The Lost Women of Lost Lake (5 page)

“How's everything at your restaurants, Jane?” called Jill from the kitchen.

“The economy has taken a toll, but we're holding our own.”

“Same with the lodge,” said Tessa. “Things have looked up a little since spring arrived, although not as much as we'd hoped.”

“And your love life?” called Jill.

Jane hated the inevitability of that wretched question. The fact was, when it came to her professional life and her family she felt lucky, and yet after her partner of ten years, Christine Kane, had died, her luck with women seemed to have tapped out. “Nonexistent at the moment.”

“What about that woman you were dating? Kenzie? Was that her name?”

“We broke up. It was mostly my fault.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” said Cordelia. “You simply haven't met the right woman yet. There's a goddess out there waiting just for you.”

“I'm not sure I'm up to a goddess.”

“Piffle.”

“Let's change the subject,” said Jane, leaning forward to grab a few nuts from a bowl on the coffee table.

“Cordelia, how's your little niece?” asked Tessa.

“Hattie is brilliant, as always. She'll be starting kindergarten this fall. She's in South America at the moment with Radley Cunningham, her surrogate father.”

Sailing past them with several terry cloth towels in hand, Jill opened the screen door and stepped out onto the deck. “Thought we'd eat outside. It's turned into a beautiful evening. I'll get the table and chairs all cleaned up, light some candles, and then we can move out here.”

Cordelia rubbed her hands together. “I'm starving. With the right sauce, I could probably manage to eat one of your Navajo rugs.”

“Can I help?” asked Jane.

“This will just take a sec.” Jill tilted the cast aluminum table and chairs sideways to drain off the standing water. Once she seemed satisfied, she set about drying the furniture with the towels.

“Where are your crutches?” asked Cordelia, looking around.

“Leaning against the bookshelf next to the fireplace,” said Tessa.

“They should be closer to you.”

“I don't need a lecture.”

With a huff, Cordelia got up and collected them, and then tried to help Tessa to her feet, but Tessa was having none of it.

“I'm not some helpless old woman,” she said testily.

“You're hardly old,” said Jane.

“What would you know about aging? What are you? Fifteen?” Brushing off Cordelia's hand, she said, “I can get up by myself.”

Jane wasn't used to being compared to a teenager. She would be forty-five in the fall. Not exactly the flower of youth.

When Tessa almost fell, Cordelia righted her. “Don't be so pigheaded.”

“I hate being like this.”

“Well, suck it up because the age of miracles is past.”

Dinner that night was a bumpy affair. No matter how lighthearted the conversation, Tessa's mood continued to sour. At odd moments she would stare into space, completely checking out of the conversation.

Shortly after ten, Tessa announced that she was cold and wanted to go inside.

Instantly, everyone stood.

“Oh, this is just fabulous. Are you planning to carry me? Maybe we should call the piano movers.”

“Come on,” said Jill. “Lighten up. We're just concerned.”

This time, Tessa managed to get up without losing her balance. She made her way slowly through the screened door and sat down heavily once again on the living room couch. “There,” she said, adding more loudly, “You can cancel the hoist and derrick.”

“I'll bring you a fresh ice pack,” said Jill, piling the dirty plates together.

As they were cleaning up and loading the dishwasher in the kitchen, a knock came at the back door.

“Don't answer it,” called Tessa, with an unusual urgency in her voice.

“Don't be silly,” said Jill, wiping her hands on a towel. She hooted when she opened the door. “Jonah?”

A tall, bushy-haired youth with a lopsided grin stood outside, soaked to the skin. “I … ah, I got caught in the storm.”

“How did you get here?” she asked, motioning him inside.

“Hitchhiked.”

“From St. Louis?” called Tessa. She sat up straight, attempting to see over the kitchen island.

“Umm … yeah?” He was wearing bell-bottomed jeans and an old army field jacket and had a folded red bandana tied around his forehead. Jane was surprised by how much he'd shot up since the last time she'd seen him.

“You've got to get those clothes off,” said Jill. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” He dropped a two-strap duffle next to the island. “I don't have any clean clothes.”

