radiated from deep within. Everything, from the bounce in her step to this new-found radiance convinced her that coming up to the mountains was the best thing she had done in ages.
Then, out of the blue, Bit asked, “Mom, why did you marry Brad?”
Caught off guard, Laura hesitated. “I love him, silly. Why do you think I married him?”
Bit giggled. “Was it because he’s rich?”
Laura laughed again. “Of course not! Besides, I've already told you, Brad's not rich.”
“But he’s a lawyer, and he’s always flying all over the world. You have to be rich to do that.”
"Not if your company's paying for it. Look, sweetie, Brad makes a good living, and he keeps us comfortable, but that doesn't mean we're rich."
Bit batted her eyes and asked, “Then why did you marry him?”
Laura shrugged. “I guess it was the timing more than anything else. After Earl--your dad--and I divorced, I was so lonely and afraid of everything—myself, life, even you.”
“Me? Why were you afraid of me?”
“You were only a baby, sweetheart, and there was no one to help me take care of you. Your dad’s child support payments went only so far. Then Brad walks into my life, handsome, charming...”
“Like a knight on a shining white horse?” Bit interrupted.
Laura smiled. "Something like that. Only it was more like a beat-up old MGB convertible." She laughed, continued: "He was kind and talented and full of ideas and dreams. He made me so happy I wanted to sing. I was alive again. And he was so good to you, sweetie, so very good. When he asked me to marry him—well, what would you have done?”
“I’d have said yes!” Bit exclaimed.
“That’s what I thought,” Laura laughed. “Now, you, what do you say we race back up to the house and fix some lunch.”
"Can we have pizza?"
Laura pretended to frown. "No pizza deliveryman around these parts. Remember?"
"This place is no fun."
Laura tossed a handful of sand at Bit playfully. "Last one to the house has to wash dishes," she shouted.
Bit stuffed the coin in her jean's pocket and took off down the beach, her red tennis shoes slapping against the sand.
Chapter Twelve
AS LAURA CHUGGED UP the beach after her daughter, she couldn't stop thinking about the house she had just seen tucked back in the trees. It was obviously occupied. How else to account for the smoke coming out of the chimney? That would explain the ghostly light she had seen in the storm last night—even Bit's eerie tale of little boys on the beach. So, what if Danny had been wrong about their being alone at the lake? They had neighbors. Nothing wrong with that.
Laura clambered over the rocks at the beach’s edge, caught her breath, then huffed up the narrow path to the house.
Halfway across the yard, she stopped in her tracks when she saw Bit deep in conversation with a strange man. He was young, about thirty, unshaven and ruggedly handsome in an LL Bean kind of way. He sat on the steps next to Bit, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and boots, a sweater looped casually around his square shoulders.
“Hi there,” the man called out to Laura, waving.
Laura gave an apprehensive nod.
"Your daughter and I were just having a really great conversation," he said, a sheepish smile spreading across his tanned and lightly bearded face. "She was telling me all about her teddy bear and how much she likes pepperoni pizza."
When he noticed Laura still staring at him, he stopped, jumped to his feet and stuck out his hand. “Sorry if I spooked you. My name’s Paul. Paul Wilson.”
“He’s our neighbor,” Bit piped up. “He lives on the other side of the cove.”
Laura accepted the handsome young stranger’s hand. “Laura Drake.”
He smiled. He had the nicest teeth and softest brown eyes Laura had ever seen. “I know
. Bit already told me.” The smile stayed on his face, causing Laura to wilt. “Nice daughter you have here, Laura.”
When Laura didn't say anything, Paul said, "I heard you just moved in, so I came over to see if you needed any help."
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Wilson, but we’re already pretty much settled in.”
“Well, just wanted to stop by and say hi. These days, it helps to know who your neighbors are.” Paul paused. “Say, do either of you like to sail? I’ve got a little cat-boat down by the cove. It’s not much to look at, but she can sure hold the waves.”
Bit’s eyes lit up. “We’ve got a sailboat too!” she said excitedly. “Well, technically it belongs to my uncle Danny.”
