Caves In the Rain Page 2

  Aruba finished, sat down, and turned her homely face toward the woman. The stump of her tail wiggled furiously. They watched each other for a moment, both very still. The victim suddenly laughed out loud.

  “You’re smiling at me!” she exclaimed delightedly, and put her hands on either side of the dog’s head. “Okay, we’ll share. You knew I didn’t need this, right?”

  Her hair made a dark cloud around her face. She had regular features and clear, fine skin. Her coloring dictated dark eyes, but hers were amber. Her attitude was infectious, and I found myself smiling. Finished, she crumpled her bag and walked to a nearby trashcan. When she came back, she picked up her drink and sipped from the straw.

  “I’m Molly,” she said. “Molly Bean.” She shifted her cup, and gave me her hand. “Let me guess. Diane just explained the facts of life on Hollow Lake. The facilities here are private and exclusive.”

  “As a matter of fact she did. I have an island here, and I feel kind of like an unwanted guest.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Which island?”

  “Echo. I was going out this afternoon, but I guess I can’t until I can get the boat launched and find a place to park my truck.”

  “There’s a public launch on the south shore,” she said. “But you’ll have a bigger problem when you get there. There’s no dock at your island.”

  “No dock?” I was shocked. I hadn’t thought about it. “Where’s the dock?”

  “Probably on the bottom of the lake,” she said, ignoring the foolishness of my question. “I can see the island from my house. I live on the shore across from it. I don’t know every inch, but that’s a hard place to try and land on and tie off. One person can’t do it alone.”

  She looked down and thought for a moment. “I can’t just leave you stuck like this. I can land you on your island tonight, if you’re sure you want to, and put your boat at my dock. I don’t mind picking you up tomorrow, give you a chance to sort out something better.”

  It seemed too much to ask from someone who had just met me.

  “It’s just for a couple of days,” she said, “until Bill and Diane call you.”

  “She said they might not have anything this year,” I said. “She just promised to talk to Bill.”

  “Oh, about two days. I guarantee it.” She smiled. “They just don’t want to seem too easy. They also might want to check that you really own the island. I’m surprised the Trevethans sold it.”

  “They didn’t, exactly. I married into it,” I said. “I just got divorced, and ended up with it.”

  “You married the daughter?” Her brow crinkled, and I noticed how pretty she was. “Which one? I knew the older one. Angie.”

  “You knew Angela?” I asked, surprised.

  “Not well. She was three or four years older than me. Getting off the lake and going to Huntsville was what most of us thought about all summer, and Angie had a car. I got a ride with her sometimes. She was really pretty, long blonde hair and all. I thought she was cool, but she didn’t talk to me much. She had a little sister who was nicer. I don’t remember her name.”

  “Melissa,” I said. “She’s still nice. You’ve been here for a long time?”

  “My whole life,” she said. “I live in what used to be our summer cottage. My aunt raised me… she has a house in town, now.”

  She pointed across the water. “My place used to be only boat access, but after they put in the road, we insulated it, and came sometimes in the winter. We did Christmas here for a few years. I teach in Huntsville, so after my husband and I split, I moved in for good. After October, I have the lake all to myself.”

  “Maybe not this year.” I smiled. “I’m planning to stay through the winter, myself.”

  “On the island?” she asked, clearly surprised. “I don’t know if that’s doable, or even a good idea. You may want to think twice. Anyway, do you want to get your boat in?”

  Things were better, just like that. She gave me directions along the southern shore road to her house, and walked down toward the dock after saying goodbye to Aruba. As she reached her boat, which was tied off there, she glanced over her shoulder and gave me a small wave, then made a shooing motion with her hand, indicating I should get going. I got back into the truck, and edged onto the road.

