by Glen Krisch
Breann had loved those shoes.
Krista squatted, her knees popping, the shower spray drumming into her back. She reached out through the heated steam and the fog of time and ran her fingers over the nearest shoe print, crumbling the sharp edge, the sand cold to the touch and with the just-after-rainfall consistency of brown sugar.
Her brow furrowed as she tried to draw in the details. She wanted to see more, but couldn’t. The harder she tried, the more the past receded, leaving her a red and wrinkled mess on the shower floor.
“We had a fight …” she whispered, pushing wet hair from her eyes, remembering.
Of course! We had a fight!
For the life of her, she couldn’t recall why she had argued with Breann, but their one and only fight had taken place after breakfast on the morning of her disappearance.
It wouldn’t change anything, but Krista wanted to know what they had fought about, needed to know what had sent them on diverging paths.
She clenched her eyelids tighter, wallowing in the misery of that morning, of that afternoon and the subsequent days, letting the pain fuel her recollection.
A flash of memory: Breann’s smile, a close-up of Breann’s crooked teeth, and how she would absently run the tip of her tongue across the eye tooth whenever nervous; and the freckles on her nose, how they were imperceptible at the start of summer and seemed to darken until she went back to Indianapolis, where her family spent the majority of the year.
Krista wanted to recall her laughter, but it eluded her. Instead, she got those August-dark freckles, clear as day, and the crooked smile sagging until it became a twisted snarl. Brown eyes boring into her, darkening, like two specks of coal pressed into her flesh.
“Say something!” Krista said, crossing her arms and glaring at her friend.
Breann stomped her barefoot into the beach sand.
“I can’t believe you would do that to me!”
The sun baked down on them. Over the weeks, Krista’s skin had transformed from a scalded red to an even caramel. Even though she had been at Little Whisper for just as long, Breann’s skin peeled raw in places, patchy tan in others.
“What? What did I do?” Krista felt like her world was crumbling.
“That’s the thing—you don’t even know!” Breann’s lip curled. Crimson spread across her cheeks, equal parts sunburn and escalating anger.
Krista thought long and hard. “You’re mad because I went to see The Nutty Professor with Sandy Armstrong?” She took a stab at the reason behind her friend’s anger, and from Breann’s nasty scowl, she’d hit her mark. “You said you didn’t want to go. You said it looked stupid. Guess what? It was stupid!”
“You don’t even know how lucky you are!”
Breann kicked the sand.
“I invited you. I invited you first! Before Sandy. You said you didn’t want to go. What’s the big deal?”
Breann turned away, absently running her fingers over the heart charm hanging by a chain around her neck. Her head bobbed and she was obviously crying, but she didn’t emit a sound. Krista had given her the charm for her birthday at the beginning of the summer, and had never seen her without it.
Krista reached for Breann’s shoulder, but drew away before touching her.
“Bree, I … I don’t understand. You’re my best friend. Nothing’s going to change that.”
“Movies cost money. Going to the Shop ’N Gas for candy costs money. Going to the outlets costs money. You have it. I don’t.” Her friend turned to face her with bloodshot eyes.
“That doesn’t matter! Don’t you get it? I would’ve paid for you.”
“That’s the problem. I do get it. You’re the one who doesn’t.” Breann shrugged, wiped at her falling tears.
Krista watched as her best friend stormed across the beach, all the way across her grandparents’ lakefront and the adjacent properties. Breann slowed to a stop but didn’t turn around. Krista could call out to her, but that would be giving in, and she felt like she was always giving in. While she’d wanted to go to the movie with Breann, she could be so moody sometimes!
Breann started off again, her arms crossed in front of her, the sand kicking up from her strides like a snow plow clearing the streets after a blizzard.
Krista couldn’t remember ever being so mad. Breann had basically called her a snob and stormed off before she could defend herself.
And then Krista had …?
She couldn’t remember anything more. She could’ve gone up to the summer house and lounged on the back deck. She could’ve retreated to the den to watch TV. It didn’t matter what she had done after Breann had stormed away. The only thing that mattered was that she had let her friend leave in the first place.
It’s all my fault.
She stood and wiped tears and shower spray from her eyes.
She’d assumed they’d have a chance to make up, to put the stupid fight behind them. At that age, how could you not assume there would be time for apologies?
Someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?” The tremor in her voice surprised her.
The door opened and someone stepped inside.
“It’s just me,” Neal said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just caught a chill out in the rain, so I’m trying to warm up. I’m almost done.”
The shower door slid open a few inches and he peeked inside. He raised an eyebrow as he stared at her naked body. “Good.” He held up a fresh towel. “I’m your personal drying service.”
Krista rolled her eyes and shut off the water.
“Okay, but no funny business.”
“No funny business,” he agreed with a frown, “but just so you know, I work for tips.”
