Richard Laymon: The Lake

“He’s hardly part of the family.”

“I don’t know, Helen, they looked pretty serious to me.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“And it is probably no coincidence,” he added, “that they both plan to attend Berkeley in the fall.”

“Berkeley,” Mom muttered. She rolled her eyes upward. “Don’t talk to me about Berkeley.”

“I don’t think it’s the same as when I was there,” Leigh told her.

“Well, thank God for that.”

Dad settled back against the cushion and crossed his legs. He looked at Leigh. “You turned out pretty well for a radical hippie chick.”

“Let’s drop this subject,” Mom said. “Uhhh. The absolute hell you put us through. Do you have any idea of the hell you put us through?”

Leigh sighed. She didn’t need this. “It was a long time ago,” she said.

“Your senior year in high school. That’s when it all started. You were just Deana’s age. She’s such a fine young lady. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“We’re all pretty lucky,” Dad said. He patted Leigh’s knee and gave her one of those looks that said, Sorry about this. You know how Mom gets .

“How do you think you’d feel if Deana came home one fine day, dressed up like one of those ‘punks’ you see on the street corners in the city? How would that make you feel if her lovely hair was all chopped off and spiky like a bed of nails, and green? Or orange! Or maybe she comes home with a Mohawk, looking like Mr. T!”

Leigh couldn’t hold back her smile.

“You’d be smiling out of the other side of your face, young lady. Suppose she had a safety pin in her cheek?”

“I never did any of that,” Leigh told her.

“Only because it didn’t happen to be ‘in’ at the time.”

“What movies did they go to?” Dad asked.

“I’m not sure. A double feature in San Anselmo, I think.”

“We went to see—”

“You should’ve seen yourself,” Mom interrupted. “You looked like one of those Manson girls.”

“Mom.”

“Helen.”

“God only knows what might’ve become of you if we hadn’t shipped you off to Uncle Mike’s.” A pause. “And then look what happened.”

Leigh felt as if an icicle had been thrust into her belly.

“Damn it, Helen!” Dad snapped.

“Well, it’s the truth. You know it’s the truth.” Her eyes watered up. Her lower lip began to tremble. “Don’t raise your voice at me,” she said with a tremor.

“You push it and push it. We’re supposed to be here for a good time. The last thing Leigh needs is to have that summer thrown into her face.”

Mom took a drink of Bailey’s. She stared into the snifter, weeping quietly. “I was… just trying to make a point.”

Leigh got up from the sofa. Crouching next to her mother, she said, “Hey, it’s all right.” She had a lump in her throat, tears in her own eyes. She stroked her mother’s hair. “That was so long ago. Everything’s fine now, isn’t it?”

“You put us through such hell.”

“I was pretty much of a creep there for a while. But now is what counts. The present. I’m not so bad now, am I?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, sobbing. “I love you.” She pulled Leigh’s head down and kissed her. Leigh stayed at her side while she took out Kleenex and wiped her eyes and nose. Her mascara was smeared, making her look a little weird, somehow reminding Leigh of Bette Davis in Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte, though Mom didn’t look nearly as old or weird as Charlotte. “The beef Willington was absolutely delicious,” she finally said, signaling her recovery.

“It’s Nelson’s specialty,” Leigh said. Hadn’t they been through this before? She didn’t mind. “You two really should come to the Bayview more often,” she said, returning to the sofa and picking up her wine.

“We don’t like to take advantage,” Dad said, looking vastly relieved. His eyes were red. He, too, must have been weeping.

“You’re not taking enough advantage,” Leigh told him.

“You’d see us there more often if you’d let us pay for our meals occasionally.”

“If that’s what it takes,” she said.

Some of the tension remained, and they soon got up to leave.

“I wish we could stick around till Deana gets back,” Dad said, “but that might be a while, and I’ve got eighteen holes waiting for me in the morning.”

They walked toward the door.

“Why don’t you and Deana come over next week,” Mom suggested. “We’ll barbecue, and the pool’s nice and warm with all this hot weather we’ve been having.”

“That sounds nice.”

“And tell Deana to bring her friend.”

“All right.”

“We really didn’t get much of a chance to visit with her tonight.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that.”

“You should bring a friend too.”

Let’s not start on that, Leigh thought. The one touchy subject that had fortunately been avoided until now.

“Really, darling, you’re thirty-seven and—”

“We’d better be on our way,” Dad interrupted. He hugged Leigh and kissed her cheek. “I had a wonderful time, sweety. Thanks so much for the dinner and presents. And give our love to Deana.”

“I will. Happy birthday, Dad.” He patted her rump and turned away to open the door.

“Next Saturday, all right?” Mom asked.

“You’re on.”

They hugged and kissed.

Leigh followed them out to the driveway, waited there while they climbed into their Mercedes, and waved as Dad backed the car up the steep driveway.

Inside, she shut the door, leaned back against it, and sighed.

Over.

At least Deana hadn’t been around to witness Mom’s tantrum.

She gathered up the glasses, took them into the kitchen, and rinsed out the milky residue of Mom’s Irish cream. She would wash them in the morning.

She had the house to herself. It felt good. If only she could get rid of that nervous feeling about Deana. From several years of experience, however, she knew that wouldn’t go away until Deana returned.

She looked at the clock. Not even ten-thirty. The first movie was probably just ending. Deana probably wouldn’t be home till one. A long wait.

So make the most of it.

Out on the deck, shivering as the breeze found its way through her gown, Leigh twisted a knob to heat the water in her redwood hot tub. She hurried back inside and walked down the long hallway to her bedroom at the far end of the house. There, she slipped out of her clothes and put on a soft, bulky bathrobe.

There was a greasy stain on the breast of her gown from a glob of Hollandaise that had dripped off an asparagus spear. She took the gown into the bathroom and scrubbed at the spot with hot water. She threw it over a bedroom chair. It would have to go to the cleaners. She tossed her undergarments into the hamper. She lined up her shoes on the closet floor. No hurry. She wanted the water in the redwood tub to be good and hot before she ventured out again.

Dropping onto her bed, she checked TV Guide . One of the local channels would be showing a repeat of an old Saturday Night Live show at 11:00. She remembered watching one of the current SNL s with Deana a couple of weeks ago. Deana had found humor in strange places.

Generation gap.

She thought about her mother.

Mom’s right. I’m damn lucky Deana hasn’t gone freaky, the way I went when I was her age.

Pretty harmless stuff, though.

Except for that sit-in. That’s what got to them, the idea that their wonderful daughter almost got herself thrown in the slammer. That’s what did it. That’s why they sent you to Uncle Mike’s…