Lost Lake

1

Atlanta, Georgia

Present day

“Wake up, Kate!”

And, exactly one year to the day that she fell asleep, Kate finally did.

She opened her eyes slowly and saw that a pale lavender moth had come to a rest on the back of her hand. She watched it from her pillow, wondering if it was real. It reminded her of her husband Matt’s favorite T-shirt, which she’d hidden in a bag of sewing, unable to throw it away. It had a large faded moth on the front, the logo of a cover band out of Athens called the Mothballs.

That T-shirt, that moth, always brought back a strange memory of when she was a child. She used to draw tattoos of butterflies on her arms with Magic Markers. She would give them names, talk to them, carefully fill in their colors when they started to fade. When the time came that they wanted to be set free, she would blow on them and they would come to life, peeling away from her skin and flying away.

She’d always been a little different as a child, that strange girl who kept her imaginary friends well past the age of most children, the child people called a free spirit in a way meant to console her parents, as if, like a lisp, she would hopefully outgrow it. Her parents hadn’t minded, though. As long as they’d had each other, they’d let Kate be as free as she wanted.

Kate thought about blowing on the lavender moth, to see what would happen, but before she could, her mother-in-law walked into her bedroom with a cup of coffee and a brisk, “Good morning!” When Kate looked again, the moth was gone. She sat up as Cricket threw open the curtains and said, “It’s the big day. The movers are coming.”

Kate felt vaguely panicked, like she was shaking off a nightmare she couldn’t fully remember. “Movers?”

Cricket snapped her fingers in front of Kate’s face as she handed Kate the cup of coffee. “Yes, movers. You’re moving into my house today. Did you take something to help you sleep last night?”

She hadn’t dreamed this. It was real. She looked to the left side of the mattress. Matt wasn’t there. She could have sworn she’d heard his voice, heard someone’s voice. “No. I don’t take anything. You know that.”

“You’re cranky this morning,” Cricket said. “It’s a good thing I got here early. I got Devin up and dressed and fixed her breakfast.”

“Devin’s up? This is the first day of summer vacation,” Kate said. “She’s never up this early on vacation.”

“I think it’s best to keep her on a schedule. It makes going back to school in the fall so much easier, don’t you think? She’s in the attic. You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?”

Kate could feel a strange heat along the back of her neck, something she hadn’t felt in a while. It was almost exotic, like tasting turmeric or saffron after a year of eating pudding. There was a bite to it.

She was annoyed.

She was finally awake and annoyed. Of course she would keep an eye on Devin. For the past year she’d made Devin dinner and attended school plays and chaperoned field trips and taken her to the eye doctor. She’d been sleepwalking, but still, she’d done it. Cricket had no reason to distrust Kate’s ability to mother her own child.

Except for that one time.

There would always be that one time.

“It’s such a mess up there,” Cricket said, clicking around the bedroom in her Louboutin shoes, her smart black suit, and big immovable southern hair. She checked the closet for leftover clothes, to make sure Kate had packed everything. “I thought I told you to go through the things in the attic and put what you wanted in the living room. Otherwise, it’s just going to be left behind for the new owners to deal with. It’s probably for the best not to let Devin take all those old clothes with her. We’ll never get her out of them in the fall. I found her school uniform in the trash can this morning!”

Kate put the cup of coffee on the floor beside the bed. Every day for a year Cricket had come by to take Devin to her new school, and she always made coffee while she was here, horrible, tar-black coffee that Kate hated. Kate didn’t want to drink it anymore. It was such a small thing, to put the cup aside and not drink it, but as she watched Cricket’s eyes take in the movement, Kate felt a small thrill from this first real act of rebellion since she’d gone to sleep a year ago. “I’ve always told her she could wear whatever she wanted in the summer.”

“We both know that’s not a good idea, especially now that she’s moving into my neighborhood.”

“Matt agreed with me,” Kate said, his name unfamiliar on her tongue now, and it felt like saying something unspeakable, a curse.

Cricket turned away at the mention of her son’s name. She didn’t like to talk of him. Ever. She was holding him inside, captive within her rib cage, not willing to share her grief with anyone else. Not even with Kate, who wanted so badly to find pieces of affection for Matt in his mother, to be consoled in some way. “You’ve let her get away with too much over the years. You’re getting up now, aren’t you? Because the movers will be here at noon. I can probably leave work around three. You know I’d be here to help if it weren’t for that big closing today. I’ll see you at my house later this afternoon. Everything should go smoothly. I left a list. You’re getting up now, aren’t you?” she asked again.

Kate slowly stood, as if testing her balance. It felt strange. Her muscles felt weak.

Cricket turned in the doorway and stared at Kate. Kate had no idea what she was thinking. She never did. She was as unreadable as a lost language. “Are you excited about coming to work in my office? We’ll get your hair trimmed tomorrow. Would you like that?”

Kate put her hand to her hair and felt a year’s worth of choppy growth framing her face.

It had been exactly one year since Kate had picked up those scissors in the bathroom, after locking herself in after Matt’s funeral. She’d stared at them, the stainless steel winking in the noon light, and she’d thought things she’d never known she was capable of thinking—dark, unforgivable things. But when she’d lifted the scissors, she instead took her grief and frustration out on her long brown hair. With every snip of the scissors, clumps of her hair had fallen, and she’d watched them turn into tiny birds that cawed and flew around her, swarming in a heavy circle.

Matt had loved her hair, and she’d worn it long just for him. Kate had lived for the times when, as she was doing the books at the shop, Matt would casually walk by and slide the pencil holding up her hair, just to watch it cascade down her back. When they’d made love, he’d liked her on top, with her hair falling down around him, sticking to his skin.

Hours later, Cricket had found her on the bathroom floor. Cricket had gone to her knees in surprise, and Kate had cried, holding on to Cricket so tightly she was sure she’d left bruises. Cricket had helped Kate clean up the places where she’d nicked her scalp, and trimmed what she could so Kate wouldn’t scare Devin. Cricket had made light of it for Devin, telling her that Kate just needed a hairstyle that was easier to take care of.

That had been the last day she’d been awake.

Until now.

Cricket was waiting for her to answer.

“Yes,” Kate said. “Thank you, Cricket. For everything.”

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, then turned to go. “I have big plans to tell you about.”

Kate listened to the sound of Cricket’s heels as she walked down the hallway.

The opening and closing of the front door.

The sound of Cricket’s car pulling out of the driveway.

Kate then hurried out of her room, trying to blink away the sleep and disorientation. My God, she thought, this is really happening. She went to the closet down the hall, where the folding stairs had already been pulled from the ceiling.

She climbed the ladder and emerged into the light from the single window in the attic. Dust motes floated around her like ash. Her eight-year-old daughter was humming as she plowed through the detritus of a large black trunk whose hinges were red with rust and the faded word MARILEE was stamped in gold on the lid.

Devin had grown in the year Kate had been asleep, grown in ways Kate was just now seeing. Her face was fuller, her legs were longer. Kate wanted to run to her and hold her, but Devin would think she was crazy. Devin had seen Kate just last night, when Kate had tucked her into bed. It hadn’t been a year for her. Devin didn’t know Kate had been asleep all this time.

So Kate just stood there and drank in the sight of her. Devin was the most gorgeous, unique creature Kate had ever known. She’d come out of the womb an individual, refusing to be defined by anyone. She didn’t even look like anyone on either side of their families. Matt’s family was so proud of their dark hair, a blue-black that had been the envy of generations, the way it caught the sun like a spiderweb. From Kate’s own side of the family, there was a gene that made their eyes so green that they could trick people into thinking that even the most unattractive Morris woman was pretty. And yet here was Devin, with fine cotton-yellow hair and light blue eyes, the left of which was a lazy eye. She’d had to wear an eye patch when she was three. And she’d loved it. She loved her knotted yellow hair. She loved wearing stripes with polka dots, and tutus, and pink and green socks with orange patent-leather shoes. Devin could care less what other people thought about her.

And that drove Cricket crazy.

How had Kate let this happen? How had she gotten to the point where she was slowly turning over control to the one person who wanted to change her daughter from the glorious thing she was? The very thing Kate used to be, that she used to be so proud of being? Kate swallowed before she felt she had the voice to say, “Hey, kiddo. What are you doing?”

Devin looked over her shoulder with a smile. “Mom! Look. This one is my favorite,” Devin said, pulling out a faded pink dress with a red plaid sash. The crinoline petticoat underneath was so old and stiff it made snapping sounds, like beads or fire embers. She dropped the dress over her head, over her clothes. It brushed the floor. “When I’m old enough for it to fit me, I’m going to wear it with purple shoes,” she said.

“A bold choice,” Kate said as Devin dove back into the trunk. The attic in Kate’s mother’s house had always fascinated Devin with its promise of hidden treasures. When Kate’s mother had been alive, she had let Devin eat Baby Ruth candy bars and drink grape soda and play in this old trunk full of dresses that generations of Morris women had worn to try entice rich men to marry them. Most of the clothes had belonged to Kate’s grandmother Marilee, a renowned beauty who, like all the rest, had fallen in love with a poor man instead.

“Who is Eby Pim?” Devin suddenly asked.

“Eby?” Kate walked over Devin, measuring her steps, trying not to seem too eager. Devin had climbed inside the large trunk. The only part of her visible was the vintage green cap she was now wearing. It had a long dramatic feather pinned to it, and as she moved her head, the feather wrote invisible letters in the air. Kate sat on the floor beside the trunk, as close as she could. “Eby was Grandmother Marilee’s sister. My great-aunt. Your great-great-aunt. I only met her once, but I thought she was wonderful. Different. A little scandalous.”

“What did she do?”

“Eby married a man with money, and her family expected her to share all that money with them,” Kate said. “But when they came back from their honeymoon, Eby and her husband suddenly decided to give all their money away. They sold their home in Atlanta and bought some swamp property down south. No one saw them for years and years. I was twelve the only time I met her. My mom and dad and I went to visit Eby after her husband died. There was a magical lake there where they’d made a living renting out cabins. I think that was probably the last best summer I ever had.”

“Can we go there?”

Her voice was small as it came from the trunk. It made Kate close her eyes with emotion. “I don’t know if it’s still there. It was a long time ago. What made you ask about her?” Kate asked. “Is there something of hers in there?”

Devin’s hand appeared from the trunk, holding an old postcard. “Just this postcard. It’s addressed to you.”

Kate took it. On one side were the vintage bubble words LOST LAKE, each letter large enough for a lake image to fit inside it.

Kate turned the card over. It was postmarked fifteen years ago, the last time Kate had seen Eby.

Kate, I know you enjoyed yourself here and didn’t want to leave. You’re welcome to come back anytime you’d like. I just wanted you to know. Love, Eby Pim

It was the first time Kate had ever seen this. Her mother had never given it to her. She knew her mother and Eby had had a falling out that summer, but Kate never knew Eby had tried to contact her.

Devin got out of the trunk and started putting the dresses back in it. Some were so old that light shone through them, like ghost clothes. “Can we take this trunk when we move in with Grandma Cricket?” Devin asked, taking off the hat and dress she was wearing and putting them inside, then slowly closing and latching the lid.

Kate could tell that Cricket had already told Devin no. And that should have been that. Her mother-in-law was going to a great deal of trouble and expense to move Kate and Devin into her home in Buckhead. A year ago, after Matt had been hit and killed while cycling home from work, Cricket had swooped in and had suddenly become a part of their lives in a way she’d never been when Matt was alive. And, in her sleep, Kate had made it so easy for her. She was no match for Cricket’s money, even now, with the sale of this house and Matt’s bike shop in Kate’s bank account—sales overseen by Cricket, who had so smoothly negotiated the deals, it was like she’d put the buyers under a spell. In the back of Kate’s mind rested a very real and persistent fear that Cricket could take Devin, if she really wanted to. She would always have that incident with the scissors as leverage. Kate should consider herself lucky that Cricket was taking her along with Devin, that Cricket was giving her a job answering phones in her real estate office. She should be grateful Cricket was giving them the entire third floor of her house, where Cricket could walk in and check on them anytime she liked, instead of coming all the way here every day to do it.

“Of course we can take the trunk,” Kate said, tucking the postcard into the chest pocket of her wrinkled nightshirt. “We can take anything you want. Help me get it downstairs.”

It wasn’t heavy. But when it slid down the folding stairs, it nicked the floor a little.

They pulled the trunk into the living room, which was piled with boxes, suitcases, and some of their better furniture.

Kate saw Cricket’s list taped to the upright box with Kate’s clothes hung inside. Kate didn’t even glance at the note as they scooted the trunk to the middle of the room. Even if she’d still been asleep, she could have done this without consulting Cricket’s list. It was moving, not rocket science.

She didn’t know that it read:

1. The movers will be here at noon. Do not ride with them. Do not let Devin ride with them.

2. Wait exactly thirty minutes. Then drive to my house. Don’t wear anything fancy or put on makeup. It might help to look a little sad. I want Devin to wear exactly what she has on.

3. This is very important. There will be a film crew waiting at my house. They want to record your first day as you move in. Just act natural. They didn’t want me to tell you so it would look authentic, but I was afraid you might go off and do something and not stick to the schedule if you didn’t know. This is very important! I’ll explain everything when I get there.

Cricket Pheris micro-managed everything. As locally famous as she was, not many people knew that about her. She’d built her career on her supposed ability to go with the flow, to weather any storm. The truth was, Cricket didn’t weather anything. She controlled storms. And it had given her a reputation as a quiet kingmaker. She was the perfect combination of good taste and political ambition, but whenever she was approached to run for office, she always graciously demurred, happy behind the scenes. She’d been known to increase the numbers for any given candidate just by putting his or her campaign poster on the same lawn as her real estate sign. And all because, fifteen years ago, after Cricket’s husband died, she’d single-handedly turned her real estate agency into the biggest in the state with a series of extremely successful commercials that had even garnered national attention. The commercials had chronicled the selling of the house where Cricket and her husband and her son, Matt, had all once lived together, and the search for a new house for just Cricket and Matt. We know about moving on. That had been the phrase that had ended each commercial. Cricket had come across as likable and competent, but also sensitive and grieving. But it had been Matt who’d stolen the show. He’d been a beautiful child with a remarkable face that had been made for television—peachy skin and big sad brown eyes. There had been something about him that had made everyone who’d watched him root for him. Everyone had wanted him to find his home.

Matt had later told Kate that he had hated those commercials. Cricket had scripted them entirely. They had made them look close, but Cricket had worked fifteen-hour days, and Matt had essentially grown up without her.

When Kate had first met Matt, they’d both been freshman at Emory. She’d been close to flunking out. She hadn’t made friends easily, and she’d spent most of her class time staring out windows, imagining herself in some far-off place. She’d gotten so good at it that she could actually turn soft to the touch and wispy like a cloud as she sat there, and all it would have taken to send her away was one good gust of air.

She hadn’t known it at the time, but Matt had watched her daydream in class. It had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, the first thing that had attracted him to her. She’d wanted to disappear almost as much as he had. She’d known who he was, of course. But she’d never dreamed she would ever catch his attention. She’d grown up watching those commercials. She, like everyone else in the greater Atlanta area, had wanted this sweet, beautiful kid to find where he belonged.

Kate and Matt had been only nineteen when Kate had gotten pregnant, and Cricket had been so upset with her son for dropping out of college and marrying Kate, whom she believed came from a family of notorious gold diggers, that she’d refused to speak to him and withdrew all of her financial support. Cricket had had big plans for Matt. If she always backed a winner, imagine what she could have done if her own son had gotten into politics. That face. He had that perfect face.

But Matt had had no interest in running for public office. He’d been shy and uncomfortable around people. After they married, Kate and Matt had moved in with Kate’s mother, into this house, because Kate’s mother had been convinced that Cricket would forgive Matt in time, and then all that money would be Matt and Kate’s to share with her. Cricket had been wrong about a lot of things, but Kate’s mother’s obsession with money had not been one of them.

Kate’s mother had died of a sudden stroke two years later, never having seen her dreams of wealth for her daughter realized. That was when Cricket started making halfhearted attempts at reconciliation, but it was too late. Matt had cut ties with her and didn’t want them mended.

Kate and Matt had spent seven years here together in this small house, raising Devin, starting a bicycle shop called Pheris Wheels with the small trust from his father. This was the life Matt had chosen, the one that had brought him as close to content as he’d ever been, doing what he’d wanted in an anonymous existence that he considered bohemian. Plain old middle class to the rest of the world. But as Kate looked around at their belongings, there was nothing of Matt’s here. The furniture had all been her mother’s. He’d moved into her world, part and parcel, but added nothing of himself.

Kate sat on the trunk, and Devin pulled herself up and sat close to her.

“It’s going to be all right,” Kate said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Devin nodded as she took off her black glasses, the ones Cricket liked, and cleaned them on the J.Crew T-shirt Cricket had picked out for her to wear.

“I’ll talk to Cricket about your clothes. Your dad and I always said you could wear what you wanted on summer vacation. Cricket is just going to have to deal with it.”

“What about school?” Devin asked. This was a familiar argument. Devin hated her school uniform. The idea of being in uniform at all offended her. But in the year she’d been asleep, Kate had agreed to let Cricket enroll Devin in the same private school Matt had attended.

“The school requires a uniform, you know that.”

“Can’t I go back to my old school?”

Kate hesitated. “I’ll talk to Cricket. But it’s a good school. And your dad went there.” Kate put her arm around Devin, and the movement drew her attention to the postcard in her chest pocket.

Kate took out the postcard, and she and Devin both stared at it as if new words might form on it, telling their fortune. Kate’s mother had kept this from her for reasons Kate might never know. When she looked at the card, she experienced that same small sensation of rebellion she’d felt when she’d put aside Cricket’s coffee earlier. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to be in touch with Eby. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to go back to Lost Lake.

That in itself was reason enough to go.

Escape.

The word came to her mind before she could stop it.

“You know,” Kate said, “Lost Lake is only three or four hours away. At least, it was.”

Devin looked up at her slowly, suspiciously, like there was trickery afoot. It almost made Kate laugh.

“It might be shut down. Eby might not be there. But we could go see. Just you and me.” Kate nudged her. “What do you say? We don’t have to be here when all this stuff is moved.”