“I'll start a fire,” said Jill. “You need to take a hot shower. And then you can borrow something of mine. You know where I keep my sweats?”

He smiled shyly at Jane and Cordelia. “Hey. You may not remember me—”

“Of course we remember you,” said Jane. “You're Jill and Tessa's nephew.”

“Looking a little the worse for wear,” said Cordelia, hand rising to her hip.

“Get in here and give your other auntie a hug,” called Tessa. It was the first time all evening that she looked happy.

His dark eyebrows shot up when he saw her foot propped on a pillow. “What happened?”

“Fell down the deck stairs, tore some ligaments in my ankle.”

“But she doesn't want any sympathy,” said Jill.

“I adore sympathy,” Tessa shot back. “Just don't like hovering.”

Jonah removed his wet Nikes before padding over to her to give her a kiss.

“Your parents never called and said you were coming,” said Jill, following him into the living room with his mug of coffee.

“That's because they don't know.”

“They don't
know
?” said Tessa.

“Nope.”

“You just left?”

“They were in the middle of one of their thermonuclear shouting matches. I wrote a note, said I was going to stay with a friend for a few days. I doubt they even realize I'm gone.”

“Lord,” said Tessa, scooting herself farther back against the pillows. “Jill, we better call your brother.”

“Not before I talk to you,” said Jonah, standing his ground. “Look,” he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets, “I
hate
St. Louis. I refuse to spend my senior year there. The school is totally lame. All those kids talk about is computer games and sports. I want to stay here, with you two. I want to be able to graduate with my class at Lost Lake High. Is that so much to ask? I can help out, like I always do. I can even do more now that I've got my driver's license.”

“
You've
got your driver's license?” said Tessa, clutching her hands to her throat. “Oh, my God, no. No one will ever be safe again.”

“Cut it out,” said Jonah, clearly annoyed by her attempt at humor. “I promise. I'll be as quiet as a mouse. I'll do
everything
you ask.”

Tessa snorted. “That'll be a day.”

“No, I mean it,” he said. “I just—” He turned to plead with Jill. “I need you both to be on my side, to talk to Mom and Dad and get them to agree. I could stay in the basement room next to the garage. I've stayed there before. The couch is plenty comfortable.”

Jill gestured to his clothes. “Go take that shower. I'll build a fire.”

“But—”

“You need to give Tessa and me some time to think about it. Are you hungry?”

“I'm always hungry.”

“When you're cleaned up, I'll fix you a plate of food.”

He took a quick sip from the coffee mug. Handing it back to Jill, he said, “Think fast, okay?”

After he'd retreated to the bedroom, Cordelia sauntered out from behind the counter and draped herself over one of the living room chairs. “Kinda stinks that he had to move away. Senior year is a big deal.”

“I don't blame him for wanting to stay,” said Tessa. “I think we should let him.”

“Thank you!” shouted Jonah, as he zipped, shirtless, from the bedroom to the bathroom.

“We're still considering,” called Jill. “Get in that shower.” When the water came on, she said, more quietly this time, “My brother and his wife have had marital problems for years. Sometimes Jonah gets lost in the shuffle.”

“He's like our own kid,” said Tessa, grimacing as she changed her position. “I vote yes.”

“But would it be fair to my brother and his wife?”

“Was leaving Lost Lake last summer fair to Jonah?”

Jill crouched down next to the fireplace and busied herself with the newspaper and kindling. “I need more time to think about it.”

“Oh, hell,” said Tessa. “Fine. Think away. Cordelia, let's talk about tomorrow night. There are some papers in my study that I'll need if we're going to have a substantive conversation.”

Jane was still in the kitchen, so she offered to run get them.

“Should be on my desk,” called Tessa. “In a manila folder marked
Relatively Speaking
. Or it could be in the right bottom drawer. Just look around.”

Jane closed up the dishwasher and switched it on before heading back to the study. The only light in the room came from a green-glass banker's lamp perched on a bookshelf above the desk. To the right of the desk were two good-sized double-hung windows partially covered by gauzy white curtains fluttering in the evening breeze.

