by Joe Hart
“Yes, cold. When I drove up and saw the place, something seemed off to me. I couldn’t figure out what it was—maybe the house needed some TLC or I didn’t like the location, I don’t know. But when I got out of the car, it was oppressive, like something was pushing down on me from above, and I felt cold. I felt …” Andy stopped and looked around. The closest people on either side of them continued talking, oblivious to their conversation. Andy leaned closer. “I felt as cold as I did when I woke up last night after being in the lake. I wanted nothing more than to drive the fuck away from that place and never come back. After you came out, it passed, it just went away. I don’t know.”
Andy picked up his coffee and sipped it, clearly irritated. The waitress arrived, balancing a large tray on one hand and holding a fresh pot of coffee in the other.
They ate amidst the din of voices, neither broaching the subject again. Instead, they chewed in an unspoken but agreed respite, both of them digesting their thoughts as well as the eggs they consumed.
Twenty minutes later they stood on the sidewalk outside. The morning sun warmed the air and the fresh smell of the lake blew in on a northeastern breeze. Traffic was light with only a few cars passing occasionally. The town appeared to be self-absorbed, each person pursuing his own agenda either behind closed doors or well outside of the city limits.
Andy stopped by the driver’s-side door of his car and turned back to Lance, who had followed him to the edge of the curb, his hands shoved deeply in the pockets of his jeans.
“I’m going to go back home. I don’t think it would be a good idea if I stayed another night, you might be fishing my body out of the lake in the morning.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Lance said, frowning. Andy studied him for a moment before walking back within a few feet of the curb. His lips were pressed together as if he was struggling to keep the words he wanted to say within.
“I’m not superstitious; you know that better than anyone.” Andy waited until Lance nodded in agreement. “So I feel stupid even saying this: get your novel finished and get out of that house. I would tell you to leave now—leave with me, for fuck’s sake—but I know you won’t. There’s nothing good there. I’ve relied on my instincts for most of my life and they haven’t steered me wrong before. Everything inside of me is revolted by that place.”
Lance looked at his best friend standing the bright morning light. Andy had never lied to him—he might even be incapable of it—and now he had told him to leave the one place that inspired him. Lance grimaced.
“The funny thing is, right now I’m probably two-thirds of the way through the novel and I’m clipping right along; in fact, it’s faster than I’ve ever written before. But you know what? Right now, standing here talking to you, I cannot for the life of me remember the ending of the story. I can remember everything I’ve written so far, but the resolution? Gone, like it never was. There’s not a bone in my body that tells me if I drove away today I’d be able to finish that story. It might actually fade away completely.”
“And could you live with that?” Andy asked.
“You know I couldn’t. How could you even ask that?” Lance said, as he put his hand against the warm hood of Andy’s car.
Andy looked at the street like he hoped to pluck an answer from the nearly spotless gutter. “I know” was all he replied. Andy turned from Lance and pulled his car door open. He stopped before sliding into the driver’s seat, looking hard at Lance, closer than he ever had before. “Be careful. If you need anything, call me. I’ll be waiting for a draft,” Andy said.
Lance exhaled through his nose and smiled halfheartedly as he listened to the soft thump of the car’s door shutting. He didn’t look up from the pavement until the Audi had vanished from the town’s main street.
He turned, meaning to walk to his own vehicle, unsure of what he intended to do after that. A body collided with his shoulder and he reeled, anger flaring within him as he staggered and turned, words aching to fly off his tongue at the person who had ran into him so carelessly.
Mary stood in the middle of the sidewalk, a half dozen books pressed to her chest. Her mouth curled up in a smile that instantly forced away his anger.
“I’m sorry, are you okay?” Lance said, stepping forward.
“I’m fine, although you should keep an eye out for people smaller than yourself.”
Lance smiled, heat blooming in his face. He rubbed the back of his neck and started to apologize again, but instead, Mary cut him off. “The answer’s yes,” she said, and the whole block seemed to go silent.
