Page 165 of It Happened on the Lake

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” she threw back at him, her voice rising. “Just don’t come whining to me when you find out you’re going to be a grandfather!” She threw the towel down and Harper scurried quietly up the stairs.

“Enough!” Dad reprimanded. “That’s just crazy.”

“Is it? I guess time will tell.” Harper heard Marcia’s clipped footsteps retreating from the kitchen.

She’d felt sick inside. Why hadn’t she been more careful about hiding her pregnancy? Not that she’d expected her stepmother to be tracking her every move. But it didn’t matter, she’d told herself. Because she was going to tell Chase that she was pregnant, and they’d find a way to get married and have a baby and . . . Even to her own ears, it sounded like a dream, but she’d closed her mind to all her negative thoughts. Tonight would be perfect. She’d set up a time to meet him and tell him the news. Even if she had to twist the truth a little.

Now, nearly a week later, as Harper lay on her bed, she heard the drone of the television downstairs. The phone rang. Again. Her father’s voice drifted up the stairs as he said succinctly, “No comment!” then slammed down the receiver.

One day, when the phone had rung incessantly, Dad had even taken it off the hook, leaving the receiver to hum loudly, reminding them that no one could get through.

That had been a temporary solution because they couldn’t be without a phone for any length of time. There were important calls from the police and the accountants and the lawyers and friends who needed to speak to them, funeral arrangements to be made. Oh, she’d heard bits and pieces of the conversations rising to the second floor. Her father’s stern messages to the reporters who called, and then Marcia’s whispered concerns to whatever friend had phoned: “We don’t know what to do . . . she won’t eat . . . no, no, won’t come out of her room . . . nearly comatose, if you ask me . . . oh yes, yes, very concerned and the police won’t leave us alone. It’s a nightmare. Bruce is beside himself . . . oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t think so . . . no, no, sheadoredher grandmother . . . yes, I know . . . Umhmm . . . if you ask me, he bailed, left his family high and dry . . . no, no, I don’t have any proof, of course . . . no one knows what really happened. . .”

That was the truth.

Chase was still missing despite multiple attempts by divers to locate him in the lake. Since the water was up, it had been hypothesized that he’d drowned and floated down the spillway to the river. If not located soon, his body could be swept toward the ocean.

Hope was fading that he would ever be found.

Harper was devastated.

Sniffling, she climbed out of bed and walked to the window to stare outside through the cold window panes again. It seemed it was all she did besides sleep. The landscape was stark, snow threatening in the heavy clouds. In winter, after the oak and aspen trees had dropped their leaves, Harper had a bird’s-eye view of the mansion. As a child she had watched the cars come and go through the gates and across the bridge when Gram entertained.

Now the house was dark and looming. Where once she’d thought the grand home almost a castle, now she considered it a tomb.

A week ago the world was filled with promise.

Now all she felt was doom.

She dropped down on the bed again, disturbing Bandit and hoping that somehow she could block everything out. She closed her eyes, hoping to drift off, intending to block out the world.

The doorbell chimed and the little dog leapt from the bed, yipping wildly and scratching at the door.

“You’re an idiot,” Harper scolded, reluctantly rolling off the comforter, “but join the club.” She opened the door and he streaked down the stairs, a rush of brown and black fur as she heard the door open. The dog barking a greeting and Beth’s voice insisting that she just wanted to see Harper.

“She’s not seeing anyone,” Dad said.

“Oh, let Beth try,” Marcia said, an edge to her voice. “We have to dosomething to get her out of her funk, Bruce. Beth’s her best friend.”

Dad wasn’t having it. “She said—”

“It’s okay,” Harper called from the upstairs landing and peered down to see the tops of their three heads. Marcia in her favorite angora sweater and slacks, Beth wearing a jacket over her miniskirt, tights, and knee-high boots. At the sound of Harper’s voice, they all looked up and Beth, not needing any more encouragement, dashed up the stairs, her ponytail wagging behind her.

“Oh my God, how are you?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Harper so fiercely they almost fell over.

“Good Lord, Harper,” Marcia said from the bottom of the stairs. “Could you at least get dressed?”

“It’s okay. Leave her be.” Dad placed an arm around his wife. “Come on, let’s finish breakfast.”

As they disappeared from view, Beth disentangled herself. “So?”

“I’m—I’m okay.”

“Are you?” Beth arched her eyebrows suspiciously. “I don’t buy it.” But she bustled Harper back into the room and shut the door behind them. “It’s been pretty crappy, hasn’t it?”

“Real crappy.”