John Saul - In the Dark of the Night

MARCI STOOD AT the window with Moxie in her arms and watched Eric enter the boathouse, then turned around to eye her room suspiciously.

She didn’t want to open the closet.

She didn’t want to open the dresser drawers.

She didn’t want to unpack.

And she didn’t want to be a baby, either. But her room at home had all her stuffed animals, and her books, and her pictures and all the rest of her stuff. She liked her bed, which wasn’t nearly as big as the one in this room, but was just the right size for her. And she liked her bedspread, and her heart-shaped pillow, and the bird feeder that hung in the oak tree outside her bedroom window. Her room at home was hers, and this wasn’t. This was someone else’s room. Someone old.

And she hated it.

She knew she’d never get used to it.

Setting Moxie on the floor, she started casting around in her mind for some way not to have to sleep there.

Maybe she could sleep with her mom when her dad went back to Evanston for the week.

And maybe she could go back home with him and just come up on weekends, too.

Or maybe—

A movement in the reflected image of the lake in the mirror over the dresser against the far wall caught her eye, and Marci turned back to the window itself. Something was moving out there, barely visible through the tops of the trees, almost out of sight.

She shifted her gaze to the boathouse, but Eric was still inside.

Then she saw an old rowboat creep slowly into view, with something standing straight upright at its front end. As she watched, the boat slowly turned until it was pointing straight at the house, and now Marci could see that the thing in front was a big cross, like the one on top of the steeple of the Methodist church where she went to Sunday school. And sitting behind the cross, holding the oars, was an old man with a long beard.

And he was staring right at her.

Marci held still for a second or two as the man’s eyes seemed to bore right inside her, then she wheeled around and ran toward the stairs, already yelling. “Mom! Mom!”

Merrill met her at the bottom of the stairs, and as Marci flew into her mother’s arms, the tears that had been building up since she first saw this horrible house finally spilled over.

“There’s a man outside in a boat. A boat with a big cross in it! And he was staring at me.”

Merrill hugged her daughter and smoothed her hair. “A boat with a cross?” she asked, then turned and looked through the living room and its picture window, down the front lawn to the water.

She could see nothing but a ski boat speeding across the far side of the lake. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

“I hate it here!” Marci wailed. “I want to go home!”

Merrill knelt down and put her arms around the sobbing child. “It’s just going to take some getting used to,” she said. “We’re going to have a wonderful summer, you’ll see.” Sitting on the stairs, she pulled Marci close. “We’re going to have a barbecue tonight, then Daddy will build a campfire and we’ll toast marshmallows and make s’mores. That’ll be fun, won’t it?” Marci sniffled, then nodded, her face still buried in her mother’s shoulder. “And tomorrow we’ll go to town and do something even more fun. Girl stuff.”

Marci’s sobs slowed and turned to hiccups.

“Okay?”

Marci nodded.

“You want to help me set the table?”

Marci nodded again.

The crisis over, Merrill kissed her daughter on the forehead and dried the tears from her cheeks, and a moment later Moxie, who had followed Marci down the stairs, jumped up into Marci’s lap and licked her face.

“That’s my girl,” Merrill said, taking her hand and leading her toward the dining room and the kitchen beyond.

Just before she passed through the dining room door she glanced once more through the living room window, but everything seemed normal, just as before.

A boat with a cross? What on earth could Marci have been talking about? But whatever it was, it was gone now.

Or had never been there at all.

CHERIE STEVENS RINSED out the sticky bar towel after wiping down the tables in the ice cream shop for the last time and was about to hang it on the faucet to dry when she heard the ding of the door chime.

She’d forgotten to lock the door, and now another customer was coming in. But when she saw who it was, the frown she’d been preparing morphed into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t quite not one, either.

“Hey, Cherie,” Adam Mosler said as he swung onto a stool at the counter. “Can I get a root beer float?”

“We close at eight on Sundays,” Cherie said, tipping her head toward the clock on the wall that clearly read eight-seventeen, and wondering why she didn’t like Adam as much as he liked her. But she knew why, really. Though he was cute, he could also be a complete jerk. Tonight, though, he didn’t seem to be in one of his completely jerky moods. In fact, he seemed to be in a good mood.

“Okay,” he said. “So you’re off work?”

“Soon as I sweep up.” Cherie dried her hands, lifted one of the little wrought-iron chairs, and put it upside down on top of one of the round tables.

“I can do that,” Adam said, sliding off the stool and beginning to take care of the rest of the chairs while she started sweeping. “What are you doing after you’re done?”

Cherie shrugged. “I don’t know — going home, I guess.”

“I was going to take my dad’s boat over to the south shore.”

Cherie glanced at him, then shrugged again. “It’s kind of late.”

“Not too late,” Adam countered, putting the last chair on a table. “And it’s really nice out. Come with me.”

“What’s on the south shore?” Cherie asked, her mistrust of his motives clear in her voice.

Adam spread his hands dismissively. “Nothing. It’s just a ride.” Sensing her indecision, Adam put on his best smile — the one he’d practiced in the mirror to the point where it looked utterly uncalculated. “Come on. It’s really warm tonight.”

“Let me call my mom,” Cherie said, not quite agreeing, but handing him the broom as she went to the phone behind the counter.

Adam finished the sweeping while he listened to Cherie’s side of the conversation and heard her promising not to be home late.

“Good night, Mr. Evans,” Cherie called into the back room as she hung up the phone. “See you tomorrow.”

Adam opened the door and held it for her.

“You smell good,” he said as she passed.

Cherie rolled her eyes. “I stink like sour ice cream, and we both know it. Don’t push it, or I’ll walk home right now. In fact, maybe I’ll just do that anyway.”

“Come on!” Adam pleaded. “Jeez, can’t a guy say anything nice to you at all?”

Relenting, Cherie let him lead her down to the marina near the pavilion. Rows of boats floated quietly in the dusk. A few low-flying birds were still out scooping insects from the surface of the water, a few fish were still competing with the birds for the insects, and somewhere across the lake a loon was calling.

Everything else was quiet, their footfalls sounding unnaturally loud on the wooden planks of the dock. In a slip near the end, Adam’s father’s bass boat was gassed up in preparation for an early morning fishing expedition. Adam helped Cherie in, then cast off the lines, jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and fired up the powerful outboard. Switching on the running lights, he backed the boat out of the slip. “Ready, babe?” he asked.

Cherie decided to ignore the patronizing endearment rather than just shove Adam overboard, and pulled her long hair up into a ponytail, fastening it with a rubber band as Adam idled out of the marina. When they were past the buoy holding the NO WAKE sign, he pushed up on the throttle. The bow rose in the water as the stern dropped, and a moment later they had leveled on the plane and were flying across the glassy surface of the lake.