Bitterroot Lake

by Alicia Beckman

  “I know,” Sarah said. “I know.”

  If they were dredging up the past, there was plenty of blame to go around. If you wanted to play the “what if?” game, all of them had done something to regret that weekend. Except Nic. Who wasn’t a Deer Park girl. Who wasn’t part of the family drama. Who, if she had any sense, was regretting being here right this minute.

  Nic had driven halfway across the state to help Janine. But if she was irritated to find herself literally in the middle of a tense conversation between the two sisters, she betrayed no sign, intent on clearing Janine from suspicion.

  But the pennies were only one of the mysteries brewing at Whitetail Lodge. What was up with her mother? Pam Holtz had assured Sarah that Peggy wasn’t ill, but what if Peggy had kept the secret from her friends too? What did Connor want to talk about? And what was the deal with the letters, and the ribbons and mementos on the roadside cross?

  She meant it when said she didn’t blame Holly. If they were taking responsibility for their own actions, as she’d said of Lucas, then she had to take responsibility for what she’d done. Or not done. For not speaking up about the dream, and then not being there to protect Janine. Not speaking up for her. For going along with the sheriff who said Janine might want to be careful what she said, who she accused, considering whose daughter she was, that it might come back on her and she might not like the outcome.

  If only …

  She could practically hear Jeremy telling her the dangers of those two little words. The man had made a religion out of refusing to be dogged by regrets. And of all of them, he was the one who’d suffered the most from that weekend. Except for Michael.

  “Look at us,” she said, scanning the group. “Grown women, unnerved by pennies. We’re together again, finally, in a place we love. Maybe Jeremy’s just telling us to have fun.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Holly said, raising her glass.

  “You’ll drink to anything,” Nic said lightly.

  Maybe she’d fooled them, Sarah thought as she lifted her glass. But she didn’t believe her own words. Not for a minute.

  * * *

  “A normal mom would be out here supervising every sweep of the broom,” Holly said when Nic and Janine had gone into the kitchen.

  “You wouldn’t want a normal mom,” Sarah said. “If there were such a thing.”

  “You do a pretty decent impression of one.” Holly’s smile quickly faded. “She wouldn’t let you see what she’s working on either?”

  “Couldn’t slam the studio door fast enough.”

  “I’ve got a friend with her own gallery,” Holly said. “In an artsy district, near downtown Minneapolis. She paints in a glass-walled studio in the corner. People watch her all day and she doesn’t mind a bit.”

  “Mom never used to mind. Remember when we were kids? She did that series of Blackfeet portraits using the beaded gloves and moccasins Grandpa took in trade and let us play with them while she painted.”

  “So what’s changed? What’s different? Her or the painting?”

  Sarah swirled her wine glass and didn’t respond. The only answer was “everything.”

  Holly plucked a grape off its stem. “I crawled around in the carriage house this afternoon. How did one family ever accumulate so much stuff?”

  “One dish at a time,” Sarah replied, “for a hundred years. The first thing to do is make a plan. See what’s here and set some priorities. Though even then … what a mess.” She raised a hand, gesturing to include the carriage house, the attic, the cellar, but what she really meant was the silence and resentment that had crept in between them and become a habit they couldn’t break. And the threat none of them had seen coming.

  “Hol,” she started as her sister raised her head and said “Sally …”

  “You first,” Holly said. “Age before beauty.”

  An old joke between sisters only a year apart who shared a strong resemblance. Though Sarah knew she was thinner now, her cheekbones and jaw more prominent. When she’d ordered the pie to go for her mother, Deb the waitress had insisted on boxing up her mostly uneaten piece, too. She’d forgotten it, on the front seat in her car.

  “I don’t want to sound like I’m blaming you,” Sarah said, “but is there some other reason Lucas sent you that letter? Something you haven’t mentioned?”

  “No.” Holly shook her head. “I swear, I don’t know anything more than the rest of you do. Well, except …”

  “Any sane person would absolve us both of guilt over that.”

  “That assumes we’re sane.”

