Page 13

Izzy

Alarm cascades through me. Everyone is frantically calling for Taylor.

It sounds like a search party, with Julia’s voice ringing loudest. Immediately I go into panic mode, because that’s what a well-trained, highly skilled nanny would do.

My heart’s thumping like I’m at a rave. Even though Taylor has apparently gone missing, my first concern is for the children. Where are they?

As it turns out, both are standing in front of me. I wrap my arms around them, not for their comfort, but for mine .

But where is Taylor? And why does everyone sound so crazed?

It’s pitch-black out here. You enter a void as soon as you step away from the bonfire. I power on the flashlight feature on my phone only to shine the bright light directly into Brody’s eyes like I’m his optometrist.

Becca clutches my hand tight enough for my fingers to tingle.

Julia runs over. She moves like a mouse, quick and haphazard, desperation leaking out of her.

“Izzy, have you seen Taylor?”

Before I can answer, a voice calls out from the gloom. It’s Taylor. I hear Julia’s loud exhale. Even though I don’t fully understand the crisis, a wave of relief washes over me as well.

“What is going on?” asks Taylor, who seemingly manifests out of the dark. The twins latch onto her like Velcro monkeys.

“I just gave myself a scare, that’s all.” Julia sounds embarrassed.

“Over what?” Taylor wants to know.

I catch Julia’s subtle nod in twin’s direction. Whatever the problem was, it’s not for young ears.

“Hey, kids,” I say, sinking to their eye level. “Why don’t you each make one more s’more before bath time? Go get them ready, and I’ll help with the toasting.”

My nanny game is strong as I make it sound like the best, most exciting, wonderful idea in the whole wide world.

I lead them back to the fire, where they collect their sticks, already lacquered in marshmallow gunk.

At least that area is well-lit, so I can keep an eye on them.

Before I can offer a single word of caution to mind the fire, Fiona steps in, ushering the children away from the flames like she’s just saved their lives.

I happen to notice that she’s wobbly on her feet, holding a cocktail in one hand, so she can’t exactly lay claim to being a paragon of childcare.

Even so, she holds her head high, sending me a scolding stare that I mostly ignore.

She can think what she wants about me and bad-mouth me to David if she chooses.

I just need these two weeks, so job security is low on my priority list. I’m not attached to the kids, and I’m certainly not going to ask for a reference.

But as Fiona shuffles them away, the children send me pleading looks, like they would rather be with me than her.

Have they actually taken a liking to me?

Now I feel bad about leaving them with sour Fiona, but not enough to rescue them when my curiosity is piqued.

I need to know why Julia was so distressed.

With the little ones out of earshot, she explains, “When we couldn’t find Taylor, I got nervous that it happened again.”

Taylor groans. “Oh my god. You thought I became part of the lake lore?”

In tag-team fashion, Taylor and Julia take turns giving me the skinny: two disappearances from Lake Timmeny, exactly thirty years apart, both young women—first Anna Olsen, then Susie Welch—and it’s been exactly thirty years since the last woman went missing.

“I guess we all got caught up in the coincidences—like the lake had come to claim someone new. Ridiculous, I know.” Julia tries to laugh off her overreaction, but she sounds slightly unhinged.

Taylor directs her attention to the cocktail in her mother’s hand, her eyebrows arching. “Really, Mom?” She shakes her head, then shrugs it off.

But not me. I can’t let it go.

Julia offers another apologetic smile.

“It’s okay. Just try not to be such an alarmist next time,” says Taylor. They hug it out, and Julia looks like she never wants to let go.

“Sorry to cause such a panic,” Julia says. She slinks off, drink in hand.

I watch her go, thinking of my mother. Guilt nags at me. Like Julia with Taylor, my mom is just trying her best to protect me, and here I am lying to her, and now potentially putting myself in danger.

Perhaps sensing my unease, Taylor elaborates. “Susie lived over there, across the water from our house. My mom, David, and Erika actually knew her. They were about the same age and I guess they hung out sometimes.”

