“Do I really have to go? Can’t Bobby go without me?” her mom whined, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “I want to go swimming and play with the Birdwells.”
“Christine...” Grandma Dot said in a warning tone, and that was the end of that, Melanie guessed. She had never been able to talk back to Grandma Dot either.
She couldn’t decide if it was highly inventive or just plain cruel of her subconscious that it had created this dream for her. Just when Melanie was missing her mom, there she was again, yet not as the sage, calming force she had been in Melanie’s life but as a small, beautiful child.
And the sixties décor, her grandma’s unlined face and brown hair, the mention of Dern’s Market, the very same market she had frequented as a girl—it all felt emblematic of something Melanie couldn’t put her finger on. She was, quite frankly, impressed with her mind’s ability to concoct those era-appropriate details, but her brain’s possible ulterior motives troubled her. Yes, this house had a history far longer and more expansive than she could fathom, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t fix it up and give it a new life with some other family who would enjoy it as much as theirs had.
Sitting in the early-morning light of her grandma’s kitchen, across from her eight-year-old mom, Melanie felt overwhelmingly tired. She wished she could switch scenes and go to that beach to take a nap in the sand next to Ben. How unusual to be so exhausted when she knew she was already sleeping. But she hadn’t slept well for the past few weeks. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the horrible stain in her underwear, the blood in the toilet, and her hopes and dreams slipping away.
Maybe she would just go back up to that pink bedroom—her mother’s, she realized—and lie down for a while. Hopefully when she awoke, everything would be back to normal, and she would feel well rested and ready to take on the day. She had so much to do.
She wearily pulled herself to an upright position. “I love you, Mom,” she whispered and kissed the crown of her mom’s head, the place where her pigtails were expertly parted by a steady comb. She wished the girl would somehow sense her ghostly kiss, but if she did, her mom gave no indication. “I hope you get to go swimming today. And every day.”
WHEN KELSEY FINALLY arrived at Lake Indigo Sunday morning, it was much later than she had hoped, nearly eleven o’clock. But between Sprocket’s terror of the thunderstorm and her drunk-dialing ex, Tristan, she’d gotten a lousy night’s sleep. Then she’d tried to be a thoughtful sister by stopping at her favorite café in Bartlett for doughnuts and travel mugs of coffee—though by that point, Melanie’s was lukewarm at best. Kelsey was worried she’d be walking into a grizzly bear’s den. After a stormy night in a dirty environment, Melanie was probably not in one of her finer moods. Kelsey hoped the sugar and caffeine would help deescalate the situation.
But when she walked up the porch steps—balancing the bakery box under her chin and juggling one coffee cup in each hand—and let herself into the foyer, she was totally unprepared for what she saw. It was like someone had filled a bucket with pure sunshine and spilled it all over the foyer and living room. All the curtains had been taken down from the windows, letting in the bright daylight, and the wood floors were positively gleaming. Kelsey smelled lemon floor cleaner and impossibly... cinnamon. Is Melanie baking? After only sixteen hours in the place, Melanie had already transformed it into something out of a Pottery Barn catalog. Even the mantel held a vase of orange tulips.
“Hello? Is anyone home? I brought reinforcements,” Kelsey called as she set the bakery box down on the spotless table in the entryway. “Doughnuts and coffee.”
“How sweet of you,” Melanie called back. “We both had the same idea, I guess. Brunch together.”
Kelsey made her way to the kitchen, which she was kind of pleased to see was a total disaster area. Brown paper bags were clustered everywhere—the table, the chairs, and the floor. A sprinkling of oats and a streak of orange juice trailed the countertop. A still-wet mop leaned against the wall, and an assortment of disposable dishes and cutlery wrapped in plastic lay near the sink.
“Pardon my mess.” Melanie looked up from the fragrant substance she was stirring on the stove. “I made a trip to Dern’s Market this morning when it opened at seven. Although sadly, it’s not called Dern’s anymore. Now it’s owned by the Lamson family, so we’ll have to learn to call it that, I guess. They have basically the same stuff with just a few more departments. Like flowers and greeting cards.” That explained the tulips.