She wanted to be angry at him for interrupting her shower, for ruining her reminiscing … but she wasn’t angry. If anything, his timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“You’re without shame.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Krista couldn’t help cracking a smile. He was shameless. Neal would often conveniently find an excuse to see her in the shower, and then insist on drying her off. These coincidences sometimes led to immediate heated encounters. Other times they planted seeds for later on that night. Whatever the case, her husband adored her, and she felt lucky to have found someone she clicked with, on so many levels.
Krista stepped out onto the floor mat and turned her back to him. He dried her hair until it was merely damp, and then ran the towel over her back, down to her buttocks. He lingered longer than needed, and right when she was going to call him out, he said, “Arms.”
She raised her arms as Neal continued to pat her dry.
“We had a fight.”
“Excuse me?” he said, and handed her the towel. “I don’t remember any fight.”
She wrapped the towel around her head.
“No, not us. Me and … Breann. The morning she disappeared. I just remembered. I wanted her to come with me to see The Nutty Professor, and she said she didn’t want to. I wound up going with another girl from around the lake, Sandy Armstrong. I just realized … she did want to go. But she couldn’t afford a day at the movies, and I’d gone without her. And I didn’t understand how I was rubbing it in her face.”
“Krista, don’t. You can’t—”
“And, yeah, I remembered the fight, I guess, over the years, but I never really understood it until now. It was a stupid fight, but back then it felt like the world would end. It hurt so bad to have my best friend turn her back on me. For a long time, I blamed her. I thought she was being controlling since she didn’t want me to go to the movies without her, with someone else. But it was my fault.”
“Krista …” Neal said. Instead of continuing, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. He held her for several minutes, until her limbs had no choic
e but to relax.
They swayed together, enjoying the closeness.
Krista exhaled a long breath and pulled away from him. “We need to get going, or people are going to wonder what’s going on in here.”
“It’s vacation! Wild rumpuses are supposed to be had!”
He was trying so hard to lift her from her malaise. She chuckled, feeling so much better than before he entered the bathroom.
“We’ve already had a wild rumpus, remember?”
“There can never be too many wild rumpuses!” His eyes widened expectantly, but when she didn’t react, he handed her the bra from the pile of clean clothes stacked on the toilet seat. “Okay, but I’m going to watch you get dressed so I can imagine it in reverse.”
“Shameless!” She took the bra and quickly covered up. She turned her back to him and he worked the clasp for her. She stepped into Capri pants and buttoned the top button, completing the reverse striptease.
“Leah asked me for legal advice,” Neal said.
“Oh, yeah?”
“She’s thinking about leaving Curtis. For good. She wants to move here. Her and the kids. And she wants sole custody.”
“What? She can’t stay here. What did you tell her?”
“Well, first of all, to talk to you. I also mentioned I’d look into it, if that’s what she really wants. Sid Lowrey, he’s in my pick-up basketball league at the club, one of the best family law attorneys in Chicago. I told her I’d give him a call.”
“I know it’s over between them … she explained a lot of it to me already. It’s just, moving here with the kids?”
“Think how much more we could see them.”
“I don’t know. I always assumed after … you know, when the time comes, we’d sell the place. It has too many memories.”
“I know you’re sensitive about it, but if it’s the best solution for Leah and the kids, then you should keep an open mind about it.”
“Well … I guess.” It was hard to argue with his reasoning.
“Good. How about a bite to eat?”
She nodded and Neal kissed her forehead and opened the bathroom door. Steam escaped the enclosed space as they entered the hallway. Her mood brightened, not just from the shower, but also Neal’s presence, his persistence, his care. She twined her fingers in his and squeezed, hoping her contentment would last.
She attempted to see the summer house differently, through the lens of an adult, through the lens of someone who might come out to visit her sister and kids in the not-so-distant future. It had been such a wonderful place to spend her childhood summers—at least those summers before Breann’s disappearance—but it had also been the place of her darkest nightmare. She didn’t know if she could reconcile the two differing memories.
When they reached the entryway, the door opened wide and Clara stepped inside. She was sodden from the peak of her head to the tips of her toes. Water dripped from the edges of her soaked rain poncho, forming a circle of wetness around her.
“Hello, parents!” Clara beamed with exuberance.
Krista stood stunned, unsure what was happening. Clara’s eyes sparkled, almost disconcertingly.
“What is it, Clara?” Neal said. “What happened?”
“I let my mind wander. I let myself be a kid.”
“Where were you?” Krista asked. “I thought you were somewhere inside, with a book?”
“She went for a walk,” Neal said and cleared his throat.
Krista glared at him. “You knew she was out in this mess?”
“Well …”
“It’s okay, Mom. I was just off in the woods.” She held up a full basket of purple flowers. “I got these for Poppa. They’re Nan’s favorite!”
The mesh basket dripped rainwater.
Krista wanted to be angry at her daughter, but she didn’t know what the official reason would be. Going for a walk? Picking flowers for her ailing great-grandfather? Letting herself relax and enjoy the day?
“Okay …” Krista reached for the basket. “Let’s get these in a vase. Aren’t you freezing?”