Laura spoke up quickly: “Thank you, Mr. Wilson. Maybe some other time. Right now we’re kind of tired and were about to have lunch.”
“Sure thing,” Paul said quickly. "Some other time, then.” His dreamy brown eyes wandered around, as if inspecting the house. “Far out place you’ve got here.”
“It’s my brother-in-law’s,” Laura explained. "He's letting us have it for the month.”
“That’s what Bit said. I think that’s great.” Paul stepped down from the deck closer to Laura—so close she could smell his manly cologne. “Well, guess I’ll be shoving off,” Paul said. “Hey, if you ladies need anything, anything at all, just holler. I’m not far away.”
He turned to go.
“We will,” Laura replied, watching him bounce down the steps.
At the bottom of the steps, Paul glanced back and said, “By the way, Laura, I love your name. Makes me think of Julie Christie in that old movie, Dr. Zhivago. That scene where she's pounding away with the iron in an old army hospital, and the light is on her eyes, right on those radiant blue eyes, and those beautiful yellow flowers with the wilting petals dripping off one by one…that's the saddest I've ever seen on film.”
Laura started to mention that her parents had named her Laura based on Julie Christie's character, but held back. Instead, she waved goodbye and said, "Thanks for stopping by.”
Paul stuck his hands in his pockets and started moving.
"Bye, Paul," Bit yelled, jumping up and down until he rounded the corner and disappeared in the trees.
When he was gone, Bit said, “Paul's nice, isn't he, Mom?”
“I suppose so.”
“And handsome?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, yes you did,” Bit teased.
“Oh, no I did not,” Laura shot back, chasing Bit around the deck trying to tickle her.
Chapter Thirteen
THAT NIGHT, THEY SAT at the dining table eating soup and sandwiches by candlelight. Laura had shown Bit how to build a fire earlier, using wadded up newspapers as tinder and pine cones and splinters as kindling. Bit quickly got the hang of the process, and soon the whole house was toasty warm from a roaring blaze.
They poked quietly at their food, seemingly lost in thought.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, sweetheart. Tired?”
“No,” Bit replied. “I was just thinking about Brad. I bet he's having a good time in Paris, France.”
“I'm sure he is. Paris is such a grand city. It's the city of lights, you know. There are so many great restaurants and museums. And there are musicians and artists everywhere. You can’t go anywhere without somebody trying to give you a flower or sell you a painting.”
“Sounds nice. Have you ever been there?”
“Once. A long time ago.”
“What was it like?”
“Wonderful. It’s a magical place. You feel so free there, alive. Everybody seems happy, even when it's raining. But it’s dreadfully expensive. I wouldn’t want to actually live there.”
“Do you think I can go some day?”
“I don’t see why not. Maybe when you’re in high school or college.”
“I can’t wait.”
Laura was about to tell Bit to start saving her money when the doorbell rang. They both jumped. It was the first time they had heard the doorbell chime since their arrival.
“I wonder who that could be?” Laura asked aloud.
She got up and went to the front door. She hesitated. “Who is it?” she called out, feeling foolish about being so apprehensive.
The voice on the other side said, “It’s me, Paul Wilson.”
Laura heisted, then unlocked the door and stepped back to see their neighbor standing in the doorway. He looked taller somehow, Laura thought, and sexier. He was dressed in khakis and a safari-style jacket over a blue denim shirt, and he wore a pair of hiking boots. In his hands were two large flat packages, wrapped with ribbons and bows.
“Sorry for barging in like this,” Paul said. “I would have called first but didn’t have your number. And even if I had, I doubt I’d be have been able to get through. Signals up here are few and far between.” Paul handed her the pair of wide, flat packages. “Here, a little something for you two ladies.”
Laura looked at the packages, speechless. The wrapping paper wasn’t much to look at, but the bows were precious, and obviously hand-made.
Paul said, “It’s nothing much. Just a little something I put together for you this afternoon. Call it a house-warming gift.” He waited. “May I come in?”
Laura felt herself flushing, then stepped aside. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “of course, please do.”
