Page 81 of It Happened on the Lake

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she winced. Her French twist was beginning to fall, brunette strands straggling from her updo. Her lipstick had long faded, and her mascara had tracked down her face in unsightly rivulets.

“All for nothing,” she whispered, pulling off her gloves.

She stole a cigarette from the pack Bruce had left on the kitchen counter, struck a match, and lit up. She should have listened to her mother. Olivia had never liked Bruce and had warned Anna about him.

“Looks like a huckster to me,” she’d said after meeting Bruce for the first time.

He had come bearing roses and chocolates and a big grin when he’d first met Olivia.

“Way too smooth. And let me tell you, honey, you can’t trust any man who’s as slick as he is.

They often turn out to be flimflam men.”

But Anna hadn’t listened.

What did her mother know?

Anna had fallen hard and fast for the handsome real-estate broker and she’d been set on marrying him. Despite her mother’s reservations.

Even during the elaborate wedding ceremony at the huge church, Olivia had glowered at her daughter from beneath the broad brim of her hat. Anna, in her frothy dress with its sweetheart neckline and full skirt, had ignored her mother. She’d been in heaven as she’d nearly floated down the aisle.

Only later, after a few years of marriage, two kids, and the realization that Bruce had a wandering eye had she nose-dived off the soft, lofty perch of cloud nine and crashed onto the cold, hard stones of reality. Exactly where she had landed tonight.

In the bedroom, she kicked off her wicked-heeled shoes and, gripping the cigarette between her lips, slid out of her pencil skirt and silk blouse, letting them fall to the floor.

Then she worked on her nylons, unhooking them from her garter belt and rolling them off her legs.

God, how she’d worked hard so that the seam had been straight when she’d dressed to meet her husband for cocktails and dinner.

Bruce loved seamed hose, and she’d wanted to please him, to seduce him, to rekindle the spark that had died between them.

And all the while, he’d been cheating on her.

A bitter taste rose in her mouth as she stubbed out her cigarette in a tray on the night table. What a fool she’d been. To trust him. To fall in love with him. To marry him. She should have listened to her mother.

Angrily, she stripped out of underwear and bra and threw on her nightgown. She reeled a bit. Was dizzy. Nonetheless, she padded barefoot into the kitchen and found a bottle of gin.

Her mother’s favorite. And good enough for a nightcap.

But just one . . . well, make it two. No telling how long she’d have to wait up for the slimy bastard.

She snagged a glass from the cupboard, poured the first drink, then left it on the counter while she went into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

After using the toilet, she washed her hands and caught her reflection again, this time in the mirror over the medicine cabinet.

The image wasn’t good.

She was thirty-six. Forty was staring her in the face, and after bearing two children in a rocky marriage, her age was beginning to show, or so it seemed tonight.

She scrubbed her face clean, getting rid of the drizzles of mascara and eye shadow.

Next up, she washed off her foundation, powder, and the rest of her lipstick.

With her face clean, she did look younger, except for the fact that the whites of her blue eyes were red from her recent tears and recent drinks.

She turned off the water and heard something.

A movement in the front of the house?

She went to investigate. Maybe Evan was home, back from the events of the night early, or maybe her lying, cheating, scumbag of a husband had returned.

But the living room was empty, the kitchen just as she’d left it.

Weird. She could have sworn . . .

She took a long swallow.

Had one of her mother’s nasty cats somehow gotten in?

She opened the door to the garage and saw that Bruce’s sporty little Aston Martin wasn’t parked in its usual spot. But wait! She had blocked the drive with the crumpled T-Bird. So maybe he parked out front.

“Bruce?” she called unsteadily.

No answer. Just the whoosh of air through the ducts from the furnace and the hum of the old Frigidaire over the steady drip of the rain on the deck.

Of course he wasn’t home.

She knew better.

“Hope springs eternal,” she said and silently berated herself for being a fool.

She took another big gulp and poured herself another drink.

But first , she thought suddenly, I need to check on Harper.

What was I thinking? But the house seemed so quiet.

For the tiniest bit of a second, she wondered if Bruce had truly been worried about their daughter and called the doctor and begged him to look at Harper.

Probably wishful thinking.

But she should check.