  The southern road was smooth gravel. The shore along there rose into the hills, and the road oversaw the lake. Dirt laneways opened on the left and dropped down, out of sight, and I could sometimes see the tops of the cottages below. I had driven slowly for ten miles, and was searching for Molly’s driveway, when she stepped into the road a hundred yards ahead of the truck and waved. Clearly, the distance could be covered faster over water than by road.

  She jumped in and we drove about a mile past her driveway, to where the road ended in a wall of pine trees. A steep trail led down to the water and ended at a concrete boat launch. About half way down, a parking area had been scraped into the dirt. It also served as a turn-around for vehicles with trailers. No one else was there.

  “This is the only public thing on the whole lake,” she said. “The road got some government funding, and this was part of the deal. No one knows about it, so it’s kind of pointless, but there you have it. Your island is right over there.” She pointed over the water. “Just around the end of Duck Island, in front of us. I can spot your cabin from mine. We’re a bit too far up here to see it.”

  “This is perfect,” I said. “Maybe I should just use this. It’s closer anyway, and I’d rather not deal with the people at the marina any more than I have to.”

  Molly frowned at me. “This is a launch, not a dock,” she answered. “Nowhere to tie up a boat. You’d have to pull it out every time you leave. Launching every time you want to get groceries would suck, I think. Why don’t you want to deal with the marina?”

  It was an awkward question, because I had no good reason. “Ron Baptiste is the real estate guy who managed the property for my wife,” I said. “He said the locals like to rip off tourists. That was the impression I got when I tried to rent just now.”

  “They’re being careful, Mike. Once you live here you’ll appreciate it. Bill and Diane are practically like family to me. There’s a story between them and Ron Baptiste. I wouldn’t go too much by his opinion.”

  She led me down the water’s edge. The concrete sloped underwater. “Ron used to work for Bill. He was the mechanic at the marina, and sort of did general stuff around the lake. He had a pretty terrible accident, oh, about ten years ago. He was in his boat checking on a property during late autumn when everyone had gone home. He got caught in a storm and flipped his boat. He was lucky to get out alive.”

  “Isn’t the water freezing in autumn?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Cold enough to kill you, and pretty fast,” she said. “He got out and found a cottage with the phone still working, and got help. His wife and little girl were in the boat, and didn’t make it. They dragged the lake, but they never found the bodies. Poor things.”

  I stared at the lake. The dark blue water was suddenly menacing. “They’re still out there?”

  Molly hesitated, and squatted to scratch the dog’s neck. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but it’s common knowledge. There’s some bad feeling between Ron and Bill. The police questioned Bill, since he was Ron’s employer.”

  “The deaths were suspicious?”

  “Just routine, I think,” she said. “Bill told the police he didn’t send Ron to check a property, and he didn’t know why he came out to this end of the lake. Ron was outraged.”

  “Did anything come of it?”

  “No, it was just an accident,” she said. “Bill felt like he had been blamed, though, for sending Ron out alone in such bad conditions. He also never forgave Ron that he let a little girl get into a boat without a life jacket. He fired him, and they don’t speak, even now.”

  She slipped her feet from their sandals, and waded down the ramp, ankle-deep. She looked vulnerable, like she must have a
s a small girl, and I was drawn to her.

  “And you said it’s been ten years?’” I asked. “They’re still mad at each other?”

  “About that long,” she said. “I love Bill, but I feel terrible for Ron. He’s not allowed to use the launch or the dock at the marina. He has to come up here if he’s showing a boat-access property, which sucks for him. It must be hard.”

  “He started as a marine mechanic, and now he’s in real estate? He seemed pretty successful when I met him.”

  “He’s done okay. I’m happy for him. Anyway, let’s drop it.”

  She gestured grandly at the concrete ramp and the dirt parking lot. “So... this is for our guests.” She smiled. “You can put a boat in Hollow Lake, but you can’t stay. It keeps the Americans out.”

  “I’m American,” I said, smiling.

  “Oh... I was just kidding,” she said, blushing. “From where?”

  “Near Atlanta,” I said. “A small town called Marietta. I came up here when I got married.”