“Like a vacation?”

“I don’t know what it will be,” Kate said honestly. “If there’s nothing there, well, we’ll just turn around and come back to our new place. But if it’s still there, maybe we can stay for the night. Maybe two. We won’t know until we get there.”

“Do we have to ask Grandma Cricket?”

“No. This is between you and me. Go change out of those clothes and into what you want to wear. We’ll throw some things into the car and head out.”

Devin tore off down the hall, but then stopped and ran back and hugged Kate.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, then ran away again, leaving Kate standing there, shocked.

Kate didn’t think anyone knew.

But Devin did.

She knew Kate had been asleep all this time.

2

Lost Lake

Suley, Georgia

One day earlier

Every year since her husband George died, the fat man with tight skin and fake hair showed up on the first day of summer and offered to buy Lost Lake from Eby. He would hoist himself from behind the wheel of his Mercedes, something that seemed to take more and more effort with the passage of time, then he would stare at the lake, his greedy thoughts mentally cutting down trees and building luxurious lakefront houses. Eby would watch as his fingers twitched and his knees shook, and there were times when she could actually feel the earth start to tremble, as if the sheer power of his will was going to develop the property right in front of her eyes.

When he was through staring, Eby always invited him inside and offered him iced mint tea and butter cookies, the ones Lisette made that looked like big shirt buttons. Something special to ease his disappointment, because Eby always said no. He wasn’t used to people saying no, and Eby felt sorry for him, the way she’d always felt sorry for those who had everything and it still wasn’t enough.

This year, though, Eby didn’t offer him any refreshments.

When he drove away later that morning, Eby put her hand to her chest, where there was a sensation of tiny wings fluttering just under her skin. She finally did it. She finally agreed to sell the property to him. She’d never felt quite this way before. She was usually so sure of things. Now she felt … anxious. When his car disappeared through the trees, her eyes went to the picture-postcard swamp of a lake in front of her, flanked by cypress trees and loblolly pines, the area so quiet and so removed she could hear the water softly knocking against the aging dock.

This old cabin resort she and her husband George had bought after their honeymoon was slowly going downhill. Money was tight, and there was always a cabin in need of repair. Most distressingly, for the first time since buying the place, there hadn’t been a single guest over the winter. They’d always had reservations in the winter. Being so close to the Florida border, snowbirds used to flock here from the north, woolen caps still on their heads, road salt still stuck to their tires. But the regular guests had aged along with everything else. Many of them were gone now. Some couldn’t drive anymore. Some had simply grown fond of their comfortable chairs by warm windows and didn’t want to leave home.

This was the right decision. It had to be.

A small beautiful woman in her sixties came to stand beside Eby in the doorway of the main house—a two-story clapboard structure with a roof that leaked, hallways that led nowhere, and stairways that narrowed into tight squeezes as you reached the top, like in a child’s playhouse. The old house and the rental cabins had come with the lake, and one of the main reasons Eby and George had bought the place was because there had been so much to do. It had been a fitting metaphor at the time—repairing, rebuilding, reinventing.

Eby could feel Lisette’s anger like a burst of heat. The force of it made the fine silver hair around Eby’s face move, as if by wind. Eby sighed. Lisette had to have known this was going to happen sooner or later, but Eby could tell she was going to be difficult about it anyway.

Lisette opened the small notebook she had on a length of butcher’s twine around her neck. She wrote something, then showed it to Eby: You should have consulted me about this! How long have you been planning to sell? Why did you not confide in me?

“You can’t be that surprised, Lisette. Not after the winter we had. And I’ve been thinking of traveling again. You know that,” Eby said. She had been dreaming of Europe lately, of Paris and its dark streets. In her dreams, she had lost George but was following a large orange one-eyed cat to him. He was waiting around the next corner for her. Always just around the next corner. “How about we go back to Paris? Wouldn’t that be nice?” Eby asked, trying to make her decision sound like an adventure. “Your mother is almost ninety. You should see her again. Mend that fence.”

Lisette was, and always had been, as combustible as an unlit match. Eby usually knew how to work around her tirades, to soothe her before she had time to get riled up. But mentioning Lisette’s mother, Eby realized belatedly, had been a bad idea.

I do not want to travel. And I do NOT want to go back to Paris. Lisette underlined the word NOT twice. I want to stay. Does that not matter?

“Of course it matters,” Eby said calmly. She felt that flutter under her skin again and wanted to touch it, but she didn’t dare, not in front of Lisette. “Maybe the new development will have a club house with a restaurant. Maybe you can be in charge of the kitchen there. Or maybe you can buy a house on the lake, when they’re built.”

Lisette stared at her for a few long moments before writing, You will not be here?

“No.”

But you do not want to leave the lake any more than I do! This is our home!

Eby stepped back and closed the front door before any more cold, air-conditioned air could escape. The electric bill was high enough already. The door frame was swollen, and she had to push the door shut with her shoulder. “Of course I don’t want to leave. But I can’t just watch this place disappear, like almost everyone who used to come here has disappeared. It’s falling apart, and I can’t save it. It’s best to leave now, before we lose everything and we’re forced out. It’s best to go when there’s a choice.”

Your choice. Not mine, Lisette wrote. After she showed Eby, she angrily ripped the notes out of the pad and put the small pieces of paper in her pocket. Later she would undoubtedly burn them on the stove or tear them up and toss them into the lake. Written words were considered dangerous things by Lisette.

Lisette was born without the ability to speak, but she’d been brazen with written words as a child, substituting a sharp tongue for a poison pen. She blamed herself for the suicide of a paramour when she was just sixteen, after she had slipped him a note during a romantic dinner, telling him she was too good for him and would never love him. The next day she’d learned he’d hung himself in his parents’ apartment. Shocked by her own power, which hitherto had only been to hurt feelings, not end lives, Lisette’s guilt had sent her to the Bridge of the Untrue in Paris that fateful night fifty years ago, where she had intended to kill herself. She’d thought it was the only way to snuff out this monstrous power she had. For stubborn souls like Lisette, death was easier than the courage it took to actually change your life.

When Eby had seen Lisette jump from the bridge, some great force had pushed Eby into action. She could remember racing to the end of the bridge and sliding down the bank into the cold water, yelling for Lisette to say something, anything that would let Eby know where she was in the fog. The current had swept them up in the darkness, and there had been a sickening sensation of floating in gelatin as Eby scrambled for some purchase, her hand miraculously finding Lisette’s long hair, like a tangle of cold seaweed. She’d grabbed it and pulled her head above water, where Lisette had sputtered and clawed at Eby, obviously not knowing what was happening. Eby had held her and wouldn’t let her go, but they had both been helpless to the current. Eby remembered thinking all they had to do was hold on to each other. Everything would be okay if they just held on to each other.

Sure enough, out of nowhere, two large arms had grabbed them and pulled, pulled so hard there was actually a sucking sound. The water hadn’t wanted to let them go and had resisted. But George had won. He’d pulled them to the bank and stood over them, dripping, incredulous.

People on the street that night in Paris had heard the commotion and had come to their aid, leading George, Eby, and Lisette to the restaurant they had passed earlier, where they’d been given threadbare blankets and glasses of port. They had known Lisette there—she was the owner’s daughter—and this kind of behavior apparently had not been unusual. In fact, no one had seemed particularly concerned. Some customers hadn’t even looked up from their late meals.

Eby had been too exhausted to argue with George when he’d insisted they go back to their hotel, promising they would check in on the girl the next day. It turned out, there had been no need. Lisette had followed them and slept on the hotel’s front steps that night. She’d followed them everywhere after that, as quiet and thin as a shadow, getting a room at their hotel, even later following them to Amsterdam, then finally back to America.

Lisette had turned out to be the best friend Eby had ever had, that thing she’d never known she’d needed, when all she thought she’d needed was George. They had saved each other so many times over the years now that they’d eventually lost count.

Eby turned. “I need to cancel the summer reservations. All three of them.”

Lisette followed Eby to the check-in desk in the foyer, furiously scribbling something on her notepad as she walked. Eby sat behind the desk, and Lisette tore out the note and slapped it on the desk surface. Eby picked it up and read it.

I am not going. I will chain myself to a tree. They will not make me leave. You go. Do what you want. Leave me here to get flattened by a bulldozer. Leave me here to die.

Eby pushed the note back to Lisette. “Flattened by a bulldozer? How unromantic. You’ll have to come up with something better than that. You jumped off a bridge in the middle of Paris. It’s going to be hard to top that one.”

Lisette snatched the note and stomped to the kitchen.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Eby called to her. She heard the smack of Lisette’s palm against the swinging door. “I promise.”

Eby worried about Lisette. Too much, probably. But Lisette had no one else to worry about her. The one true difference between them was that Eby had her memory of George, a memory that would always remind her that she was worthy of love. But Lisette only had the memory of a sixteen-year-old boy who committed suicide because of her. Lisette had pushed everyone in her life away except Eby. She had no one else real in her life, past or present, who had steadfastly loved her no matter what, and that was why the thought of losing this place scared her so. The memory of everyone who had ever loved Lisette was here.

That’s when it suddenly occurred to Eby.

Jack.

Aha.

Eby picked up the phone with hope.

She knew what she was doing. She was focusing on Lisette instead of dwelling on this tremendous, life-altering decision she’d just made. But she was okay with that. She was good at being needed. It had been years since she’d felt really useful.

And if she just kept busy enough, maybe she could ignore the strange, anxious fluttering under her skin and the tingling in her fingers from where she’d shaken hands with the man.

Then all this would all be over before she knew it.

The next day, Eby thought she’d be productive and begin the process of going through the things that needed to be packed. She had great plans for finding her clipboard and cataloging everything. Maybe even taking photos. But she quickly became overwhelmed when she realized just how much stuff there was. Forget cataloging it. Where was she going to put it? She started by looking up nearby storage units in the town of Suley’s thin phone book. But then she wondered who was going to move all these things, things she couldn’t possibly part with, many of them bought on her honeymoon. So she switched gears and looked up movers. Then she wondered, if she was hiring movers, why didn’t she just buy a house to move into and avoid having to move everything twice? But the only place nearby that was big enough to store everything she had—a house and thirteen cabins’ worth of memories—was the old Rue-McRae Homestead in town, which had been turned into a visitor center years ago. It detailed the history of the town’s settlers for anyone who was interested, of a rough-and-tumble group of people from the swamp, mostly displaced from Okefenokee over the past several hundred years. The Rue-McRae Homestead aside, it would take several normal-size houses to put all this furniture in. And she couldn’t afford to buy several houses. Selling the lake acreage would pay off her first and second mortgages. But then, buying even a single house would leave her with no money to travel.

That made her think of Lisette, who had been banging around the kitchen for the past twenty-four hours. Currently, the scent of rising dough and hot berries was being sucked through the old air-conditioning unit and spread throughout the main house. This was Lisette’s rebellion. She was cooking for guests who weren’t coming. It was as if nothing bad could happen if she just kept going. Like a wheel in motion, she seemed to think no one could stop her, or make her leave, once she started.

Eby gave up trying to plan her departure for now and sat behind the front desk with a crossword puzzle. She couldn’t do this alone. Lisette was going to have to help her. Eby would just wait for this hissy fit to pass.

The air conditioner turned off. The house ticked and settled. Eby sighed and set the crossword aside, then scooted her chair to the very edge of the desk, where she could lean back and see a corner of the window in the sitting room. She often did this, to watch a quiet corner of the lake. There were even scratch marks on the floor from years of pulling the chair to her daydream spot.

She was going to miss her daydream spot.

Giving up the money George had inherited fifty years ago had been the best thing she and George had ever done. But, as young and idealistic as they’d been, Eby still wished they’d squirreled a little money away, for times like this.

Times like this? She shook her head. She’d never in her wildest dreams imaged herself at seventy-six, forced to sell Lost Lake.

Seventy-six.

Good Lord, how did that happen? Yesterday, she was twenty-four making love under a bridge in Paris.

Suddenly, the front door flew open and two older women walked in in a gust of rose lotion and liniment oil. Eby gave a start and the front legs of her chair dropped to the floor.

“See? It’s still here,” said the woman with bright red hair. Makeup was caked into the fine wrinkles around her eyes, and she was wearing a cherry-print dress and four-inch red heels. She was helping a tiny old woman through the door. “She said she was selling it, not that it was gone. Can we go now?”

“No,” the elderly woman said.

The redheaded woman closed the door behind them and stopped to wave her hand in front of her face, as if to cool off. “Okay, what’s your plan?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” the old woman said. “All I know is that we didn’t know last summer was going to be our last summer, so we didn’t make it anything special. We’ve got to make this ending special.”

Eby stood. “Selma, Bulahdeen—you came!” Eby had called them just yesterday to cancel their reservations. They were two of the three summer faithfuls she had left, the old-timers who came back year after year. Eby watched the door, waiting for Jack, the third, to come in. But he didn’t.

“Bulahdeen called me after you canceled our reservations. She demanded I pick her up and drive her here,” Selma said.

“I couldn’t drive myself,” Bulahdeen told Eby. “They took away my license last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eby said. In her eighties, Bulahdeen Ward was the oldest of all Eby’s guests. She was stooping like a fiddlehead fern now, curling into herself, making her appear that she was charging at life headfirst. She and her husband, Charlie, both former professors, used to come together to the lake until a few years ago. Charlie developed Alzheimer’s and was now in a nursing home. Since then, Bulahdeen had been coming alone. She was a quiet force of nature, the peculiar southern lilt to her voice as old as low-country sand. Selma, tall and painted and standoffish, was Bulahdeen’s every opposite. They were an odd pair. Bulahdeen had somehow, somewhere along the way, decided that Selma was one of her best friends. Selma vehemently disagreed. Bulahdeen didn’t care.

“And you don’t have to make such a big deal of it,” Bulahdeen turned to Selma and said, pointing a bone-knobby finger at her. “It was on your way.”

“I live in Meridian. Mississippi. You live in Spartanburg. South Carolina. That is not on my way.”

“Don’t give me that. You had nothing better to do.”

“Speak for yourself, old woman. I’ve got another husband to catch.” Selma was sixty-five but told everyone she was fifty, and she claimed to be an expert on men, though having seven husbands might mean to some that she was an expert on getting it wrong. Selma had a reputation for flirting with all the men who stayed here in the summers, in an offhand way, second nature, like the way a bird naturally flaps its wings when it falls. Thirty years ago, she’d visited Lost Lake with her third husband. She soon divorced him, like all the others, but then she kept coming back. No one understood why. She never seemed to enjoy herself.

“We stopped by town for some supplies before we came here,” Bulahdeen said as she walked to the check-in desk.

“Supplies meaning Bulahdeen bought six bottles of wine,” Selma said.

Bulahdeen hoisted her purse onto the desk, then leaned against it with a deep breath. “When I mentioned to some folks about you selling this place, they seemed surprised.”

“Oh,” Eby said. “Well, that’s because I haven’t told anyone yet.”

Bulahdeen looked at her curiously. Her eyes were as cloudy as crystal balls. “Is it a secret?”

“Not anymore,” Selma said dryly, still standing at the door, ready to make an escape.

“No, it’s not a secret,” Eby said. “It just happened so fast. And, really, there’s no one in town I think would care. About the lake, I mean. Not anymore. The water park is now the biggest part of the town’s income. Lost Lake isn’t doing anyone any good anymore. Developing it will probably benefit Suley.”

“What are you going to do?” Bulahdeen asked.

“Inventory. Then figure out where to move and where to put all this stuff. Then travel, maybe. George and I always wanted to go back to Europe.”

Bulahdeen snorted. “I can guess Lisette’s reaction to that.”

“She doesn’t want to leave.” Eby’s eyes shifted to the front door again, as if waiting for someone else to come through.

“Jack’s not with us, if that’s who you’re looking for,” Bulahdeen said.

“Now he I would have picked up,” Selma said.

Eby turned to the wall of key hooks behind her. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d been counting on Jack coming. She’d dropped hints. But Jack, for all his wonderful qualities, did not always grasp subtleties. Eby should have been clearer. This was his last chance. She grabbed two keys with heavy brass fobs attached. “Here are the keys to your regular cabins. I’ll grab some linens and bring them to you. I haven’t cleaned the cabins. Just giving you fair warning.”

Selma walked over and took her key from Eby. “Yes, our last summer here is certainly going to be special.”

Bulahdeen took her cabin key and picked up her purse. “Selma, has anyone ever told you that you complain too much?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“So this is how I’m going to spend my summer?” Selma said, opening the front door and waiting for Bulahdeen. “Being insulted by the likes of you?”

“By the likes of me? Look who thinks she’s so high and mighty.”

“Watch out, old woman, or I’m going to leave you here.”

“No, you’re not.” Bulahdeen reached into her purse and brought out a set of keys and shook them. “I’ve got your car keys.”

“What are you doing with those?”

Bulahdeen cackled as she walked out the door.

“Bulahdeen, if you try to drive my car, I’ll have you arrested!”

Eby walked to the kitchen with a smile. She was glad they came.

When she entered the kitchen, which she had to pass through to get to the laundry room, Lisette was standing in front of an empty chair beside the refrigerator, her hands on her hips. She often did that—stare at that chair.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that Selma and Bulahdeen came anyway. All this food won’t go to waste.” Eby gestured to the colorful array of enamel-covered cast-iron pots on the stove in the remarkable kitchen, Lisette’s domain. The appliances were cobalt blue, and the walls were stainless steel. Bright white lights shone overhead.

Lisette’s father had passed away a few years after Lisette left Paris. He’d obviously forgotten to change his will, or he thought Lisette would finally come back. Or maybe he didn’t even think of her at all, which was a strong possibility, given what Lisette had told Eby of him. Either way, Lisette had inherited half of her father’s modest fortune. Her mother, the other half. Lisette’s money explained the lovely kitchen in the otherwise shabby main house, and how Eby never had to worry about the cost of food. Lisette took care of all of that. To be happy, all she needed was a roof over her head and someone to cook for, which George and Eby had always given her.

Lisette raised her brows and gave her an I told you so look.

“You did not tell me so. They’re just here to say good-bye.” Eby hesitated. “Lisette, I’m going to need your help with inventory. I’m going to need your help with this move.”

