Little Whispers

by Glen Krisch

  “Poppa, please …” she said, her voice weakening, “don’t talk like that.”

  “I have no other way to talk. I’ll soon be dead and won’t be able to tell you these things. Happiness, family … there is no more grand revelation. Money, power, heck, even a genius intellect … they all pale in comparison. By far.”

  Krista reached out and took hold of his terribly withered hand. His skin was so cool to the touch she could feel her heat radiating into him.

  “Poppa …” She paused to gather her emotions. “Okay …” She bit her lower lip. “Okay.”

  They sat in silence, her hand still engulfing his. A warm breeze toyed with her short auburn curls. Songbirds sung their contentment, their unbridled joy. White, yellow, and blue feathers flashed among the greening deciduous leaves as they chased and cavorted.

  Krista closed her eyes and remembered sitting here so long ago, on a day similar to so many others, but remarkable in one horrible respect. Her fingers tingled where they rested on Poppa’s hand; the sensation traveled the length of her arm, across her neck, settling behind her closed eyelids. She felt a low buzzing, first in her ears, and then across her entire body. And then, as if a doorway had been opened within her mind, she suddenly recalled long-buried details so vivid and indelible they saturated her senses.

  ~

  A peanut butter and jelly sandwich pasted her tongue. She swigged the last of her root beer as the scent of the dark woods swept over her in fragrant waves. The lake lured her down the dirt trail, winding through trees, calling to her in the unspoken language limited to children and nature. Without a second thought, she took off barefoot, skipping over roots and around blind bends in the path. When her dancing feet brought her from shadowy wood to golden sunlit beach, the coarse wet sand filled the gaps between her toes.

  A chilling scream stripped Krista of her carefree thoughts.

  This horrible yet familiar sound drew her closer to the shore, to where the midday waves lapped at the sandcastle she had built with Breann and Leah earlier that morning.

  A screaming woman walked along the water’s edge, tracking tiny footprints in the sand, footprints gamboling near the water’s edge before veering toward the road. At the roadway, where a single lane dirt road had been carved through the forested valley, the footprints ended with a lone depression of the right forefoot. As if the person etching their path had stepped off the face of the earth.

  “Breann! Where are you, baby!”

  The woman looked shattered. Utterly destroyed.

  “Breann!” she screamed until her voice cracked.

  “Mrs. McCort?”

  The woman turned at the sound of Krista’s voice. She flinched hard, as if slapped.

  “My baby. She’s gone. My baby …”

  ~

  A ruckus inside pulled her from her waking dream and Krista sat up with a start. She shook her head, feeling like she’d woken from a full-night’s sleep.

  “Are you okay, dear?” Poppa asked, his eyes glassy with concern.

  Her fingertips tingled, and she clenched her hand into a fist. The sensation was gone, if it was ever there in the first place.

  “Yeah … sure. A bit worn out, I guess. It was a long drive.”

  It took her a moment to focus.

  Clara stood near the sink, the water drained, the dishes washed and put away. At first Krista thought something terrible had happened, but she saw no blood to indicate an injury, nor any broken glass stemming from an accident. Even so, Clara’s eyes were scrunched closed, and her hands clamped over her ears.

  Krista looked from Clara to Neal. He wasn’t so much distraught as dismayed as he gaped at the front door and the source of her daughter’s misery.

  Of course. Trevor.

  Krista’s eleven-year-old nephew. Nearly blinding sunlight blazed behind him, as if flames trailed in his wake. His face was electric, with dark brown eyes that managed to reflect the slightest amount of light, a smile equal parts teeth and empty gums, and deep, incredibly cute dimples. He held his arms aloft with double rock ‘n roll devil horns. He wore only swim trunks, two sizes too big for his skinny frame, and a beach blanket and Super Soaker water gun hung from his neck.

  “Woohoo! Yeah!” Trevor cried.

  Clara shrank from the noise.

  Krista hadn’t taken into account Trevor’s outsized personality when she’d made plans for this trip, or how it might impact her sensitive daughter.