  The crack was meant as a joke, but Sarah felt no humor. Only heaviness. The same dark weight she’d felt that night, so long ago. “Most people would have done the same thing. Even if I had spoken up, said I’d dreamed something terrible was going to happen, we didn’t know exactly what it was going to be.”

  “Yes,” Holly said, earnestly. “You did. You knew Janine was in danger. It had to be from Lucas. And I told you it was just a dream, that it meant nothing. If I hadn’t kept you from warning her …”

  “Holly, stop. I decided for myself not to say anything. It’s not your fault.”

  “You stop,” Holly replied. “You feeling guilty is equally ridiculous. Neither of us is responsible for Lucas trying to force himself on her, or for racing off in Jeremy’s car. And we sure as hell aren’t responsible for his death now.”

  Sarah wanted to believe her. Oh, dear God, how she wanted to believe her.

  * * *

  After dinner, Sarah grabbed her jacket and snuck out the front door. The skies were still light, that turquoise-y blue with a hint of gold that you didn’t see in Seattle. She could hear a power boat on the lake, a faint whirr of traffic up on the highway, and if she listened hard, birdsong. It wouldn’t be full dark for another hour or so.

  In Seattle, it never got truly dark or truly silent, except when the power went out. If her children were home, the silence would have been almost immediately broken by one of them wondering what was up and when would the power be back on. They weren’t whiny kids. Just kids. They’d had fun on visits here, sure. They’d swum in the lake and gone sailing and canoeing, but they could do those things at home. Playing with the cousins and hiking the hillsides—that was fun, too. But not enough to draw them back to the lodge for more than a few days.

  And with Connor immersed in work, Holly firmly entrenched in the city, their mother content in her studio in town, who was left to enjoy these evenings, when the birds were flitting from tree to tree, the colors turning to shadow?

  Maybe it was time to turn Whitetail Lodge over to another family.

  The gravel crunched under her feet as she started down the path. When she was a little girl on a sled, the gentle lawn had been scary-steep. Especially on the trek uphill.

  “What do you think, Dad?” she said out loud. “Is it time to sell?”

  Her father, God rest his soul, did not reply.

  She’d reached the cabins, almost as ancient as the lodge. No doubt they needed repairs and updates, too—she hadn’t gotten more than a glimpse into the cabin on the end two nights ago when she’d arrived and found Janine holed up inside.

  Two nights.

  If they sold, it would have to be “as is.” It would take too much time and too much money to bring everything up to snuff. But they couldn’t begin to think about putting the place on the market until the roof and balcony were fixed. That meant soffits and gutters and who knew what else. She hadn’t come out here to spend hours with contractors and insurance adjusters. Log homes were great until they weren’t.

  Thank God Janine had taken refuge here. Thank God one of the cabins had a broken lock. If she hadn’t … Sarah didn’t want to think about what would have happened. About what her friend might have done in her despair. Although it would have been better had she gone straight to the sheriff. Called for help, reported what she’d seen and heard, given no one any reason to doubt her.

  Not that she blame
d Janine, not when her friend had told the truth all those years ago and gotten the clear message that she’d be better off if she kept quiet. And Sarah had been part of the problem.

  She had put that day out of her mind on purpose, determined to be grateful that despite everything, Jeremy had survived. Determined to be grateful for the life they had made together. But since coming back to the lodge, she’d thought of little else.

  Past the turn in the path, past the last cabin, a fence ran along the property line. Cedar rail, the wood bright and fragrant. When had that gone up?

  She dropped down to the edge of the lake and sank onto the grass, the water lapping rhythmically at the shore. Holly didn’t know everything. It wasn’t just the dream. They’d said, she and Jeremy, that they ought to get back to the lodge, keep an eye on Lucas, but they hadn’t meant it, too intent on each other. Sarah hadn’t known then, didn’t know now, if the old sheriff had truly believed Janine would be better off keeping quiet, or if he believed no harm, no foul, because Janine had fought Lucas off. He’d torn her clothes and forced his fingers inside her but she’d kept him from the rest. The sheriff hadn’t said “boys will be boys.” He hadn’t said “now, honey, you don’t want to ruin a man’s reputation when you got no proof, do you?”

