Page 30 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

For a while, life at Stillhouse Lake feels almost normal. Javi and Kez come to dinner again, this time bringing Kez’s father, Easy, with them. He regales us all with stories of his life, including a few incidents from Kez’s years as a teen that she probably wishes had stayed in the past.

As for our day-to-day lives, we settle into a rhythm remarkably easily. Or at least Sam, Lanny and I do.

My job is easy. I work remotely most of the time anyway, and J.B. has no issue with me continuing to do so from here.

As for Sam, even though my boss offered him contract work with her firm, he decided to take on a few freelance construction jobs instead.

He’d been doing that when I met him after he moved to Stillhouse Lake.

For him, sitting all day behind a desk makes him antsy. He prefers being outside when he can.

In the past, the Belldenes had interfered with Sam’s ability to get work as part of a grudge against him.

They’re essentially the hillbilly mafia, and while they carry a lot of influence in the town, so do Kez and Javier.

Sam’s also a veteran, which goes a long way with folks looking to hire someone they can trust to work inside their homes.

Before long, he’s picked up several gigs.

None of them are huge, but it’s enough to bring home good money.

We’re so close to the end of the school year that Lanny decides she’d rather study for her GED than enroll in the local school. Even though she knows several kids graduating from the local high school from when we lived here before, she isn’t interested in trying to rejoin her classmates.

I still haven’t confronted her about the college acceptance letters I found in her room.

I’m worried about alienating her, especially with all the upheaval in our lives lately.

The closest we’ve come to broaching the topic was when I told the kids we would be packing up the house in Knoxville to move everything to Stillhouse Lake.

Lanny was very insistent that she and Connor be allowed to return home to help pack.

When I told her that wasn’t an option, she got upset, alternating between anger and tears.

It took me longer than it should have to realize that she was worried about what I might find going through her room, i.e. , the college acceptance letters.

The last thing I wanted to do at that point was try to have a conversation about college over the phone while we were still dealing with the police and trying to get out of town as quickly as possible. I hadn’t even raised the issue with Sam for the same reason.

I assured Lanny that I was planning to dump everything from her room into several large boxes without a second glance, and it would be up to her to sort through it on this end.

She’d known it was the best offer she was going to get and ultimately she’d accepted.

It’s Connor I’m most worried about given the turmoil over the last year. When I broach the subject of what he’d like to do for school, he’s sitting on the couch reading a book. He shrugs. “I can take my classes here as well as I could in Knoxville. I don’t really see a difference.”

I’m surprised by how stoic he sounds. “I know. I’m just worried that you’d finally found a good groove and now you’re having to start over again. I hate that you have to deal with yet another disruption.”

Connor puts his finger in the book to hold his place and laughs.

“Mom, you do realize I haven’t completed a single year in the same school since Dad was arrested, right?

The first four years, we were packing up and moving every few months.

Then we came here, and I got to finish spring semester and start again in the fall, then I homeschooled and then we moved to Knoxville.

But of course after that was the shooting last fall, so I started homeschooling again.

” He says it all in one breath, finishing with, “I’m used to the disruption. ”

“You’re used to it, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

“I don’t know any better.” He shrugs. “We’ve always moved around.”

“You spent the first seven years of your life living in the same house,” I point out.

“I spent the first seven years of my life living with a serial killer,” he says dryly. “I’m not sure I would call that normal.”

“Good point.”

He smiles. There’s an unexpected lightness to him that I’m not accustomed to. I slide onto the sofa next to him and decide to put my cards on the table. “I worry about you.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.” There’s a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I worry you’re still hiding things from me.”

He considers that for a moment, which I appreciate. It means he’s taking my concern seriously.

“I am hiding things from you, Mom,” he says bluntly.

My shoulders stiffen with alarm .

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing big. It’s just that I’m fifteen. I’m not supposed to tell you everything.”

