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I spend the next few minutes hunting my phone, eventually finding it still on the porch, sitting on the table next to the binoculars. After an entire night spent outside, there’s only a wisp of battery life left. Before taking it inside to charge, I check to see if I got any calls or texts from Katherine.
I didn’t.
I decide to text her, carefully wording my message while a strong mug of coffee zaps me to life and the charger does the same to my phone.
I just made coffee. Come over if you want some. I think we should talk about last night.
I hit send before I can even consider deleting it.
While waiting for a response, I sip my coffee and think about the scream.
If that’s what it really was.
I’ve spent half my life on this lake. I know it could have been something else. Many animals arrive at night to prowl the lakeshore or even the water itself. Screeching owls and loud waterfowl. Once, when Marnie and I were kids, a fox somewhere along the shore, defending its turf from another animal, screamed for the better part of the night. Literally screamed. Hearing its cries echo over the water was bone-chilling, even after Eli explained to us in detail what was happening.
But I’m used to those noises, and am able to sleep right through them. Especially after a night spent drinking. This was something different enough to startle me awake, even with most of a bottle of whiskey under my belt.
Right now, I’m seventy-five percent sure that what I heard was a womanscreaming. While that’s far from certain, it’s enough to keep concern humming through me as I check my phone again.
Still nothing from Katherine.
Rather than continue to wait for a return text, I decide to call her. The phone rings three times before going to voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Katherine. I’m not available to take your call right now. Or maybe I’m just ignoring you. If you leave your name and number, you’ll find out which one it is if I call you back.”
I wait for the beep and leave a message.
“Hey, it’s Casey.” I pause, thinking of how to phrase this. “I just wanted to see if you’re all right. I know you said you were last night, but early this morning, I thought I heard—”
I pause again, hesitant to come right out and say what it is I think I heard. I don’t want to sound overly dramatic or, worse, downright delusional.
“Anyway, call me back. Or feel free to just come over. It’ll be nice to chat.”
I end the call, shove my phone back into my pocket, and go about my day.
Vodka. Neat.
Another vodka. Also neat.
Shower, minus the crying but with a new, unwelcome anxiety.
A grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.
When the grandfather clock in the living room strikes one and Katherine still hasn’t replied, I call again, once more getting her voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Katherine.”
I hang up without leaving a message, pour a bourbon, and carry it to the porch. The whiskey bottle from last night is still there, a mouthful of liquid still sloshing inside. I kick it out of the way, sink into a rocking chair, and check my phone ten times in three minutes.
Still nothing.
I pick up the binoculars and peer at the Royce house, hoping for a sign of Katherine but seeing nothing in return. It’s that hour when the sun startsglinting off the glass walls and the reflection of the sky hides what’s behind them like a pair of closed eyelids.
While watching the house, I think about the unusual nature of what I saw last night. Something big went down inside that house. Something that’s none of my business yet, oddly, still my concern. Even though I haven’t known her very long at all, I consider Katherine a friend. Or, at the very least, someone who could become a friend. And new friends aren’t easy to come by once you hit your thirties.
Out on the lake, a familiar boat floats in the distance. I swing the binoculars toward it and see Eli sitting at the bow, fishing rod in hand. If anyone else on the lake heard the same sound I did, it would be him. I know he likes to rise with the sun, so there’s a chance he was awake then. And if he did hear it, he might be able to clarify what it was and put my simmering worry to rest.
I call his cell, assuming he has it on him.