Clinging to the railing, she made her way upstairs where she cracked open the door to her daughter’s room.

She knocked softly and pushed open the door.

In the slice of light spilling from the hallway, she could just make out Harper’s bed.

She seemed buried under the covers, the dog at her feet.

Bandit lifted his head, ears up expectantly, but Anna said, “Shh,” and held a finger to her mouth.

Funny, she couldn’t feel her lips.

And her tongue felt thick, as if it were twice its normal size.

Too much booze , she thought, stumbling against the door to her son’s room.

It banged open to reveal a shadowy mess of clothes, books, records, and baseball cards. His bed was unmade, and she thought maybe his pillow was missing, but she didn’t care.

Bump!

She started.

Did she do that?

Or had it come from downstairs?

God, she was drunk.

Wobbling, she eased down the steps, but at the base of the staircase, she said, “Bruce? Is that you?” Again, she waited, listening, but heard only her own heartbeat.

And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

“Bruce?” Anna called, as she staggered into the kitchen and picked up her drink.

Nothing here. Sipping from her glass, she walked unsteadily to the laundry room and flipped on the porch light.

Peering uneasily through the window cut into the door, she had trouble focusing.

Between the dark night, rain, and the combo of booze and pills, she saw nothing.

Opening the back door, she noticed that the lock wasn’t latched. Not that it ever was, because of the kids coming and going at all hours. But tonight? Fumbling, she turned the latch.

“Huh.” Steadying herself on the wall, Anna returned to the kitchen for “just one more.” She teetered a little as she set the glass on the counter, ready to pour in the last of the gin.

As she did, she noticed bits of powder in her empty glass.

“What the hell?” Hadn’t it been clean when she’d taken it from the cupboard?

Or—

Suddenly the lights went out.

Had they blown a fuse? Like a main one?

A spidery feeling tickled the back of her neck.

A warning.

And something rustled.

Just slightly.

Fear slid down her spine.

“Is anyone there?” she asked and started for the phone.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She reached for the receiver and heard a rush of footsteps.

Coming straight at her.

“What—?” She turned.

Smack!

Something hard and flat hit her full force. Across her face.

“Oh!”

Blood gushed from her nose.

Gasping, she staggered backward, her entire face throbbing.

What—?

Whack!

Another blow to the face.

Excruciating pain roared through her body.

Her knees crumpled.

She fell trying to save herself. Failing. The side of her head bounced off the counter’s sharp edge to thud against the old linoleum.

The dark world spun crazily.

She couldn’t move, and when she tried to speak, her voice was the barest of whispers. “Help,” she murmured when she knew there was none.

She was only vaguely aware of being dragged into the garage and then hefted with difficulty into something that she thought was the wheelbarrow.

Barely conscious, feeling every bump as the garden cart bounced down a trail behind the main house, she felt the cold drizzle of rain and heard herself moan.

She blacked out momentarily, then came to.

Wake up, Anna. Wake up! She tried to force herself up and out, but her legs and arms wouldn’t move and she kept losing her thin thread of consciousness.

Down, down, down she was rolled, her weight shifting to the front of the steel tray, the icy drops chilling her body. Her eyes wouldn’t open, her hands flopped when she tried to move them, and she couldn’t rouse herself. The whole world seemed to be whirling, spinning out of control.

All at once, the wheelbarrow stopped its downward descent.

The back end of the cart was lifted and pushed forward.

She was dumped into the floor of the tram. Seconds later its engine clicked to life. With a whine, it lurched forward.

Anna was aware of movement, ever downward.

She didn’t notice when the tram stopped and was only thinly aware that she was being dragged across wooden planks.

Then she was hauled to her feet and forced to somehow stand. Blinking, she managed it, barely. Swaying. Trying to get her bearings on the edge of the dock. Far in the distance, wavering, were the lights of Fox Point, she thought as she teetered in the rain.

For a second she thought she heard her daughter call out to her—the faintest of whispers.

Or was that her imagination?

Was this all a dream?

A painful, soul-jarring dream?

The black ever-moving water stretched out in front of her.

Lights on the far shore shimmered and winked.

And then in an instant, her balance gave way.

She slipped.

Off the dock.

And into the cold caress of Lake Twilight.