“Great. You go and enjoy.”
* * *
After slipping on his bathing suit, and a T-shirt, Jack started down to the lake—then stopped. He turned and looked at the Blairs’ cabin. Were they okay after last night? Seemed like anyone who was behind a locked door would have been fine—the Can Heads who got in were busy with guards and other camp workers trying to stop them.
Still…
He walked back up toward the Blairs’ cabin.
Knocked at the door. Quiet. He tried the door knob.
Though he knew that would look odd, what was he going to do? Just walk in?
“Hey, Tom! You guys at home?”
No answer. Must be out enjoying the day, which was indeed gorgeous. Sun filtering through the pine trees, the lake in the distance shimmering.
A bit of paradise.
Last night started to seem more and more like a bad dream. Something that happened in the dark and you forgot by morning.
He started down for the lake again.
* * *
Christie turned and, shielding her eyes, looked at Jack walking down to their blanket and the beach chairs. When he caught her looking, he tried to hide the limp.
“Morning!” she said.
“It is, isn’t it?”
She turned to give the lake a glance, glistening jewels of light dancing on it.
“Simon is…?”
“In the water. Made some new friends. He’s having a ball, Jack.”
He could see Kate parked near the lifeguard stand, acting as though she was reading a book.
“Well, with the crackerjack lifeguards here, best keep an eye on him.”
“Yeah.” She seemed distracted.
He sat down beside her on the blanket.
Then she looked at him again.
“Jack, about last night—”
“Yeah, I enjoyed that. And you?”
“Not that. I mean… I did. Of course. It was amazing. But I was thinking about Lowe’s offer.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I mean, look at this place. Maybe you should… we should consider it.”
“After that attack?”
“Is it any worse than your precinct?”
“No. Not really. Still, that was a major fuckup.” A little girl digging in the sand close by lifted her head at hearing the dreaded F-bomb.
“Oops,” he said. “Anyway, a fence failing? Could have been bad.”
“But it wasn’t. And as head of security, you could make things better. We’d have sun, this air, the water, food—I mean, I’ve been thinking…”
“Apparently.”
“Why would we go back?”
“It’s our home.”
She took a few seconds to respond to this.
Then: “What kind of home? Fenced in, too, but just rows of houses, scared people, and you tell me that things are getting worse.” Another pause. “How long?”
He knew what the rest of the question was.
How long before it’s bad there, too, where we live?
Jack broke off from her gaze, out to the lake. Simon dived into the cool, clear water. Like a regular kid. Back in the good old days.
“I don’t know.”
“Jack, tell me you’ll think about. That we can talk about it again.”
From her tone, he knew it wasn’t so much a question.
She was saying something important to him. And he’d have to do just that.
Think about Lowe. And his offer.
“Seen the Blairs?” he said.
“No. Not down here.”
He nodded.
“You like Tom?”
“He’s okay,” Jack answered. “Just good to have someone to talk to who’s not a cop.”
He saw boats dotting the lake. It all looked picture perfect.
“Maybe we’ll do the boats, after lunch.”
* * *
In the lodge’s great dining hall, Jack looked around.
“What’s wrong?” Christie said.
“I still don’t see the Blairs.”
Christie started scanning the room.
“Think they left?”
“Could have been spooked by last night. Still, you’d think they’d leave a note or something.”
“Strange…”
Ed Lowe came to the microphone. Jack expected him to talk about last night’s incident.
Instead, he started immediately with…
“Hello, Paterville families!”
As if nothing had happened at all.
29. Afternoon
“Which boat do you like, Kate?”
“I like this one!” Simon said, pointing at a rowboat.
“That’s just a rowboat,” Kate said. Then, definitively, “I like this canoe.”
A line of three canoes sat together. Out on the lake, a few other boats went back and forth lazily. No motorboats here.
“Canoe looks good to me,” Jack said.
A boat attendant dressed in a Paterville polo shirt and jeans walked over. The name tag read: FREDDY.
“Know what kind of boat you want?” he said.
“One canoe to go.”
Freddy nodded and walked back to the middle of the small dock where an umbrella made shade for a chair and storage chest. Jack watched the guy open the chest and start digging through a pile of life preservers.
“Okay,” Jack said, turning to Simon and Kate. “A few things about canoes.”
“I still like the rowboat.”
“Next time. So, canoes tip easily. Shift your weight too fast, stand up—and we all go swimming.”
Kate listened intently.
I’m back to being Dad, Jack thought.
“That sounds like fun,” Simon said.
Jack smiled at him. “Let’s not experiment. And where we sit is important, one person in front, one in back, and—”
Simon quickly said, “I call front!”
Oh, to be a kid.
“We can—carefully—take turns. But we all get to paddle. Need to, actually, so—”
The attendant returned with three faded orange life preservers.
“Try these,” he said.
