“If I’m investing my land in this development, we’re going to be working together. So surely I’ll be seeing more of you, and them.”
“Right, right,” Lazlo said, in much the same way he’d avoided the subject when Wes had asked when he would be moving to Atlanta with him after the fire. It finally hit him with full force: It was never going to be what he wanted it to be with his uncle.
There were very few good things about his childhood. Billy. Eby. Lost Lake. Kate. Lazlo was not one of those things, and he never would be. The funny thing was, if Devin hadn’t found the Alligator Box, he probably wouldn’t have realized this in time. He didn’t want to let them go. He couldn’t.
He suddenly thought of that aquamarine cuff link in Billy’s box, the one he couldn’t place.
“I found something today, at the lake,” Wes called after his uncle.”
“Did you?” Lazlo asked with no interest, clicking the button on his key fob to unlock his car.
“It belonged to my brother,” Wes said, opening the side door of the van and bringing out the Alligator Box. It was so much smaller than he remembered. But, then, Billy had been small, so even the toy fishing box had been huge in comparison. He opened the box and took the cuff link out. “Billy used to collect things, sentimental things. Things he wanted to keep secret. Things like this.” He held it out to Lazlo.
“My cuff link!” In four steps, Lazlo had walked over and grabbed it like a badger. “Deloris gave me the set. I had no idea where I’d lost this. She gave me hell about it.”
“You lost it at the cabin. When the water park was being built on the other side of the interstate. I remember you gave Dad a job on the site, and then you used to come by during the day, when he was at work. If Billy and I were there, you would give us a dollar and tell us to go away. You brought women out there.”
“So I did, so I did.” He put the cuff link in his pocket, secreting away the proof from Deloris, who was, Wes was beginning to realize, his one big fear. “What’s your point?”
“The point is, you knew how bad things were. You saw how we lived. You saw what our father did to us. Why didn’t you do anything?”
“Whoa, son.” Lazlo held up his hands. “That was a long time ago.”
Wes took a deep breath. He felt relieved now, somehow. “I’m not selling my land.”
“You don’t mean that,” Lazlo said, unfazed.
“Yes, I do.”
Lazlo laughed. “Think this through, son. That land isn’t worth anything unless you sell it with Lost Lake. What do you want, some bonding time? We could do that. But Wes, this business. This isn’t a family reunion.”
“And I realized that just in time.”
Lazlo just shrugged. “The truth is, I don’t need your land. I’ll develop around you. When you change your mind, let me know. No hard feelings.” He opened his car door. “You’re overthinking this, you know. My father beat me, and look how well I turned out. Shit happens. You step over it and keep walking.”
Wes pressed the button to lower the garage door. “In case you didn’t notice,” Wes said, as the door closed between them, “that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
He stood in the darkness for several long moments before turning and walking upstairs.
12
The town of Suley was a strange and independent one. Like most small towns, the older generations were the ones who kept the secrets, to such an extent that the newer generations were growing up with no idea why they were the way they were. Like the reason they craved briny bread and chokecherry jam. Because it was the food of the swamp. Or why they liked to run their hands over the surface of smooth dry boards of houses or fences, why it made them feel restful. Because their great-great-grandmothers had spent so much time keeping the swamp damp out of their houses that their dreams of dryness had become a fundamental part of them, something passed down like bumps on noses and crooked pinky toes.
They had no idea why the idea of someone they didn’t recognize made them leery. And they didn’t understand why, if they sat so long in one place that the day’s shadow passed over them, that they felt like they wanted to stay hidden in that shadow forever. It was because, generations ago, their ancestors had fled into the dark safety of Okefenokee. Deserters from the Civil War and Indians run off their land—they knew what it was like to hide. It was a hard safety and a lot of work, but they knew that it was still far, far better than what they had left behind.
Okefenokee was eventually cleared of settlers, and the swamp people went their separate ways. Suley was one of the places those settlers ended up, a hundred miles west but worlds away. Lost Lake was so named because it reminded those settlers of the swamp they had lost. Not many people knew that anymore. Most people these days thought it was called Lost Lake because the lake was so hard to locate. No one ever found the road to it on the first try.
