Summer at Forsaken Lake (17 page)

* * *

It had been a long, busy day, and after a late dinner of hot dogs and baked beans, the Mettleson kids said their good-nights and good-byes to their mom, who planned to be on the road for New York by five o’clock in the morning. As the twins tramped upstairs to their rooms with their books in hand, Jo marveled at Hetty, the twin who, just a few short weeks earlier, had claimed not to like reading.

“This is my
seventh
book so far,” said Hetty. “The librarian has a list of kids who read the most books over the summer, and I’m in eleventh place.”

“I’m in second,” bragged Hayley. She held up
Misty of Chincoteague
. “This is my
thirteenth
book. It’s my last one, Uncle Nick. Can we go to the library tomorrow?”

Jo laughed. “Who
are
you kids? And what have you done with my Hayley and Hetty?”

Meanwhile, Nicholas, who had already finished the books he’d borrowed from the library, scrounged around
the bookcase in the living room, finding Lillie’s collection of Agatha Christie mysteries. He chose
Murder on the Orient Express
. He had heard of the book and its eminent detective, Hercule Poirot, and smiled at the memory of the day’s detective work. He and Charlie hadn’t really discovered answers—just more questions, really—but he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he felt more energized.

A half mile down the road, it had been essentially the same story with Franny and Charlie. Charlie fell asleep reading a romantic book about young time travelers that Janet, the librarian, had insisted she would just love, while Franny struggled to concentrate on the thriller a friend at work had lent her. Her mind kept taking her back to the marina with Will and all of her old friends, and she couldn’t help thinking about how her life
—all
their lives—had turned out. Would everything have turned out differently, she wondered, if Will had chosen a simpler, less spectacular ending to his movie? Or if she had been standing six inches away, in either direction, and the mast had missed her completely? She knew it was a pointless exercise, but she couldn’t resist imagining a version of her life that might have been—
if
Will had found her letter,
if
he had written back,
if
he had returned to Nick’s the following summer. Instead, she had started hanging out with Jimmy as a freshman in high school, a few months after Will’s departure, brokenhearted but blessed with the resilience of youth.

She wandered into Charlie’s room, where she found her daughter sleeping soundly—still dressed, her book resting on her chest. She covered her with a quilt and turned off the light, but didn’t move toward her own room. Instead, she stood silently at the threshold for a long time. The moon shone through the upper window onto Charlie’s peaceful face, and the curtains billowed gently as a cool north breeze filled the room. The scene gave Franny goose bumps, and in the perfect beauty of that moment, any misgivings, or questions, or doubts about her own life were put to rest.

She stayed for a few minutes longer, wrapping her cotton cardigan tightly around her and soaking up the loveliness of the picture before her. As she was about to turn and leave, she heard a crinkling sound coming from her sweater pocket. She reached in and felt something—the pictures that the twins had found of her and Will in their secret spot. When she saw them this time, however, Franny pounded her palm against her forehead. “I
know
who must have taken these pictures. Mikey.”

A
lthough she must have known it when they were kids, Franny couldn’t remember his last name. He had always been just Mikey to her. A long time ago, her mother had explained that he was “slow,” which was why he went to a different school, with other kids like him. That summer, he had latched onto Will for the simple reason that Will was always nice to him. The other kids would get tired of Mikey hanging around and either ditch him or flat out tell him to get lost, but Will never did. And so, on the rare days when Mikey’s mom would let him out of the house, Will had himself a shadow. He let Mikey follow wherever he went—with one exception: the secret place. When he and Franny were on
their way there, they made sure Mikey wasn’t around. Or so they thought.

Franny smiled. “So Mikey spied on us.”

While she stood there looking at the pictures by moonlight, she suddenly remembered something else about Mikey: he had been at the marina on the day of the accident. She was certain of it.

“He was there!”

“Mom?” A groggy Charlie lifted her head. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody. Myself. I couldn’t sleep, and I was thinking about … and then I came in here to turn your light off, and you were just so beautiful that I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“Mo-ommm. What is the matter with you?”

“There’s been a break in the case, as they say. I
know
who took the camera,” Franny said.

Charlie sat up suddenly in her bed. “You do?”

Franny nodded.

Charlie waited a few seconds, staring at her mother, until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Well? Are you going to tell me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather wait till morning? Then I can tell you and Nicholas together. He’s been working so hard on this; he ought to hear it from me.”

“Okay, fine. What time is it?”

“Little after eleven. Why?”

Charlie jumped out of bed and pulled on her sneakers.

“Well, let’s go tell him.”

“Now?”

“Why not? He’ll be awake. If the light’s off in his room, we’ll come home.”

Franny laughed. “I can’t believe I’m saying yes to this plan, but why not? You two have got me thinking about and doing all kinds of crazy things. Suddenly, I’m fourteen again.”

Charlie was right; Nicholas was still awake. The rest of the house was dark, but the tower room seemed to be glowing, with warm golden light spilling out of the windows and onto the roof. Nicholas stood facing the lake, his hands resting on the windowsill.

“Oww!” Something hit him squarely on the head and bounced across the room. He spotted a fluorescent green tennis ball on the bed. “What the …” He didn’t finish the question because he already knew the answer.