The fine bones of Lisette’s jaw were set. She wrote on the pad around her neck, I told you. I am not leaving.

“But I am. Come with me. You can take the chair,” Eby offered.

Lisette had never fully acknowledged that Eby knew about the chair. She always gave a little start when Eby mentioned it, like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t.

I am staying. Go away. I have lunch to make for our guests.

Eby left the kitchen thinking this would be so much easier if Jack had come. Now she had to find another way to make Lisette—and her ghosts—leave.

3

The roadside stand ahead on the highway had been promising fresh fruit, peach cider, and cinnamon pecans for miles. They had passed at least six signs for the stand, each hand-lettered and littered with exclamation points. Kate found herself looking forward to seeing the next sign, a tension building in her body that only the truly lost can feel, starting in her stomach and spreading to her shoulders and fingertips, where her hands clutched the steering wheel. In twelve more miles, there would be fruit. Ten. Eight.

Kate and Devin began to yell with each sign, the closer they got.

Six more miles!

Four!

Two!

Finally, like magic, the stand appeared, and Kate pulled to a stop in front of the gray shack on a dead circle of gravel just off the highway. Dust, gnats, and wavy heat surrounded the place like a bubble, as if it could float up at any moment and travel to another spot of land on another stretch of rural highway somewhere.

She cut the engine of the Outback, and the sudden lack of vibration made her limbs feel heavy. Devin jumped out and ran to the tiny front porch of the shack, which was covered with rusty advertising signs for RC Cola and Pink Lady apples. This reminded Kate so much of hot, sticky road trips with her parents when she was young. Her father would fill the tank with gas and drive until the gauge went down to half, then they would drive back. They’d scoured back roads all around Georgia, finding motels with pools, highway junk shops, and old fruit stands.

Kate had been thirteen when her father died. No more weekend road trips. No more hours spent after school in her father’s video store, watching movie after movie. Her mother had gone a little crazy after that, like she’d pulled the IN THE EVENT OF AN EMERGENCY switch that the women in her family told her to pull if her husband ever died, and this was what happened. She wouldn’t come out of her room for months. Kate had lived on bagels, sandwich meat, and microwaved popcorn for most of eighth grade. She had hidden when well-meaning neighbors knocked on the door, after the first time she’d let them in and they’d worried why her mother wouldn’t see them.

There was still a place inside Kate that resented her mother’s grief when her father died. She still remembered what her mother had said to her on the day Kate and Matt went to the courthouse to get married. I hope you never lose him. It had felt like a portent. Kate hadn’t been as obvious about it as her mother, but, sure enough, she had still pulled that same switch. And she should have known that Devin had caught on. Children always know when their mothers are crazy—they just never admit it, not out loud, to anyone.

The summer afternoon was loud with the drone of insects. It throbbed through the trees like a pulse as Kate got out. The thick wet coastal-plain heat was trapped between sandy soil and low-hanging clouds, and it felt foreign and tight and new.

Once she met Devin on the porch, Kate opened the screen door and they both stepped inside. Box fans were roaring, moving the hot sweet air around and not letting the bees land on the bins of fruit. There were four customers talking with the loud voices of tourists. Kate had parked beside their cars. One was from Florida, the other from North Carolina.

The tourists turned and stared at Devin when the screen door slammed shut. She was dressed in cowboy boots, green lederhosen from last year’s school play, Heidi, and fairy wings that were crushed from hours spent in the car. And she was now wearing her favorite zebra-striped glasses. She looked like an escaped summer-stock extra. When she had emerged from her bedroom wearing all these things that Cricket had told her to leave behind, Kate had smiled. But then she’d realized what it meant. Devin was treating this like it was her last chance to wear what she wanted, so she was going to wear everything. She didn’t think Kate was going to sway Cricket on the matter.

Kate went to the ancient cola cooler. She took out a can of Pepsi for herself and a Cheerwine for Devin. There was a display of cinnamon pecans in paper cones beside the register, and she picked up two cones.

“Will that be all?” the old woman behind the register asked. She had small green gooseberry eyes.

“Yes. I mean, no,” Kate said, taking the money out of her pocket. “I mean, could you tell me if I’m on the right road to Suley?”

“Yep,” the woman said, making change. “Suley is about an hour south if you keep on the highway. But you’re probably wanting to go to the water park in Suley. Fastest way there is to get back on the interstate.”

Water park? She didn’t remember a water park in Suley. “I’m looking for a place called Lost Lake.”

The old woman shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

“It might not be there anymore. It was sort of a camp, with cabin rentals.”

“Oh. Well, camping would be in the old part of Suley. The old highway will take you there. Just keep heading south.”

“Thanks.”

Kate called to Devin, who had been talking to the tourists, and she and Devin walked back outside. Kate stood by the Outback and drank her Pepsi and ate cinnamon pecans while Devin ran as fast as she could back and forth across the gravel lot, trying to straighten her wings out with the wind. After about five minutes of this, breathless and sweaty, she joined Kate by the car and downed her Cheerwine and ate her pecans in record time.

Devin burped and Kate laughed, and they climbed back in the car and headed south.

Over the next hour, Kate grew more and more tense, though she kept telling herself to calm down. This was an adventure. She was alive and awake and in charge, and Devin needed to see that. A kaleidoscope of landscapes passed like a slide show—farmland, sandy pine barrens, cypress ponds. This is what Kate’s mother had referred to as the “Wet South,” as they’d made their way to Lost Lake the last time. She’d made it sound unexplored and exotic, something untoward and almost fearful. Someplace only Eby would choose.

But mile after mile, there was no Lost Lake. There was no camp.

Kate squeezed her tired eyes shut, trying to create moisture. She opened them quickly when Devin yelled, “Look out!”

Kate gasped and jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left to avoid hitting what looked like a large alligator, which had suddenly appeared on the gritty ribbon of highway in front of them. A car coming in the opposite direction honked, and she swerved back into her lane, skidding to a stop on the shoulder.

The blood had rushed from her face, and her skin had tightened from the near miss. She quickly turned in her seat to see the other car disappearing into the distance.

But there was no alligator there.

Devin was looking behind them also. “Where did it go?”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. They sat for a moment in silence. Kate finally took a deep breath and smiled encouragingly at her daughter. “How about we drive into Suley and try to find that water park? That sounds like fun.” They’d come this far. She couldn’t leave without giving her daughter something good to remember.

“No,” Devin said, suddenly panicked. “I have to go to Lost Lake and have the last best summer, like you had!”

Kate reached over and touched Devin’s fine hair. She could feel the warmth of her scalp through it, the delicate shape of her head. “Oh, Devin. I had plenty of good summers after that one. And so will you. But it’s been years since I’ve been to this place. I’ve forgotten where it is. GPS doesn’t even know. It’s probably not there anymore.”

“Mom,” Devin said, confused, “we’re here.” She pointed straight ahead. Kate followed her finger to the small wooden sign in front of the car on the side of the road. Hand-soldered onto it were the words LOST LAKE—TURN LEFT.

Stunned, Kate looked across the highway.

There was the old gravel road, just a tiny break in the dense trees, leading to their destination.

The road to the camp was bumpy, and the overgrowth of trees made it seem like they were driving through a tunnel. The ground began to grow soft under her wheels; she could feel the pull and give. Suddenly, the road opened up and a large lawn appeared in front of them. The grass needed mowing, and the redbrick barbecue grills were starting to crumble. The picnic tables needed a good coat of paint to save them from rot, and the umbrellas were old and thin, meekly shielding the tables from the sun.

To the left of the lawn was a narrow yellow two-story house that leaned slightly to the side, as if giving room to something large passing by. To the right was Lost Lake itself, a dense round plop of gray-green water surrounded by trees with Spanish moss hanging from their limbs, like the long hair of ladies dipping their heads to sip from the lake.

“Wow,” Devin said, her head darting around. “I didn’t think it would look like this!”

“I didn’t, either,” Kate said as she slowly navigated the car around the driveway circling the lawn. They passed thirteen ramshackle cabins at the far end, painted in fading Halloween-storybook colors of black, brown, and orange, with mossy stone walkways in between. There were no signs that the cabins were occupied—no shoes left on the stoops, no folding lawn chairs propped against the walls.

Kate circled all the way to the spindly two-story house, then parked. When they got out and shut the doors, the sound echoed over the lake. There was the scent of something green in the air, like wet grass or peeled cucumbers.

She didn’t know why she felt so disappointed. Of course the place would have changed. It was inevitable.

They walked inside, and a bell over the door rang. The place smelled of wet wood and cool air from the AC, like an old sea museum. There was no one at the old curved check-in desk in the small foyer, so they looked in the sitting room first, which was filled with dusty chintz furniture and a wall of built-in shelves, sagging with the weight of hundreds of books. Next they went to the informal dining room, where there were several mismatched café tables and chairs. The walls with faded purple wallpaper and the dark narrow floorboards looked scrubbed within an inch of their lives, as if, every day, someone diligently scrubbed back the damp.

“Hello?” Kate called.

No answer.

“Eby?”

Again, no answer.

“Are we the only ones staying here?” Devin asked as they walked back to the check-in desk.

“I don’t think we’re staying, sweetheart. I don’t think it’s open.”

But then, as if in response, the scent of something savory curled over and tapped her on the shoulder. She automatically turned to look back into the dining room. It was still dark and empty, but now there was a single Blue Willow platter on the buffet table on the far side of the room. She could have sworn it hadn’t been there before. She walked over to it. On it were several small ham-and-cheese puff pastries and two large slices of plum cake. Devin joined her, standing over the platter and inhaling deeply.

“Did you see who left this?” Kate asked her daughter.

Devin shook her head.

At that moment, the bell above the front door rang again and a tall slim woman in her seventies appeared in the foyer. She stopped when she saw Kate and Devin in the dining room, startled out of the reverie of her thoughts, which were obviously millions of miles away. Her silver hair was long, reaching almost to her waist, and she had it pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore jeans and a white T-shirt and jewelry made of large green stones.

She hadn’t changed. Everything else here might have, but she hadn’t.

“Eby,” Kate said with a smile and a sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath, waiting for this to happen.

“Yes?”

“I’m Kate Pheris.” Eby didn’t respond. Kate shook her head and clarified: “I used to be Kate Snoderly. I’m your great-niece.”

“Kate!” Eby said with sudden recognition. She laughed as she strode into the dining room and drew Kate into her arms. Kate hugged her back, feeling the sharp bones in her great-aunt’s lithe frame. She smelled the same, like a vacation, like pretzels and taffy. “I can’t believe it. You came back!”

When Eby pulled back, Kate said, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Devin.”

“Hello, Devin. What a lovely outfit,” she said sincerely. She turned to Kate. “I’m overwhelmed. What are you doing here?”

“We’re in the middle of moving, and this morning we found this postcard,” Kate said, taking the folded card out of her pocket, “the one you sent after Mom and Dad and I left all those years ago. I didn’t know about it. Mom kept it from me. Devin and I decided to take a road trip to see you again. To see if Lost Lake was still here.”

Eby took the card and stared at it, a small change coming over her, as if she’d taken a step back from them without even moving. “Your mother and I left on a bad note. I regret that. How is Quinn?” she asked cautiously, handing the card back to Kate.

Kate blinked in surprise. But of course Eby wouldn’t have known. “Mom passed away six years ago.”

Eby’s hand went to her chest and patted it softly, as if trying to calm something inside. “I’m so sorry,” she finally said. “I … oh. I don’t know what to say. Your father?”

“He’s gone, too. Almost ten years before Mom.”

“My dad died, too,” Devin said. “Last year.”

Eby focused on Devin, her brown eyes sympathetic. She reached over and touched Devin’s shoulder. “That must have been very hard for you.” Eby’s gaze shifted to Kate with growing concern, as if Kate was newly fragile, as if the glue hadn’t set and she might fall apart at any moment.

“We’re okay,” Kate said. “It’s been a hard year, but we’re okay.” She was feeling awkward now, like they were unburdening their grief on a stranger. “I didn’t mean to bring you bad news. We won’t stay long. I just wanted to see you again.”

“Won’t stay?” Eby said. “Of course you’ll stay! Let’s tell Lisette you’re here. She’ll be so excited to have more people to cook for. It looks like she already set out some things for you, left over from lunch.” She nodded to the Blue Willow platter.

Kate followed Eby. She didn’t have to tell Devin to join them. Devin was spellbound. Eby led them through a swinging door into a surprisingly modern kitchen. It was like walking into another house entirely. It was windowless but bright, with stainless steel that sparkled.

Completely out of place was an old chair by the refrigerator. It was tilted back against the wall, as if someone were sitting there. Devin stared at the chair curiously.

A small woman, probably in her sixties, turned from the stove. Her hair was as dark and shiny as a wet otter’s. There was a dramatic gray streak in it, toward the back, and it peeked out as she moved. “More guests, Lisette! Look who it is! It’s my niece Kate! I told you she’d be back one day. And she brought her daughter, Devin.”

Lisette gave Eby a look Kate couldn’t decipher before she smiled and, without a word, walked over and kissed their cheeks.

Eby said, “Kate, I don’t know if you remember, but this is Lisette Durand. She’s been my best friend for fifty years and the inimitable cook at Lost Lake for almost that long.”

Kate didn’t remember Lisette, but maybe she would later, like a figure forming in the fog. Bits and pieces of that summer were coming back to her. For years, she’d only had vague impressions, but very real emotions, about Lost Lake. She remembered feeling happy here. She could remember that very clearly. “Thank you for the food you set out for us,” Kate said.

Lisette bowed her head modestly.

“Lisette’s father owned a famous restaurant in Paris. La Maison Durand. Hemingway ate there once,” Eby said. “She learned to cook from him. Her father, not Hemingway. I’ll be right back with the linens for your beds.”

As Eby disappeared down the hallway, Lisette lifted a small notepad tied around her neck and began to write: Do not believe a word she says. Hemingway never ate at my father’s restaurant. And my father taught me nothing. The turd. I learned everything I know from a handsome young chef named Robert. He was in love with me.

Eby walked back into the kitchen with some folded plaid sheets under her arm. “Lisette can’t speak,” Eby explained when she saw Kate’s expression. “She was born without a voice box.”

“What’s a voice box?” Devin asked excitedly, as if it might be something real, something tangible, a secret wooden box somewhere with Lisette’s voice hidden inside.

“I’ll explain later,” Kate said.

“Come on, girls. Let’s get you settled.”

As they walked out, Lisette tore the note she’d written out of the pad and turned on a burner on the stove. She burned the note, and it disappeared in a whoosh of sparks and ash, like a magician’s trick.

Devin walked out backward, to stare as long as she could.

“Grab your plate, and I’ll show you to your cabin,” Eby said as she took a key from behind the check-in desk.

They walked out together, and Kate led them to the Subaru. “Where is everyone?” she asked, opening the hatch with one hand, the plate in the other.

Eby turned and looked at the lawn. There was a wistfulness to her gaze, but also a small sense of frustration. “Two guests arrived, just before you. They’re here for old time’s sake. I’ve recently decided to sell. This is the last summer of Lost Lake.”

Kate realized that they had landed in another big aftermath in Eby’s life, just like last time, when they’d visited right after George had died. It was like they were that strange debris that always washed up after a storm. “I’m sorry. We won’t stay long.”

Eby patted her cheek. The large green stone ring on her finger was cool and calming against Kate’s skin, like a gypsy’s touch. “You can stay as long as you’d like.” She turned to the car. “You certainly brought a lot of luggage.”

Kate looked into the Outback and for the first time realized how packed it was. “Devin, what is all this?”

“My luggage,” Devin said. “You said I could wear whatever I want.”

“Did you bring everything?” In addition to their luggage, there were at least four duffle bags.

Devin shrugged. “All that could fit.”

“We didn’t even know if we were staying.”

“I knew.”

“I see the resemblance now,” Eby said, smiling as she reached in for a piece of luggage.

4

The cabins weren’t lakeside—the trees shielded them from the water—but the lake was nonetheless a palpable presence. Like heat from a fire, the closer to water you are, the stronger you feel it. The cabins were situated in a villagelike pattern, six on one side of the stone walkway, six on the other. Cabin 13 was at the far end, forming a little cul-de-sac.

Eby walked up the steps to cabin 13, which was painted a fading orange with black shutters on the windows. The roof arched to a point right above the door. She unlocked the door, and Kate and Devin followed her inside with their luggage. Kate suddenly realized that this was the same cabin she and her parents had stayed in fifteen years ago. She recognized the nubby red sofa and cheap landscape paintings, also the incongruously expensive pieces mixed in with them—the Tiffany lamp and the antique oak library table.

There was a back door next to the kitchen counter at the far end of the room. Devin dropped her bags and ran to it. “Mom, look at this!” Devin said, and Kate walked over and looked out the window in the door. She saw that there was a large pile of twigs and needles on the back stoop, as if some gigantic creature had made a nest there.

She opened the door.

“What do you think made this?” Devin asked.

“I don’t know.”

They heard the snap of a twig and stuck their heads out in time to see something that looked like the tip of a tail slowly swish away, disappearing around the corner of the cabin.

“Come out to the lawn at sunset,” Eby said from behind them.

They both jumped and turned to her.

“We’re grilling out tonight. I know the two other guests would love to see you.”

“Are there alligators here?” Kate asked, putting her arm around Devin.

“At Lost Lake?” Eby laughed and shook her head. “No. People always think there must be. Truthfully, business might have been better lately if there were. But you have to go all the way over to Okefenokee to see any alligators. Come to the lawn for dinner?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Kate said. “We’d love to.”

Eby hesitated, staring at them like they were harbingers, like she was trying to figure out just what this meant. She finally turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. Silence stretched in front of them as Kate and Devin stood there, looking around the cabin.

Okay, they were here.

Now what?

“Come on, kiddo,” Kate said, moving forward. “You have a lot unpacking to do.”

After unpacking, they ate Lisette’s ham-and-cheese puffs and plum cake with just their fingers, standing in the open front door. Kate stared at the quiet run-down camp in something that felt close to a trance.