  But when Sarah replayed his words in her mind, that’s how it sounded.

  The setting sun cast a soft, golden glow on the lake. She could hear the sheriff as clearly as if he were standing here right now. Could hear him telling Janine to think about it carefully. Take some time. Sleep on it—as if she’d be able to sleep. If she still wanted to press charges tomorrow, then come to his office and give a formal statement. Fill out a report. She’d have to see a doctor. She’d have to be prepared.

  They’d known what that meant. The denials. The accusations that she’d led him on, then changed her mind. The local talk.

  It was all inevitable.

  Sarah closed her eyes. Do you really want to have to go over it again and again? the sheriff had asked. Think about it. You’ll have to testify. To relive every moment, and though he hadn’t said it, to be disbelieved.

  In her mind, she heard shouts and laughter coming from the lake, from people who didn’t have a clue about the tragedy unfolding. She heard distant boat motors, the dying moose up on the road. She heard the warning in the sheriff’s words. Had he been a husband? A father? Had he known what he was asking? He’d been a sheriff a long time; surely he had known.

  And she heard herself agreeing. Not right then; she’d been in shock. But later, in a quiet corner of the lodge, Sarah had wondered out loud if the sheriff didn’t have a point. They were going to have to testify against Lucas for killing Michael and critically injuring Jeremy, and that would be hard enough. Better to focus on making sure he was punished, swiftly and severely.

  How could she have been so naive? Janine had decided to keep quiet. The crash had been ruled an accident and Lucas was never charged. Even a slap on the wrist would have been more than he’d gotten for ending Michael’s life and seriously changing Jeremy’s. Thank God for the strength that had pulled Jeremy through. She’d known Janine wasn’t that strong. Wasn’t that strong now.

  Now they were grown women.

  Now she was a mother who worried about her daughter’s safety.

  Now she’d be outraged by the suggestion that a woman keep quiet. Wouldn’t she? God, she hoped so. Had anything really changed in twenty-five years, after #MeToo and all the revelations about all the ways powerful men silenced powerless women?

  That, all that. That’s why she felt guilty. That’s what Holly didn’t know.

  She paused. Was that a light, shining in the woods? She closed her eyes and opened them. Nothing.

  Was she losing it, going a bit crazy, seeing things that weren’t there? Finding pennies and seeing strange lights and thinking it meant something?

  But Holly had seen the pennies too. George Hoyt—and there was nothing woo-woo about that man—had seen a car and lights on the lodge road and it hadn’t been Janine. Who, then? A looky-loo, a lost driver, someone turning around?

  The phone in her pocket buzzed, startling her, the signal so intermittent down here. She took it out and swiped and pushed. A text from Abby. What, what was wrong? Love you, Mom! the message said. The bars on her screen were bouncing up and down like her heart rate, but she had enough reception to reply. Love you more!

  Under a wild juniper, crickets were beginning to peep. She tipped her head back, gazing up at the sky through a gap between the lodgepoles. Her dad used to make a game of dragging the three of them outside before bed to see who could find the first star. Connor was so much younger, he only won if Dad spotted a star before the girls did and pointed it out to him. She and Jeremy had played the same game with Noah and Abby.

  She used to know the names of all the constellations, but now …

  Now everything was different. The sun had set and the air had turned cool. She shivered and headed up the lakeshore, drawn by the comforting lights of the lodge.

  Inside the front door, she hung up her jacket and kicked off her shoes. Tomorrow she’d give them a good scrub. In the living room, Holly sat on the floor at the end of a couch, the canvas bag from the mortuary next to her. Cards and letters surrounded her.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah’s hands clenched and heat shot through her. “Those are mine. Mine and my children’s. You have no right—”

  Then she noticed her sister’s eyes, wide and afraid. She sensed rather than saw Nic standing a few feet away. Holly’s hand shook as she held out a sheet of paper. A single sheet, just like the ones they’d seen before.