Paul entered the wide foyer and looked around. “Very nice,” he said. “So this is how the other half lives.”
Laura let that observation slide past her. “Bit and I were just having dinner. Could I offer you a bowl of soup? Cup of tea, perhaps?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Paul joked. When he saw Bit standing behind Laura in the living room, he scrunched up his face and, in his best Bela Lugosi voice, muttered, “But I have to varn you. I must return before the full moon rises. That's vhen I turn into a verevolf."
Bit made a funny howling sound.
“Hi-ya, Bitster,” Paul said, bending low and giving her a fist-pump.
“Are you really a werewolf, Paul?”
Paul winked and said, “Not really. But don’t tell anybody. That'll be our little secret.”
Bit laughed. “You’re funny, Paul.”
“Look what Paul brought you,” Laura said, handing her the gift with her name on it. Before Bit could tear into the present, Laura said, “Let’s go into the dining room first and offer Paul some soup. Then we can open our presents.”
⸙
WHILE PAUL SLURPED at his soup, Laura and Bit ripped open their packages. Laura finished hers first. When she saw what it was—an oil portrait of her, perched on an imaginary stump of driftwood, with green mountains see-sawing in the background and her long blonde hair flowing like silk around her shoulders—she almost gasped. “It’s beautiful,” she stammered.
“Look at mine, Mom,” Bit interrupted with a squeal. “It’s me!” In the painting, Bit was silhouetted against the broad white sail of a sleek cat-boat, a red sweater draped across her shoulders.
The oil canvasses were exquisite. And the likenesses were uncanny. Laura didn’t know much about portraiture or oil painting in general, but it didn’t take an art expert to appreciate the quality of the two works.
“Sorry if they look a little rushed," Paul said apologetically. "I did them from memory this afternoon, after I went back up to my cabin."
Laura remained speechless. How on earth had he managed to produce not one but two magnificent paintings so quickly? He had only met them this morning. “I really don't know what to say,” she murmured.
“Then don’t say anything,” Paul said. “I’m just glad you accepted them.”
“Accepted them?” Laura fired back. “I’m going to hang them over the mantel when I get back home,” she gushed.
Paul wolfed down the last bit of his soup and asked, “And where is that, exactly, home?”
“Atlanta. What about you?”
Paul grinned. �
�Oh, all over. No one particular place special. Right now it’s here at the lake.”
⸙
“SO YOU’RE AN artist,” Laura said, sipping tea. “Is that what you do for a living?”
They sat in the living room, Laura and Bit on the leather sofa facing the fireplace, Paul's lanky frame slouched over a heavy, stuffed chair facing them. Between them was a massive coffee table, carved out of worm-eaten wood, perched over an exquisite Southwestern-style rug.
“I guess you could call it a living,” Paul responded. “Actually, I do commercial illustrations for a couple of agencies in Atlanta and Denver. That keeps food on the table.” He laughed. “I come up here whenever I can—you know, to get away and paint what I want to.”
"Like portraits of total strangers," Laura jabbed.
What Laura took for an embarrassed grin suddenly etched its way across the young artist's handsome face. Waving his hands defensively, he said, "I only saw two beautiful young women, alone on a pristine lake in the middle of the wilderness. What more enticing subjects could an artist ask for?"
Laura laughed. “Okay, that works for me," she replied, content with the explanation. She finished her tea, leaned back.
Bit said, "I think they're the most beautiful portraits in the whole wide world. More beautiful than Mona Nisa. That's in Paris, France, where Brad—my dad—is.”
Laura poked her daughter with her elbow. "You mean Mona Lisa, sweetheart. You know, by Leonardo da Vinci."
"That's the one," Bit replied, still admiring her portrait.
Paul put down his cup and looked at Bit, "So you like the Mona Lisa," he said.
"I think she's a real pretty lady," Bit replied.
“Have you ever seen her? The real one in Paris?”
Bit shook her head. “No. Have you?”
Paul smiled. “I spent some time in Paris back when I was studying art.”
The People in the Lake Page 6