  “You haven’t said ‘y’all’ even once. I can hear it in your voice a little bit, now you tell me.”

  “I’ve been in Canada for years,” I said. “You lose the drawl after a while.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve run around in a boat?” she asked. “This one is so brand new it still has the price tags.”

  She was observant. I admitted I was a novice at best, and had picked up the boat from the dealer on my way north. When she offered to pilot me to the island, I gratefully accepted.

  I transferred the supplies from truck to boat and hoisted Aruba on board, tying her leash to a seat stanchion. With Molly signalling directions, I backed down the ramp to the water, and she scrambled around to free the boat from the trailer. She started the engine, and floated free. After I parked the truck, I waded out thigh-deep and hoisted myself in. I was suddenly exhilarated. This was becoming the adventure I had imagined.

  “Untie the dog!” Molly called. She stood at the controls, turning back to watch me. The boat rocked in the shallow water. The engine vibrations thrummed through my feet.

  “What if she jumps out?” I asked, worried.

  “Better she does than be tied to the boat if anything happens! This isn’t a car.”

  Standing with one hand on the wheel, Molly accelerated away from the landing. As the bow lifted, I sat and grabbed Aruba’s collar. The engine spooled up and up. The air filled with spray as the hull slapped the surface. The deck tilted under my feet as we flew a smooth arc around the trees at the end of Duck Island. I hadn’t realized my boat would be this fast. It was wonderful.

  Molly peeked over her shoulder at me and smiled. The wind blew her hair around her face. She had a loveliness that sneaked up and grabbed you at unexpected moments. I thought it would be an easy thing to get used to.

  She pointed ahead of us, and as we straightened out of the turn, the pine-covered dome of Echo Island rose neatly from the surface of the lake. At either end, the trees reached the water. In the middle, a tan cliff face oversaw the deepest part of the lake. The boat leaned over hard. Molly brought us around to land at the far side. I glimpsed the whiteness of the cabin through the screen of trees on shore. She cut the engine and the boat slowed and wallowed.

  Just like that, I was home.

  Echo Island formed a perfect dome of trees, marred only by the cliffs. It rose from the water like a hard-boiled egg that had been nibbled. The lake around it was a uniform thirty feet deep, except on the western edge, which featured an underwater crevasse. The locals called it “the Hole.” The dark canyon, a crack in the lake bottom, gaped thirty stories deep.

  A long-ago fire had burned the trees above the cliffs, and the forest did not return. The only clear spot on the island was carpeted with wild blueberry bushes. On the other end, a smooth finger of rock formed a natural pier, the site of my missing dock.

  Molly steered the boat close to the hump of rock and held it there. I jumped over the boat’s side, and landed awkwardly. The ringbolts drilled into the rock as anchors were intact, and I secured the boat’s bowline to one of them. She idled the engine in reverse, keeping the hull clear of the rock, and began to toss my gear to me.

  The most difficult piece of gear happened to be an eighty-pound dog. Aruba solved the problem by jumping over the side and swimming to shore. She shook herself vigorously, water spraying on all sides.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay with this?” Molly called. “You only have about an hour of daylight left. You can always tackle this tomorrow.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied, untying the line and throwing it onboard. “I’m not even going inside the cabin. I’ll pitch my tent and be asleep before it’s dark. Thank you again, more than I can say. You really saved me today.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, and regarded me seriously. “You have some good news anyway.”

  She pointed into the brush behind me. “You have a dock,” she said. “Some Good Samaritan pulled it out of the water.”

  The boards were weathered, and I hoped it would still float. The boat’s engine got a little louder behind me.

  “I have something to do in town first thing in the morning,” she said. “I should be over by about ten. God, I don’t even know you and I’m worried about you. Maybe I’m worried about your dog.”

  “I hardly know you, and you’re driving off in my boat,” I countered.

  She cocked her head. “You have a point.”