Her family had spent a little more than two weeks here fifteen years ago. As soon as Kate had seen the books in the sitting room of the main house today, she remembered reading some of them, remembered taking them out to the dock and staying there all day. There had been many guests here but no young people, and she’d been bored.

But then she’d met a boy her age. He hadn’t been a camp guest. He’d lived somewhere close by, in the woods. His name escaped her, lost somewhere in time.

There had been a whole other story going on with Kate’s mother and Eby, one Kate had paid no attention to because she and the boy had spent the rest of those two weeks turning feral, roaming the woods around the lake from morning to night, making up stories and watching imaginary things turn real. The fog on the water in the evening became ghost ladies. They had names and personalities Kate couldn’t remember now. The cypress knees protruding from the water were long-lost markers left by pirates, and treasure had been buried under them. They’d dived for the treasure every day, holding their breath longer and longer until they’d grown gills behind their ears. She’d been twelve years old at the time, a late bloomer, and everything had still seemed possible. After her family left—abruptly, Kate remembered—she’d gone back home, puberty hit, then her father died the next year.

Why did she have such good feelings about this place?

It was fairly simple, now that she thought about it.

She’d left her childhood here.

Kate turned from the door and took the plate to the kitchen sink, while Devin went to her room to decide what to wear that night for dinner. Kate went to her own room to make up her bed, but she flopped back on the mattress instead. A few minutes later, Devin came into her room, saw her sprawled out on the bare mattress, and climbed up next to her without a word.

Kate put her arm around Devin, then she reached into her pocket for her phone. She’d been dreading this.

She texted Cricket with one hand:

Don’t worry when you get home today and Devin and I aren’t there. I took Devin on a mini-vacation to see an old relative. Be back in a few days.

Cricket immediately wrote back:

What relative? Didn’t you read my list? Where are you????

Kate sighed and typed:

I didn’t read your list. Sorry. Devin and I found an old postcard from my great-aunt Eby in the attic this morning. We decided to visit her camp, Lost Lake, in Suley, near the Florida border. Don’t worry. We arrived safely. See you soon.

She turned off the phone so she wouldn’t read what Cricket would say next, then she stared at the ceiling. There was no breeze, yet the dusty ceiling fan was slowly altering the rotation of its blades on its own, back and forth. There was an electric charge in the air. It made the hairs on Kate’s arm stand on end.

“I like it here already,” Devin whispered. “Can we stay?”

Kate leaned over and rested her cheek on top of Devin’s head. “For a while.”

“Do you think Dad would have liked it here?”

Kate felt her breath catch a little and hoped Devin didn’t feel it. When Matt had been alive, Kate had done everything in her power to give him the life she thought he’d wanted. She’d always been tuned in to his cues, ready to turn even a hint into a full-blown wish. Matt hadn’t really known how to be happy, but there had been something about him that had made everyone around him want to find it for him. “I don’t know,” she said, even though she really did. Matt would have hated it here. He’d hated vacations. He’d liked to stay close to home, where he could ride familiar streets and trails alone on his bike, earbuds in his ears.

“There’s no place for him to ride his bike,” Devin said.

“No.”

Devin thought about that for a moment. “I still like it here, even if Dad wouldn’t have. Is that bad?”

“No, sweetheart,” Kate said into Devin’s hair. “That’s not bad at all. Your dad would want you to be happy.”

“Alligators make me happy,” Devin said right away.

That was new. “Really? Why?”

“Because they’re here.”

“There aren’t alligators here, sweetheart. You heard Eby.”

“I think there are.”

“Okay, then. Watch your toes,” Kate said, reaching down and making a snapping motion with her hand, biting at Devin’s feet. Devin laughed and twisted away. But then she rolled back into Kate’s arm, as if gravity had pushed her there. Right where she was supposed to be.

And that’s how they fell asleep their first afternoon at Lost Lake.

It was twilight, and Eby, Bulahdeen, and Selma were on the lawn, each sneaking peeks at the walkway to the cabins, silent in anticipation, like waiting for a breeze to blow through the stagnant air. Bulahdeen and Selma had reacted with enthusiasm and feigned indifference, respectively, when Eby told them about Kate and Devin arriving that afternoon. But Eby could tell that they weren’t quite sure what the girls’ presence here meant. Eby wasn’t even sure. It was so unexpected that Eby found herself wondering if it had really happened. Had she really seen them in the dining room? Had she really taken them to their cabin? Or had she just imagined it, daydreaming at the front desk again?

“Here they come,” Bulahdeen said from where she was sitting at a picnic table, a jelly jar full of wine in front of her. Eby turned from the grill to see the girls materialize from the dark end of the walkway. Kate hadn’t changed from her yoga pants and T-shirt so big it fell off one shoulder, revealing a racer-back tank. But Devin was in another costume, this time a tie-dyed T-shirt dress, red cowboy boots, a red cowboy hat, and a fringed vest. “She favors you, Eby.”

“Kate or Devin?”

“Kate, of course.”

“Although the child does seem to share your sense of style,” Selma commented dryly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, from both of you,” Eby said, watching the girls approach. Eby secretly agreed with Bulahdeen. Kate did favor her in some ways. Kate had inherited her green eyes from Eby’s sister, Marilee. But her long nose, which was both elegant and awkward, and her coltish limbs—those were all Eby. Even her short choppy hair, flipping up at the ends in the humidity, was the same heavy chestnut color Eby’s had been. When Eby had first met Kate, she’d seen in her a dreamy, bookish version of herself, and she had wanted so much to know her. But Kate’s mother, Quinn, had left in anger that summer, and Eby knew from experience that there was nothing left to do but keep the door open and hope Kate might walk back through one day.

“You say she just showed up?” Bulahdeen asked.

“I tried to keep in touch with her, but her mother wouldn’t have it. Apparently, today Kate found a postcard I sent her fifteen years ago. She decided to come see me.”

“Atlanta is a long way to come just to stop by,” Selma said, staring out over the darkening lake.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bulahdeen asked.

“It means she wants something.”

“Oh, hush,” Bulahdeen said. “Don’t listen to her, Eby.”

When Kate and Devin reached them, Eby waved away some of the smoke billowing in front of her like a potion. “The hot dogs will be ready soon and hopefully not too burnt. These grills are unpredictable,” she said. “Kate, Devin, I’d like you to meet Bulahdeen and Selma. Ladies, these are my nieces.”

“Come here, baby. Sit with me,” Bulahdeen said to Devin, patting the seat beside her at the picnic table. “Would you like a piece of candy?” She took a warm linty roll of Life Savers from her trouser pocket.

Selma had yet to acknowledge them, her gaze still on the lake. She was sitting alone at the next table, leaning back with her legs crossed and her skirt billowing down like a stage curtain. She was fanning herself with an old complimentary card fan from a wedding chapel in Las Vegas. Selma sniffed and suddenly put the fan down. Eby knew she’d been paying attention. “You call that candy? That’s not candy. Come with me … girl,” Selma said, as if she’d forgotten Devin’s name already. “I’ll give you some real candy.”

“Can I, Mom?” Devin asked.

Kate automatically turned to Eby, and that made Eby smile. No one looked to her for direction like that anymore. People in town used to do it all the time. It had been the reason most locals came out here. Eby always used to know what to say, what to do. And the falloff had happened so gradually that she wasn’t sure if the reason she stopped helping was because people stopped coming, or vice versa. Eby nodded at Kate, telling her it was all right. Selma made terrible first impressions with other women.

“Okay,” Kate said to Devin. “But save it until after dinner.”

“Selma, don’t take that child into your cabin,” Bulahdeen said. “It looks like a brothel in there.”

“What’s a brothel?” Devin asked.

“A place for only beautiful women,” Selma said as she walked by them. Devin hurried after her like a cat following a string.

“Don’t worry,” Bulahdeen said as Kate watched them go. “Selma really does have better candy. But she’s not doing this out of the goodness of her heart. She’s doing this so she can specifically say, ‘I’ve got the best candy here,’ and make it a double entendre. Mark my words.”

“Selma doesn’t seem very … happy to be here,” Kate said.

Bulahdeen shook her head. “Oh, that’s just the impression she likes to give. She’s come back every year for the past thirty years. I think she comes for the rest. She’s been married seven times. I know I’d need the rest. But she only has one more to go.”

“One more what?” Kate asked.

Bulahdeen leaned forward and said, “Husband. Selma has eight charms. Eight surefire opportunities to marry the man she wants. She’s used seven of them. I’m anxious to see who she’ll use number eight on. He’s bound to be a big deal, being her last and all. He’ll have lots of money. And he’ll probably be old.”

Kate looked to Eby again. This time, Eby just smiled. Kate hesitated, then said to Bulahdeen, “You mean eight actual, physical charms?”

“That’s what she says.”

“So she thinks she has magical powers,” Kate said, her eyes going to where Selma and Devin had disappeared, probably second-guessing her decision to let her daughter go off with this woman.

That made Bulahdeen laugh, and she reached over and patted Kate’s hand. “Magic is what we invent when we want something we think we can’t have. It makes her happy to think she’s a femme fatale. We go along with it.”

A minute later Devin came running back, delighted with a single piece of chocolate wrapped in gold foil. Selma sauntered after her.

“I’ve got the best candy here,” she said, taking her seat back at the separate table, away from them.

“What did I tell you?” Bulahdeen winked at Kate. “Selma, there’s not a man for twenty miles. Don’t you ever turn it off?”

“Of course not,” Selma said.

“She really does have the best candy here,” Devin said. “I don’t want her to turn it off.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Selma said.

Darkness fell, and the only illumination came from the umbrella poles wrapped in strings of twinkle lights, which Eby had found in the storeroom and brought out for one last summer. They created round dots of light across the lawn. As they ate hot dogs with brown mustard and dill potato salad on paper plates, they talked about the summers they’d had here. The summer it had rained every day and all the wallpaper peeled off the walls, and a carpet of frogs took up residence on the lawn. The summer it was so dry you could see the bottom of the lake, and guests waded out and found trinkets they thought they’d lost in the water years ago—coins with wishes still attached, old barrettes, hard plastic toy soldiers. Kate didn’t say much, but she seemed to enjoy the stories. It relaxed her a little.

Eby kept glancing at her. Kate had said it had been a hard year after her husband died. That in itself wasn’t unusual, not for a Morris woman. But the fact that she was here was significant. It showed some focus, some purpose, which was unusual for a grieving Morris woman. She had the look of someone stepping outside for the first time in a long time.

After they ate, there was silence, save for the thrumming of the nighttime wildlife, a strange sort of chorus that seemed to call from one side of the lake and answer on the other.

Devin held up the piece of candy Selma had given her earlier, and Kate nodded that she could have it now. The rattling of the candy paper caught Selma’s attention. As Devin put the chocolate in her mouth and made a dramatic this-is-so-good face, there might have been a hint of a smile on Selma’s lips, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared.

“This is almost how it used to be, with young people around. I’m going to miss this place,” Bulahdeen said, filling her jelly jar with wine again. She always got a little tipsy at this time of night. Eby sometimes wondered if she came here because she could drink what she wanted and her children couldn’t stop her. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to plan a party. For right here. With decorations and liquor and music. Yes! We’ll say good-bye to this place with a party! Next Saturday. That’s a good ending to this story. Not the best, but good enough.” Bulahdeen foraged around in her purse until she found a notepad and pen, and she started writing.

“Will there be dancing at this party?” Selma asked from her table.

“Only if you want to dance with me,” Bulahdeen said.

Selma sighed. “No, thank you.”

A farewell party. Rattled, Eby got up and started collecting their paper plates and cups. Kate immediately stood and helped her. Devin wiped her hands on her dress and went to inspect a frog who was taking advantage of the bugs the twinkle lights were attracting. Selma leaned back as Devin passed her, as if afraid Devin was going to touch her with her chocolate-covered fingers.

“Do you still have that dance floor you and George used to bring out at night?” Bulahdeen asked Eby. “Those huge wooden squares that snapped together?”

“I just saw them in the storeroom when I brought out the string lights,” Eby said. “I’d forgotten they were there.”

“Those were some good times, weren’t they? Dancing on summer nights.” Bulahdeen swayed in her seat to imaginary music. “George even hired a band on the weekends. Remember that? Kate, will you and Devin come?”

Kate walked to the wooden trash can by the grills and put the remnants of dinner inside the plastic bag. “I don’t know if we’ll still be here.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you’d be here for a while,” Bulahdeen said. “To help Eby.”

Kate turned to Eby. “Do you need help?”

“It’s going to be a big move,” Eby said, dumping the rest of the plates and cups in the trash. Too big. Too overwhelming.

“I’ll be glad to help in any way I can.”

Eby hesitated. At this rate, Lisette was going to be no help at all. But, at least with Lisette, Eby had an excuse not to do it. “Are you sure?”

“Devin’s on summer vacation. And all our things are in our new place by now. I’m supposed to start work at my mother-in-law’s real estate office soon, but there’s no fixed date.”

“You’re a real estate agent?” Bulahdeen asked.

“No. My husband and I ran a bike shop.” She paused. “I sold it last year, after he passed away.”

That sobered Bulahdeen a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, if you’re going to stay a while, I could certainly use your help,” Eby said with resignation. A farewell party. Help with moving. It was all falling into place. She didn’t admit to herself until now that she had thought that Kate and Devin showing up was some big sign telling her she shouldn’t sell, that there was another way to save this place. It was silly, of course, because her family had never been a sign of anything good.

Bulahdeen took a celebratory swig of her wine and plopped the glass back on the table. “Good! That will make five people for the party,” she said. “No—six! We’ll have it during the day so Lisette can come.”

Kate looked confused. “Lisette can’t come out at night?”

“Lisette thinks evening meals are bad luck, so she doesn’t like to be around food after sunset. That’s why there’s always been breakfast and lunch served in the main house, but never dinner. George built the grills for guests to cook out at night.” Eby smiled as Kate looked to the main house, where one light was on upstairs, Lisette’s bedroom light. A shadow passed by the window, as if she was watching them. “We must seem very strange to you.”

“No.” Kate shook her head. “It’s what I remember most about this place.”

The unmistakable sound of tires crunching over gravel was heard in the distance, and everyone turned. A pair of headlights soon flashed through the woods. Kate looked around for Devin, a slight panic in her voice as she called for her. Devin, who had lost interest in the frog, was jumping from one pool of umbrella light to the other across the lawn. She ran back to her mother. That was curious, Eby thought. Who did they think it was?

A dark blue Toyota appeared and circled around them, coming to a stop in front of the main house. A lean man in his sixties got out. He smiled and lifted his hand in a shy wave.

“That makes seven!” Bulahdeen said happily, writing his name down.

“If he’ll be at the party, I might come,” Selma said.

Bulahdeen made a tsking sound, not looking up from her list. “You know he’s not here for you.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t dance with him.”

“Who is that?” Kate asked.

“That’s Jack Humphry,” Eby told her. “He stays here every summer. He’s been in love with Lisette for years. He knows this is his last chance with her. Look at that expression on his face. That is the look of a man who has finally woken up.”

“I know that feeling,” Kate said.

Eby wanted to say so much to her. She wanted to say that waking up is the most important part of grieving, that so many women in their family failed to do it, and she was proud of Kate for fighting her way back. But Eby didn’t say anything. She could fix a lot of things, but family wasn’t one of them. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to come to terms with. It was the very reason she’d left Atlanta. She squeezed Kate’s arm, then pulled the bag out of the trash can and walked to the main house to greet Jack.

Because it was high time Lisette woke up, too.

5

In the inky stillness of the next morning, Lisette woke up and dressed quietly in the silks her elderly mother still sent her from Paris—cool slippery things that made her feel like she was covering herself with fresh air. For a while, after she left Paris, Lisette threw away her mother’s packages on principle. Lisette was not the same vain pretty girl her mother had once known. But then Lisette started making an exception for the lingerie. It was not vain if no one but herself saw her wear them. She then put on a blue dress and a freshly laundered apron that smelled like the lemongrass soap Eby used for the camp’s sheets and towels, the only soap that could take out the damp mustiness that wanted to cling to everything in this place.

She moved soundlessly downstairs to start breakfast, first cracking open the door to Eby’s bedroom slightly to make sure she was still breathing. She had done this every morning since George died. Eby did not know. Eby did not like it when Lisette worried too much. Their relationship had always been disproportionate that way. It was only Eby, capable and confident, who was allowed to worry about Lisette, moody and delicate.

Lisette turned on the lights in her kitchen and began to work. Everything was quiet, too quiet. But she had forced herself over the years to become accustomed to morning, even though it was evening she used to truly love for its energy and restlessness. That, at least, she would acknowledge she got from her father. His restaurant had stayed open late, one of the latest in Paris, and it had attracted people of poetic and turbulent minds.

The ghost of Luc sat quietly in the chair in the corner, near the blue refrigerator, as he did every morning, looking as he did the last time she saw him over dinner when they were both sixteen, his good white shirt stained yellow from nervous sweat under his arms, his young face eagerly watching her every move. He was caught in the moment before she had handed him the note over dinner, the one that broke his heart, a note like countless others she had written before. She had not understood what it was like to be rejected, as she had never been rejected herself. She had been shocked to hear of his suicide the next day. What was she, a monster? No one should have the power to hurt another that fully, that completely. She deserved to die in the same way, because changing was out of the question.

Eby had saved her with her goodness. That was why Lisette had decided to follow Eby wherever she went, finally settling here at Lost Lake. Eby made her a better person. Lisette had no idea what she would do without Eby. It frightened her so much that she could not think of it. She could not see her life anywhere but here. She would never go back to Paris. What did Eby think would happen? That Lisette would see her mother and suddenly want to live with her again?

No. Never.

But without Eby, without this camp, all Lisette had left was Luc, and she did not want to accept that he was not enough, that he was sixteen and a ghost, neither of which knew much about living.

She turned on the small coffeemaker in the kitchen for herself and Eby, then got to work on the chive biscuits and fruit tarts, like the ones she remembered from a patisserie she used to go to as a child. They had loved her there, giving her sweets for free because she had been so beautiful. The child, Devin, would like them. It had been so long since there had been children here. It made Lisette happy. It made Eby even happier. Lisette knew that the only regret Eby had when it came to cutting ties with her family was that she never got to see her niece grow up. But then there was that summer George died, when her niece, Quinn, showed up, and Eby got to meet her great-niece Kate. Lisette thought that, finally, Eby would have children in her life like she had always wanted … but that had not worked out. Maybe now, the third time, the third generation, would be the charm.