Kate got hers on fine, but Simon put his on backward, which Jack quickly righted. Both looked a little roomy, but they weren’t heading out into the Atlantic.
Jack’s was snug. He could barely buckle it.
No matter, he thought.
“The paddles are in the boat,” Freddy said.
“Okay crew, let’s—”
Freddy put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Few rules.”
Jack stopped and turned. Rules.
“Yeah.”
“No standing or moving around—”
“I was just telling them that.”
“Boat tips, any damage—you’re responsible.”
Jack nodded.
Freddy rubbed his chin. “We close here at five. All boats back by five.”
“Doubt we’ll be that long.”
“And…”
A last rule coming. Slipped into the others as if it was just as obvious.
“You see that spot out there, on the right? And also over there, on the left?”
Jack turned and looked. The beach on either side of the lake gave way to brush and trees that ran midway around the lake. But that shoreline girding the lake ended in abrupt rocky faces and gradual cliffs that ran clear to the mountains on the other side of the lake.
“See those rocky points there?”
“Sure do.”
“Don’t go past there. You get there, you turn around. Got it?”
Jack nearly said aye, aye to the insistent boat boy.
Why? he wondered. Why the hell couldn’t they canoe all the way to the other side?
“Okay. Anything else?”
The attendant shook his head.
“Okay kids, guess we’re good to go.”
* * *
Simon kneeled in front, his strokes doing
a mix of helping the canoe go forward and then stopping it. Getting that rhythm… not easy.
Jack took the middle, applying paddle strokes to either side as needed. Kate took the rear, a spot she seemed happy to have since she could steer and turn the canoe.
Control was good. At least in her universe.
Mine, too, Jack thought.
His right leg ached in the position needed to make the boat go. Sand from the beach ground into his knees, and his scar felt the pressure, the stretching and pulling as he squatted in the middle.
Let’s make this a short voyage, he thought.
“How am I doing, Dad?”
“Super. Keep those strokes nice and steady, Simon.”
He looked back at Kate and gave her a wink.
Jack thought of the last and only time he’d ever canoed. Ten years old, with his parents and his older brother. Only a few years before he’d lose both his mom and dad to cancer.
One of his last good family memories with his older brother, who never came back from the Mideast. He became a name in a box in the New York Times. A dead soldier in a war that was long since over.
He remembered the few minutes of instruction from an old man who ran the Irish Alps place they’d stayed in.
The J-stroke. And how to hold the paddle. Even how to right a tipped canoe.
Then, a few hours of exploring the lake. A memory you hold forever.
Maybe like today.
Jack looked up at the icy blue sky.
Maybe like today.
The memory of last night faded under the brilliant sun and the gentle sound of his kids paddling.
* * *
Jack looked right and left. Rocky cliffs suddenly appeared at both shores. The turnaround point.
He turned back to Kate. “Okay, kiddo, work your magic with the paddle.”
Kate smiled, but when she put her paddle in the water, it sent the canoe gliding farther away from the camp.
The boat now arced straight toward the mountain, moving quickly past the turnaround point. Simon had actually gotten into the steady left–right rhythm. The canoe moved sleekly through the glass-flat water—but in the wrong direction.
Again, back to Kate.
He smiled, not wanting to start up with her again.
“Hey there, Captain, think you need to get that paddle in the water out, like so. To steer us back.”
He demonstrated the angle she should take.
Jack thought he might try to guide the canoe from the middle. But that could make it rock.
They were pretty damn far away from the beach.
“I’m trying, Dad. You mean, like this?”
Her smile evaporated. Her new paddle position only made the canoe zig a bit to the left. The beginning of the cliffs were now well behind them.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get it.”
Jack felt powerless. He couldn’t change positions with his daughter, and so far, his instructions had little effect on getting the boat turned around.
“Keep trying, honey.”
What was the worse that could happen? A reprimand from the attendant?
A scolding from Ed Lowe?
Canoe rights revoked?
As Jack turned left and right, looking at Kate’s attempts to hold the paddle in the water at the correct angle and make the canoe obey, a flash of light, a reflection from the cliff to his right, caught his attention.
He stopped looking at Kate for a moment.
The flash of reflected sunlight vanished.
But he saw something else.
On the cliff. Hard to make out at first.
The kids occupied with rowing. Jack squinting at what he could see through the trees.
It resolved into something almost recognizable: houses, cabins, close to the shore.
But now blackened, timbers exposed.
Fire. Had to be. A whole group of them, like a town at the cliff’s edge, burned down. Not a building untouched.
He turned back to the shore, his paranoia there. Knowing, feeling that this was something they were not supposed to see. The burned houses. The charred remains of where people once lived. What happened? Lightning? A wildfire?
He shook his head.
The woods near the houses were untouched.
He thought he saw something at the window of one building. Could have been anything, really. A shape. A branch that fell and got burned.