“You walked there?” Kelsey asked in disbelief, staring down at all the bags Melanie had somehow lugged back on her own.
“No, I rowed.” Melanie held up her palms as if she’d been caught guilty of something. “It’s a lot harder than I remembered. I think I’m going to have blisters.”
“You’re crazy.” Kelsey swept the dry oats into her cupped hand and brushed them into the sink. “Did you sleep okay?”
Melanie got a funny look on her face. “Yes and no. I think I slept through most of the storm, but I still feel kind of exhausted today.” Hmm... maybe because you got up at the crack of dawn to row half a mile then clean and cook. “Was the storm bad in Bartlett?” Melanie asked. “How did you sleep?”
Kelsey considered telling her about Tristan’s three a.m. call but decided against it. Melanie used to be fun to talk to about guys, wanting to hear everything about Kelsey’s life of singledom—living vicariously through her, she said—but lately, whenever Kelsey relayed her “misadventures in dating,” as she liked to think of them because it made her life seem more humorous and less depressing, Melanie got really serious sounding. “Aren’t you starting to see a pattern here?” she’d asked Kelsey once. “There are nice guys out there, you know. Guys who are faithful and will adore everything about you, every quirk, every freckle. You deserve that, Kels.” And when Kelsey had protested that Melanie didn’t know, that she’d been out of the dating game for so long and things had changed, and that not everyone was as lucky as she was to find their Ben at only age twenty-two, Melanie had simply said in the most infuriatingly superior tone imaginable, “Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.” Right. Like Kelsey could simply pick up the perfect boyfriend if she just knew which floor of Ikea to shop at. If only it were that easy.
“We had some real boomers,” Kelsey said, “and poor Sprocket is terrified of thunder, so he was huddled up against me, shaking and whining all night, and pretty much hogging the bed. My boss, Beth, says I should look into buying him a ThunderShirt. Have you heard of those before? It’s this little pressure vest that the dog wears that’s supposed to help relieve their anxiety. I guess it’s kind of like the equivalent of swaddling a baby, you know, to soothe them—” She glanced up to catch a distracted frown on Melanie’s face. Bored again, of course. Her sister never seemed interested in anything work or dog related, which was pretty much the same thing in Kelsey’s case.
“What are you making?” she asked to change the subject. “It smells really good.”
“Thanks. Apple cinnamon oatmeal. I had a craving.” Melanie turned off the burner and carried the pot to the counter, where she had two bowls waiting. “Grandma Dot used to make it for Mom when she was a little girl.”
“I didn’t know that. Where did you get the recipe?”
Melanie furrowed her brow in concentration as she poured out two even amounts of the thick golden oatmeal. “I didn’t. I just kind of made it up, so I hope it tastes okay. Should we eat on the porch?”
“Sure. I’ll grab the doughnuts.”
The wraparound porch was the best feature of the lake house. Kelsey had spent many hours rocking on the porch swing, reading books: Ann M. Martin’s The Baby-Sitters Club series, R. L. Stine’s spooky thrillers, and her personal favorite, C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia. Shaded by the roof and with a direct breeze from the lake, the porch was one of the coolest places to be on a hot day. Almost every weekend morning, their parents had been found out there, drinking coffee, a
dmiring the lake, and reading in quiet companionship—their dad read newspapers, and their mom read thick nonfiction books that never looked very compelling to Kelsey.
“This is really nice,” Kelsey said with a sigh. She took a drink of orange juice and contemplated the gorgeous view before them. The deep-blue water was so still that there was hardly a ripple. Their old dock and rowboat looked sweet, simple, and picturesque. The grass and trees glistened with the previous night’s rainfall. She thought she could probably sit there staring all day in complete contentment.
“I agree.” Melanie smiled at her and took a bite of her oatmeal. “A change of scenery was just what I needed.” She dabbed her lips with a paper towel.
“It brings back so many good memories, doesn’t it?” Kelsey leaned back in her chair. “Do you remember the time Mom and Dad let us sleep out here because it was about a hundred degrees upstairs? But we only lasted a few hours until we were covered from head to toe in mosquito bites.”