“Yes?” Lance asked, his mind jumping several steps ahead and paving a path of sheer joy at what he hoped she was suggesting.
“I’ll have dinner with you if the invitation is still open.”
The air was gone from Lance’s lungs, and he struggled to think of something witty to say as excitement danced a two-step in his stomach. “Great! I, ah, where …” he sputtered, glancing around at the surrounding buildings.
Mary grinned. “The Lighthouse is a good place. A little progressive for the locals, but everyone seems to go there when they want to dress up and act like adults.”
Lance laughed and felt his mood pull out of the nosedive it had been in since the night before. “Sounds good. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped in lately, I’ve been writing and—”
“Oh yeah, I know. Deadlines to meet and fans to appreciate, all that.” She waved her hand in a prima donna sort of way, her smile disarming in the light of the sun.
Lance beamed like the idiot he knew he was. “What time should I meet you, or pick you up?”
“How about six thirty? That’ll give me time to get pretty after I close up shop. I’ll meet you there. It’s that trendy-looking place made of stone a few blocks north.”
“Great! Okay, I …” Lance trailed off, and stared at her. The foreboding of his conversation with Andy, and even the events of the night before, paled as he looked at her. Only after a few moments of silence did he notice she had her eyebrows raised in an expectant expression. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said at last.
She laughed and shook her head as she walked away in the direction of the bookstore. He watched her go, reveling in the feeling that flooded him. It wasn’t that he was new to women or relationships, but the fact that they had been few and far between held sway. Especially as pretty and smart as the one who now walked away from him.
Lance turned and moved toward his car. He made a promise to himself before reaching the SUV. He would make a conscious effort to really try with Mary. He would let her in and not hold her at arm’s length. He would reveal himself to her, even if she turned away and fled.
A new sensation blossomed within him as he started the Land Rover and backed out of the parking space. It was unfamiliar and took him almost two miles of driving before he recognized it. It was hope, and he liked how it felt.
The afternoon stretched out like a desert road—straight, narrow, and immeasurably long. He tried to write, but the sentences would begin and then stall as his thoughts slipped to the evening ahead of him. Mary’s face kept appearing in front of the words on the screen, and after an hour of start-and-stop progression, he flipped the monitor off in exasperation. He looked out at the lake and watched the waves roll into the shore for a while, the rhythm beckoning him to retire to a nap upstairs. Instead he decided to get a workout in, the whole time telling himself he wasn’t exercising for the sake of the date he was about to go on.
An hour and a half later he strode into the downstairs bath, sweaty and blood flooding the muscles he’d punished with pushups, squats, and crunches. The shower helped wash away the perspiration he had accumulated but did nothing for the nervousness brewing in the pit of his stomach like a noxious stew.
As he dried off, he looked at his reflection in the fogged mirror, his outline smudged by the condensation on the glass. “Calm … the fuck … down,” he said to the mirror, as he leaned on the counter and stared into his distorted eyes.
His eagerness for 6:00 p.m. to arrive became irritating. His ego cried out to him from the small corner it resided in, telling him there wasn’t a need to be nervous or excited. It’s just another date, the voice said, and this time he tried to agree with it.
He lay down in his bed after dressing in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, the softness of it welcoming him like an old friend. He set an alarm on his phone for six o’clock and set it on the table beside his bed. His breaths were deep and calming, the fatigue of the night before catching up and enveloping him. He tried to think of nothing, to clear his head of all concerns, while he imagined a field before him. It was an old exercise Dr. Tyler had taught him. The field unfurled, the grass a perfect length and absent of weeds. A patch of flowers grew on one edge, but besides that, the open ground was empty. A deer walked out of the forest on the perimeter of the clearing and began to feed. Lance could see every hair on its back, each fiber outlined in the bright light of the day. He focused on the hairs and began to count them. He reached thirty-one before he fell asleep.