I follow her finger into an endless darkness. Taylor can’t see my eyes go wide or feel my chest tighten. It’s as if an invisible pair of hands is squeezing my ribs. I know plenty of similar stories from my true crime podcasts, but this hits a little too close to home.

“Sometimes I would just sit on the shore and think about her—think, what if that happened to me, all the life I wouldn’t get to live, the experiences I’d never have. It inspired me to write a series of poems about the lake lore. I submitted them for a writing award, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

“Whoa, that’s cool. Do you have the poems with you? I’d love to read them if you don’t mind?” Hearing them, I think, will ground me in the tragedy.

Taylor hesitates, perhaps embarrassed.

“Maybe later,” she says. “I get shy about sharing my work, even though it’s what I love the most. I’d really like to study creative writing in college, but my mom doesn’t think it’s a real career path. I’ll probably end up in marketing, selling toothpaste or something stupid like that.”

Lucas comes loping over to us. Though the light is dim, I can see his relieved expression. It’s genuine, but Taylor ices over the moment their eyes meet.

“It’s all good, just a minor freak-out,” I tell Lucas.

He appears to shrink, likely knowing he shouldn’t stand this close to Taylor.

Meanwhile, my heart rate hasn’t settled. Peering out over the still water, I think about a young girl living on the other shore. I try to envision her final moments before vanishing into nothingness, as though it’s my responsibility to carry some of that burden.

What happened to her? Did she wander off and get lost, never to be found? Unlikely. And if she drowned, her body would have eventually surfaced or been found by the divers.

The lake takes them . No, not the lake—a person, it’s always a person.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump, giving a panicked cry of fright. It’s Lucas. The light from the campfire ignites the emerald-green of his irises, drawing me into his world. I go willingly, for just a moment.

“Where’d you drift off to?” he asks. His smile is meant to be disarming, but I remain on guard.

“I was thinking about the poor girl who lived across the lake,” I answer.

When our eyes meet, I feel my knees go weak.

This guy is not just good-looking; he’s downright beautiful.

He has a chiseled jawline that hints at maturity and strength, but his soft, full lips, the gentle curve of his nose, and his vibrant eyes, so alive with a youthful boyishness, all make you want to get closer, to reach out and touch his soft skin.

There’s something otherworldly about him, like a male version of a temptress.

I peer at Taylor, who observes the exchange between Lucas and me. I catch something in her eyes, a fleeting expression that lasts no longer than the flap of a butterfly’s wings. Her sharp eyes narrow.

That’s when I know with certainty that if looks could talk, hers would say: Get away if you know what’s good for you.

But I don’t. Boys like him are my kryptonite.

I sense that Taylor’s not wounded or jealous.

No, this is a warning look. I think she’s afraid for me.

Instinctively I step back from Lucas. He glances toward Taylor, but her face has shifted, morphed into a blank canvas.

Now his beautiful smile chills when he looks my way.

“I’m glad to see you’re making friends,” he says with a deepening smirk that has lost all of its charm. “But be careful; that one’s fickle,” he adds, looking at Taylor.

He straightens and pulls his shoulders back, walking away with the arrogant strut of a rooster. I watch him fade into black, as though he was never there.

Believe it or not, I have been keeping an eye on the twins through all this, and I see that David is making the s’mores with them. It’s a nice family moment that also allows my attention to remain mainly on Taylor.

Her eyes drift toward Lucas, who’s moved over by the campfire. “I don’t want to pry, but were you and Lucas, like, a thing? Was there a bad breakup?” I press. “If you ever want to talk—”

Taylor’s expression hardens. “Bad breakup?” she asks with an edge. “No… no, it’s way worse than that.”

And with that cryptic remark, she skulks off toward the house, looking like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

The first bedtime with the twins plays out like an endurance sport for which I am ill-trained, ill-equipped, and thoroughly unmotivated. I’m stunned at the difficulty I have getting them to simply put on their pajamas. They’re like two wiggly worms, writhing as though they’ve been electrocuted.

