The Secrets of Lake Road

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”Jo asked.

Patricia shrugged. “I was going to tell everyone, but I never got the chance. And then, it no longer seemed important,” she said.

Jo touched Patricia’s arm in a comforting way. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” She wiped her eye with the doll again. “I got as far as the beach on our first day here and that was it. I never even got to introduce Sara to anyone, not even the Hawkes.”

Jo waited for Patricia to continue, but she didn’t. She disappeared somewhere deep inside herself, staring off at some point in the distance. Jo flicked the cigarette butt to the ground. She watched the ember fade and burn out. Whatever Patricia hoped to gain by returning to the lake, it had ended in a nightmare. But it still didn’t explain her comment about Billy.

“Do you remember when I stopped by your cabin?” Jo spoke in a soft, soothing way, hoping to lure Patricia back into the conversation. “You mentioned Billy.”

Patricia turned to look at her. In the dark, Jo could scarcely make out her eyes.

“Yes,” Patricia said. “Billy.” Her voice lifted. “How is he? And Dee Dee?”

Jo’s mind raced to catch up with what Patricia was asking. My God, she was right. After all these years, she didn’t know what had happened to Billy. How could she tell her he had drowned? How could she tell her they may have found his missing bones while searching for her daughter? She wouldn’t tell her, not about the bones. It didn’t change anything where Patricia was concerned. In fact, it seemed cruel.

Her throat felt dry. “Dee Dee is okay. The same.” Bitter. She swallowed hard. “But Patricia,” she said as gently as she could for both their sakes. It had been so long since she said the words out loud. “Billy is dead.”

“What do you mean, dead?” She held the doll to her chest and searched Jo’s face in the dark. “I don’t understand.” She grabbed Jo’s forearm. “He’s really dead?”

“Yes.”

Patricia continued trying to see something in Jo’s face. Jo could only imagine what she was searching for—grief, guilt, truth. Eventually she released the grip on Jo’s arm. She turned away. She was quiet for some time. “It’s just so shocking.” She curled in on herself, hugging the doll. “How?”

“He drowned,” she said, surprised how much it still hurt, how raw the pain still felt.

Patricia shook her head. “No, that can’t be. Not Billy. He knew the lake better than anyone. He couldn’t just drown.”

“You’re right,” Jo said, and turned her head away. “He couldn’t.”

Not unless he’d had help.





CHAPTER THIRTY

Caroline rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. Her mother was talking to someone in the kitchen. She picked up the old alarm clock from her nightstand. A sliver of moonlight gave off enough light to see that it was three a.m., the dead hour. She had heard the term watching one of Gram’s television detective shows. She thought it was a cool phrase. However, having been awakened in the middle of the night during the dead hour wasn’t as cool as it sounded in daylight.

Someone in the kitchen burped, which meant it had to have come from Johnny. When wasn’t he disgusting?

Her mother continued talking in a hushed voice, and something about her tone pulled Caroline from the bed. It was obvious whatever they were saying they didn’t want anyone else to hear. She dismissed the idea they were whispering because it was the middle of the night and they didn’t want to wake anyone. Johnny wouldn’t have cared. He only thought of himself.

She could say the same for her mother, but that kind of thinking always made her feel bad. She couldn’t discount the times her mother had tried to be the kind of mom Caroline had wanted—one who baked treats for special occasions, cheered from the stands at sporting events, applied Band-Aids to booboos, prepared home-cooked meals.

Her mother wasn’t good at being a regular mom.

But maybe Caroline should give her a break. After all, Caroline was fed—mostly fast food—but still, she never went hungry. Her mother had sent store-bought cookies into school for Caroline’s birthdays, and twice her mother drove past the ballpark looking for one of Caroline’s softball games, only to discover she went to the wrong field.

She peeked through the crack of her bedroom door. The overhead light in the kitchen allowed for a narrow view of the table, the pantry, a basket hanging on the wall. Gram had several baskets, all hung in the kitchen for decoration, but also for use. Gram thought nothing of grabbing one of them off the wall and filling it with chips or pretzels or popcorn.

Her mother and Johnny were sitting at the far end and out of sight, their voices muffled. She slipped into the hall to listen, stopping to hide in the shadows.

“I’m glad Gram’s okay,” Johnny said. “I would’ve been here had I known.”