The intermittent vibrating and squawking of his phone ceased as he stabbed it with a pointed finger. Excitement poured through him. It was time to go.
He dressed in a pair of trendy jeans and a black button-up shirt. His hair remained mediocre; no matter what he did, it seemed to return to its natural disarray. A spray from an almost-full bottle of cologne and he left the house in silence.
The Lighthouse was the restaurant he had observed his first day in town. It sat at the northern end of the street on the right side, facing the lake. The parking lot of the low, modern building wasn’t crowded as Lance pulled in a few minutes before six thirty. He inspected each vehicle, wondering which belonged to Mary, but couldn’t identify any of the models with her forthright personality.
A high ceiling in the entryway met him with light stained wood floors and rock layered into the walls in every available space. The restaurant opened up into a comfortable seating area that faced an expanse of windows, allowing for a brilliant view of Superior. Thick rock pillars shot up out of the wood floor sporadically, adding to the semi-modern rustic setting. Lance could see a few couples lounging at the bar at the far end of the room, but couldn’t make out Mary’s petite form among them. He started to walk farther into the restaurant, past the podium that said Please Wait To Be Seated, when a young man in a black vest appeared from behind a nearby counter.
“Just one, sir?” the host asked, grabbing a menu from a holder on the side of the podium.
“No, actually I’m meeting someone.”
“Ah, right this way, sir.”
Without another word, Lance followed the boy in the uniform. The restaurant became darker as they wound their way between mostly empty tables. At the far corner, closest to the windows, Lance spied Mary seated at a small table by herself. Her hair was pulled back, leaving two delicate strands hanging over her face. She wore a modest skirt and a blouse that hugged her frame, and Lance could see a diamond pendant flash at her throat in the light from the single candle on the table.
He didn’t know if he’d ever seen something more beautiful.
She looked up as they approached, Lance stepping around the young host and to the table. Mary smiled, and already he could see the wheels turning for a witty greeting.
“Hello,” he managed before his thoughts floundered in the light of her eyes.
“Hello yourself,” she said as he sat in the chair that the young man pulled out.
“Anything to drink?” the host asked.
“A Honey Weiss,” Mary said.
“The house Cab,” Lance said, his eyes never leaving Mary.
The host vanished in search of their drinks and they were alone. Lance couldn’t lie to himself, he’d imagined this for some time during the weeks since he had met the woman across the table from him. Now that they were here, he only hoped he wouldn’t ruin the chance.
“You look great,” he said.
Mary smiled. “You clean up well yourself.”
“Thanks, I just picked this up off the floor when I was leaving. It’s nothing really,” Lance said, flipping the collar of his shirt and looking out the window with a bored expression. Mary giggled and Lance grinned. He had made her laugh again. If all else failed tonight, at least there was that.
“Have trouble finding the place?” Mary asked.
“No, actually I spotted it the first time I drove through town. It’s really nice,” Lance said, looking around again.
“Yeah, like I said before, it’s our trendy spot when we want a dinner that costs more but doesn’t necessarily taste better.”
Lance chuckled as a woman in a uniform that matched their host’s approached with their drinks.
“So I heard you had a raging party last night,” Mary said after the waitress had disappeared.
Lance frowned and then laughed after sipping his wine. “If you mean the barbecue, then yes, I did.”
“Stub mentioned it to me this morning when he stopped in. You should feel privileged, that man doesn’t like too many people, especially outsiders, even though he’s only lived here for five years.”
“Oh, is that what I am? An outsider? Well, you must feel ashamed, sitting at the same table with me,” Lance teased.
Mary smiled as she set her beer down. “A little, but I’ll survive.” Her face sobered before she continued. “I’m glad you’ve taken a liking to John too. God knows he needs a little happiness in his life.”
