Page 43 of Buried in the Woods Below

I wait for a reaction. Will he be angry? Disappointed? Sarcastic?

No response.

I throw my phone onto my bed like it might explode, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake but too scared to reverse myself.

As I creep into the living room, I notice I’m the only one up. I conduct my morning routine of tidying, folding the couch blankets, coffee-sipping, and stretching, then grab a beach towel and walk down to the lake. For the first time on this “vacation,” everything is as I imagined it would be. There’s no one around. No phones ringing. No clients nagging me with artificially imposed deadlines. No analysts pestering me with questions about waterfall charts. It’s just me and the chrysanthemums.

I stroll down to the water. The oaks rustle in the wind, the loon serenades me, the dock wood massages my bare feet. The sun rises over the glass lake. The veil has lifted. I’m alone. At peace. My nightmare from the previous night evaporates. I shove the unanswered questions about the strange note and Heathcliff aside and bask in the morning dew.

I grab one of the Parkers’ canoes and step into the rear. The canoe wobbles, and I’m this close to tipping in ass over teakettle when I catch myself. Close call.

It might be a good day after all.

I grab the oar and gently stroke the water, easing the canoe into the lake.

I’m nearly past the dock when a voice calls out behind me.

“Wait for me, loser,” shouts Olivia, bouncing down the hill like a gummy bear, wearing an oversize Minnesota Twins sweatshirt, her French braids bobbing.

I smile and pause my paddling, but I’m drifting past the dock now. I paddle backward, but she keeps her pace, jogging along the dock, spotless white sneakers, long, athletic strides gaining steam. She’s going to jump for it like a cop chasing a criminal in an action movie.

“Don’t you do it,” I say, half terrified, half laughing.

“Oh, I’m doing it,” she says, sprinting toward the edge of the dock. “Brace yourself.”

“Olivia, no, we’re going to tip!”

But it’s too late. She launches herself off one foot into the air toward the canoe. As she floats through the sky, she tucks her knees and lands perfectly in the front seat. I flinch, preparing to be drenched, but the vessel only wobbles. The perfect blend of sheer skill and dumb luck—that’s Olivia.

“Yesss. Nailed it,” she says, hands raised.

I shake my head in awe and press a hand to my chest. “You did. But I think you also gave me a heart attack.”

She pivots and winks. “That’s what I’m here for. So, where are we going?”

“We are not going anywhere. Somebody’s got to watch the twins. And in your haste to jump into the canoe, you forgot a paddle.”

“That’s what my dad is for. And I didn’t forget a paddle. I just figured you would chauffeur me around.”

“Oh, did you now?”

“Yeah, from the look of those scrawny arms, you could use the exercise.”

“Wow. Shots fired. Well, you should know that your captain’s itinerary today is to paddle around the island and check out Gale Island. Apparently, it’s a lone island with a single house. Basically, my dream.”

“Of course you have an itinerary. Okay, sounds like a plan to me.” She points ahead of us like George Washington crossing the Delaware. “Paddle, peasant.”

I laugh and start paddling, enjoying the rhythm of the oar driving through the water, the gentle scrape of sanded wood in my hands. We both sit in silence, savoring the sounds of the parting water, the birds, the rustling elms. Occasionally, a house peeks out from the trees. There’s a wonderful variety of personal retreats: old wood-sided lake homes, new brick castles, Tudors. We wave to a silver-haired couple with fair Norwegian skin and rosy cheeks sitting on their patio sipping coffee and watching the sunrise. Something loosens in me as we drift away from the island. Even if it’s just fifty feet offshore. I’ve escaped; the bent trees and creeping vines, mysterious notes, mysterious men. If only for a moment.

Olivia breaks the silence as if sensing my thoughts.

“I’m sorry about your run-in with Russ Neuman yesterday. That had to freak you out a little.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t my ideal hiking partner.”

“You said he mentioned a ghost?”

I tighten my grip on the paddle. “Yep.”