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I’m not going to lie. I kind of like it.
“Was it weird not to be drinking champagne at midnight?” Katherine says.
It’s been ten weeks since my last real drink. Ten long, slow, white-knuckle weeks. But I’m doing better than I did last week, which was better than the week before. My urge to drink has lessened in that time. That encourages me, even though I know the urge won’t permanently leave me. That thirst will haunt me like a phantom limb—missing yet keenly felt.
But I can manage.
The meetings help.
So does having a support system that now fills every bedroom of this once-empty house.
“Honestly, it was a refreshing change of pace,” I say.
“Cheers to that.”
We clink mugs and look out at the lake. It froze over in mid-November, and will likely remain that way until March. The valley got a foot of snow two days before Christmas, turning everything into a gleaming white oasis right out of Currier and Ives. The other day, Marnie and I slipped our feet into too-tight ice skates and slid around the lake just like we did when we were kids.
“Do you really think they’re gone?” Katherine says.
I look at her, surprised. Despite everything the two of us have gone through, we’ve barely talked about it in private. I think it’s because we’re both afraid of cursing the present by mentioning the past.
This morning, though, the dawn of the new year brings a sense of hopefulness bright enough to eclipse whatever darkness talking about it might summon.
“I think they are,” I say. “Ihopethey are.”
“What if they’re not? What if both of them are still out there, waiting?”
I’ve thought about that a lot, especially on nights when I’m craving a drink and end up roaming the house like a restless spirit. I look out at the water and wonder if Len somehow managed to return there, once more waiting for someone to fall victim to the lake, or if Tom has taken his place in the dark depths. Because we still have no idea how and why any of it happened, it’s hard to put it to rest. Maybe the water of Lake Greene is touched by something both magical and vile. Or maybe it was Len himself, cursed by his horrible deeds.
Either way, I know there’s a chance—however small—that it could happen again.
If that day comes, I’ll be here.
And I’ll beready.