As she bent over to examine the papers on the desk, she noticed that water had rained in on the hardwood floor. Crossing quickly into the bathroom, she came back with a roll of paper towels. She crouched down and sopped up the water, wiping the floor until it was completely dry. She didn't want the wood to warp. As she straightened up, she came face to face with the dark visage of a man standing outside one of the windows.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

The man backed away and jumped over the deck railing, disappearing into the darkness.

She stood for a few seconds, eyeing the French doors, her curiosity and her better judgment fighting over whether or not she should chase after him. The longer she considered it, the less the the idea of chasing him appealed. Forgetting about the file she'd been sent to find, she returned to the living room.

“The folder?” asked Cordelia, giving her a quizzical look.

“What?”

“The F-O-L-D-E-R?”

“Oh.”

“Something wrong?”

She eased down on the edge of a chair. “There was man standing on the deck outside one of the study windows. He was looking inside.”

Jill turned away from the small kindling fire she'd managed to get going.

“He took off when he saw me.”

“It's probably nothing,” said Jill with a shrug. “Sometimes a guest at the lodge wanders down here. Even though we posted a sign that says this is private property, they either don't see it or they don't care.”

Jane was relieved to hear it.

“Describe him,” said Tessa, a forced composure on her round face.

“All I remember is his cap. It was black or dark blue, had white letters on the front.”

“Did it say
Sox
?” asked Tessa.

“Yes, I think it did.”

“Do you know him?” asked Cordelia.

“I might,” said Tessa, her lips barely moving.

“A friend?” asked Jill, twisting all the way around.

“Not exactly.”

“You're not going to tell us anything about him, are you,” said Cordelia, adopting a bored tone to hide her impatience.

“I don't know much, except that I don't want him anywhere near this cottage.”

“Should we call the police?” asked Jane.

Tessa gave her head a stiff shake. “No. Here's what we do. I want all the doors and windows locked and every shade pulled.” She clapped her hands. “Come on, folks. I can't do it, so you have to.”

“Is that really necessary?” asked Jill.

“And someone go get my Mossberg twenty gauge. It's in the closet in my study.”

“Aren't we being a wee bit melodramatic?” asked Cordelia.

“
We
may be,” said Tessa, pulling her shawl more closely around her shoulders. “But just in case
we
happen to be right, why don't you all pitch in and humor me.”

6

Standing on the front porch and peering in through the open blinds hanging over the living room windows, Emily Jensen could see her mother and Wendell Hammond sitting on the faux suede couch, holding hands and watching TV. Even though Emily didn't much like Wendell, he had a sad quality that appealed to people like her mother, a woman who never met an underdog she didn't want to champion. Wendell also had a reputation in town for being an honest businessman, a churchgoer, and, once upon a time before his wife had died, a good husband. And yet Emily didn't like him. She berated herself for introducing him to her mom.

A question kept swirling through in her mind. What if her mom decided to marry Wendell? They were spending so much time together that Emily couldn't help but wonder. She was a born catastrophizer. In her opinion, a person might as well get the most dreadful idea out there on the table because, more often than not, it would have to be considered sooner or later. Catastrophizing was as necessary to Emily as air and water because it gave her an emotional head start.

Sitting down on the steps, she gazed silently up at the stars and made a wish. At nineteen, she wanted nothing more than to see Lost Lake in the rearview mirror as she sped out of town. The fact that she didn't have enough money to buy a decent car, one that wouldn't break down before she hit the highway, was hardly an unexamined issue. The rusty piece of junk Kenny had given her as a birthday present last year had bald tires, a bad starter, and smelled like a turkey had died in the trunk. It had been his car for a couple of years. Since he was buying a new—used—Dodge Avenger, he gave it to her, saying that it had a few thousand good miles left on it, and that when—not if—it broke down, he'd repair it free of charge, as long as she paid for the parts. It did break down all the time, and yet it would have been impossible for her to turn down an offer of free wheels, even when it kept her tied to him in a way she didn't like. Money was the solution to her problems, so that's where she was putting every ounce of her effort.