A House at the Bottom of a Lake

19

They fell in love out there, on the third lake, beneath the surface, exploring the impossible house, diving together, improving the skills they learned in scuba class, eating lunches in the canoe, falling asleep in the canoe, sunning in the canoe, exploring each other’s bodies in the canoe, too.

Eventually they stopped looking at the shoreline altogether. The shoreline was too close to reality, part of that real world they left behind every time they visited the third lake and the house that stood at its floor. They weren’t quiet. They weren’t hiding.

They played.

They played house.

Uncle Bob didn’t ask again about the marks on the side of the canoe because James bought it from him before he could. Two dozen trips through the tight tunnel had stripped most of the green paint, leaving marks that might’ve been made by a giant water-cat, for all Bob knew. James saved up a hundred dollars working for his father, handed Uncle Bob the money, then handed him an additional ten bucks.

“What’s this for?” Bob asked, the sun making him squint that day.

“For docking it here at your place.”

“You don’t have to do that, James.”

“I know. But it’s really nice of you to let us keep it here.”

If Bob noticed any changes in the teenagers, he didn’t mention it.

But James and Amelia weren’t taking any chances. And if Bob or anybody else had asked what interested them so much about the lakes, about canoeing, both James and Amelia were prepared to lie.

“Lie,” Amelia said one afternoon, the sun high above the mountains. They dangled their arms over the sides of the canoe, their fingertips grazing the crisp water.

“Absolutely,” James said, his own eyes closed, his head resting on the front bench. They had books in the canoe, but neither read them. They were either down below or they weren’t. And when they weren’t they talked about being down below. “But it’d be easier if we didn’t have to… see everyone all the time.”

“Like at work.”

“Yeah. At home, too. You know what’s easier than lying about what you’re doing? Not seeing the people who are gonna ask you what you’ve been doing.”

Amelia turned to face him. She had an idea.

“What about a raft?”

James opened his eyes. He looked to shore, noted the trees. They’d talked before about wanting a pontoon, something big enough to sprawl out on.

“We could anchor it to the roof,” James said.

A bigger boat wouldn’t fit through the tight tunnel. But building a platform, out here, and leaving it, could be just as good.

Could be better.

“We’ll need an ax,” James said. “And a lot of wood. Rope. The strong stuff.”

“How big should we make it?”

“As big as we want to, I guess.” James leaned forward and kissed her and the kiss lasted a long time. When he pulled away he was smiling. “You are awesome, Amelia. A raft.”

Without discussion, they got back into their wet suits, helped each other ready their tanks, secured their masks to their mouths, and dove into the third lake. Together they swam down to the half front door. They swam through the foyer, the dining room, the processions of lounges, and the kitchen as big as Uncle Bob’s cottage. They swam through the library, pausing at the bay window, shining their lights through the glass, pointing out fish that emerged from the murkiness, as bunnies might from a garden of flowers. They swam through every room on the lower floor and then, holding hands, they swam as fast as they could up the stairs, down the long hall with the single door. They swam into the dressing room and through the bedrooms and through an attic door in the second bedroom on the eastern side, swam up into the attic and through the tight eaves that wrapped around the attic like catacombs, like a single corridor, like the logical extension of the path they were on and had been since way back when Uncle Bob showed them the basics of the canoe he once owned. It all felt to them like the same moment, or perhaps, the same tunnel. Some parts were sunny, some were graffitied, but most of their journey was underwater, swimming deeper, deeper into the house.