Maybe the girls would make Eby want to stay. Or at least not go so far.

Lisette knew Eby wanted to go back to Europe. Eby and George had often talked about it. And when Eby dreamed of Paris, she always told Lisette in the morning. Lisette would always tense, hearing of it, but she said nothing. They were just dreams, after all. Lisette had no idea those dreams had meant so much to Eby. She had never suspected Eby would be willing to sacrifice Lost Lake for those dreams to come true.

Once everything was under way, Lisette turned on the large stainless-steel coffeemaker for the guests in the dining room and took the chairs off the tables, stopping at the window to look out. The mist from the lake was giving off its own odd light, as if it were alive.

Something caught her eye and she leaned forward, her forehead almost resting against the glass. Someone was jogging around the lawn in a hooded sweatshirt, shorts, and tennis shoes.

Despite her initial start at seeing anyone out on the lawn after a season of no guests, Lisette did not have to see his face to know who he was.

When had he arrived? Last night, probably. Eby had not told her.

She stepped back quickly and hurried to the kitchen and locked the door behind her. That was ridiculous. Why did she lock the door? It was not as if Jack would come in there. He was not that bold, that aggressive.

But, still, shy had its own form of aggression. She had no armor against slow, invasive feelings. They slipped straight to her as if through mouse holes. Jack had been working his way inside for years, as earnest and trusting as Luc had been.

She looked over at Luc, only to see him smile at her from the corner. He seemed to approve of this madness.

Lisette heard a shuffling sound and turned to see that Eby had entered the kitchen and was pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was wearing pink baggy pajamas, which only served to make her look taller and thinner.

“I take it Jack is out there,” Eby said.

Lisette rolled her eyes as she pushed herself away from the door, where she’d been leaning against it, as if barricading it. She went to take the pastry shells out of the oven.

“He arrived last night. I know I said I’d take you into town for more groceries today, but I have all this inventory to do. Inventory you won’t help me with. So Jack said he’d take you.”

Lisette set the pastry shells down and quickly wrote on her notepad, It can wait.

“I don’t think so. Bulahdeen has decided to throw us a farewell party. You might want to help her, or we’ll end up with a lot of liquor and nothing to eat.”

Lisette narrowed her eyes at Eby, then she wrote, I know what you are doing.

Eby read that and smiled. “Me?” she said, turning to go back upstairs with her cup of coffee. “All I’m doing is inventory.”

Kate heard a knock on the door and opened her eyes. She sat up quickly on the wrought-iron bed and looked around, getting her bearings, remembering where she was. She stumbled into the living room of the cabin. She saw that Devin’s bedroom door was still closed, and a sudden, irrational fear gripped her that Devin might not be there. But she opened her door and saw her sleeping on her back, her limbs spread out like points of a star. Her glasses were perched on her bedside table as if watching her, as if lonely for her.

Another knock at the front door. She went to it and unlocked it. Lisette was standing there in the morning light, holding a tray containing two plates covered with napkins, and a carafe of coffee.

The scent of something salty and doughy hit her, and Kate’s mouth began to water. “Lisette,” Kate said, surprised. “What is this?”

Lisette nodded to the inside of the cabin and Kate stepped back. Lisette walked in and set the tray on the scuffed round table near the kitchen corner. Kate watched her take the white napkins off the plates, revealing fruit tarts and biscuits and bacon.

She pulled a prewritten note and an envelope from her apron pocket.

The note read: I have a favor to ask. Will you go today to the Fresh Mart in town and purchase some groceries for me? Eby was supposed to take me, but she said she has inventory to do. The money and list are in the envelope. Simply give it to the girl at the front desk. She will gather the things for me. There are more guests than I anticipated and Eby mentioned that Bulahdeen is planning a party. I will make a beautiful cake.

“Of course I’ll go,” Kate said. “I’ll be happy to.”

Lisette wrote on the notepad around her neck: Thank you. The fruit tarts are for Devin. They look like bright little jewels. Like her.

“She’ll love them. Thank you.”

Lisette smiled and took the note from Kate, leaving her with the envelope. Then she walked out. Kate followed her and was about to close the door behind her, when she happened to look down to see a small curved bone on the top step of the stoop. Curious, she picked it up and held it up to the light. It was an old animal tooth of some sort, familiar in a way she didn’t immediately recognize.

She took it inside and set it on the table as she sat down. She ran her hands through her short hair, then rubbed her face and looked at the lovely food on old mismatched floral plates.

Kate picked up the carafe and poured some coffee into a cup. She added sugar and cream until it was the color of caramel. Her mom used to take her coffee like this. So sweet it could kiss you, she used to say. As crazy as her mother had been, there were times after Kate’s father died that she had seemed almost normal. When they could afford it, Kate and her mother would go to the movies, sneaking in candy and drinks so they didn’t have to buy the overpriced things at the concession stand. They would watch television together every Friday night, with trays of dinner on their laps. Sometimes, her mother would braid Kate’s hair on weeknights, then put her in a nightcap and let her sleep on one of her sateen pillowcases, so her braids would still be smooth in the morning for school.

Kate wished there had been more good times. Memories that would make going back easier.

She sat back and considered not returning to Atlanta. Of maybe hiding here forever. Silly daydreams. Of course it would never happen. Eby was selling the place. And Kate had to face the fact that the reason she’d agreed to live with her mother-in-law, Cricket—even though Matt wouldn’t have wanted it, even though Cricket’s idea of parenting didn’t jibe with her own—was because she was fundamentally scared. She had plenty of money now, from the sale of her house and Matt’s shop. She could do anything she wanted. She could move anywhere. But she’d never been on her own. She’d lived with her mother, then Matt. When Matt died, she’d discovered a void in her life she hadn’t known was there. She missed her mom, and she missed her dad, but it took losing Matt for her to finally see just how isolated she’d been, like running out of rope. Cricket had stepped in and had filled that part of her daily existence for the past year, but they were each poor substitutes for what the other really wanted. But it was better than nothing. If Kate messed up, if she forgot something, there was backup. What if she fell asleep again for a year? What if she couldn’t be the parent she needed to be for Devin? What if she couldn’t do it alone?

She reached for a biscuit. She didn’t want to think of that. For now, she and Devin would enjoy this place with its lackadaisical proprietor, its mute French cook, and guests with marriage charms and plans for a farewell party.

For now, they would enjoy their last best summer, which somehow felt like saying good-bye to a lot more than just the lake.

Jack Humphry sat alone in the dining room in the main house. The local newspaper was folded on the table in front of him. He’d read it through twice.

It was mid-morning now, and he could tell Lisette had begun to make lunch in the kitchen, something involving cinnamon. It was a calming scent, reminding him of mulled wine, baked apples, and winter nights.

He heard voices coming from outside, voices he didn’t recognize.

Curious, he walked to the window and looked out.

Bulahdeen was sitting at a picnic table, scribbling in a notebook. She’d mentioned something about a farewell party that morning at breakfast, a party that would include just the lake guests, which Jack thought was okay. Bulahdeen was a sweet woman. She’d been a college literature professor long ago. Jack thought anyone who read couldn’t be all bad. He had assumed that she would rather have her nose in a book than talk, but he’d been wrong. Sometimes she would walk up to him while he was sitting in the dining room and just talk and talk. Once he’d asked, “Don’t you want to read? There are hundreds of books in the sitting room.”

She had laughed and said, “I’ve read them all. I want to remember them the way they were. If I read them now, the endings will have changed.”

He didn’t understand that, but then English hadn’t been his favorite subject.

Selma was sitting at the picnic table behind Bulahdeen. She was giving herself a manicure. Jack stepped back a little, hoping she wouldn’t see him. He’d known Selma for thirty years, and he still couldn’t figure out whether or not she was serious with her flirtations. This seemed to amuse her. He always tried to avoid her. But that had been easier to do when there had been more men around.

They weren’t talking, so he didn’t know where the voices were coming from. Then he saw a tall young woman in a short floral sundress and flip-flops walking toward the house. There was a little girl with her, wearing a tutu and a pink bicycle helmet. She was talking loudly as she ran circles around the young woman. The little girl looked over at Bulahdeen and Selma, then asked her mother something. The young woman nodded, and the little girl ran over and sat by Bulahdeen.

It took Jack a moment to realize the young woman was still heading this way, that she was actually going to come into the house.

He ran back to his table and sat down.

Jack was not a social man.

Coming from an old family of dynamic Richmond southerners, he should have been. He had three older brothers—a lawyer, a television news anchor, and a horse breeder. He’d grown up overwhelmed by the noise of their booming voices. Sometimes, all Jack had wanted to do was cover his ears. He would slink around, looking for quiet corners. His parents had simply shaken their heads, figuring three confident sons were enough. Oh, he knew his parents had loved him fiercely, and even his brothers had had their share of bruises from defending him from kids who had made fun of him at school. But they hadn’t expected much of him. He hadn’t known what to expect of himself. He’d been an exceptional student, but when the time came for him to leave for college, he’d been paralyzed with indecision. He’d had no idea what to do with his life. He’d expressed this fear to his mother, who had kissed him on the cheek in his dorm room the first day of his freshman year and had said with a laugh, “Since you don’t like looking people in the eye, why not focus on their feet?”

So he became a podiatrist.

It was the honest truth, but he found that when he told people that story, most laughed. It was his go-to joke when he absolutely had to attend a party or function.

He first came to Lost Lake when an older doctor at his practice in Richmond asked him to join him and his wife on their summer vacation. He had obviously felt sorry for Jack, who had alienated the nurses and staff in those early years because he’d been so bad at personal interaction. He’d gotten better, but it had taken years. The old doctor soon retired and moved away, but every summer Jack kept coming back to Lost Lake. He liked the quiet here. He liked how removed it was. He liked that, after a while, the summer regulars got to know him and didn’t judge him for his shy nature and the way his eyes could never quite meet theirs. Most of all, he liked the quiet woman in the kitchen.

He had never known how silent a person could be. Lisette’s presence was a comfort, and he spent most of his time in the dining room, near the kitchen door, near her. Sometimes when she cooked, she would bring him out little samples of summer borscht or smoked salmon tea sandwiches. She would set the food on the table in front of him, smile, then go back to the kitchen. One time she even reached out and touched his hair, but that seemed to shock her, and she never did it again.

Being around her was unlike anything he’d ever known. Wherever he went, everyone talked. Even at the ballet—where he went specifically to have the comfort of people around but not have to hear them—there were still words, buzzing around in whispers. Lisette not only didn’t talk, she barely even made noise when she moved. Sometimes he wished the whole world was like Lisette. But it wasn’t. That was something his mother always made sure he knew. The world was not like him and was not going to change for him. The trick to getting through life, she’d told him, is not to resent it when it isn’t exactly how you think it should be.

When Eby had called him to cancel his reservation, to tell him she was selling Lost Lake, she had said to him, “But Lisette is still here and will be for the summer, in case there’s something you want to tell her.”

It didn’t hit him at first. He’d been too focused on how his plans for the summer had changed. What was he going to do now? Where was he going to go? But that night he’d woken from a dream about a girl on a bridge, and realized it had been Lisette on that bridge, and if she jumped, he would never see her again. He’d always known where to find her, but after this summer, he wouldn’t. Eby wanted him to tell Lisette something. He didn’t know what that was. Was it something that would make her stay? He hated being unprepared for anything, but he still packed and left the next day.

That morning, his first morning at the lake, he’d woken up and gone for a jog, as he’d always done. When he’d seen the light flick on in the dining room, he’d gone inside. He’d sat by the kitchen door, waiting for Lisette to come out. When she hadn’t—which was odd because she always seemed to sense his presence—he’d gone back to his cabin to shower and change. When he’d come back, breakfast had been set out for the guests, but still no Lisette.

Eby had asked him last night to take Lisette into town for groceries today, and he’d happily agreed. He was curious what it would be like to shop with her. Would it be like walking around in a pocket of quiet while the rest of the noisy world bounced off of them? He was sure he would enjoy that. When he had asked Eby that morning when Lisette would be ready to go, Eby didn’t know. Eby had left, saying she had inventory to do in the cabins, so Jack had sat there in the dining room the better part of the morning, at attention, waiting.

He heard the front door open, and the young woman he’d seen outside came in with a tray of empty dishes. She smiled at him as she walked to the kitchen. She had wide interesting features and a quiet way of walking that Jack appreciated. She tapped on the kitchen door, then tried to push it open. But it was locked.

Jack thought that was strange. Lisette never locked the kitchen door. Was she all right?

“Lisette, it’s me, Kate. I’m on my way out. I brought back the dishes from breakfast,” the woman called. While she waited for Lisette to come to the door, the woman turned to him. “You must be Jack. I’m Kate, Eby’s great-niece.”

He nodded, his eyes down. “Nice to meet you.”

At that moment, a note was pushed under the door from the kitchen.

Kate looked at it, surprised. It was just touching her toes. She balanced the tray in one hand and bent to pick up the note with the other. She read it, then said, “Hmm.”

Jack wanted to ask her what the note said, but he didn’t.

Kate walked over to the buffet table and set the tray down, then she set the note beside it.

“It was nice to meet you too, Jack,” she said as she walked back out.

When the front door closed, Jack stood and went to the buffet table. The note, in Lisette’s pretty, spidery handwriting said, Please leave the things on the table. I will get them later.

She was obviously busy in there. He didn’t want to bother her. But maybe she didn’t know he was here. Maybe she had been waiting for him to knock on the door and call to her, like Kate had done. It was such a natural thing to do for most people.

Jack walked to the door and tapped on it. “Lisette? It’s me, Jack. Jack Humphry. I got in last night. Eby told me you needed someone to take you to the grocery store. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be out here, whenever you’re ready.”

After a moment, another note appeared from under the door: I already asked Kate to get the things I need. You do not need to wait. I am sorry Eby has wasted your time.

“I don’t mind. I’ll just read the paper. I’ll be right here, by the door.”

He knew she was still standing there, on the other side of the door. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see her form in the grain of the wood. Several seconds passed and he waited for another note from her. Nothing. He thought he should probably move away, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Suddenly, he heard the latch pull back, and he stepped away as the door flew open.

Lisette sighed and took the note he was still holding and gestured him inside impatiently. She poked her head out into the dining room to see if anyone else was there, then she made a beeline to the buffet table and took the tray and Kate’s note into the kitchen. Setting them down on the counter, she then turned and locked the door again.

She wrote him another note: You can stay in here with me. But you must not let Eby know. You must be quiet.

“Of course,” he said. “I’d like that very much. I’d like to watch you work.” He turned to the only chair in the kitchen, but she grabbed his arm and shook her head, then held up a single finger, telling him to wait.

She disappeared down the hall and came back pulling an old squeaky office chair. She set it by the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen and pointed to it. He obediently sat.

She stood there for a moment, looking from the empty chair by the refrigerator, to him, then back again. She finally threw her hands in the air in frustration, as if she’d just had her own silent argument with someone and lost.

She took the notes she’d just written to the stove, then she burned them one by one.

He watched in amazement as her words went up in smoke.

Where else in the world could such a creature exist? Suddenly, Jack was no longer worried about where he would go when Lost Lake was gone. He was worried about where Lisette would go. Jack had learned to live among people out in that strange noisy world.

But somehow he knew Lisette could only live here.

“Come on, Devin, let’s go!” Kate called when she walked out of the house.

So that is the man in love with Lisette, Kate thought. Jack didn’t say much, and Lisette didn’t say anything at all. This might be interesting to watch, if Kate and Devin were staying longer. Jack seemed kind. He was craggy and athletic, with lines like parentheses around his mouth, as if everything he wanted to say was an afterthought.

“Where are you girls going?” Bulahdeen asked, looking up from her list as Devin ran to the car.

“To the grocery store for Lisette.”

“Mind if I come along?” Bulahdeen asked. “I need to get some things for the party.”

“We don’t mind at all.”

Bulahdeen put her notebook in her purse, then stood stiffly. “Selma, we’re going to the store. I need to get more wine.”

Selma was filing her nails at the next table. “Why do you need so much wine? Doesn’t alcohol interfere with your medication?”

“I don’t take any medication.”

“That explains a lot,” Selma said, blowing emery-board dust off her fingertips.

“Come with us,” Bulahdeen said, shuffling over to her. “It’s for the party.”

“The party I’m not attending?”

“Didn’t you say you forgot to pack your hand lotion? Now’s your chance to get some.”

“Unlike you, I have my own car. I can go get lotion any time. And maybe I don’t even need it.” Selma held her hands up, inspecting them. “This wet air is good for my skin.”

Bulahdeen shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Selma watched Bulahdeen walk to the car. As soon as Kate helped the old woman into the front seat, Selma sighed and stood. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?” she asked, as if more arm pulling had been involved. Selma walked over. “Don’t I even get the front seat?”

“No,” Bulahdeen said, closing the front door.

Selma opened the back door and looked in at Devin, who was now in the backseat. “Scoot over … girl. Let’s not wrinkle my dress.”

“I like what you’re wearing.”

“Thank you. And that’s … quite an ensemble you have on,” Selma said.

“Thank you,” Devin responded, quite proud of her ballet clothes, to which she’d added her cowboy boots and her bright pink bicycle helmet with the Pheris Wheels logo on it, which Matt had given her last year, shortly before he’d died. Devin wasn’t a bike-riding kind of kid—she said the world went by too fast to see it when she was on a bike—but she had always enjoyed being with her father. Matt hadn’t understood that. He’d been coming around in some small way when he’d given her the helmet, because he’d given it to her just to wear, just because he knew she liked it. But there hadn’t been time enough for him to fully get it.

Kate smiled at her daughter in the rearview mirror.

“Seat belts on?” Kate called to her motley crew. “Okay, let’s go.”