The original owner of the camp had tried to make a go of it, but he had failed for one very important reason: He hadn’t included the residents. George and Eby had succeeded where he had failed because they knew that what you lost is as much a part of you as what you found. They knew that the lake was a part of Suley history, and they always welcomed the residents out.
And that was why the town had come here today, to Eby’s party.
Even though most residents didn’t know why they were the way they were, they all knew they were connected in some way. Losing Eby meant losing Lost Lake. And losing Lost Lake meant losing a part of themselves, a very old piece to a crumbling puzzle.
*
Selma heard the noise growing outside and turned up the volume on her Billie Holiday CD. There were dozens of men out there, married men. She could feel them, a prickling sensation along her skin, like goose bumps. She gave up trying to ignore them, checked her makeup, then left her cabin.
It took more effort to make an entrance these days. When she was younger, she’d been able to step into a crowd like this and conversations would stop and heads would turn. Men would be pulled to her the way a sun pulls planets into its orbit. But the older she got, the louder she had to laugh, the more attentive she had to be. Sometimes she felt relieved that she only had one charm left. There was a certain peace to knowing she was almost through. It made her picky, though, because she was, first and foremost, an avaricious woman, and her final husband would have to be rich enough to set her for life. And he needed to be old too, because then there would be a chance he would die before the charm wore off and she wouldn’t have to worry about grabbing all she could. But she’d married two elderly men already, and neither time had she been lucky enough for them to die, so she couldn’t count on it. It would also be nice if he didn’t have children. Offspring were so difficult. All her stepchildren hated her, the daughters especially. She’d never wanted kids of her own for exactly that reason. She’d had eight charms that could force men to be with her. But she had absolutely no idea how to make anyone else do it.
When she reached the lawn, she stopped and looked around, taking stock. Know your arena, she always thought. There was a large vinyl sign hanging on two aluminum poles that read FAREWELL, EBY! THE TOWN OF SULEY THANKS YOU!
Lisette was sitting with a man with a huge beard who was wearing a bowling shirt with the name GRADY printed on the chest. He was reciting a recipe for chicken wings, and Lisette was writing it down, a look of complete fascination on her face—like she’d never heard of chicken wings before. Selma rolled her eyes.
Selma saw Jack and walked over to him first. He was easy and was used to her flirting, and it served the purpose of other men seeing her do it, building the anticipation a little. He was at one of the grills. Several of the town children were around him, asking him questions and generally making him uncomfortable as they waited for their food. When she approached, the children grew quiet. One boy put his thumb in his mouth.
Jack tensed when he realized she was there. Honestly, it wasn’t like she’d broken his foot.
“Well, this turned out to be a bigger affair than I thought it would be. And there are steaks? Who popped for steaks?” she said, taking a handkerchief out of the pocket of her dress and fanning away the smoke coming at her from the grill.
“The steaks are courtesy of Lazlo Patterson, the man buying the property. He’s the one responsible for the sign too. Bulahdeen hates it.”
Of course she did. It didn’t fit into her nice, neat dream that this was going to make a difference, when Eby had clearly made up her mind. “Where is she?”
“Last time I saw her, she was trying to untie the sign. She’s managed to do it three times so far. Someone keeps putting it back up.”
Selma shook her head. Crazy old woman.
She scanned the crowd for the next man to bounce to and saw Harold, the owner of the Fresh Mart. He smiled at her and eagerly beckoned her over. His daughter was with him—the girl Selma had argued with just a few days ago. Brittany. Poor girl. She was under the impression that she could stop her father from being selfish, from wanting his own pleasure. Children always think that. Sometimes Selma wished women would stop blaming her when men left them for her. She could never take a man who truly loved his wife. So, really, it wasn’t her fault. They should thank her. She separated the wheat from the chaff for them.
She walked toward him, stepping through the crowd, when an arm suddenly slid around in front of her, holding out a black bottle of cold beer. “You look hot,” the male voice said.
Selma took the bottle and turned. He was in his late fifties … too young. Disappointing. But he had money, that she could tell. And he was married. He wasn’t handsome, but that didn’t matter. It used to, but not anymore.
“Selma Koules,” she said, holding out her hand limply in a way that made men unsure whether or not she wanted them to kiss it.
He kissed it.