A House at the Bottom of a Lake

36

James couldn’t sleep in his bedroom because it was still airing out from all the water damage. Two weeks later and it still smelled weird. Still smelled like a lake.

Dad was really on it, though. Really hell-bent on getting it back to normal. It had become a prideful project of his. James didn’t mind. He was kind of glad to see Dad so obsessed. Made him feel better about his own obsessions.

Sleeping in the living room wasn’t so bad. He had the TV for starters. But none of the movies were quite good enough. None of them matched the real-life adventure he’d had. Action didn’t thrill him like it used to. Like it was just a bunch of people dressed up as other people, pretending. Phony. The smell coming from his bedroom, though, that was real. It didn’t pretend. And the truth was, everything felt a little damp. His thoughts. His actions. The way everything rippled.

Even the shower smelled a bit like a lake. Like fish were swimming in the pipes.

James couldn’t stop thinking about it. Didn’t want to stop thinking about it. Kept recalling Amelia’s voice, her expressions, the way she was on the third lake and especially inside the house. She was happy down there.

Was it his fault that they lost it?

He believed it was. The trouble probably started when he tried to remove the pepper shaker. He’d alerted someone to something. Pressed the wrong button. Knocked on the wrong door. Asked how.

These thoughts circulated like spinning tops as he sat on the back porch and thought about Amelia. He’d needed to get away from the lake smell. It wasn’t that it was so bad, or so strong. In fact, it was because it was so faint, so far away, that it was close to driving him crazy.

The canoe was lying on its side in the grass. The way the dying sun hit it, he could really see how much paint had been chipped off. The thing was practically silver now.

He remembered the overwhelming excitement of their first date. How scared he was to ask her. How incredible it was that she’d said yes.

He smiled. Not the half smile of sadness, but the full, very real smile that comes with a good memory.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and called Amelia.

Could we…

It rang.

What do you think about…

And rang.

James wouldn’t let himself believe it was going to voicemail. It couldn’t. Not right now. Right now she had to pick up and they had to talk because, staring at the canoe, James was struck with a good idea. And because the idea was so good, and so true, Amelia must respond to it, must answer her phone, must sense that someone somewhere in the universe was trying to reach her with a good idea, must answer her phone and say

“Hello?”

“Amelia?”

“Yes.”

“Hey.”

“Hey, James.”

“I was thinking.”

“Me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Constantly. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we should go on a date.”

Silence.

Then not.

“A date?”

“Yes. Dinner and a movie. A real first date.”

Silence.

Then not.

“Okay.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. How could I say no?”

Both seventeen. Both afraid. Both saying yes.

“Tomorrow? Late afternoon? Downtown?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. And James?”

“Yes?”

“I love you. I’m sorry I ruined it for us. I love you.”

“What are you talking about? I ruined it for us!”

“No.”

“No. Yes.”

“Wow,” Amelia said. “Sounds like we had a similar week.”

“Twelve days.”

Amelia laughed. It sounded so good to hear her laugh.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “A date.”

“I’ll pick you up and everything.”

They hung up.

James tucked his phone into his pocket.

He started crying. Not out of sadness. Not really from happiness, either. It came from somewhere deeper. Somewhere completely submerged.

He cried and his tears felt sluggish, thicker than any tears he had cried before. Thick like water.

Like water from a lake.