Jodi Thomas - Twisted Creek

I looked up from sweeping, hating to admit that I agreed with the lake bum I’d found hiding under my bed. “Did Luke say why?”

Nana watched the sheriff’s car clear the gate. “Said he thinks he’s better than folks around here.”

“Luke sure does a lot of talking to you. He never says more than a few words around me.” In truth, I could swear he’d been avoiding me as much as possible.

Nana shrugged. “Maybe I listen.” She walked back into the house. I didn’t have to ask where she was going. I knew it would be the kitchen. Her soap opera was about to come on. She’d fix her one cup of tea for the day and sit in front of the little TV. Then, when it was over, she’d go back to work, fretting about the soap opera stars’ problems as if they were her own.

While the TV blared, I found a quart of green paint and spent the hour painting trim around the old shelves. If we got kicked out of here tomorrow, at least I would leave the place better than I found it.

I wasn’t surprised Luke had disappeared. A few hours of work was probably more than he wanted to do, otherwise why else would he live at the lake? There was a hardness about him and I wondered if it was a shell, or went all the way to the bone.

Not that it mattered. He wasn’t my type.

I laughed suddenly, realizing I didn’t have a type. Unless you count losers. I remembered one guy who’d gone four dates before he talked me out of my clothes and then never called again. The loss of him didn’t matter as much as the feeling that he thought I must not have been worth the bother. I couldn’t even say he was my first love. I was twenty-six and never had a first love. A few one-night stands I regretted. A few boyfriends who left before they had to use the “L” word. A few almost, who never worked out.

No loves.

After supper, I curled into the bay window seat and watched the sun set. The lake seemed so still, so lonely. I leaned back against the windowpane and listened to Nana run her hand across her wind chime. She’d hung it in the kitchen just as she always did. As always, the music it played made me smile and feel at home.

A while later, she passed by and kissed me on the head. “Good night, dear,” she said. “I’m turning in. Sleeping is always good on cool, cloudy nights.” Her old hand patted my shoulder three times. I love you without words. “Are you heading up?”

I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay down here for a while.” I lifted the blank ledger as if it contained something inside for me to do.

Nana turned and climbed the stairs.

Just after dark I noticed a fire burning in the pit out by the dock. The day had been endless. We’d cleaned both upstairs and downstairs. While Nana had washed and hung clothes on a line out back, I had explored the outbuildings. One had worthless tools in it, another parts of old boats. Behind the buildings, several old cars had been parked and left to rust. None looked like they would be worth hauling into Lubbock to try to sell.

The only thing I’d found of interest was a fat cat. He stared at me awhile, then decided to follow me inside. Nana called him General and offered him milk. From then on he was more at home in the kitchen than we were.

I grinned. Having a pet made it seem even more like home.

As a fog settled in around Jefferson’s Crossing, I went up to bed. The air felt heavy with the smells of the day-paint, baking, and cleaners. Our rooms were stark, almost cell-like now that we’d thrown all of Uncle Jefferson’s junk away. I promised myself I’d let Nana buy a few pots of those plastic flowers she liked at the dollar store and maybe some curtains. A few touches would help.

After an hour, Nana was snoring and I hadn’t closed my eyes. I decided I’d landed in purgatory. Somehow, we were stuck in a location that wasn’t heaven or hell. We had food and a roof, but no dreams. Once I got the place clean, I had no idea what I’d do.

Drive into town and look for a job, I answered myself, then frowned. Part of me didn’t want to leave.

I climbed out of bed and walked to the window. In the years of traveling around, I’d somehow forgot to pack my dreams in one of the moves. When I’d been in school, I’d always felt I was waiting to live-that somehow life lay just around the corner ready to take my breath away. I’d be working in a famous art museum somewhere, talking to creative people, jetting off with friends or at worst teaching at a fine private school and saving my money to travel with Nana in the summer months.

Nowhere in those dreams had there been endless, mind-numbing jobs and people who thought becoming floor manager would be the ultimate measure of success. Not one dream had even hinted at an old lake house on a muddy bank in the middle of Texas.

Staring out at the water, black except for the reflections of firelight dancing along its ripples, I longed for the beauty of the masters. As I stared, the tall form of Luke moved against the firelight that seemed muted in the foggy night.

My curiosity rose as he lifted the basket I’d tossed all the useless mail in that morning. Slowly feeding the fire, he let the catalogues and magazines tumble into the flames.

“He’ll set the whole north shore on fire,” I whispered as I grabbed my flannel shirt and ran for the stairs.

At the edge of the porch, I tugged at a rolled water hose and charged down beside the dock toward the flames dancing almost as high as Luke’s shadow. Maybe my under-the-bed monster wasn’t going to kill us. Maybe he’d be happy just to burn us out.

Ten feet from the fire, I reached the end of the hose and almost fell backward with the sudden stop. I pointed the drizzle of water at Luke. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He turned and put down the empty basket. Though his face was in shadow, I could tell by the angle of his head that he studied me. “More pointedly,” he mumbled, “what are you doing?”

The drip from the hose tinkled across my toes and I jumped with the sudden cold. Tossing the worthless water hose aside, I took a step toward him. My foot sank into the puddle I’d just created.

I straightened, trying to ignore the disgusting sensation of cold mud moving between my toes. “We have to put the fire out,” I said far more calmly than I felt. “Not build it bigger.” I noticed several big chunks of driftwood at the base of the campfire. Luke had planned for a big fire.

He didn’t move, just stared at me with that what-kind-of-alien look he had whenever he faced me.

Straightening, I tried not to notice that I was only wearing a thin T-shirt that didn’t quite cover my panties. I pulled the flannel shirt around me.

His eyes met mine. Those blue eyes were guarded now, giving away nothing.

I picked up the basket and headed for the lake. “If you’re not going to help me, I’ll do it myself. I’m not about to go to sleep with this fire blazing a few feet from the dock. If it catches the walkway on fire, it’ll burn right up to the house.”

Two feet from the water, the bank turned slippery with mud.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I was on a mission. This place might not be much, and I might not have it for long, but I had no intention of losing it to fire.

Mud caked my ankles by the time I was close enough to bail water out of the lake. I made it back to the fire, sloshing and leaking more water than I had remaining in the basket.

I could have spit and done more good.

I tried again and again while Luke watched me. If he hadn’t been a foot taller than me, I would have given serious consideration to clobbering him.

On my fourth trip to the lake, I heard a splashing sound coming from the water. I stared out into the blackness. The fog had grown so thick I couldn’t see more then ten feet.