Lake Dreams

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “No, not at all,” Cole said. “I’ve got someplace I need to be.”

  He didn’t need the towel, his hair and skin dried in the sun so Cole started toward his cabin on the little hill overlooking the rest of the resort. Maggie stepped out of the third cabin from his with an armload of dirty linens. When she smiled, he remembered she’d been terrified of storms when they were kids so Cole jogged over to give her his forecast.

  “Hi,” she said. “Did you have a nice swim?”

  “Good but chilly,” Cole answered. “I saw some of your guests up at the pool.”

  She nodded. “It’s the Barkers. They’re a nice family. I put them down at the opposite end from you.”

  “Thanks,” Cole said, pleased with her thoughtfulness. “Hey, Maggie?”

  “What?”

  “Do storms still scare you?”

  “Sometimes,” she answered without hesitation. “We still get some pretty gnarly ones. Why?”

  “I think it’s going to storm later so I thought I’d give you a heads up,” Cole told her.

  “Wow,” Maggie said without sarcasm. “I’m impressed. Did you do your own forecast or just watch The Weather Channel?”

  He laughed in the easy way he hadn’t since last fall. “No, I did it myself. It’s been a long time since I did it old school so it felt pretty good.”

  “I bet.” He thought she might’ve talked longer but another car turned into the resort and she dashed toward the main cabin with a quick “See you later” tossed his direction.

  Cole tromped up to his place, changed from the swim trunks into shorts and settled out on the deck with a drink to watch the sky. In the shade the heavy heat remained tolerable but the breeze he’d enjoyed yesterday didn’t exist, another indicator a storm brewed. Maybe he’d sit out to watch the special effects when it hit, Cole thought, something else he hadn’t done in too long. Once he’d headed out to the porch to watch any storm or experience the weather but Victoria objected. After the kids were born, he spent his spare time on daddy duty or in avoiding the family to gain a little down time. Leisure vanished from his vocabulary as his life alternated between home and work, Cole recalled. Victoria put herself in charge of his off duty hours and he ended up with no free time.

  Now he owned all the spare time he wanted and more so Cole studied the sky as he relaxed, somnolent and at ease. His stiff drink, more than half John Jameson’s finest whiskey and the rest Diet Rite cola assisted Cole in chilling out but he also unwound from the tight coils of life binding him back in St. Louis. With no family responsibilities, no fatherly duties, and no job Cole slid into the kind of mindless respite he needed to restore. Although he’d railed against his forced sabbatical, Cole realized without it he might’ve spiraled downward until he became an unreliable, unemployable worthless drunk.

  As the afternoon waned toward evening Cole remained aware of the world around him. He heard the diesel motor of the school bus when it chugged around the curves to drop Maggie’s kids off and listened to the whine of speed boats out on the water. Crickets chirped somewhere in the grass and Cole caught the poignant call of a hawk circling somewhere high above. Sometimes he shut his eyes and sometimes not. Other groups arrived and he smiled at the sound of Maggie’s voice as she greeted the last one. He couldn’t make out her words but Cole savored the audio. As a grown woman her voice came out a little deeper than her teenage tone but he’d have known it anywhere.

  Cole let his thoughts drift in slow, easy spirals, without focus until then and now merged and his memories surged forward as vivid as when they happened.

  Maggie ran up the gravel road, her bare feet immune to the small stones. She diverted through a patch of thick clover and ignored the bees who feasted on the purple flower heads. Cole waited down the hill from the cabin, on the lake and when he heard her coming, he stepped out and caught her in his arms. He’d been seventeen, Maggie sixteen, her body matured since childhood. Neither of them thought she was a kid anymore. Without a word, Cole linked his hand with hers and they ran, careless and carefree down to the lake. Once they settled on a log washed up on shore Cole kissed her. Maybe he wasn’t very good at it yet but Maggie didn’t complain as their lips joined together. She tasted like candy, he thought, and smelled even sweeter.