After passing several neighborhoods of coastal-colored clapboard houses, Kate slowed as she approached the traffic circle in the middle of town. She didn’t remember going into town the last time she was here, so it took her by surprise. The center of Suley was marked by a narrow silo, old and rusted, towering above the shops on the circle. It looked so completely out of place that she simply had to stare. The sign on the small park surrounding the silo said: SULEY GRANARY, BUILT IN 1801. Next to it was another sign that said: MEET SUE, THE OFFICIAL TOWN COW, EVERY SATURDAY FROM 9–1.

She found the Fresh Mart on the circle and parked in front of it. They all got out and walked into the store. It was a touristy market with a deli and a café and wooden floors that creaked. The whole place smelled like waffle cones. Bulahdeen went straight to the wine shelves. Selma floated around the produce section, acting bored, picking up a green bell pepper, then putting it down with a sigh. Kate and Devin went to the business counter and waited for the young woman with the blond ponytail to get off the phone.

“Why don’t you go help Bulahdeen,” Kate said to Devin. “Don’t let her drop anything.”

A few minutes later, the young woman finally got off the phone. “Sorry about that,” she said.

“No problem.” Kate handed her the envelope from Lisette.

The girl read the note inside, then looked up at Kate. “Are you staying out at the lake?”

“Yes. I came to see Eby. She’s my great-aunt.”

The girl reached up and pulled her ponytail tighter. She couldn’t be more than twenty-one. “I don’t think I’ve ever met any of Eby’s family.”

“It’s been fifteen years since I was last here.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll box up the things on Lisette’s list. It’ll just take a minute,” the girl said. “Lisette special-orders some strange foods from France, but she’s a good customer. Not like some of the guests at Lost Lake. There’s this one old woman who vacations there every summer. When she comes in here, she’s so hateful to all the women, but the men fawn over her. My dad makes a fool of himself. I don’t know what he sees in her. She has this hideous red hair.”

“Do you mean Selma?” Kate nodded to Selma, who was now laughing at something the man stocking Bosc pears was saying.

The girl made a face. “That’s her.”

“She drove in with us.”

“My condolences. Now the little old lady, I like. She always buys wine, and when the checkout girls ask for her birth date for the register, she always makes things up. October twelfth, 1492. July fourth, 1776.” They both watched as Bulahdeen took her place in line at the checkout. She was carrying so many bottles that she had to lean back. Devin was hovering close behind her, as if to catch her if she fell. “I can’t believe she’s buying more wine. She was just in here yesterday.”

Kate smiled and turned back to the girl. “She’s throwing a farewell party for Eby.”

“So it’s true?” The girl asked. “Eby is selling Lost Lake? Yesterday, Bulahdeen said Eby was selling, but, you know, it’s Bulahdeen. I didn’t know if it was true or not.”

“It’s true. At least, that’s what Eby says.”

“That makes me sad. I haven’t seen Eby in a while, but she was always nice to me. When I was in high school, she let me bring my boyfriends out to the lake, and we’d borrow one of her rowboats because she always said the middle of a lake was the best place to fall in love.” The girl absentmindedly began to pick at the clumps of thick mascara sticking to her lashes. “When is the party?”

“Saturday afternoon, I think.”

The girl nodded, then turned and grabbed a cardboard box from the stack behind her and went to get Lisette’s special-order groceries from the back.

“I think I may have inadvertently invited the girl at the front desk to the party,” Kate said, joining Bulahdeen and Devin in line. She took a few bottles from Bulahdeen’s load.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Bulahdeen said. “The more the merrier.”

“The more the merrier? What do you mean?” Selma asked, walking over to them. The four of them together drew some attention. They didn’t look like your average tourists: an older woman in a tight red dress and heels; an elderly woman with her arms full of wine bottles; a toe-headed girl in glasses, a tutu, and a bike helmet; and Kate. All before noon.

“The owner’s daughter. Brittany. She’s coming to the farewell party,” Bulahdeen said.

“That girl hates me,” Selma said.

“She might not if you stopped flirting with her daddy. You’re not coming anyway. What’s it to you?”

Selma shook her head and walked away. “It’s nothing to me.”

6

Minutes later, from the shop across the street, Wes Patterson watched a tall young woman walk out of the Fresh Mart. Her brown hair was a mass of short layers that, as she walked, fell loosely into her eyes. She pushed it away with her fingers, stopping to look around the circle as she did so. For a moment, staring into the distance, her hand holding her hair back, she had that look people often have on the beach, looking out into the expanse of the ocean. Like she couldn’t believe there was just so much in front of her. She seemed a little lost. But she smiled and turned when the bag boy from the Fresh Mart said something to her. She opened the hatchback of a green Subaru, and the bag boy placed a large box of groceries inside for her. She tipped him, then helped an old lady carrying several bottles of wine into the passenger seat.

Her hair had been longer that summer when they were kids, the dark color an amazing contrast to her eyes, which were the exact bright green of summer morning grass. He couldn’t stop staring. He’d recognized her immediately. He’d often wondered if he would, if he ever saw her again. She was older, of course, with curves and angles that newly fascinated him because they hadn’t been there before. But he’d still know Kate anywhere. She’d given him the best summer he’d ever had, which he could never think of without thinking about the worst time in his life, which had come directly after.

She had a child with her. She didn’t look much like Kate, but the girl was undoubtedly her daughter. There was just something so Kate about her. She was exactly the child he imagined Kate would have had.

What was she doing here, after all this time? He began to feel vaguely uncomfortable, like that moment you first realize you’ve lost your wallet. He actually reached back to feel if he still had his wallet in his back pocket and if his keys were still in the front.

She was with two guests Wes remembered from his years at the lake. That meant she was here to see Eby and it had nothing to do with him or the letter. That should have made him feel better, but it only made him more restless.

“Now that is a fine-looking woman,” the older man sitting beside him at the counter said, having followed Wes’s gaze out the large front window.

“She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?” Wes asked.

“Not the mother. The redhead,” he said, watching Selma open the back car door and wait for the child to climb in first. Selma hesitated, as if knowing she was being watched. She smiled slightly, then ducked into the car, lifting her skirt high as she pulled her bare legs in last, giving them a show. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”

“Has Deloris changed her hair color?” Wes asked the man.

“No, she’s still a brunette,” he said, taking one last bite of the slice of ham-and-pineapple pizza in front of him. He wiped his mouth on a greasy paper napkin, then tossed it onto the counter. “I’ll be at the Water Park Hotel with Deloris and the girls for a few days. The lawyer is coming this weekend with the paperwork. I’m glad to be doing business with you, son. We’re going to do great things with that property.” He held out his hand.

Wes stared at the man’s puffy hand for a moment before he said, “We’ll shake on it when Eby sells.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

As his uncle walked away, Wes called, “Maybe we can all get together some time, you and me and Deloris and the girls. It would be nice to catch up.”

“Right, right,” Lazlo said without looking back. “We’ll see what happens.”

Wes watched as his uncle walked outside, batting at the air around his head as if an invisible plague of insects had just descended upon him. Once in his Mercedes parked at the curb, he took a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and patted his unnaturally smooth face and neck with it.

Across the street, the Subaru was now gone.

“You’re making a deal with the devil.” An old man with a grizzly beard stuck his head out of the kitchen. It was Grady, the cook. He was sure to have been listening all this time. Everyone in the small restaurant, which was still decorated in early eighties pizza-chic from its previous incarnation as a pizzeria arcade, had been listening, leaning forward in their seats, speaking in hushed tones, their ears turning like owls’ heads. This was bound to reach Eby soon.

“I know,” Wes said, gathering his and Lazlo’s plates and napkins from the window counter before one of the waitresses could do it. “But there’s no reason for me to hang on to that land if Eby sells. My property is in the middle of her lake property. The only way it’s worth anything is in connection to hers.”

“I still can’t believe she’s selling,” Grady said, shaking his head. “That place is an institution.”

“Eby has helped a lot of people in this town over the years. If she wants to leave, if that’s what she really wants to do, we should support her. Lost Lake isn’t making money anymore.”

“We should have supported her a long time ago, if it’s come to this.” Grady squinted his tiny brown marble eyes. “Can you imagine what Lost Lake will look like when it’s developed? When your uncle built the water park and outlet mall, it completely changed the landscape north of the interstate. You’ll keep him from doing too much damage this time, won’t you?”

“Change is good, Grady.” Wes handed him the plates.

The front door opened, and a young woman with a blond ponytail entered. “Well, it’s official,” Brittany announced dramatically. “I just heard it from her niece. Eby is selling Lost Lake.”

“We know,” Grady said. “We just heard, too. Wes is selling his property to the same developer.”

“I’m depressed,” Britt said, taking a seat at a nearby table. “I’ll never have another boy take me out there. I’m never going to get married at this rate. Wes, let’s make a pact. If we’re not married by the time we’re thirty, let’s marry each other.”

Wes laughed. Britt always flirted with him between boyfriends. For some reason, she seemed to consider him an odd sort of backup plan. Probably because he was nearby, one of only a few people their age who didn’t go to work at the water park or outlet mall or who hadn’t left town altogether. “I’m going to reach thirty long before you do.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Stop waiting, Britt. Go out there and get what you want.”

“That’s what I’m doing! I just asked you to marry me.”

“I’m not what you really want,” Wes said, patting her shoulder as he walked by her to the door that led to his garage below the restaurant. “I’ll be out at Lost Lake if anyone needs me.”

As he left, he heard Britt say, “I need cheese. Eby’s having a farewell party on Saturday at the lake. I think I’ll go, and kiss my youth good-bye.”

“You say she’s having a farewell party?” Grady asked. “Now that’s a good idea. I’ll whip up some chicken wings to bring.”

Wes turned off the highway onto the gravel road leading to Lost Lake a little too quickly, and gravel spit out from behind his wheels. He felt he couldn’t get there fast enough. He needed to explain what was going on before anyone else had a chance to tell Eby. He owed her that.

He wanted her to know that all this, everything that was happening, started and ended with her. Lazlo was family, sure. And that blood connection meant something to Wes. More than it should, considering his uncle had never really been around when Wes was growing up. But Eby and, by extension, the lake were everything good about his childhood. Wes and his brother, Billy, used to come here every day, walking from their cabin in the woods. When Wes’s mother left, his father had seethed with resentment, hating his circumstances and everyone who had done him wrong, until that was all he thought about. Inside he was no longer human, just churning flames. He turned to alcohol and then, almost inevitably, violence. Eby was the one who mended Wes’s and Billy’s clothes and gave them breakfast before school and threw them birthday parties, inviting their classmates to the lake. Lisette served pistachio and rose water ice cream and cakes made of dark chocolate.

After the fire, after he lost his brother and father, Wes moved away from the family property, and then there had been Daphne, his foster mother, who had been everything good about his teenage years.

If not for those two old women, Wes was sure he would be either dead, drunk, or incarcerated by now.

He and Eby still kept in touch. He’d see her sometimes in town. Every once in a while she’d stop by the restaurant to have a slice and catch up. But this was the first time in years that he’d been out here. As the lake came into view, he saw that the place had aged dramatically and seemed to have grown smaller. Everything felt precarious, as if one good rainstorm would wash it away.

He parked at the main house and went directly inside, finding Eby at the front desk. She had her back to him, reaching for a cabin key on the wall of hooks. Curiously, she had dust on the back of her head and on the backside of her clothing, as if she’d been lying on a rug that hadn’t been vacuumed in a while.

His throat thickened as he watched her. She’d always been a thin woman, but she seemed so fragile to him now, as reedy and brittle as dried grass. It had almost killed him to lose his foster mother four years ago. He didn’t want to lose Eby too. He knew the end of Lost Lake didn’t mean the end of Eby, but he was still going to miss her, miss knowing where to find her. He should have checked in more. He should have come out here before now. If he had, he would have seen how much repair work the place needed, and he would have fixed it. There’s a point where anything can be saved. The trick is knowing when. And he had missed it.

But if this was what Eby had decided on, then it was the right decision. Eby didn’t make bad choices. Everyone knew that. There wasn’t a person in town who hadn’t found him- or herself driving out to the lake because life had become too crowded or too noisy, their marriage was a wreck, or they hated their boss. And they always sought out Eby. They would sit in the dining room and have coffee and snack on something Lisette was experimenting with in the kitchen—lemon curd or yogurt sorbet or corn soup. It hadn’t been unusual to see Eby walking the wooded trail around the lake with someone from town, heads together, deep in conversation. There was even a cabin at Lost Lake, number 2, where harried mothers would come to stay for a night of blissful silence, no questions asked. Eby had a reputation for fixing things. If people really wanted to change, she knew what to do. She would jump off a bridge after you if she thought she could help.

Somewhere along the way, though, they’d forgotten how much they’d needed her. They should have told her sooner. Wes should have told her sooner.

Key in hand, Eby turned and saw him standing there. “Wesley! Hello! I’m just … um, going through the cabins, doing inventory.” She paused, looking at him curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“Lazlo wants my land too,” Wes said quickly, just to get it all out. “I’ll be investing in this development. It just happened, just today. And I wanted to tell you first. Lazlo’s never had any interest in my land until now. And I haven’t done anything yet. I’m waiting for your deal with him to go through first, just in case you decide not to sell.”

Eby smiled at his outburst. “That’s sweet of you, Wesley. But you don’t have to wait. I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Lazlo doesn’t think you will.”

Eby searched his face. “But you do?”

“I want you to do whatever makes you happy, Eby.”

“And I want the same for you,” she said, walking around the desk. She drew him into a fierce hug. He held her lightly, afraid he might break her. She pulled back and saw his hands were covered in dust from her clothes. “The cabins haven’t been cleaned in a while,” she said as she brushed his hands. “Now, are you sure you want to give up your family land?”

“Nothing but bad memories and a burned-out cabin there,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be glad to get rid of it.”

“What about your good memories?” she said, putting her cool hand to his cheek.

“All my good memories are here.” He looked away, embarrassed.

At that moment, the door opened and he stepped back to keep from getting hit by it. From behind the door, he watched Kate and her daughter enter in a blast of chatter, filling the air with the scent of shampoo and sunblock and raspberries and onions. Kate was carrying the large open cardboard box full of groceries from the Fresh Mart. He was surprised that he’d gotten here before them.

“Kate!” Eby said, surprised. “What are you doing? What is this?”

“Lisette asked me to pick up some groceries for her,” Kate said, shifting the box in her arms. “We would have been here sooner, but we had to go back because Selma forgot to buy hand lotion.”

“Lisette asked you to pick this up? I thought Jack had taken her. So she’s been here the whole time? That imp! She’s probably been tiptoeing around so I wouldn’t hear her,” Eby said, turning on her heel and striding to the dining room, where she was soon heard banging on the kitchen door, demanding that Lisette unlock it.

“Here, let me take that,” Wes said, stepping out from the other side of the door. “It looks heavy.”

Kate yelped and almost dropped the cardboard box. Wes reached out and grabbed it.

The little girl laughed. “He scared you!”

“Yes, yes, “Kate said, embarrassed. “Very funny.”

“You should have seen your face!”

“I’ll just take this to Lisette,” Wes said.

“Thanks,” Kate said, and he watched her brow knit, studying him. Now that he was closer, he could see that she was paler than he remembered, like she didn’t spend a lot of time in the sun anymore. Some freckles he hadn’t known were there were visible along her nose. She saw something familiar about him, but it didn’t click. It was for the best. He turned away and heard her say to her daughter, “Scoot, you. Let’s help Bulahdeen with her bottles.”

They left, taking with them that chattering breeze, leaving the house in still silence. Eby had stopped knocking, and there was something in the air in those few moments before Lisette opened the door to the kitchen and Eby said, “You’re not sixteen anymore.” And Bulahdeen came in with several bottles of wine and said, “Wes! I haven’t seen you in years! You need to come to our party!”

Something that had felt almost like hope.

“What is that god-awful noise?” Selma asked as the guests began to congregate on the lawn for dinner. Earlier, everyone had retreated to their cabins during the hottest part of the afternoon, but now they were emerging like nocturnal animals from their cool caves, their noses to the air, in search of sustenance.

Kate, who was standing by Eby and shucking corn to be placed on the grill with the hot dogs, suddenly became aware of a steady pounding echoing over the water. She looked to the van that was still parked in front of the main house, a white van with HANDYMAN PIZZA written on the side and a logo of a smiling burly man wearing a tool belt and twirling pizza dough in the air.

Eby was either having some handyman work done or having a lot of pizza delivered.

“Wes decided to fix some warped boards on the dock while he was here,” Eby explained. “He said some of them looked too dangerous to walk on. I told him he didn’t have to. There’s no need to spruce this place up, now that I’m selling.” She said this regretfully, and Kate was beginning to wonder if Eby was truly on board with selling. Kate had looked for Eby earlier, thinking she would help Eby with the inventory that seemed to be weighing so heavily on her mind. But Eby had been nowhere to be found, almost like she was purposely avoiding it. And as gung ho as Bulahdeen was with this farewell party, Eby wasn’t participating in the planning and was saying as little about it as possible.

“Maybe he’s doing it for the party,” Bulahdeen said from her seat at a picnic table. Devin was sitting beside her. Jack had quietly joined them and was showing Devin a coin trick. “I invited him.”

“Did you?” Selma asked, walking by. “Maybe I’ll come after all, now that men are going to be there. Do you dance, Jack?” She trailed her fingertips along his shoulders as she passed.

“No,” he said, slipping out from under her hand.

Kate asked Eby, “Are you talking about the man who was in the house earlier today? The one in the yellow shirt?”

“Yes.”

“He looked familiar,” Kate said.

That made Eby laugh. “He should. The two of you were as thick as thieves that summer you were here.”

That made Kate jerk her head around, her eyes going to the dock. “That’s him?”

“You know, Wes asked me for your address after you and your family left. I think he missed you.” Eby took the ear of corn out of Kate’s hands. “Why don’t you go ask him if he wants to stay for dinner.”

Kate nodded and wiped her palms on the sides of her dress. Did that seem too eager? She walked across the lawn to the dock. He was about halfway down, on his knees, hammering nails into a new pale board. He hadn’t fixed just some of the boards. He’d replaced nearly all of them.