“No, not at all!” Clara spun in a circle, sending the water beads on her poncho flying in every direction. When she finished two revolutions, she pulled the poncho up over her head. “I better hang this up!” She stopped long enough to give her father a peck on the cheek, and then spirited away, down the hallway.
“What in the world just happened?” Krista asked.
“Our daughter decided to be a kid for once?”
“Why do I feel like I should be worried?”
“Lack of experience?” Neal wrapped his arm around her. “It’s not like you’ve ever raised a child before.”
CHAPTER 16
The bedside chair creaked as Breann climbed onto it. She squatted on her haunches and rested her elbows on scabbed knees. As she settled, her toes curled over the edge of the chair, the nails long, cracked, and caked with drying mud and blood.
The woman slept, curled on her side, unaware of Breann’s observation. She inhaled cleanly, deeply. Her exhaled breath rumbled, her lips fluttering and wet.
Leah.
Breann snared the word from the flotsam floating through the house. Words, emotions, desires, and still more, hovered among the house’s overburdened bookshelves, the forgotten knickknacks, the dusty quilts; every square inch of its extremity. The air the family breathed seethed with energy they emitted—now trapped—among the spirits, among the memories of this place. They inhaled the debris of time, added to its burden, released it back out into the world, soiled further.
Leah Whalen … Could this woman be …? She’s just a girl … a girl just like me.
Breann toyed with the name, rolling it over her tongue as if a solid object. She extended a hand across the short divide between the chair and the bed, between the long chasm between the dead and the living. Her fingers hovered over Leah’s cheek, trembling. She remembered her, vaguely, beyond her name, but there was more depth to the elusive memory. There had to be.
The corner of the woman’s mouth twisted in a familiar way, making it quite obvious this was the same person as the little girl she once knew. Leah Whalen, it really is her!—stirred, shivered as she slumbered and snugged the quilt over her shoulder. Her brow tensed as her lips formed muted words. She stirred, ready to rise from sleep.
Breann would rouse her, she decided, would demand an explanation, one that would reconcile the little tomboy girl captured in her fading memory with the woman before her now.
Before she could do anything, Breann sensed another presence. One like her, but … void and vile. It was here, now, inches away, a shadow of a shadow. Breann felt a sudden depth of cold unlike any she’d ever experienced descend over her like a shroud.
She tightened her trembling fingers into a fist and pulled her hand away. Just as quickly, Leah’s facial muscles relaxed, and her lips ceased their silent susurrations.
Breann jumped down from the chair, snared blindly into the void, lashed out with her muddy-nail stubs. She hunched over defensively, ready for whatever might beset her.
“Leave me alone!” She screamed herself hoarse as Leah shifted onto her back, discerning some vague reverberation of Breann’s disembodied voice. “You can’t have me!”
The shroud darkened around her, taking her away from this place, this time. A pinprick violet iris formed at the center of her vision and swirled, growing vast as it picked up speed, subtly lightening the surrounding deadscape. Breann tried to shut her eyes from the awakening sight, from the memory being forcefully recalled for her, but she was unable to discard it from her senses.
Cloying motor oil and cheap aftershave. Rank body odor and blood.
She couldn’t move. Sweat drenched her skin. In the brightening gloom, she saw a porthole window with brighter light beyond, light so vivid it brought stabbing pain to he
r temples. As she tried to steady her breathing in her confined space, a chemical odor swept in, making her eyelids heavy. She shifted again and the plastic pulled taut across her body, her knees tightening against her chest, the sweat gathering on her shoulders painful from her sunburn.
“You don’t even know how lucky you are! ” a man said in a fake falsetto.
She wanted to speak but was unable to form words. Her head lolled, and it took all her will to keep her eyes open.
“That’s what you said,” the voice said, no longer falsetto. “I heard you plain as day. And you know what? You’re right, Breann. She doesn’t have a clue about her luck. Her privilege.”
Her narrow vision filled with beauty—stunning blue eyes in a handsome face. His eyes carried laughter, a trace of madness, even though it never reached his lips.
“I wasn’t sure about you,” the man said. “Not until I heard you tell off that rich little cunt. No, you’re tough as nails. And I want to know more about that. All of it. I want to know what made you so. We have much to learn.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.
“Please,” Breann said, or thought she said. Her mind was so foggy that her voice could’ve been trapped shy of her teeth.
“I’m sorry I was so rough with you. I couldn’t risk being seen.”
Pain throbbed at the back of her skull.
The man moved around the enclosed space, momentarily blotting out the light from the porthole window. Pain lanced her scalp from where …
From where he hit me. With one of those tire-changing thingamajigs.
She remembered fireworks sparking across her vision. But before that …
Sand. Running in the sand. Running and so mad at the world. So mad at Krista Whalen … Krista and her snobby friend, Sandy.
It wasn’t stupid. Krista shouldn’t have gone to the movies without her. Shouldn’t have switched her out for that snob Sandy like she was changing into a clean pair of socks. Not when I’m now trapped in this … this …