Sure, he told himself. That’s all.
Why do I think I see what look like arms? The shape of a head. The thing half in and half out of the window.
White bones, toasted black.
He took a breath, then looked at his kids, both oblivious to what he had been studying.
Then to the shore. As if someone there could be watching him.
Then, seemingly booming from the sky above them, a long, deep blast of a horn, aimed right at the lake.
Like the loud moan of a fire alarm in a small town, late at night, rousing the volunteers.
One blast, then another.
Simon’s hands went to his ears and he dropped his paddle. He immediately twisted to see where it went. His motion made the boat rock. Instinctively, Jack moved in the other direction to steady the boat.
“My paddle!”
Jack’s voice took on a clear, commanding tone: “Simon. Stay seated. We’ll get the paddle.”
One that he hoped expressed calm. But one that Simon would obey.
The paddle coasted past Kate, any opportunity for an easy recovery gone.
“Dad, I’m—”
“Nice and still, Simon. Just like I showed you.”
Then another, longer blast of the warning horn.
Jack looked back at Kate, checking on her. She looked scared, and held her paddle up in the air.
Good. At least she’s not making us go farther into the forbidden zone.
He looked to the trees at the top of the cliff. Loudspeakers.
Christ, loudspeakers out here? Why? Then the answer came.
“Turn your boat around immediately. You are leaving Paterville property.”
A recorded voice. Just triggered by their arrival here? Or did someone send those blasts, the messages?
The message repeated.
“Turn your boat around now!”
“Daddy,” Kate said, “are we in trouble?”
Jack forced a smile. “Oh, right—big trouble. The canoe police will want to have a chat with us.”
That made her face ease a bit.
“My paddle!” Simon said, as if a reminder.
Then another horn blast.
“All right, here’s what we’re gonna do. Let me just do the paddling here—”
Can that even be done? Jack thought. From the middle of the canoe?
“—and I’ll get us over to Simon’s paddle. Then we’ll figure out how to turn around and get back.”
He looked from Simon, then to Kate.
“Okay, then?”
They nodded.
“Here we go.”
* * *
It took longer to get the paddle than it had to canoe all the way out there. But Jack eventually got to it, reached down, and picked it up.
“Here you go. Back in business,” he said to Simon. Then to Kate: “Now, I think, if you just do this…”
Jack again modeled the angle and position with his paddle.
“And if Simon and I row nice and straight, we should turn around fine. And head back.”
He made sure he didn’t look back at the cliff edge, the burned out places barely visible behind the bushes and trees.
But the thought: The horn. They don’t want anyone seeing that.
“Will that horn blow again?” Simon asked.
Jack looked up, back to the shore.
“No. I think they know we got the message.”
This time, Kate got the position right.
When the canoe was finally pointed straight at the beach, they began paddling as before, streaming through the water, h
eading back to the Paterville beach.
Moving quickly away from the secret on the lake.
* * *
Jack had expected Ed Lowe to be waiting for them, a reprimand at the ready.
But only the attendant was on the dock.
Freddy waited, arms folded, until they had gingerly stepped out of the canoe and onto the dock.
“I told you,” he said, dully, like a parent reminding a kid of some chore forgotten a dozen or more times, “not to go past that point. No one goes past that point.”
Jack took the life preservers from the kids and handed them to the attendant.
“Had a little trouble with the steering. Maybe put some damn rudders on these things.”
The joke brought nothing. Freddy gathered all three preservers on one arm and started to turn.
“Hey,” Jack said.
Still smiling, still keeping it light.
More for his kids than the sullen attendant.
Did this kid even know what was out there?
“What’s with the horns? Pretty loud.”
Freddy didn’t stop. Jack followed him to the storage container.
“They warn you.” The kid picked up the lid and tossed in the jackets. “Least they’re supposed to warn you.”
“We heard them, all right.”
“Dad, can I go back to the cottage?” Kate said.
“Sure. Take Simon.”
In seconds, they had left the dock. The splintery storage container lid slammed down hard.
The attendant moved to his chair. Picked up a clipboard.
Lot of important paperwork with this job, Jack thought.
“Looks like there was a fire up there,” he said.
He studied the kid, focused on his clipboard.
When the kid didn’t respond, Jack took a step closer. “Know anything about that?”
Finally, the kid looked up, his eyes narrowed. Jack could feel the anger there. Freddy didn’t like the questions.
“Nope. Never been out that far.”
Back to the clipboard.
Jack walked away, catching up with his kids, already back on the beach, knowing that Freddy knew exactly what was on those cliffs.
But something more than that worried Jack.
The look in Freddy’s dull eyes.
The anger. Something familiar about it.
The sky remained as blue and crisp as before. A beautiful sky.
But as Jack walked back to the beach, he took no notice of it.
30. 4:55 P.M.
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