A memory hit her suddenly. The last time she’d seen him was right here. They’d been sitting on the end of the dock with their feet in the water. Something had been changing between them, something that only the passage of time had made clear. From almost the very beginning, she’d known Wes had liked her, liked her in that way boys like girls. She hadn’t really minded, as long as it hadn’t interfered with their adventures. But slowly, as the days had passed, she’d begun to feel something like a summer fever coming over her, a sickness. It had emanated from somewhere near her trembling belly and had evaporated hotly from her skin whenever he was near. Sitting there on the dock that afternoon, Wes had shifted slightly and his bare leg had accidentally touched hers. It had taken her breath. What is this? she remembered thinking, almost panicked. What has changed? She’d tried to keep it from him, this affliction, because she’d wanted things to stay as they were. She’d been having so much fun. Completely oblivious, Wes had turned to her to ask a question, but then he’d stopped, looking at her curiously as she’d held her breath and stared at him, at the glints of red in his hair, at the scar above his right eyebrow, at his eyelashes, so light they were almost blond.

He’d known then. He’d seen the change, that this strange sickness had taken her too. And he’d looked so relieved, like the way he’d looked the first time he’d set eyes on her, reading on the dock. It was as if, finally, he could share all that he’d been keeping inside. Finally, someone understood.

His eyes had gone to her lips. What does that mean, she’d thought. What is he going to do? Why has all the air left my lungs?

He’d slowly leaned his head in toward hers.

And that’s when her mother had called her from the lawn, startling them both and making them jump away from each other. Kate had gotten up and told him she’d be right back. She hadn’t known at the time that her mother had packed all of their things and that they were leaving.

She’d never seen that boy again.

He was a big man now, broad shouldered and long limbed. She smiled, thinking of how fast he’d been growing that summer when they were twelve. He’d been gangly with arms and legs that seemed to stretch second by second, as if he were made of putty.

“Excuse me,” Kate said as she approached. He didn’t hear her. “Excuse me!” she said, louder. No response.

She stopped a few feet away from him.

“Wes!” she yelled.

He finally stopped and craned his neck around to look at her with blue eyes that were so achingly familiar, now that she felt something unknotting in her chest. It really was him. His hair was a russet shade, like an autumn leaf, and it was stuck to his forehead with sweat. His color was high, with vivid pink slashes of exertion on his cheeks. His presence was just so vital, so centered. She wasn’t expecting that. She remembered him being the Sancho Panza to her Don Quixote that summer. He’d gone along with everything she’d wanted to do. He’d happily let her take the lead and stayed in her shadow.

He smiled when he saw her, then he put down his hammer. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

He stared at her, brows raised, until she realized he was waiting for her to speak. “Oh,” she finally said. “Eby wants to know if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“Sorry, I can’t. Not tonight. I didn’t know it had gotten so late.” He lifted his face to the sky. The setting sun in the distance resembled a bright orange ember, as if a candle had just been blown out. “What time is it?”

Kate took her phone out of her pocket. She turned it on to see the time, and as soon as she did, she saw all the missed texts and voice mails from Cricket. There were dozens of them. She was going to have to call her back soon.

“It’s almost eight,” she said, returning the phone to her pocket.

“Thanks.”

He started to turn, but she stopped him by suddenly thrusting out her hand and saying, “Hi, I’m Kate. You probably don’t remember me.”

He stood. His hand was large and calloused, folding around hers like wrapping paper. “I know who you are,” he said, nicely but blandly. Milk and white rice. She knew that tone very well, that politeness ferociously guarding something else. Her mother-in-law was an expert at it. “I sent you a letter, years ago. Did you get it?”

“Eby just told me that you’d asked for my address. It never came.” She paused. “Or, at least, I never received it. My mother might have hidden it from me.”

He gave her a strange look. “Why would she do that?”

“She and Eby had some sort of argument that summer. That’s why we left so suddenly. I just found a postcard Eby wrote me years ago that my mother kept from me. When I get back home, I’ll look for your letter. I wish I had known. I had a great time here with you.”

“If you find it, just throw it away.”

“Why?” Kate asked, surprised. “What did it say?”

He shook his head. “It’s been a long time.”

He had come into his own with a confidence and presence that he hadn’t had before. But he’d lost something, too. She wasn’t quite sure what it was. Maybe, like her, he’d changed too much, left too much behind.

“Mom!” Devin called, running toward them. Her cowboy boots clunked on the dock boards as she approached. Kate didn’t have a quiet child. Devin could make noise in a room made of cotton. “Bulahdeen said to tell Wes that there’s cocktails if he’ll stay. Is that a bird?”

“Cocktails are grown-up drinks. Cockatiels are birds.” Kate put her arm around Devin’s shoulders. “Wes, this is my daughter, Devin. Devin, this is Wes. I met him the summer I came here when I was twelve. We were good friends.”

“Wes,” Devin asked breathlessly, her eyes wide, “have you ever seen any alligators here?”

He smiled. “No. Sorry.”

“Devin is newly interested in alligators,” Kate explained.

“When my brother was about your age, he was obsessed with alligators,” Wes told Devin. “He even called himself Alligator Boy, and he wouldn’t answer to anything else. He was determined to turn into an alligator when he grew up. He had it all planned out. One day he would wake up with a tail. The next day his alligator teeth would come in. This would go on for days until he was finally a whole alligator and no one, especially our father, would recognize him.”

Alligator Boy. Kate had almost forgotten about him. He had tagged along wherever they went but rarely said anything. It had been easy to forget he was even there. “Billy,” she said, suddenly remembering. “His name was Billy.”

“Yes. And you were the one who made up the story about him turning into an alligator,” Wes said. “He loved that.”

“Did he really turn into an alligator?” Devin asked, her voice quiet with awe.

“No. He passed away a long time ago in a house fire. But he wanted it so much that, if he had lived, I bet he would have.”

“I’m sorry, Wes,” Kate said, and put her hands in her pockets awkwardly. She felt her phone—and the scratch of something sharp against her knuckles. She took out the small curved bone she’d found on the stoop.

“What is that?” Devin asked.

“I found it this morning. I didn’t recognize it at first, but it looks like an animal tooth, like the kind Billy collected in a big box. Do you remember that?” she asked Wes. “He used to carry that box around wherever he went.”

“He called it the Alligator Box,” Wes said, staring at the tooth in her hand. “It was lost in the fire.”

“Is it an alligator tooth?” Devin asked Kate.

Kate shook her head. “Probably not.”

“I bet it is!”

“Would you like it?” Kate said, offering it to her daughter.

Devin looked excited and was about to take it, but Kate saw the moment it clicked that this nice man had a brother who collected things like this. A brother who was now gone. She stepped back and said, “No, I think Wes should have it.”

Devin was one great kid. Matt had rarely seen it, but Kate always had. She wasn’t going to fall asleep again and miss another year. She was going to be here for every moment. For the first time since waking up, she knew that clearly, without fear. She smiled at Devin while extending her hand to Wes.

“That means a lot to me,” he said sincerely. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, something knocked hard against the dock below. Tiny ripples fanned out on all sides of the water around them, like petals. They all looked down, as if waiting for something to appear, but the ripples gradually died away, leaving the water once again calm and inscrutable.

“It’s been doing that all afternoon,” Wes said with a laugh, when he saw that Kate was standing perfectly still, her arms out slightly, as if the entire dock was going to collapse under her feet. “There must be a floating tree trunk stuck under there, knocking against the support columns.”

“Can we dive down there and see?” Devin asked.

“No. Go tell the others that Wes can’t stay,” Kate said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Devin ran back to the lawn, calling, “Bye, Wes!”

He waved, and they both watched her go.

“Is your husband here with you?” Wes asked as he turned to place his tools back in his toolbox. He clicked it shut and picked it up with one hand, still holding the tooth in the other.

“No. He passed away last year.” Kate turned and walked back up the dock, still not entirely convinced it wasn’t going to collapse.

Wes fell into step beside her. “Now it’s my turn to be sorry.”

They walked in a familiar silence. There was a muscle memory there, forged by repetition fifteen years ago. It felt nice to be this comfortable around a person again. Kate used to make friends so easily as a child, like everyone was made of magnets, instantly drawn to one another. As she got older, it seemed like those magnets turned and forced everyone away from a specific area around her.

They stopped on the lawn. Wes put the tooth in his pocket and shifted his toolbox from one hand to the other. “How long are you staying?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just wanted Devin to see this place. I have such good memories here. I wanted her to have them, too.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again, before you leave.”

“I’ll say good-bye this time, I promise.”

Wes nodded. She wondered if he was thinking about that almost-kiss, or if he even remembered. Was she just projecting old feelings onto him, like a movie on a wall? The boy who had given her that last best summer was now this handsome unfamiliar man. And yet, she knew him. She knew him in that way you can only know a person you remember as a child, like if you cracked away the adult shell, you’d find that child happily sitting inside, smiling at you.

Without another word, he waved to everyone on the lawn, then walked to his van.

“Kate, will you get the butter from the kitchen?” Eby called. “I forgot to bring it out.”

Kate turned and went into the house. She tapped on the kitchen door, then entered and saw that the kitchen was closed down for the night. She glanced at the old chair beside the refrigerator as she opened the door and took out the tub of butter. When she closed the door, she paused because the chair was now leaning back against the wall on two legs.

Hadn’t it been on all four just seconds ago?

Puzzled, she left by the back entrance so she could take the cardboard box from the Fresh Mart, which Lisette had left by the door, to the garbage bins. After recycling the box she turned the corner, but then stopped short.

Wes was at the back of his van, out of view from the people on the lawn. The back doors of the van were open, and he had put his tools inside, alongside a pile of the old dock boards he was obviously going to haul away. He had taken off the yellow long-sleeved T-shirt he’d been wearing, which was wet with sweat, and was in the process of putting on a black long-sleeved T with the Handyman Pizza logo on it. An angry river of scars covered his back and arms, the skin shiny and rippled from what looked like an old severe burn.

She quickly stepped back behind the house before he could see her.

She leaned against the wall for a moment. Behind her fond memory of him that summer fifteen years ago, she was now also starting to remember bruises, and how Eby gave him and his brother boxes of food to take home with them, but how reluctant they were to go in the evenings. She pushed herself away from the wall and walked back around the other side of the house.

Eby was still by the grill, putting the hot dogs on a plate.

Kate stopped beside her and said, “Wes mentioned something about a fire and how his little brother died. What happened?”

Eby’s brows rose. “I’m surprised he told you. He never talks about his brother.” They watched as Wes’s van pulled out and disappeared down the driveway. He honked twice in good-bye.

Kate waited for Eby to say more.

“It was the summer your family came here to visit, a few months after you left,” she said. “Wes’s father owned the property next to Lost Lake, and he and Wes and Billy lived there, on basically nothing. Their home life wasn’t good. George and I tried to help out as much as we could. That father of theirs was a hateful man. The fire burned their cabin completely. Wes was the only one to get out alive. He’s been through a lot, but he turned into a remarkable young man. I’m very proud of him.”

“I can see that.” Kate smiled, looking to where he’d just driven away.

But she understood now—the change in him. The change in them both.

Neither one of them was the same after that summer.

After Devin had gone to sleep that evening, Kate took her phone and walked outside. She couldn’t put this off any longer. She had to call her mother-in-law. Kate hadn’t answered any of her calls or texts since they’d arrived yesterday.

She walked down the steps of the stoop. The lights were out in Bulahdeen’s cabin. Jack’s cabin was also dark. But Selma was apparently still awake. As Kate walked past, she heard music coming from inside, something jazzy and seductive. Billie Holiday maybe. She picked up her pace, disturbing the low-lying fog in puffs and swirls. She hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. Lost Lake had a different feel to it this deep into the night. There was more mystery, and it was easier to believe in things you couldn’t see. She and Wes had spent a lot of time out here in the dark.

She walked down to the dock where, just hours earlier, she’d come face-to-face again with the person responsible for her best memories here. She smiled as she looked out over the lake. The fog was moving and curling over the water, creating shapes. It made her think of the story of the ghost ladies she had made up. Ursula, Magdalene, and Betty—those had been their names. Remembering that made her look behind her, as if expecting Wes to be there.

Muscle memory again. She shook her head, then turned on her phone. There had been two more texts since she’d last checked a few hours ago. Another from Cricket and one from Kent Harwood. Kent and his husband, Sterling, bought Pheris Wheels from Kate after Matt died. They had been two of Matt’s best customers. Kent’s text read:

We saw the commercial today! It was nice to see Matt. And you and Devin look great. Come by and see us sometime!

She had no idea what that meant. She’d call Kent later. Right now, she needed to get this over with.

In two rings, Cricket picked up and said, “It’s about time, Kate! I cannot tell you the trouble you’ve caused me. Are you on your way back, or do I have to come get you?”

She’d been anticipating worry. Cricket’s anger caught her off guard. “Trouble?” Kate asked. “What are you talking about?”

“I had a film crew waiting for you when you were supposed to move in! Didn’t you read my note?”

“No, I didn’t read your note,” Kate said, frowning. “Why would a film crew be there?”

“Because we’re filming new Pheris Realty commercials. The first one aired today.”

Kate went silent. She lowered herself to sit on one of the squared-off pylons.

“That was part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I told you I had big plans to discuss with you later, and you leave? Who does that?”

Who does that? Kate thought. Someone who doesn’t want to be a part of Cricket’s big plans, that’s who does that.

“I’ve finally decided to throw my hat into the ring. I’m running for Congress. My team decided a few months ago that a series of new real estate commercials would be the perfect way to reintroduce me to the public, only this time with you and Devin “Moving On” with me. I received a lot of condolences after Matt died from people who were fans of the old commercials. They wanted to know what happened to him. What his life turned out like. This will show them. It will be a nice tribute to him. It will make a lot of people remember him—and me.” Silence. “Kate?”

It still amazed Kate that when Cricket did talk of Matt, she did it so plainly. Her grief wasn’t fresh. Cricket had mourned Matt a long time ago, when she’d lost him to Kate. It was the reason why, a few months after his death, Cricket had been so matter-of-fact about getting rid of all of Matt’s clothes. Kate had let her; at one point she’d even tried to help, stopping sometimes to tell Cricket a story behind a shirt or a pair of shoes. Cricket hadn’t liked that and had told Kate that she could handle this on her own. Kate had seen it then, just briefly, Cricket’s jealously that Kate knew more about her son’s life than she did. Kate had saved only one item of Matt’s clothing from Cricket’s purge, that T-shirt with the moth on it, hidden in a sewing bag somewhere among her things back in Atlanta.

“That’s what this past year has been about? Getting you ready to run for Congress?” Kate finally said. She couldn’t fully wrap her mind around it. She’d always known Cricket was unreadable, but she never imagined that this was what she’d been hiding.

“Of course not. It’s been about getting you and Devin through this difficult time,” Cricket said, sounding just like she did in her commercials.

“But you’ve known about this for months? Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve gone along with everything you wanted me to do for the past year, Cricket. Why did you still feel the need to blindside me with this?”

Cricket made a sound of disbelief. “Selling your house for, frankly, more than it was worth, putting your daughter in private school, letting you move in with me, giving you a job—these are things you just went along with?”

“I didn’t want any of it,” Kate said loudly, and the ghost ladies on the lake seemed to turn to her. “And I don’t want to be a part of this either, Cricket. Matt wouldn’t think of new commercials as a nice tribute to him. He would hate them. He would never want Devin to be in them. Did you give any thought to that?”

“Do you really want to go there, Kate?” She said it so easily, like she’d been practicing taking this sword out of its sheath in one long smooth movement. “You and I both know that what’s best for your daughter has not always been your primary concern.”

And there it was, the thing Kate had feared most. Cricket brought up the incident with the scissors. Kate had been waiting for this for a while. And now that it was out in the open, now that it had been acknowledged, it felt so far away, like something she’d done a lifetime ago. Why had she been so afraid of this? Why had she been so afraid to acknowledge her grief? Just because Cricket had bottled it inside, waiting to air it on TV, didn’t mean Kate had to.

“I can’t believe I was starting to feel guilty about not calling you, because I thought you might be genuinely worried about us.”

“Well, Kate, of course I was,” Cricket said, trying to make her voice go soft.

“My great-aunt is selling Lost Lake, and she needs my help sorting everything out this summer. I’ll let you know when Devin and I will be returning. I’ll call you in a few weeks.”

Kate hung up the phone. Cricket immediately called her back. She ignored the call and connected to the Internet and searched for this new Pheris Realty commercial. She found it easily.

It was thirty seconds of Cricket talking about her real estate company, with flashbacks to the old commercials featuring Matt. Kate had forgotten just how lost he’d looked back then. It made her want to save him all over again. At the end of the commercial, Cricket was standing outside Kate’s mother’s house, beside her real estate sign with the SOLD placard on top of it. “After my son died in a tragic accident last year, my daughter-in-law and granddaughter needed me to sell their home and help them on their new journey in life, which I did.” She held up a framed photo of Kate and Devin, one she’d obviously taken from Kate’s album. Kate was smiling, holding Devin, with the sun behind them. Matt had taken that photo a year and a half ago, at a bike race their shop had sponsored. “Pheris Reality—” Cricket said as the commercial closed, “we still know about moving on.” Then there were the words To be continued.

Kate put her hand over her eyes and let out a sob. For a few moments, her chest heaved and tears ran out from under her fingers. Why she’d fallen in love with Matt, how much she had tried to help him, how much she had wanted to make him happy—it all came rushing back to her. The reason she’d worked so hard and committed so much to a life she didn’t even want was because of that boy on TV. She’d wanted him to finally have that place where he belonged. And she found herself crying as much for herself as for him, because she knew—knew with all her heart—that as much as she had loved Matt and had wanted the world for him, he had never truly felt the same way about her. She had spent seven years married to a man who hadn’t cared for her nearly as much as she’d cared for him. And she’d begun to resent it.

The phone started ringing again. Cricket. Kate was so angry and full of grief at that moment that, without thinking, she hauled back and threw the ringing phone into the lake, where it landed somewhere near the ghost ladies with a soft plop.

She stood there, stunned. She couldn’t believe she just did that.

