“All bullshit aside, I do want to ask you something,” Lance said, leaning forward and cupping his mug of coffee. “What was actually going on when you got to the house yesterday? You didn’t want to say anything, but in light of last night, you need to be straight with me.”
Andy sat back from the table and folded his arms. He regarded Lance for a long moment, and then leaned forward again.
“I felt cold.”
“Cold?” Lance asked.
“Yes, cold. When I drove up and saw the place, something seemed off to me. I couldn’t figure out what it was—maybe the house needed some TLC or I didn’t like the location, I don’t know. But when I got out of the car, it was oppressive, like something was pushing down on me from above, and I felt cold. I felt …” Andy stopped and looked around. The closest people on either side of them continued talking, oblivious to their conversation. Andy leaned closer. “I felt as cold as I did when I woke up last night after being in the lake. I wanted nothing more than to drive the fuck away from that place and never come back. After you came out, it passed, it just went away. I don’t know.”
Andy picked up his coffee and sipped it, clearly irritated. The waitress arrived, balancing a large tray on one hand and holding a fresh pot of coffee in the other.
They ate amidst the din of voices, neither broaching the subject again. Instead, they chewed in an unspoken but agreed respite, both of them digesting their thoughts as well as the eggs they consumed.
Twenty minutes later they stood on the sidewalk outside. The morning sun warmed the air and the fresh smell of the lake blew in on a northeastern breeze. Traffic was light with only a few cars passing occasionally. The town appeared to be self-absorbed, each person pursuing his own agenda either behind closed doors or well outside of the city limits.
Andy stopped by the driver’s-side door of his car and turned back to Lance, who had followed him to the edge of the curb, his hands shoved deeply in the pockets of his jeans.
“I’m going to go back home. I don’t think it would be a good idea if I stayed another night, you might be fishing my body out of the lake in the morning.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Lance said, frowning. Andy studied him for a moment before walking back within a few feet of the curb. His lips were pressed together as if he was struggling to keep the words he wanted to say within.
“I’m not superstitious; you know that better than anyone.” Andy waited until Lance nodded in agreement. “So I feel stupid even saying this: get your novel finished and get out of that house. I would tell you to leave now—leave with me, for fuck’s sake—but I know you won’t. There’s nothing good there. I’ve relied on my instincts for most of my life and they haven’t steered me wrong before. Everything inside of me is revolted by that place.”
Lance looked at his best friend standing the bright morning light. Andy had never lied to him—he might even be incapable of it—and now he had told him to leave the one place that inspired him. Lance grimaced.
“The funny thing is, right now I’m probably two-thirds of the way through the novel and I’m clipping right along; in fact, it’s faster than I’ve ever written before. But you know what? Right now, standing here talking to you, I cannot for the life of me remember the ending of the story. I can remember everything I’ve written so far, but the resolution? Gone, like it never was. There’s not a bone in my body that tells me if I drove away today I’d be able to finish that story. It might actually fade away completely.”
“And could you live with that?” Andy asked.
“You know I couldn’t. How could you even ask that?” Lance said, as he put his hand against the warm hood of Andy’s car.