  “We have arrived! ”

  My poor girl.

  “Sounds like Jack and Trev are here,” Poppa said, slowly gaining his feet. “If someone figured out how to plug him in, that boy could light the world.”

  “If only …” Krista said. She reached the sliding glass door first and pulled it open.

  Clara looked relieved at her arrival and came over to huddle in Krista’s shadow.

  Krista’s mind flashed with the image of a sandcastle slowly eroded by the Little Whisper’s lapping waves. She shook her head until the image disappeared.

  No matter her efforts, she seemed unable to tame her reawakened memories, or their possible implications for the rest of her visit.

  CHAPTER 4

  Wrestling with a trio of suitcases, Krista’s younger brother, Jack, stepped inside and shoved the door closed with a foot. He wore a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, swim trunks, and flip-flops.

  “There’s my boy!” Poppa shuffled over to the new arrivals with his arms extended. He always doted on the youngest of the three siblings, and luckily it never bothered Krista or Leah.

  “Hi, Poppa!” Jack said.

  “Poppa!” Trev pushed past his dad and barreled into Poppa, his hug nearly toppling them both to the floor. Poppa clutched the boy lovingly, and to keep himself upright.

  “Trevor, what did I say about being rough?” Jack sopped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “Jackson, your boy can hug me as hard as he likes.”

  Poppa kissed the top of the boy’s head before he could escape, which he did a moment later, his Super Soaker jostling around on its nylon strap.

  “You can’t get away from me!” Poppa pretended to swipe at the boy to haul him into another hug.

  “Poppa!” Trev said, and backed away, giggling. He raised his toy gun and made a sound like a jetting garden hose with his pursed lips.

  Jack rolled his eyes and turned to shake Neal’s hand. Though they didn’t have much of anything in common, they both made an effort, which Krista appreciated. She hadn’t seen her younger brother in some time, and he now looked a decade older than his thirty-one years. His hair was in Jack’s typical just-rolled-out-of-bed style, but now graying at the temples. While Trevor had inherited his father’s dark, brilliant eyes and deep dimples, Jack’s unkempt beard hid his dimples, and though his eyes were still dark, their luster had diminished considerably.

  “Woohoo, it’s time to par-tay!” Trev held his water gun at firing height and charged commando-style into the kitchen, heading for the back door.

  “Trev, I said to wait for your cousins!” Jack hurried after his son and gave Krista an imploring look.

  Krista grinned, but it was fleeting. She normally enjoyed seeing Trevor tying her little brother into knots, but right now he seemed overmatched and unequipped for the challenge. He had raised his son as a single parent after Sheri, Trevor’s mom, walked out on them when he was an infant. Krista had never seen her brother look so distressed to be parenting Trevor solo.

  Trev stomped his foot. “Dad, come on! ”

  Instead of putting the boy in his place, Jack let out a long groan. “Oh, Poppa, you don’t mind, do you?” He kept one eye on Trevor as he opened the sliding door leading to the deck. “He’s been dying to hit the lake since I told him about the trip.”

  “No, go right ahead!” Poppa said, waving him away. “The Little Whis
per is the reason I built on this very spot.” Poppa cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Just wait for your father, Trevor! ”

  “You got it, Poppa!”

  “I’m not going to swim,” Clara said with finality. She remained at Krista’s side.

  “How about you change into your suit and just hang out on the beach?” Neal added with an agreeable nod.

  Krista’s husband could be quite convincing. It was something about his eyes and the slightly gawky charm in his body language. It worked well at the law firm; it worked when they wanted the normally finicky Clara to try a new food; it worked on Krista the night they met, and many nights since. Even now, Krista felt a strange urge to comply, to head off and change into her own new one-piece.

  “Dad.” Clara shot him a withering glance, but her defenses were already crumbling.

  “Please, Clara.” Neal paused a long three seconds. “Trev can’t go down there alone.”

  “He’s my age. What does it matter?”

  “Safety in numbers.” The power of Neal’s kind reassurance forced Clara to look away.