  After they’d kissed awhile, they dangled bare toes into the lake, the cool water not nearly as cold as the swimming pool. They gazed out across the rippling waters of Taneycomo and he noticed thunderheads building in the west. So did Maggie.

  “I think it’s going to storm,” she said, with true fear in her voice. Cole knew how much she hated storms and how bad they terrified her. He studied the clouds and agreed.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Promise?” she asked, her small pretty face tilted up toward his with total trust.

  “I swear,” he’d said. “I’ll cut my finger and swear it in blood if you want.”

  “You don’t have to,” Maggie responded.

  He did, though, took out his Swiss Army knife and pinked his finger just enough to draw blood. Cole touched his bloody finger to her forehead.

  “I vow to keep you safe from storms,” Cole intoned, making his voice deep and mysterious.

  Maggie giggled but when he stuck his bleeding finger into the lake and red swirled from it, she gagged. “Oh, gross.”

  They both laughed then and when it did storm, much later, he came down from his grandparents’ cabin to be with Maggie. They watched television until very late with her parents sleeping upstairs as thunder crashed and lightning flared across the sky. Wind roared through the trees. Weather warnings lit up the TV screen until the storm passed east.

  Cole’d forgotten until now he decided he loved Maggie that night.

  And he wondered if she remembered it too or if she’d buried it, the way he had for too long.

  Cole pondered what it meant and decided nothing.

  He wasn’t in shape for romance yet and somehow he figured Maggie wasn’t either. All each of them needed was a friend and they’d found each other again.

  He lazed around on his porch until there was no doubt a storm would hit soon. The sunlight weakened before it faded all together, replaced by the encroaching bank of thick clouds. Their color darkened from white to a dirty gray as they stretched lower to the ground. By the time he heard the first distant growl of thunder Cole’d decided they were in for one hell of a storm. Unless it became severe enough he thought shelter necessary, he’d ride it out here on the porch and looked forward to the experience.

  Just as the wind picked up, strong and cool and blasted across the porch, he heard someone call his name. Cole peered into the gloom and saw Maggie’s son, Kiefer, heading toward his cabin so he came to his feet.

  “What is it?” he shouted, raising his voice over the growing gusts.

  “Mom wants you to come down to our place for awhile,” the boy called back. “She’s worried about the weather.”

  Cole ditched his plan and yelled, “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He dashed inside long enough to exchange shorts for jeans and to pull on a decent T-shirt. On impulse Cole grabbed his cell phone from the charger although he didn’t turn it on and stuck his feet into athletic shoes sans socks. By the time Cole exited the cabin, the thunder was near enough to rattle the windows with a vibration he could feel so he hurried. Lightning streaked the sky with bright squiggles and more than a few of the jagged bolts came down vertical. He braced to hear a strike and within seconds, the sound of a dead tree exploding with massive noise echoed. Cole jumped in reflex and sprinted the rest of the way to Maggie’s back door. Just as he rapped his knuckles against it the heavy clouds above opened and released a torrent of water, soaking Cole down to his shoes.

  Kiefer opened the door and stepped back as Cole came in with a splash. Rain dripped onto the worn kitchen tiles and the teenager gaped at him until Cole snapped, “Could you bring me a towel, please?”r />
  As if his voice summoned her, Maggie appeared in the kitchen doorway, her forehead divided by a fret line. “You’re soaked,” she fussed. “Come on into the living room and Kiefer can fetch a towel.”

  He nodded and skirted around the kitchen table. Outside the rain drummed down in sheets and with zero visibility. At Maggie’s insistence Cole sat on the edge of an easy chair and when her son handed him two towels, he rubbed his hair dry. Cole did his best to towel most of the water away and mopped up the puddle he’d dripped into the floor. Maggie brought him a cup of coffee and he wrapped his hands around the mug, savoring the warmth.

  “I’m sorry you got wet,” Maggie said as she sank onto the matching couch. “I thought you’d get here before the rain started.”

  “Kiefer said you’re worried about the weather,” Cole said. So far he had no idea whether she sent for him for his safety or to offer professional advice about the storm.