Lance gave a sympathetic nod, realizing that all of the small-town stereotypes about gossip were completely true. As he watched Mary run her finger around the rim of her beer glass, he noticed a form at another table beyond theirs lean out from behind a rock pillar. When Lance looked over Mary’s shoulder, the figure had shifted out of sight.
“So I have to ask, what is the book that you’re writing about?” Mary said, her eyes mischievous in the candlelight.
“Oh, now you want me to divulge all the details of my next book after the jokes you’ve made at my expense?” Lance said. “Hmm, I don’t know if you can be trusted.” He leaned back in his chair, pretending to appraise her. Mary batted her eyes playfully, and although she was kidding, he still felt a faint fluttering within his chest.
Lance sipped his wine once more before relenting. “It’s about a man who vacations to a small town with his family and is run off the road one night by a car swerving into their lane. His wife and daughter are killed in the crash, and the man who ran them off the road drops a bottle of liquor into the car, making it look like the father was the one drinking. It turns out that the real culprit is the mayor of the town. When the father figures out who he is, he kidnaps him and keeps him in his basement. He tortures the mayor every day, and is actually planning to kill him eventually, but the mayor’s brother is the town cop, and he’s on to the father. The father isn’t really evil, but he’s battling with himself and his loss and the hatred he has for the man who robbed him of his family, his future.” Lance took a breath and shook his head as he looked out across the flat blue of the lake. “Sorry, I get caught up sometimes …” he trailed off.
“No, it sounds great. How far are you?”
“About two-thirds, maybe?”
“How’s it going to end?” Mary asked, her wide green eyes flashing in the last light of the day as it slanted through the restaurant.
Lance felt the familiar effort of trying to dredge up the conclusion of the story that he underwent whenever he ventured from the house. He could remember what he had written so far, but the rest remained clouded and would stay that way until he stepped back through the threshold. The phenomenon hadn’t lessened in the weeks since his permanent arrival. If anything, it had gained strength, shutting off his creativity faster whenever he departed.
“I’m not really sure yet,” he finally managed. He noticed the man at the table behind the rock pillar leaning out again, seemingly to eavesdrop or stare at them. When Lance looked, he just saw a shoulder receding out of sig
ht. He frowned, wondering which resident of the small town couldn’t resist learning whom the local bookstore owner was on a date with.
“You kept calling him a father. Why?” Mary said.
Lance shifted his attention back to her and frowned. “What?”
“You kept referring to the main character as the father, not the husband or anything else. Why is he the father to you?”
Lance regarded her for a moment. She stared at him, unwavering, a sublime smile playing at the corners of her lips, which could become something beautiful or heart-achingly cold and impassive. In that tick of the clock’s hand, Lance felt himself slip. Something inside him shifted, an immense wall mortared with layers of doubt, fear, and guilt shuddered. He had always imagined he would be the one to chip away at the edifice of stone within him, and perhaps someday be able to carve out a door for someone else to pass through and join him on the other side. He never guessed another person would be able to disturb the foundations of the wall, but the woman across from him at that moment, in a flash of insight deeper than she knew, had done just that.
Lance gazed across the table and steadied himself before he spoke. “I guess it’s because I’ve never really known one, not a good one. And that’s something I’ve always admired.”
Mary nodded and the smile on her lips became whole. Lance noticed the waitress weaving her way through the tables from the other side of the room, and at the same time he saw the man at the next table lean out again to gawk at them. That’s enough, Lance thought, his anger flaring white-hot. He didn’t care who it turned out to be at the table behind Mary; if he was still ogling them when Lance looked, he would give the guy a piece of his mind. Lance swung his head around and glared at the man leaning out from behind the pillar.
His father’s face leered back at him.
Lance’s heart rolled across his ribs. The blue eyes he’d last seen wide in panic and fear stared back at him. The blond hair like straw in the low light, the mouth just a line drawn tight across the lower part of the face, one end twisted in a sneer. And then it was gone, sliding behind the rock partition that separated the tables.