  Clara’s gaze settled on Poppa, nodding in agreement with her dad. “Fine. Whatever,” she grumbled before heading out to the car to retrieve her beach gear. She couldn’t deny both her dad and her great-grandpa.

  CHAPTER 5

  It was too cold for swimming and would remain so until summer’s heat took hold, at least for sensible adults like Krista. She eased into a low lounge chair, as did Neal, Poppa, and her brother Jack. She drew a circle in the damp sand with her big toe.

  Decades ago, Poppa had built the fire pit, around which they now relaxed, from granite stones sourced from the surrounding hills. Charred remnants of previous fires lay dormant at the pit’s center. As a child, Krista had spent countless summer nights in this very spot—her shoulders stinging from fresh sunburn—roasting marshmallows for s’mores. She recalled the chill coming off the lake at nightfall, the bone-weary exhaustion from playing in the water, but most of all, she remembered the laughter and the firelight and how one seemed to feed the other.

  She’d forgotten about those fond memories until now, and they brought an easy smile to her lips.

  Neal reached over and gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze. His concern for her softened around his eyes. For the duration of their marriage, Neal’s worry was rarely ever his own, even with the stresses inherent to being a defense attorney. More often than not, his worry was merely a reflection of Krista’s. For the umpteenth time, she reminded herself how lucky she was to have him in her life.

  It was too cold to swim, true, but that didn’t stop Trevor. He charged into the water, barely slowing as it reached mid-thighs. His water gun hung heavy and full around his neck, and his wet swim trunks sagged off his skinny butt.

  After making a fuss of spreading her beach blanket near the shore, Clara sat ramrod straight and opened her worn copy of The Hobbit.

  “That boy,” Jack said with a groan, “will be the death of me.”

  Poppa tucked a blanket over his lap. “He’s no different than you were at that age.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “And is there any wonder why I’m going gray?”

  “Want me to go hang out with him?” Krista said. She didn’t want to go in the water. She’d already dipped a toe to test the temperature, and that had been enough for her. “At least until Leah shows up with the twins?”

  “Nah,” Jack said, not bothering to open his eyes, “he swims better than you and me combined.”

  The water reached as high as Trevor’s waist.

  “Oh, my frickin’ balls! ” Trevor play-acted a bone-jarring shiver, but pushed deeper still, heading for the anchored dock.

  The adults all chuckled.

  Clara turned around on her blanket until her back faced the water.

  “Yep,” Poppa said, “that could be Jack out there, twenty years ago.”

  The small anchored dock floated in about six feet of water, thirty feet from shore. The dock marked the edge of the safe swimming area. Any farther out and the lake’s bottom fell away, lost in weedy shadows.

  Krista remembered the dock’s appeal. At different times it would double as a tropical island, a home base during games of splash tag, or a yacht adrift on the high seas. No matter the year or season, every child who came to Little Whisper Lake was drawn to that dock.

  Trevor swam to the ladder bolted to the side of the dock as the adults watched in silence.

  “See,” Jack said, running fingers through his hair and sighing. “What did I tell you? He’s part fish.”

  Krista so rarely saw her brother that she knew little about his daily life. Sure, he was a patrolman for the Rock Creek P.D., and he played center field for the department’s softball team. But otherwise, they were practically strangers.

  “So, how are things in Rock Creek?” she asked him. “Does Kemper still have you working those crazy swing shifts?”

  “The shifts are what they are. I don’t love it or hate it. It’s just what it is, right? And no matter what shift I’m working, I wind up handing out ten or so citations per day to the out-of-towners who don’t know enough to slow down when entering our little rural paradise.”

  “Sounds like an honest day’s work, if you ask me,” Neal said.

  “True, but there’s not much excitement. No crime. Husbands don’t raise a hand in anger, even after tying one on. There’s an occasional pot bust, but I haven’t seen anything harder come through.”

  Krista arched an eyebrow and said, “You sound disappointed.”

  “What you’re describing is a great place to raise a son,” Poppa said.