  She nodded and turned her focus toward the television. The aged twenty-inch model sat atop an old cedar chest. Behind the announcer a weather map on screen lit up with reds, greens, and yellows. Along the bottom, the crawler offered up information on several watches and warnings. Cole squinted at the details and counted multiple advisories, tornado watch, flash flood watch, flood warnings, severe thunderstorm watches and warnings. To a layman he figured everything looked dire but he wasn’t worried. Maggie’s tense posture, the way she twisted her hands together, and the set of her lips, pressed thin and tight, told him she was.

  “There are several tornado warnings west of us,” she said and the announcer confirmed it. “I’m afraid the storms are moving this direction. I thought maybe you could make more sense out of it than I can. What do you think?”

  Cole felt like the prize student called up in front of the class on the day he’d overslept, as unprepared as if he hadn’t studied. Back at the news studios with the weather wire, computers, satellite graphics, and other the tools of the trade it’d be far easier to interpret the current situation. Wearing damp clothes with his shoes squishing against her carpet, Cole couldn’t assess the situation in the same way. But he could try so he scooted forward and listened with a close ear to what the weather guy mouthed. He assessed the graphics too. Like he’d seen too often, the broadcaster strove to keep the viewers tuned, probably on standing order from the station management. The weather guy tossed around fear words to make sure no one changed the channel. Like always, it became all about the ratings, not public safety.

  “Maggie, as far as I can tell, there’s no real danger,” he said after about five minutes. “I don’t see any hook echoes on the radar and I don’t determine enough wind shear to create a potentially dangerous situation. Are you online right now? I can give you a better estimate if I could see the maps close-up?”

  The worry line relaxed a fraction. “I unplugged everything,” she said. “I never keep the computer online or plugged in during storms because if lightning fried anything, I can’t afford to replace it. If you want, I’ll hook it back up, though.”

  Cole thought about the computers at his town house, the expensive set-up Victoria bought just before her death, his desk top and the laptop he hadn’t even bothered to bring down. Even if he brought them down, Maggie probably wouldn’t accept them but he’d love to give her a newer, better model. “No, don’t bother,” he said. “Would you happen to have a weather radio?”

  She brightened and nodded. “I do.”

  “Forget the television then and let’s get it running,” Cole said. “I honestly don’t see any real threat and we can keep updated with the radio just as well. I refused to play the ratings games with severe weather but a lot of stations insist their weather people beat the drums to keep the folks tuned into their channel.”

  “So you really think I don’t need to worry?”

  “That’s right,” Cole said. “My best guess is that the rain continues heavy for another twenty minutes or so, then tapers off to light showers. The thunder, wind, and lighting will move eastward with the rain. When it clears off later tonight, the humidity will surge back.”

  “Thank goodness,” Maggie said. “Kiefer, would you go bring me the weather radio? I think it’s upstairs in my bedroom, on the dresser. And tell Kaitlin everything’s okay.”

  “Is your daughter afraid of storms, too?” he asked.

  “She’s worse than I am,” Maggie told him. Her solemn face lit with a smile. “Thanks, Cole. You helped me calm down and I appreciate it. Would you like to stay for supper? I made a meatloaf.”

  His taste buds roused at the mention of his old favorite and he thought he might drool with anticipation. Victoria never made such plebian fare and seldom cooked at all. Any home cooking he’d eaten in the past decade or two came from his mother’s kitchen and his chances to dine with his parents numbered no more than a few times each year. “That sounds really good,” Cole told Maggie. “Thanks, I’d love to if you don’t mind. I feel like I’m sponging off you – meals weren’t included in the rate.”

  “You’re not eating with us as a guest,” Maggie said.

  “I’m not?”

  “No,” she told him. “You’re invited as a friend.”

  Something cold and hard inside of him frozen since last November melted and he grinned. “Then I’m happy to join you.”

  Maggie’s eyes sparkled. “Good. You can set the table.”