Melanie laughed. “My favorite is the time they let me drive the pontoon boat, and for the first half hour, I pretty much took us in circles. Then on the way home, we were crawling, probably at less than one mile per hour—turtles were paddling by faster than us—and you and Dad were complaining that we needed to get home for dinner, and Dad wanted to take over for me, but Mom insisted I stick with it and said that I was piloting the boat just fine, and if one mile per hour was the speed I felt comfortable going at, that was fine by her. She could enjoy seeing the dragonflies better that way.”
“Or the times the Fletchers took us on their speedboat?” Kelsey offered. “Man, that was fun. I haven’t been tubing or waterskiing in ages. I wonder if there’s somewhere around here we could rent a boat. Just for a day.” Their parents had sold their pontoon to a neighbor when they’d rented out the house.
“Or the times when it would rain,” she continued, “and Mom would bring out those old ridiculous board games from when she was a kid? Go For Broke and Creature Castle and Manhunt. She’d pop a big bowl of popcorn, and it would almost be even better than if it was sunny outside and we could go swimming. I remember sometimes she’d laugh so hard, she would start crying.”
Melanie nodded, a small smile fixed on her face as she looked out at the water. A pontoon boat with about six people aboard cruised past, leaving a frothy wake behind it. They all waved, and Kelsey and Melanie waved back.
“It just makes me wonder...” Kelsey hesitated, not sure how to frame the thought to Melanie without upsetting her. “Since we had so many good memories here, especially with Mom...” She gripped her bowl of oatmeal with both hands. “If we should really be thinking about selling this place.” She risked a glance at Melanie, who was still gazing at the lake, so Kelsey rushed on. “Being back here makes me wish we could somehow keep it in the family. I mean, don’t you think it would be awesome to have your children come here one day and sleep in the very same bedroom as you did? And they could learn to swim in Lake Indigo and pick raspberries and row to Harris Beach. I feel like keeping on with our family traditions would make Mom really happy and proud.”
Melanie abruptly stood up, her back turned to Kelsey. She was silent for a long time. “You were only twelve the last summer we came here,” she said at last. “And I’m glad you mostly remember all the happy times we had, but I don’t think you have a very complete picture of what life was really like for us at Lake Indigo. For Mom.” She spun to face Kelsey. Her eyes were shiny—with tears or indignation, Kelsey didn’t know.
“This lake haunted her, in a way,” Melanie said, pacing along the porch railing. “Something from her childhood that she never talked about. Remember how she never went swimming, even though Grandma Dot said she was a champion swimmer as a teenager? And yes, she laughed a lot and could be a ton of fun to be around, but other times, she was so sad and distracted, it was like we were hardly there. Dad was working constantly, so the weekends were the only time he could come up, and even some of those weekends, he was too busy to sneak away and had to stay in the city. Mom was so lonely. They argued about it all the time. Then that last summer, when Jilly Fletcher almost drowned, and Mom and Mrs. Fletcher had that huge falling out... I really think that was the straw that broke the camel’s back—the reason Mom and Dad decided to rent out the house and never return.”
Kelsey shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Though she knew all those things were true—their mom’s sadness, their parents’ disagreements, and that terrible day when Jilly had almost died—she didn’t believe them to be the damning evidence that Melanie did. It was just the gray, slightly out-of-focus background of her otherwise happy childhood. Her mom had seemed sad and distracted at times in their home in Elm Grove as well. Certainly the lake house hadn’t been the cause of her sadness. It was just a natural state for her on occasion, as it was for many people, unfortunately.
“I’m not as naïve as you think I am,” Kelsey said. “I know we had unhappy times here too. Just like we had in Elm Grove. I guess I just feel particularly close to Mom right now. And it makes me miss her even more than I have in a while.”
Melanie walked back across the porch. In the sharp lighting, she looked a little more careworn than she had inside the house. “I miss Mom, too, Kels. But holding on to this money pit of a house isn’t going to bring her back. We need to look ahead and make smart decisions for our family now. She would want that.”