  “Sure, it’s a nice town, but I sometimes wonder if they hired me for my qualifications, or for my name.” Jack’s eyes turned glassy, distant.

  “You really think they’d hire you if you weren’t qualified just because you played professional baseball?” Krista asked.

  Jack laughed cynically and glared at his sister. “You don’t know much about small-town life, do you? Rock Creek and Chicago are like different worlds.”

  Krista wasn’t sure why he was so upset. Jack was normally level-headed. At least he used to be. She lowered her eyes and Neal squeezed her arm.

  “Jack, be nice,” Poppa said. “I don’t want any arguing during this vacation.”

  “Well then,” Jack said. He stood and clapped his hands together. “You know what?” He flashed a smile, but it was obvious anger was still a hair-trigger away. “This little get together needs some brews. I have a well-stocked cooler in the back of my truck.” Jack nodded toward the trail before starting off in a jog. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

  “Do you need a hand?” Neal asked.

  Jack looked back over his shoulder. “Naw, bro, I got it.”

  Before anyone else could say a word, Jack disappeared onto the dirt trail cutting through the woods leading to the back deck.

  “What was that all about?” Krista asked.

  “He’s just tired,” Poppa said.

  “He has every right to be tired after raising Trevor by himself for a decade,” Neal said. “I think it would be weird if he didn’t show some wear and tear by now.”

  Krista didn’t completely buy his answer. “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right.”

  “It’s a miracle!” Neal said. “Twice in one day she admits I’m right!”

  “Even a broken clock is right twice a day, Neal,” Poppa said.

  “Well, Pierce, I see you’re taking that whole straight-and-to-the-point bit seriously.”

  Poppa touched the tip of his nose with an index finger and gave Neal a knowing wink.

  Krista laughed hard. She fully understood the reason behind this long-delayed return to the summer house. She had mentally prepared herself to make this trip, assuming every minute o
f every day would be a grim ordeal. Besides the dust-up with her brother, it had been anything but. Sure, her grandfather exhibited a wry cynicism regarding his failing health, but otherwise, he was simply … Poppa.

  Neal checked his watch. “Well, Leah’s an hour late, which means she’ll be here any minute.”

  Poppa chuckled. “She’s just like her grandma. Always laughing, always empathetic … always late.”

  “I think she does it on purpose,” Krista added.

  “I think she doesn’t have a choice,” Poppa said. “The universe has a path for each of us. For Leah, her path runs through a different time continuum.”

  Krista couldn’t think of a better way to put it. She buried her feet to her ankles in the cool sand and watched a heron land in a grassy alcove. It dipped its beak into the water, chasing a fish, but came up empty. It waited motionless until the water again settled into glass.

  Poppa kept his shoreline free of water plants to allow his family easy access to the lake. The next property over—Breann’s house, oh my God, poor Breann—had become overgrown in the last several years. The lawn hadn’t been mowed this year, as of yet, and cattails and lily pads curled out in small islands from the shore, blotting out the lake bottom. Krista couldn’t see the light blue ranch, now lost among the encroaching trees. Soon it would be difficult to determine if anyone had ever lived on that land.

  A twig snapped and everyone turned at the sound.

  Jack cleared the dirt trail and stepped into the sand. A laden cooler bobbed against his thighs as he trudged toward the fire pit. “Look who I found strolling in?”

  “Leah?” Poppa asked, hopeful.

  Nine-year-old twins Robby and Heidi sprinted out from the trailhead behind their Uncle Jack. Robby stripped off his T-shirt as he ran, revealing a torso deeply tanned for so early in the summer. Heidi beamed a huge smile at the adults and waved. “Hi, family! I missed you!” she shouted without breaking stride. She kicked off her pink flip-flops and yanked an oversized shirt—most likely a hand-me-down from her dad—over her head and tossed it to the sand. Dark brown hair trailed past her shoulder blades, tied back in a single whip-like braid. The girl’s floral two-piece suit looked adorable but would do little to keep her warm.