  With a toss of her hair, she headed for the kitchen and he followed her through the square hallway. From it, you could enter kitchen, bathroom, or living room or climb the narrow stairs to the bedrooms. If Cole remembered right there were three.

  Commandeered for kitchen duty, Cole trailed Maggie. He relied on memory and whooped with pleasure when he opened the silverware drawer on the first try. He’d changed since he last visited the resort at seventeen and so had the world but Cole found it comforting some simple things remained the same.

  Maggie’s meatloaf rivaled his mother’s in taste and quality. Her mashed potatoes – real not instant – melted in his mouth and the gravy she whipped up tasted like ambrosia. He filled his plate with both along with peas, bread and butter, and enjoyed each mouthful. Cole enjoyed the homeliness of the moment. Even though the thought made him feel like a traitor to his family, he pretended this, not suburbia served as his reality for the past twenty years.

  Chapter Six

  Maggie’s home cooking settled into his stomach without any trouble and Cole lingered after supper. Kaitlin headed to a friend’s to spend the night after the other teen’s father arrived to pick her up. Kiefer retreated to his bedroom armed with several borrowed comic books and Cole helped Maggie clean up the kitchen. She fussed but he prevailed. He washed the dishes and let her dry because she knew where everything went and he didn’t.

  “You found the silverware,” she pointed out.

  “Only because you never changed it,” he replied. As they worked, he asked questions about old Branson attractions he remembered. Maggie told him which still existed and how each operated now.

  “What’s the most unchanged?” Cole queried as Maggie hung up the dish towel to dry.

  She frowned as she considered then said, “I guess Silver Dollar City. Oh, they have all kinds of new attractions, faster roller coasters, new areas and all but the main parts of the park seem the way they were years ago. We don’t get out there much, the kids and I but when we go, we have a blast.”

  “I’d like to see it again but I don’t want to go alone,” Cole told her. “I thought maybe sometime I could take all three of you, my treat.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Maggie protested but he saw the shimmer in her eyes and knew she liked the idea.

  “I know but I want to. What do you think?”

  She nodded. “We’ll go sometime, make a day of it.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know - sometime when the kids can.” Maggie said. “It’s not like you’re on a tight schedule is it?”

  His lips stret
ched into another smile because her question gave him the opening he wanted. “No, and that reminds me of something I wanted to ask you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I saw a few little fix-it projects around here and I’d like to do them. I haven’t had a chance to work with my hands in years and I think it’d do me good. So do you mind if I play handyman around your resort?”

  Tears appeared in her huge grey eyes, rain mingling with the rainbow of her smile. “Cole, that’d be wonderful if you really want to do it. God knows, the place needs more attention than I know how to give it.”

  “Good,” he said as he choked back his own emotion. “It’ll keep me out of trouble.”

  Maggie gazed into his eyes, steady and without guile. Cole remained still, allowing her to probe him. Whatever she sought, she must’ve been satisfied because she smiled.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, her tone level and quiet. “But I’m not complaining.”

  In the morning he roused early, much earlier than he had at home. Cole dressed in the oldest jeans he’d brought, a shirt he didn’t mind getting dirty or ripped, he compared his new routine to the one he’d done for longer than he cared to count. As a weatherman, he worked the evening shift, reporting to work around two in the afternoon. So for a long time he’d slept late, rose and breakfasted while he checked the news online. Then he showered, dressed in a suit, dress shirt, and tie before driving to the station over urban streets and freeways.

  What he did now was at the far end of the spectrum and he liked that.

  Cole brewed coffee at the cabin, made toast and heated some microwave bacon. Later, Maggie directed him to the shed where all the lawn equipment and tools were stored and gave him the key. The weather warped door required a push to open and inside the dim interior, the stale air reeked of musty dirt and gasoline. Wondering where to begin first, Cole selected an old fashioned sling-blade, a man-powered weed whacker and set out to take down the tallest of the stray weeds around the place. Just as he’d predicted, the foul weather moved east and the sun beat down with heavy heat even at the early hour.