On Mystic Lake

Some time later—an hour? a minute?—a knock sounded at her door. Annie forced herself to sit up. “Come in.”



Izzy poked her head through the open door. “Annie? I’m hungry.”



Annie manufactured a wan smile. “Hi, honey. Come on in—but don’t get too close, I think I have the flu.”



Izzy slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. “I was waitin’ for you to show up. I thought maybe you’d left us . . . but then Daddy tole me you’d spent the night.”



Annie’s heart went out to the girl, whose brown eyes looked so big and worried. “I wouldn’t do that, Izzy. I wouldn’t disappear without saying good-bye.”



“Grown-ups do that sometimes.”



“Oh, Izzy . . .” Annie shifted her position, trying to ignore a sudden wave of dizziness. “I know they do.” She started to say something else, preferably something blindingly insightful, when she sneezed hard. She barely had time to get her hand in front of her mouth before she sneezed again. She sagged in bed, trying to remember when she’d felt this rotten.



Izzy’s eyes widened. “Are you sick?”



Annie gave her a weak smile of understanding. “Not really sick,” she answered quietly. “It’s just a cold. I bet you get them all the time.”



Izzy visibly relaxed. “Yeah. That’s when green snot comes out of your nose.”



“A lovely image, to be sure. I think I’m going to go to sleep for a while, but we’ll talk later. Okay?”



Izzy nodded slowly. “Okay. See yah.”



Annie smiled weakly. “See you, pumpkin.” When Izzy was gone, she leaned toward the bedside table and picked up the phone. After asking for the number from directory assistance, she called Dr. Burton’s office.



The receptionist answered on the first ring. “Mystic Family Clinic. This is Madge, how can I help you?”



“Hi, Madge. This is Annie Colwater. I’d like to make an appointment to see Dr. Burton.”



“Is it an emergency, sweetie?”



Only if green snot constituted an emergency. “No.”



“Well, the doctor’s out of town right now, on vacation at Orcas Island. He was afraid you might call. He wanted me to refer you to Dr. Hawkins in Port Angeles.” Her voice lowered to a stage whisper. “He’s a psychiatrist.”



Even in her weakened state, Annie smiled. “Oh, that’s not necessary.”



“Oh, good. Now, you’re still booked for June first. Is that appointment okay?”



Annie had forgotten all about it. The depression she’d felt in March had faded into a dull, sepia-toned memory. She probably didn’t need the appointment, but it would reassure Doc Burton. He’d be proud of how well she’d recovered. “Yeah, that appointment’s fine. Thanks, Madge.”



“Okay. Ten-thirty in the morning. Don’t forget.”



Before she even hung up the phone, Annie had closed her eyes.



Annie dreamed she was in a cool, dark place. She could hear the cascading fall of water and the buzzing drone of a dragonfly. There was someone waiting for her in the forest’s darkness. She could hear the even cant of his breathing in the shadows. She wanted to reach for him, but she was afraid. Where she was felt familiar, safe, and he was waiting for her in a strange world where she didn’t know the rules. She was afraid that if she followed, she’d lose her way.



“Annie?”



She woke up suddenly and found Nick sitting on the end of her bed. Trying to smile, she struggled to sit up half way. “Hi.”



“Izzy tells me you’re sick.” He leaned toward her, touched her forehead. “You’re warm.”



“I am?”



He slid closer to her and produced a thermometer. “Open up.”



Like an obedient child, she opened her mouth. The slick, cool thermometer slid under her tongue and settled in place. She closed her lips, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from Nick.



“I’ve brought you some orange juice and a couple of scrambled eggs. Oh, and Tylenol and a pitcher of ice water.”



Annie watched in surprise as he went into the bathroom. Then he came back to her, carefully folding a wet cloth in thirds as he walked. He sat back on the chair beside the bed and placed the cool rag on her forehead. Then he handed her two Tylenols. “Here.”



She stared down at the two little pills in his hand.



He frowned. “Annie? You’re crying.”



She blinked hard. Damn. “Am I? Don’t worry about me. It’s probably allergies. Or menopause. I’ve been feeling hormonal all week. And I think I’m gearing up for a howler of a—” She bit back the word period. This wasn’t her husband she was talking to, and her periods weren’t exactly an acceptable topic for conversation. The realization isolated her. With that one tiny word she couldn’t say, she understood how adrift she was, how unconnected. It was something she’d always taken for granted in her marriage, the way you could say anything at any time, reveal any secret thing about yourself. There was no one now with whom she could be so free.



“What is it, Annie?”



The gentleness in his voice only made her cry harder, and though it was humiliating to sit here crying for no reason, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.



“Annie?”



She couldn’t meet his eyes. “You’ll think I’m an idiot.”



He laughed, a quiet, tender sound. “You’re worried about what the town drunk thinks?”



She sniffed hard. “Don’t talk about yourself that way.”