“Haven’t you done this before, like, many times?” I ask. “Your arms and legs and head go through the holes, and after that, you go and brush your teeth.”

“My dad says I don’t have to brush my teeth,” Brody insists.

“That’s fine,” I retort. “They’re all going to fall out anyway.”

“You’re mean,” Becca tells me, frowning.

“Well, you’re not listening,” I say with an impatient tone.

I lower myself to their eye level and say, “Listen, you two.” I give them my best low, growly voice.

“You know what happens to the Hulk when he turns angry? Well, the same thing happens to me. ” I cast a look that shows I’m teasing, but I’m also losing my patience.

Maybe they don’t know the superhero reference, but I’m delighted (and surprised) that they decide to play along. With no further prompting, they’re cooperative almost to a fault. These twins are like chameleons—belligerent one moment, endearing and compliant the next. It’s maddening.

After I get the little monsters cleaned up and into their jammies, after stories are read and teeth are actually brushed, and the dears are safely tucked into their beds, I decide to take some time for myself.

I slip outside onto the wraparound deck on the second floor for a breath of fresh air.

I lean my hands against the steel railing and peer down at the adults gathered around the fire.

My focus soon drifts to the dark shore beyond, where Susie Welch once lived. With a meditative prayer, I pay my respects.

Notes from a guitar break the spell. The music is coming from the neighboring house.

I move to the other side of the deck, where I see Lucas below, sitting outside on his patio, strumming his six-string, lost in the moment.

I stay and listen, imagining that he’s serenading me.

I don’t recognize the song. Could it be his original composition?

If so, he’s pretty talented, which doesn’t surprise me.

He’s like a pied piper, for I’m not the only one lured toward the music.

Out of the dark, Fiona comes staggering toward him.

Nobody at the bonfire seems to notice that she’s no longer part of the group.

While they’re busy chatting and drinking, Fiona sits directly across from Lucas.

Even seated, she seems unsteady, moving her body in a way that could be in rhythm with the music, or could simply be part of a drunken stupor.

She appears mesmerized. Her elbows rest on her knees, hands cupping her chin, gazing dreamily at the musician across from her who doesn’t seem to care that he’s acquired an audience.

“That’s so beautiful,” Fiona says, but it sounds like b-ba-beautiful, like she’s having trouble making the b sound.

If anybody else hears her, they don’t seem to care.

Lucas’s mother should certainly be concerned—I’ve got the feeling her son is in the presence of a mantis, a nifty bug that bites the head off its partner after it mates.

Lucas doesn’t appear to sense the danger.

“Can you write a song about me?” Fiona asks, the me coming out like a hiss of air.

Her body falls forward in her chair, but before she topples over, Fiona braces herself against Lucas’s leg.

Even though she regains her balance, she keeps her hand on him, leaning forward, her face past the danger zone of being too intimate.

I feel guilty being a voyeur, but it’s impossible to look away.

“Just sing me a song…” she insists.

Asking a musician to play is like asking a fish to swim, so I’m not surprised when I hear Lucas strum a new melody. But this time, he adds vocals. His rich, warm voice draws me in. It has the same effect on Fiona, who rests both hands on his knees while he plays.

She’s still in her barely there outfit, but Lucas isn’t paying attention to her body. He’s lost in his song. A band of moonlight escapes from an overhead cloud as if to shine a spotlight on his performance.

His melodic voice proves too much for Fiona.

She pulls his hand away from the guitar, stopping the music abruptly.

She puts a finger on his chin, pulling his face toward hers.

Before he can speak, she presses her lips against his.

He freezes, then instinct takes over. Their mouths open as the kiss deepens.

What the hell? Stepping back in surprise, I slink into the darkness where they can’t see me. No need to watch. I know what will happen next.