  She reversed away, giving me a small wave as the boat turned and throttled toward the far shore. She was already distant when the wake broke on the rocks at my feet, a series of small waves. The lowering sun had turned the water into amber, and I lost sight of the boat in the reflected light. It reappeared in the shadow of the opposite shore, a small white speck against the gloom, nearly a mile distant, slowing as it reached her dock. I was very much alone.

  I went through a gap in the trees, into a clearing. The cabin sat under a canopy of pines. A white veranda stretched the length of the front. At first glance, the long structure seemed more like a modern ranch bungalow than a hundred-year-old shack. A second look dispelled the illusion. The building was ancient.

  The roof had last been shingled when Angela and Melissa were still in their teens. They had helped their father with the job and the black shingles had white ones interspersed to form a large skull and crossbones design. My wife told me she and her sister had extended the pirate theme to include a Jolly Roger flying from the family boat.

  The light was fading under the trees, and I needed to set up a tent for the night. I had no intention of sleeping in the cabin until it had been cleaned out, but I decided to have a quick peek inside. The windows glared blackly at me as I approached the front steps.

  There were two front doors, the one on the right leading into the original cabin, and the other into the kitchen half, which had been added later. An inside door joined the two parts. Both doors were latched closed, but not locked, and I opened the kitchen side and stuck my head in. I smelled old wood. The interior was dim, but even before my eyes adjusted I knew the room was a shambles. A table was overturned in the center of the room, and broken dishes and garbage covered the floor. In the dark, there was an unnerving insanity to the scene.

  Leaving the entry ajar behind me, I went in and pulled open the door into the living area. The long room seemed undisturbed. The furniture was very old. A rusty iron bed squatted in the far corner, a large wooden wardrobe opposite it. Nearest me was a woodstove with a stone hearth. A floor to ceiling bookshelf stood beside it, filled with years and years of summer reading, left behind when the readers went home. At the far end, a large window looked out through the trees at the lake. Most of the dim light in the room came in through the filthy glass. A wicker armchair faced out, as though someone had been sitting and watching boats pass.

  The blood drained from my face. The chair was occupied. The top of someone’s head was visible over the seat back. The person remained very still,
facing the window. I stood paralyzed as the head slowly resolved itself into a draped coat. My muscles sagged with relief. Then as I watched, the shape changed into a person’s head again. I had seen enough, and I turned and left in a hurry, pulling the kitchen door closed behind me.

  Aruba stood nose down, investigating the roots of a huge oak tree in front of the cabin. She raised her head as I came down the steps.

  “Hey, you,” I called. “I brought you along for protection. Where are you when I’m hallucinating?”

  The dog cocked her head at me for a moment, and then went back to what she was doing. I walked past her and began to carry things up from the shoreline. I wanted to build a fire and cook something for my dinner. I found a stone fire pit between the cabin and the water, and I considered shovelling it out and hunting for dry wood. I decided I was simply too exhausted. I pitched the small tent I had brought, pumped up the air mattress, and unrolled my sleeping bag.

  After I had opened a package of dry dog food and fed the boxer, I went to the edge of the water to wash as best I could. The sun was nearly down, and the lake looked deep and dark. It was icy when I splashed it on my face, and I figured, except for the very brave, swimming was still a month away.

  I crawled into the tent, and after Aruba came in behind me, I zipped the canvas door closed. She curled into a blanket beside my sleeping bag. It was going to be a cold night. I floated at the top of sleep for a while, and then I slipped beneath the surface. A current dragged me sideways to the house outside of Toronto that I had shared with my wife and daughter.

  ***

  Four

  I dreamed my way back to Angela and Abby. We had a water slide when our daughter was very small, a long stripe of yellow plastic secured to the grass with pegs. A garden hose was screwed into an inlet at the top. Our front lawn had a gentle slope, and it worked perfectly. It only annoyed me a little that it always killed the grass beneath it.