I don’t like how blasé he sounds, as if it’s fine that he’s been keeping things from me. “If it’s important, you are.”

“And who gets to decide what’s important?”

“If it’s something that affects your safety and well-being?—”

He draws in an exaggerated breath. “I know this, Mom. I know you can’t help it, and I know what happened last fall and me being in the hospital freaked you out.

But do you know how exhausting it is to have someone worry about you all the time?

I’m constantly aware that you’re watching my every move, trying to calculate my mood, and what I’m thinking, and how I’m feeling.

Sometimes, I feel like I don’t have room to even breathe, much less figure out who I am or make mistakes without you finding out and pouncing all over them. You have to just let me be sometimes.”

I’m taken aback by his words. His tone isn’t mean or malicious.

He’s simply stating a fact. I had no idea he felt this way.

Sure, I’ve always known that both Connor and Lanny chafed under my protectiveness—or overprotectiveness as they may consider it—but I always assumed they understood and, therefore, accepted it.

“Connor—” I start to say.

He cuts me off. “I know what you’re going to say, Mom. You’re going to explain how I don’t understand, how our family is different, and we’re not normal. And yeah, I get that. But at a certain point, you’re going to have to figure out a way to trust me. Lanny too.”

My eyes go wide at the mention of his sister. “You two have talked about this?”

“Of course we have.”

I look out the window at the gray-steel sky. The weather report called for snow, but none has fallen yet. Still, the clouds are low, shrouding the hills around us. I think about what he’s telling me and wonder how long he’s been waiting to have this conversation .

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“Yes, you did,” he says simply.

The comment strikes deep but true. He’s right. I’ve known that my kids felt constrained by all these rules, but I never considered that my attentiveness might feel suffocating.

I never considered that the biggest problem in my kids’ lives might be me.

“I want to get my driver’s license,” he tells me.

My instinct is to tell him no, but I stop myself.

The thought of him driving on his own nearly gives me hives, but maybe it’s not a bad idea.

Knowing how to drive is a valuable skill.

If something happens and he needs to bail, he’ll be able to.

“We can discuss it. It’s probably a good idea for you to know how to drive.

That way, if there’s trouble, you can?—”

“No, Mom, you’re not hearing me. I don’t want my license because it’s a good defensive skill.

I want my license because I’m about to be sixteen, and every other kid my age already knows how to drive.

I want to be able to go places on my own.

To the grocery store, or to a hobby store, or the movies. ”

“You know I’m always happy to drive you.”

He groans, starting to become exasperated. “It’s not about going to those places; it’s about the freedom, Mom. It’s about me growing up and you accepting that and letting go.”

Only a parent could understand how much those words hurt.

My throat aches, and I take a moment to look out the window, trying to keep my tears at bay.

Anytime I try to think about letting either of my children go, I remember the moment I held them in my arms for the first time.

I remember how desperately fragile and needy they were.

The understanding was instant: Who I was before—woman, wife, friend—that all still existed, but it all became secondary to this one driving purpose: being their mother.

There’s a comfort in being needed by them and providing for them in turn. As infants, when they were hungry, I could feed them. When they were cold, I could hold them closer. When they were tired, I could rock them. When they cried, I could soothe them.

But that’s the terrible truth about your kids growing up: if you do it right, they need you less and less.

They become their own people, with their own desires and thoughts, and their life will always be about them and rarely about you.

At least until they have their own kids, and the cycle continues.

Connor’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve known it since I found the college acceptance letters in Lanny’s room. I just haven’t wanted to face it. And that’s not fair to my kids. I can’t prioritize my own comfort at their expense.

As if sensing my internal struggle, Connor leans toward me, his arm pressed to mine. He nudges me with his elbow. “I’m not planning to run away from home and join the circus. I just want to sign up for driving lessons. It’s okay, Mom.”

“I only want what’s best for you,” I tell him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know. Lanny and I both know that. You just have to give us some space. Give us a chance to show you that you can trust us.”