Stooping to peer inside the bakery box, she changed the subject. “We’re not going to let these beauties go to waste, now, are we?” She selected a vanilla-iced Long John for herself and handed a chocolate cake doughnut to Kelsey. “We have a long day ahead of us and need all the energy we can get. First I thought we could swing by the Target in Arbor Creek to pick up some of the things I wasn’t able to get at Dern’s. Then I was hoping we could go to the Laundromat to wash some bedding and all of the curtains I took down. And finally I thought we could stop at the car rental place to see if they have anything cheap on the lot for me. Then once we get back, we can get started on the kitchen and dining room...”
Kelsey bit into her doughnut. The entire state of Wisconsin probably didn’t have enough chocolate doughnuts to get her through a day dictated by Melanie the General.
Chapter Four
It was still much too cool for swimming, but Kelsey kicked off her shoes, rolled up her jeans, and waded out into Lake Indigo up to her shins anyway. The ground under her bare feet felt cold and silty, like some kind of exotic spa treatment. She curled her big toes into the sand, stirring up a bloom of sediment and tiny fish.
She wished she had brought Sprocket along. Dog-paddling for tennis balls was one of his favorite pastimes. But instead he was home alone again despite it being her regular day to take him to the dog park. All because Melanie had called a few hours ago, pleading with Kelsey to meet with the second basement guy because Melanie had a conflicting appointment at the only time he was available. She hadn’t offered up the details of her “appointment,” and Kelsey hadn’t pressed her, even though it was baffling how someone who didn’t live in the area and was supposed to be on vacation already had an appointment to keep after being there for less than three days.
“The first guy that came out this morning, Bill from Basement Restoration—he was the one the realtor recommended—seems great, like he really knows his stuff,” Melanie had said. “But his quote was a little high for my liking, so I want to see if we can do any better. I found this other guy in the Yellow Pages. So all you have to do is unlock the door and show him to the basement and get a detailed estimate for us to compare. Okay?”
And it would have been okay if Kelsey hadn’t already driven out to Lake Indigo three times in the past four days and if she hadn’t needed so badly to go grocery shopping and if she hadn’t been looking forward to a blissful afternoon at the dog park and watching a marathon of cooking shows after the previous day’s physical and mental exertions running errands with Melanie. But Kelsey had agreed because she’d known she’d
be working for the next five days straight and wouldn’t be able to help out, and preemptive guilt gnawed at her. Apparently her sister had trained her well.
Kelsey’s feet were starting to go numb, so she splashed toward the shore. Over the sound of her splashing, she thought she heard a vehicle pulling into the driveway—the basement guy, only ten minutes late. Ha! So I’m not the only one with tardiness problems! She stopped and listened but couldn’t make out any other noises except the gentle lapping of the lake. Maybe she’d heard someone visiting the neighbors. Either way, she thought she should check it out. But as she plodded toward the shore, she lost her footing in a small underwater divot and went down on one knee.
“Ah!” Her jeans were instantly soaked, and the ends of her hair were sopping wet. She hurriedly stood up and trudged the rest of the way in, feeling soggy and klutzy but, most of all, really chilled. She hoped she could change into a pair of Melanie’s pants before the basement specialist arrived. She pounded up the steps of the wraparound porch, unlocked the back door, and dashed inside, dripping water all over the hardwood floors. Someone was knocking on the front door.
She debated answering. Maybe she could keep him waiting another minute or two until she had dry clothes on. But his knock sounded a little pushy, like the knock of a total know-it-all. Maybe she could just ignore him altogether and pretend the meeting hadn’t gone well, the estimate was even higher, the guy a total asshole, and that they should give their business to Bill from Basement Restoration. But she had come all the way out there, for Pete’s sake, and she hadn’t been too impressed with Bill’s phone skills when she’d called to set up the meeting. He’d treated her brusquely at first, as if he weren’t sure he could squeeze her into his busy schedule, then condescendingly when she couldn’t answer some of his questions. Why not give someone else the chance to edge him out?
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