“Is that how the rich people in California do it—am I just supposed to pretend you’re not crying? Now, tell me what’s the matter.”



Annie closed her eyes. It seemed to take forever to find her voice. “No one has ever given me an aspirin before— I mean, without me asking for it.” God, it sounded as pathetic as she’d thought it would. She felt ashamed and horribly exposed. She tried to tack an explanation on, so it sounded better. “I’ve been a wife and mother for so long. I’ve always been the one who took care of people when they were sick.”



“But no one took care of you.” He said it as a simple statement, and though she wanted to reject it as being silly, she couldn’t.



It was all there, in that simple, simple sentence, everything that had been wrong with her marriage. She’d done everything to make Blake’s life safe and perfect; she’d loved him and cared for him and protected him. All those years she’d made excuses for his selfishness: he was tired, or busy, or distracted by business. They were just layers of pretty wrapping paper on a dark and ugly truth.



No one took care of you.



Suddenly she was crying for all of it, every missed moment, every dream she’d ever had. The marriage she’d had wasn’t good enough. She’d never really, truly been loved . . . not the way she deserved to be loved.



With a deep, ragged sigh, she wiped her eyes and smiled up at Nick. “I’m sorry for being such a baby.”



She glanced at the things he’d placed on her nightstand. Orange juice, water, cold tablets, Tylenol, a plate of scrambled eggs, and a piece of cinnamon toast. And it made her want to cry all over again. She didn’t know what to say to him, this man who’d accidentally opened a door on her old life and shown her the truth.



“You should drink something.”



She wiped her runny nose and gave him a crooked grin. “Well, you should know.”



He looked stunned for a second, then he burst out laughing.



The cold hung on for two days, and when it was over, Annie was left feeling tired and weak. Her stomach stayed queasy afterward, but she refused to pay any attention to it.



On Friday, she and Nick and Izzy drove to Kalaloch and spent the day beachcombing. Izzy squealed with delight every time she found a sand dollar or a crab. They raced down the beach together, all three of them, turning over rocks and sticks in their search for hidden treasures, and when the sun was high in the sky, they had a picnic lunch in a secret cave. Afterward, they waded and splashed in the icy cold water until their cheeks and hands and feet turned a stinging red. Finally, when the sun began its slow descent, they returned to the car and headed home.



Annie sat in the passenger seat of her Mustang, with a plastic bucket of shells and rocks in her lap.



“Daddy, can we stop and get ice cream, Daddy?”



Nick answered easily, laughing. “Sure, Izzy-bear.”



Annie glanced at him, mesmerized. In the past few weeks, he’d become a new man entirely. He smiled all the time, and laughed easily, and spent hours playing with his little girl. Sometimes, like now, when the sunlight hit his profile and cast him in golden light, he was so handsome, he took Annie’s breath away.



But there was more to Nick; his vulnerability and his strength moved her, and the tenderness of his care had almost undone her. She’d never known anyone who loved as deeply, as completely as Nick. That was why life had been able to pummel him so brutally. Nothing was easier to shatter than the fragile shield of an idealist.



She was still watching him hours later, after she’d put away the last dinner dish and picked up the last of Izzy’s crayons. He was standing down at the lake again, his body a shadow within shadows, but Annie was well aware of the subtle differences of light and dark, the pale outline of his hair, the broad shelf of his shoulders, the moonlight that glimmered every now and then off the metal rivets on his jeans.



She threw the damp dishrag on the kitchen counter and headed outside. She wanted to be with him, and though the realization frightened her, it also set her heart racing with anticipation. When she was with Nick, she was a different woman. Some of his glitter fell onto her and made her feel beautiful and sparkly and more alive.



There were stars everywhere. Frogs and crickets sang in a staccato chorus that died at her approach. The grass was cold and wet on her bare feet.



Nick stood motionless, his shoulders rounded, his head dropped forward.



“Hi, Nick,” she said softly.



He spun around, and she saw the pain in his eyes.



“Hi, Annie.” His voice was low, and as rough as old bricks. A cool night breeze caressed her face and slid between the buttons of her cotton shirt, like a man’s cold fingers, inching tenderly along her flesh. She had come to know him so well in the past weeks that his longings were obvious to her. “You want a drink.”



He laughed, but it was a sharp, bitter sound, not his laugh at all. He reached out and held her hand, squeezing hard.



She knew from experience that he needed the sound of her voice now. It didn’t matter what she said, anything would do; he simply needed an anchor to hold him steady. “Remember the senior party, when Kath disappeared for a half hour or so?” she said quietly. “We were at Lake Crescent. You and I sat by the lake, right in front of the lodge, and talked and talked. You said you wanted to be a cop.”



“You said you wanted to be a writer.”



She was surprised that he remembered, and though she didn’t want to, she found herself remembering the girl who’d wanted to be a writer. The old dream was heavy now. “That was before I’d learned . . .” Her voice faded into the breeze and fell silent.