She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes. They were going to have to go back to Atlanta. She knew that. That was their home. And she was going to have to face Cricket. But she was not going to be in any commercials. She was not going to support Cricket’s burgeoning political career. Cricket had spent so much time behind the scenes in politics that it had never occurred to Kate that she would ever step in front of the camera, though it made perfect sense. Kate didn’t know why she was so surprised. She had money, looked great on TV, came across as sympathetic but had firm opinions, and she had hair that didn’t move. She had wanted Matt to go into politics, but now that he was gone, Kate figured Cricket had decided she was just going to have to do it herself. Matt had told Kate once that Cricket had made him run for class president and major in political science because she’d been prepping him for something big. He’d said it in an I showed her, didn’t I? kind of way, something that always made Kate think that his life with her was just a way of getting back at his mother.

But Kate was tired of sacrificing her happiness for someone else’s dreams. She’d done it for her mother when she was a teenager, and she’d done it for Matt. She’d done it all willingly, but never again. For the past year, she’d been scared that she couldn’t actually live her own life, that she was someone who was inherently incapable of it. She was scared of being a bad parent. Scared of being alone. Scared to grieve. Not anymore.

This, she thought, was where her real life was going to start. She didn’t know where it was going, but it was going to start here, where she used to know herself so well, where no one else’s rules made sense but her own.

She looked at the water and sighed.

Apparently, her new life was going to start without a phone.

7

The next morning, Devin woke up early. She didn’t know where she was, and she sat up quickly. But then it came to her. The cabin. Lost Lake. Her eyes went slowly around the room. It reminded her of a hut, the kind a banished princess would live in, hiding from a wicked witch. She liked the thought of being banished. That way, she’d never have to go back. The bed was old and white, with a scene from the lake painted on it. The dresser was fat and round and had glass knobs that looked like cloudy diamonds. The wallpaper was peeling, and she got a splinter in her foot from the uneven floorboards last night, but all in all she couldn’t have dreamed of any place better.

Her dad wouldn’t have liked it here. But her dad wouldn’t have liked moving into Grandma Cricket’s, either. Her dad had only really liked his bike shop, and Devin didn’t like it there. She missed him, but not the way her mom seemed to miss him. She wondered if her mom missed him because she didn’t remember him. Devin remembered him very clearly. She would test herself every once in a while and, yes, she could still recall everything about him, right down to the way he smelled, a sharp combination of soap, summer sweat, and tire rubber. She had a fanny pack that had belonged to him, and inside she kept a photo of him and a Paracord bracelet he used to wear all the time, which she’d sneaked out of her parents’ room the day Grandma Cricket decided to clear all of her dad’s clothes out of the house. She kept it around in case she ever needed it, in case she started forgetting.

Everything was quiet. Her mom obviously wasn’t up yet. She threw the covers off and walked to the window in her bedroom. She pulled and straightened her Wonder Woman T-shirt and her pajama shorts with the strawberry pattern on them, which had gotten uncomfortably twisted in her sleep. She stopped at the window and looked out, yawning. Bright mist from the lake was threading through the spaces between the cabins and lying low over the lawn in front of the main house.

A tang of barbecue charcoal was in the air, left over from where they’d cooked on the grills last night, and it made her hungry. She turned to go to the kitchen, to see if food had magically appeared like it had when she’d woken up yesterday. She’d liked those fruit tarts, which she’d never had for breakfast before.

But something caught her eye outside the window, and she stopped.

There, walking down the path toward the lawn, was an alligator.

It was huge and green-black and walked in a slow, swishing motion. Its wide, stiff tail left a trail in the dew. It was the most beautiful thing she thought she’d ever seen. She watched it walk all the way to the lawn, then it stopped. Minutes, hours, days passed. What was it doing?

It slowly turned its long bumpy head, teeth baring slightly, and looked back at her.

Follow me.

She sucked in her breath. It turned and ambled left, toward the lake, then out of sight.

Devin ran out of her room and into her mother’s. “Mom!”

Kate’s head was covered with a pillow. “Hmm?”

“Mom!”

When her mother didn’t answer, Devin couldn’t wait. She ran out of the bedroom, then out of the cabin, leaving the door wide open. She darted barefoot down the path, exhilarated. She turned when she got to the lawn and ran down to the lake. Her feet pounded on the new boards Wes had laid down as she ran all the way to the end of the dock. Her breathing was heavy, and it sounded loud over the water. She looked around, turning in circles, trying to find it. The lake had no beach; the water simply butted up against the ground, forming a muddy ledge.

Where was it?

She pushed her tangled hair out of her face, and that’s when she realized she’d been in such a hurry that she hadn’t put on her glasses. She used to wear an eye patch, back when she was little. She’d loved it. As she grew older, she got to wear it less and less as her lazy eye improved, until finally the doctor said she didn’t need it anymore. He was wrong. Sometimes she still put it on when her mother wasn’t looking. She was convinced she saw things better with her lazy eye, better than other people. If she put her hand over her good eye, she could find the back of an earring lost in the rug. She could find where Grandma Cricket hid her secret stash of M&M’s in her office, and the T-shirt that had belonged to her dad that her mom still kept hidden.

She put her hand over her right eye and slowly looked around. It only took moments, and there it was. The alligator had swum out to the middle of the lake, and all that could be seen was the top of its head and its tiny black pebble eyes. It was so still, the water didn’t even move.

“Hi,” she said, going to her knees.

It immediately submerged itself.

“No!” she called. “I won’t hurt you!”

She wanted to scream in frustration. She didn’t know what to do, short of jumping in, which she knew she shouldn’t do. She wiggled on her stomach to the edge of the dock, then she put her fingers in the lake. She moved them back and forth, waving a greeting in the water. She smiled when she felt its rough skin glide under her fingers, like a cat arching to be petted.

The alligator’s eyes appeared above the water again, several feet away.

It said something to her, and she blinked in surprise.

“What box?” she said. “I don’t see a box.”

The alligator disappeared under the water, resurfacing even closer to the dock.

The Alligator Box, it said.

It disappeared again. Minutes passed and Devin finally sat up. Her head felt swimmy from dangling it over the dock. Suddenly there was a tremendous splash and the alligator seemed to jump right out of the water. Midair, its body arched as if in a spasm, flinging its head in the direction of the dock. Devin heard a small clacking sound as she was sprayed with water. The alligator fell back into the lake with a great splash.

Devin looked down and saw that it had tossed her what looked to be a wet knobby root the size of a large ice cream cone. She picked it up. She’d rather have had a tooth, like the one her mom found and gave to Wes, but she’d take what she could get. After all, how many people got gifts from alligators?

“Devin!” her mother called. Devin turned. Uh-oh. She knew that tone of voice.

“I’m here,” Devin called back. “I’m fine.”

Kate slid on the wet grass as she crossed the lawn. Her short dark hair was sticking up in spikes from sleep. It made her look like an elf. Devin remembered when her mother cut it. It took a long time to get used to it, waking up in the mornings and not recognizing her. First her father died, then her mother changed her appearance so drastically. Then Grandma Cricket came into their lives, and Devin had to go to a new school, and they had to sell their house and move in with Grandma Cricket. It was strange, when she thought about it. Her dad was at peace, but no one else was. For almost a year, her mom had floated around, not really present, not happy, not anything. Devin had hated it.

But now, Devin could see her start to change. It was hard to trust at first, but her mom was happier here. Devin was happier here. And what a strange set of circumstances it was that brought them to this place. It almost scared her, how much could have gone wrong. What if they hadn’t seen the alligator on the road? What if Devin hadn’t found the postcard? She’d been playing in that trunk of clothes almost all her life, and she’d never noticed that corner of paper, tucked almost completely into the lining.

They were meant to be here.

“What are you doing out here so early?” Kate asked when she reached Devin. She knelt in front of her. “How did you get so wet? And look at you—you’re barefoot.”

Devin leaned forward and said softly into her mother’s ear, “I saw the alligator.”

Kate smiled and ran her hands up and down Devin’s arms, as if to warm her. “Sweetheart, there aren’t alligators here.”

“Yes, there are!” Devin insisted. She held out the root as proof. “It gave me this. I’m not sure what it means yet.”

“I see. That was nice of him.” Kate met Devin’s eyes. “Okay, make me a real Devin Promise. You will not leave the cabin alone like this again.” Devin Promises were what Devin and her mother had agreed were the most serious promises to make. You made them, you kept them.

Devin sighed. “I promise. But I tried to get you up first.”

Kate stood and took Devin’s hand. “I know you did. The trick is to wait for me. Then we both go.”

“Okay,” Devin said, looking over her shoulder as they walked away.

The alligator watched her go, then dipped under the water and vanished.

That afternoon, Eby was gazing at the ceiling in cabin number 9. There was a water stain here that looked like a bicycle wheel. It had been here for years, growing progressively larger. It had appeared the year George died. Back then it had looked like a tiny black beetle, and she used to come to this cabin and stare at it, sometimes swearing it would move, that it would run around the ceiling and spell out words like hope and love and real. But then she would blink and the words would go away. The stain was in the corner of the room, and its moisture had caused the coral wallpaper to peel away from the top. She’d always meant to fix that tiny leak, but then she’d thought, What if the ceiling wanted to tell me something else? So she’d left it.

This cabin also had a truly magnificent sleigh bed, antique and handcrafted. The camp was scattered with antiques from Eby and George’s halcyon days, hidden like secret treasure among the cheaper stuff. The vanity next to the yard-sale dresser was one George had bought on their honeymoon, an antique with inlay, the mirror slightly smoky, as if it would magically show you the most beautiful version of yourself if you asked. But she’d never asked. Her sister Marilee had been the beautiful one in their family. Even so, George, who had risen to the top of Atlanta’s eligible bachelors when he’d unexpectedly inherited his estranged grandfather’s money, had chosen Eby over her. Oh, Marilee had tried to win him. But she would have had to overcome a lifetime of teasing him in school about his red hair and bad teeth. Eby had always been kind to him, in love with him most of her life because he drew the most beautiful things with pencil and paper during classes. He was a dreamer, like her. And he’d wanted to marry her when he’d inherited his money, much to everyone’s surprise. He could have had his pick of beautiful belles. He could have had Marilee, before she’d fallen in love with Talbert, the gas station attendant. But he’d loved only Eby.

You didn’t need a mirror to tell you that you were beautiful when you had proof like that.

There was a knock on the door, then she heard Kate call, “Eby?”

Startled, Eby sat up on the dusty bed. She thought she could come here in secret. She thought Kate would be like everyone else and fall under the siesta spell that summer afternoons at Lost Lake were famous for casting.

After an initial panic, she decided not to bother getting off the bed. She’d been caught. There was no use trying to hide it. “I’m in here,” Eby said.

Kate walked in. She was wearing cutoff shorts and a quirky gray T-shirt printed with a giant bicycle that looked like it was parked on top of a tiny old-fashioned circus. The two large Ferris wheels from the circus below magically rose up and morphed into the bicycle wheels. PHERIS WHEELS, ATLANTA, GEORGIA was written underneath it.

Eby found herself studying Kate. She had a face that people liked to look at, just to figure it out. Pretty, yes, but not symmetrical, her eyes a little too wide, her nose a little too long. She was thin, but a thin that could only go so small, stopped by good muscle and big bones. All the women in their family had sturdy frames. They weren’t made to break, but most of them did anyway, blown down by that perfect storm called love.

“I saw that the number nine key was missing off the key wall, so I figured you were here,” Kate said. “I was just wondering about the inventory you said you wanted to do. I want to help all I can before we leave.”

“Thank you,” Eby said. She patted the dusty bed, and Kate crawled up and sat beside her.

“What are you doing in here?” Kate asked as she looked around the room.

“Thinking, mostly.”

“About what?”

“Lots of things. Today I was thinking about George. When we first bought the camp, we spent a year doing repairs. Then, when we were ready to open, George drove far and wide in every direction, leaving brochures anyplace a store owner would let him. The brochures had a photo of us on the front. Our first guests were unconventional—free spirits and hippies. We seemed to attract oddballs, and we didn’t know why. Don’t get me wrong. We loved it. But I’ll never forget the first summer Bulahdeen and her husband arrived. She said they chose Lost Lake because of the brochure. She said that she took one look at the photo of me and George and thought, I’m a misfit like them, so maybe I could be happy there, too.”

That made Kate laugh. “She was right. Misfits need a place to get away, too. All that trying to fit in is exhausting.”

Eby looked over at her great-niece. Her smile changed her entire face, widening her lips and crinkling her eyes. What was she doing here, hiding out with a bunch of old people? She should be moving on, living her life the way it was meant to be lived. She’d gotten through the hard part. Happiness now was inevitable, if she just let it happen. “You said you were in the middle of moving. Aren’t you in a hurry to go back to your new place?” Eby asked.

Kate’s smile faded. “It’s complicated.”

Eby waited.

Kate folded her legs in front of her and picked at the strings of her cutoffs. “I was paralyzed, living in the house I’d shared with Matt. So my mother-in-law helped me sell it. I actually made a lot of money. But, instead of finding another house to live in, like any normal person would, I decided to move in with my mother-in-law. I let her take over, and it wasn’t the right decision. I realize that now. I need to clear the air.” She took a deep breath and turned to Eby. “So, yes, I have to go back. But, no, I’m not in a hurry. I’m here for you. I can stay all summer, if you need me to. I don’t think Devin would object.”

Eby smiled. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“Devin said she saw an alligator this morning. I found her on the dock, damp with lake water, holding an ugly root she said the alligator gave her. If he’s giving her gifts now, I’m never going to get her to leave.”

Eby wedged a pillow behind her and sat back. “You used to give your mother fits here at the lake, too. Disappearing all day, coming back smelling of lake water, bugs in your clothes. Sometimes you and Wes would have a frog with you. A couple of times you even captured scorpions in a jar. Your mother used to make you sleep with a shower cap full of baby powder on your hair to get the lake smell out.”

Kate laughed. “I’d forgotten about that.”

Eby hesitated before asking her next question. She was better off not knowing, because there was nothing she could do. But leaving Kate’s mother when she was a little girl was one of the hardest things Eby had ever done. “How was Quinn? I mean, was her life good?”

“She was happy when my dad was alive,” Kate said. “After he was gone, she hated to be alone. When I was in high school, I stayed home most nights so she wouldn’t get so anxious. She was pretty much my best friend back then. Then I met Matt in college, and we moved in with her when I got pregnant. She liked having Devin around. I think that was the happiest she’d been since Dad died.”

“The house you sold, was it the pink brick house on Dora Cove Road?”

Kate looked surprised. “That’s the one. Mom’s house. I didn’t know you’d ever visited.”

“I didn’t,” Eby said. “George and I bought that house for your grandmother when her husband died. Your mother was only about three at the time.”

“You bought the house?”

Eby nodded. “Just before we left Atlanta. We bought my sister the house and a car. Gave her some money. Set up a small trust for Quinn. Then we gave the rest of the money away to charity and moved to Lost Lake.”

Kate sat back against one of the pillows, and a puff of dust rose up around them and sparkled in the air. “Why did you give the money away? Mom would never explain it to me.”

Eby shrugged. “I doubt she truly understood. No one did. Our family has a history of wanting money. Wanting it, never having it, never able to keep it. George grew up without money, and he’d been happy without it. When we got back from our honeymoon, everything just fell apart. My mother and sister wanted so much. Expected so much. And nothing was ever enough. George and I realized we didn’t need the money, and my family wouldn’t leave us alone as long as we had it. So we gave it away. And they never forgave me.”

“But Mom must have,” Kate said. “She must have wanted to bury the hatchet, by coming here that summer after George died.”

Eby hesitated. “I don’t want to speak badly of your mother,” she said, looking at Kate kindly. “I know she had a hard time growing up in the shadow of her mother’s grief. And I know she must have loved you. I could tell the first time I met you that you’d had a childhood full of love. She let you express yourself. Like you do with Devin.”

“It’s okay,” Kate said. “I want to know.”

“Quinn grew up with a very negative impression of me. I think she wanted the satisfaction of seeing me grieve the way her mother grieved.” Eby waited for Kate to interrupt her, to protest, but she didn’t. “I was devastated when George died, but I had Lisette and the lake guests and the town, and they didn’t let me go to that place, that dark place. I had a support system, which is what the women in our family sorely lack after they fall in love. They get married and want nothing but that one person. But relying on one person for your every need is so dangerous. One set of hands isn’t enough to keep you from falling. Quinn didn’t like that I wasn’t going to sell the lake and have extra money to share with her. She didn’t like that I was going to be okay. She didn’t expect that. It was just one more thing for her to resent.”

Kate took a moment to process that. “I can’t believe my dad let her come here to do that.”

“I don’t think he knew. When he figured it out, he made you and Quinn leave with him.”

Eby was surprised how easily Kate accepted what Eby had told her. But it all made sense when Kate said, “She was never the same after he died.” Quinn was as high-strung as her mother had been. And Quinn had obviously been as torn up after her own husband died. Kate had seen it, and Eby was sorry that she had.

“It’s the Morris curse.”

“It almost happened to me—when Matt died,” Kate said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. Eby wondered if it was telling her anything.

“But it didn’t,” Eby said. “If we measured life in the things that almost happened, we wouldn’t get anywhere.”

They stayed there, side by side, for a while. Eby decided, once she sold Lost Lake, that she would stay in touch with Kate. This felt good, to finally be able to be in a room with her family and feel nothing but camaraderie, where conversation and moral support were the only things asked for and given freely. It took fifty years for this to finally happen.

Kate stood and dusted herself off. She put her hands in her pockets and considered Eby for a moment. “It’s not official, is it? You haven’t signed over Lost Lake yet?”

“Not yet.”

“So it’s still a thing that almost happened.”

Eby smiled to herself. She caught on quickly. “For now.”

“So no inventory yet.”

“Not physical inventory, at least. Now, mental inventory; I’m doing a lot of that.”

“What are you going to do,” Kate asked, “when you sell?”

“Travel,” Eby said. “George and I always wanted to go back to Europe.”

“What about after?”

“After what?”

“After you travel, where will you come back to?”

Eby laughed. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Kate’s brow lowered. She looked like she was going to say something, then thought better of it. “I’ll leave you to it.” She turned to go, then stopped. “Thank you, Eby.”

“For what?”

“For being a misfit.” She smiled. “You give the rest of us hope.”