There’s only one person in the world who could throw a ball through an open window three floors up and hit me in the head
.

“Charlie?” he said, looking out the window toward the backyard while keeping a hand in front of his face in case there were more tennis balls on the way. “You out there?”

She waved up at him. “Did I hit you?”

“Right in the head,” Nicholas answered. “You scared the—” He paused when he realized Franny was standing next to Charlie. “The
heck
out of me. What’s going on?”

“Come down and we’ll tell you,” Charlie said.

* * *

Down on the dock, they sat and drank hot cocoa from a thermos while Franny told them all about Mikey.

“He was kind of obsessed with cameras and taking pictures; he must have cost his family a fortune in developing expenses. This was before the days of digital cameras, remember. I think that he took those pictures of me and Will, and then gave them to Will, who probably didn’t want anyone else to see them.”

“Why not?” Nicholas asked.

“Because he was afraid people would figure out where our hiding place was. That’s my best guess, anyway.”

“Okay, but what makes you so sure he has the movie camera?” Charlie asked.

“Because the second I remembered his name, his face flashed in front of me—and it was at the marina. It was after I came to, and I was lying on the ground looking up at Will. And Mikey was right behind him—like he always was—and he was holding the camera. It was all so clear in my mind that I’m sure it’s real, not something I’m imagining. He was there.”

Charlie frowned. “What makes you think he still has the camera?”

“I never said that. I think he
took
it. Whether he still has it—that’s for you two to find out. I need to talk to your father tomorrow anyway, Charlie. He’ll remember Mikey’s last name and where he lived.” She gazed out at the lake and took a long, deep breath of the cool air. “This was fun. We should do this more often. The lake is so beautiful at night.”

“Mom, what has gotten into you?” Charlie asked. “I wake up to find you in my room, talking to yourself, and then when I make a crazy suggestion to come over here to tell Nicholas about this Mikey guy, you go along with it, and now you’re all … like, weird about the lake. Have you flipped or something?”

Franny turned to her and smiled. “Maybe.”

* * *

Mikey Bishop still lived with his mother in a cottage at the northernmost corner of the lake, a good ten- or twelve-mile bike ride for Charlie and Nicholas. The Bishops’ cottage was one of five, all constructed of cement blocks and clustered around an overgrown flagstone patio and a crumbling brick barbecue. Mrs. Bishop, who owned the cottages, barely made a living renting them to fishermen by the week during the summer and to the occasional
group of hunters the rest of the year. If word spread that the ice fishing was good, she might have a few busy weekends in January and February, but most years it was pretty quiet until the ice broke up and the walleye started biting.

Mrs. Bishop answered the door and smiled warmly. They introduced themselves and she pushed open the screen door to invite them in.

“Mommy!” cried a man’s voice from behind her. “Who is it?”

“Why don’t you come out and see for yourself,” she answered, winking at Charlie. “That’s my son, Mikey. Now, what can I do you for? How about a drink of water? You look like you could use it.”

Mrs. Bishop poured ice water from a pitcher into two glass canning jars and handed them to her visitors.

“Thanks,” they said together.

Charlie gulped down her water and held her glass out for a refill. “Actually, it’s Mikey we’d like to talk to.”

“Mikey? Why, in heaven’s name? Do you
know
him?”

“No, but a long time ago, when they were all kids, he used to hang out with my dad and her mom,” said Nicholas. “We were hoping we could ask him about something that happened back then.”

Mikey, wearing a crisp yellow button-down shirt tucked into perfectly pressed blue jeans, clomped into the room in pristine sneakers and stood behind his mother. He
smiled shyly and said, “
Hello!
My name is Mikey Bishop.” He moved closer to Charlie—a little too close, actually—and asked, “What’s your name?”

She leaned back a few inches and held out her hand. “Hi, Mikey. My name is Charlie.”

“Hi, Charlie,” he said, shaking her hand vigorously, and not letting go. “My name is Mikey.”

“Yes, I know,” Charlie said.

Nicholas reached over to shake Mikey’s hand, and when Mikey looked at him, something in his memory seemed to click.

“I’m Nicholas. Nicholas
Mettleson
. You used to know my dad. Do you remember him? His name is Will Mettleson.”

Mikey’s eyes grew wide and he
ran
out of the room without a word.

Mrs. Bishop made the sign of the cross. “Glory be.”

“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.

Before Mrs. Bishop could answer, Mikey was back, holding a small cardboard box.

“From the time he was fifteen years old—every morning, mind you—you know what the first words out of Mikey’s mouth are? He comes out here, sits down with his Cheerios and his glass of Tang, and asks me the same question: ‘Is Will coming today?’ ”

Nicholas and Charlie sat there, mouths hanging open, for several seconds before regaining the ability to speak.

Finally, Nicholas stammered, “Y-you’ve been
waiting … for my dad? All these years?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the box in Mikey’s hands.

Mikey nodded vigorously. “He told me to take care of his camera. He said he would come and get it.”

“That’s his camera—in the box?” Charlie asked. “And you’ve taken care of it for all these years. That is amazing!”

“Will asked me,” Mikey stated, unimpressed with his own persistence. “He’s my friend.”