  God damn you, Lucas Erickson. God damn you.

  16

  “I was coming back from the bathroom,” Holly said, gesturing. “I tripped over the bag. I didn’t see it, I swear. We were going to play Scrabble.”

  The board lay open on the game table in the corner. Sarah sank into a chair, the letter in her hand. The cat jumped into her lap, and she steadied the wiry little creature.

  “I—I left it there,” she said. “Friends, business acquaintances—they sent cards and notes, but I didn’t have the heart to read them. I thought it might be easier here.” Ha. The joke was on her.

  The kitchen doors swung open with their rhythmic thump and Janine pushed through with her backside, a tray with glasses and a bottle of sparkling water in her hands. “Oh, you’re back.”

  “I’m back,” Sarah said. “To this.” She lifted the letter, then dropped it on the table.

  Holly scrambled to her feet. “I think we could all use something stronger.”

  “Don’t you think you drink enough?” Nic asked.

  Sarah’s eyes slid to her sister. Fair question.

  “Don’t, Nic,” Holly said, her voice sharp. “Not tonight.” She walked to the buffet where a bottle of cabernet sat uncorked and held it out, a questioning look on her face. Sarah nodded and Holly poured two glasses, setting them on the table next to the mound of Scrabble tiles.

  “It’s identical to the others,” Janine said. “The envelope, too.”

  “You found the envelope? Who was it addressed to?” Sarah demanded.

  Nic picked a plain white business envelope off the floor and handed it to her, then slid the rest of the cards back into the canvas bag and tucked it out of the way.

  It was addressed to her. Had whoever sent it known of Jeremy’s death?

  The familiar numbers and letters of her address in Seattle blurred. Vomit swelled in her throat and hit the back of her mouth. She swallowed instinctively, the hot, sour taste burning as it slid back down. But why? Why send her a letter like the ones he’d sent Holly and Janine? She hated to touch the foul envelope, but she couldn’t read the postmark in the dim light.

  “Why send me a letter?” she finally asked. “Did he know—about Jeremy, I mean? He might have heard through friends or the alumni network. Plenty of people did hear, obviously.”

  “He must have known,
” Nic said. “I wonder if that’s why he decided to send the letters. He knew that with Jeremy gone, there was no reason for you not to speak out.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What if he thought Jeremy was the reason none of us ever talked about the assault? By the time we knew Jeremy would recover from the accident, it was too late to say ‘oh, and by the way, this all happened because Lucas was pissed that Janine didn’t want to have sex with him.’”

  “He tried to rape me,” Janine said.

  “I know that. We all know that.” Nic’s hand shook as she poured herself a glass of wine. It was the first time she’d been snappish since she got here, though they’d given her plenty of reason. “What’s different now is that Jeremy’s gone.”

  “And the anniversary,” Holly said. “The letters must be connected to the anniversary.”

  Twenty-five years next week.

  “Why not send one to you?” Janine asked Nic.

  “I’m tempted to feel slighted,” Nic said wryly. “Seriously, I have no idea. Did he think I might report him to the bar association for misconduct? It doesn’t add up.”

  “That brings us back to yesterday’s question,” Holly said. “Did he think we wouldn’t tell each other about the letters? That we wouldn’t tell you?”

  Nic swirled the deep red wine. “I don’t know. He left me out for a reason. But what?”

  “Did he?” Janine asked. “Do we know that for sure? Maybe it was lost or stolen when your mailbox was smashed.”

  “What? What happened?” Sarah asked. The thing they hadn’t told her—or one of the things, she realized as she looked from Nic, her jaw tense, to Janine, focused on their friend, and Holly. Holly, who met her gaze with an expression of acknowledgment and apology.

  Nic exhaled. “Stuff—happens sometimes, when I’ve been in the news with a client. Usually a queer client, but sometimes it’s because of the environmental activism. We’re not in the phone book, but nobody’s hard to find these days.”