Page 38

Izzy

I have a terrible game face, but I do everything possible to keep my reaction to a minimum. I am sure the box that once belonged to Anna Olsen somehow ended up in my aunt Susie’s possession, and it eventually made its way back to Grace.

I can’t let Taylor in on my secret. If the truth gets back to David about why I wanted this job, why I had Lake Timmeny in my Google Alerts, everything I’ve come here to accomplish will be in jeopardy.

I shut down the iPad before Taylor sees the telltale photo.

“No luck,” I say with a sigh. “I guess I’ll never know why I was so obsessed. But I have to fix the clasp and return the box to Grace. Would you mind asking Lucas to come over with his tools?”

I know I should be wary of the boy who essentially left me to die, or at a minimum wanted to scare the crap out of me in some petty revenge plot, but I need this box fixed, and he’s the boy for the job.

“We aren’t really talking,” Taylor says. Her loaded look implies the subtext: You haven’t learned anything helpful about Lucas and Fiona. That’s true. All I managed to do was get lost and injured.

“I’ll text him,” I say. “Just give me his number.”

Taylor appears hesitant. “Are you sure you want to be alone with him?”

“Based on how he acted in the woods, he couldn’t wait to be rid of me. I highly doubt he’s going to force himself on me.” I don’t mean to be crass and crude; it just sort of comes out.

A look comes over Taylor’s face. It’s more than sadness.

Even if I weren’t a naturally empathic Pisces, I would pick up on her pain.

Lucas has obviously hurt her, but how? This is more than just a broken heart.

A chilling thought occurs to me: Is it possible he could have assaulted her?

It certainly would explain why Taylor suspects Lucas of doing something nefarious to Fiona.

I wonder…

Maybe Lucas knew I was investigating him, and left me to die in the woods before I could learn the truth.

I want to think otherwise, that it was just a bad breakup.

He and Taylor have known each other for years; could he really do that to her?

Unfortunately, I know the answer. We’re educated about it on campus all the time.

Rapists come in all forms. Often, it’s the person you know best, the one you trust the most, who takes what he wants without consent.

Is that what happened? Was it a drunken night at the lake, with Taylor in no condition to say yes?

Perhaps the Fiona incident is a mirror of her trauma.

I’ve read that sometimes victims doubt their experiences and recollections after an assault.

Could Taylor be questioning her memory and I’ve been tasked with getting the answer?

I’ve experienced something similar before.

My mother’s trauma affected memories of her childhood.

Everything was always vague when she talked about it .

I think we were there. Maybe we did that.

It was all conjecture. Fear filled her memory gaps, overshadowing any and all positive feelings she tried to conjure from her past. Everything became a potential threat.

Nothing was safe because a part of her was forever trapped in a time when the danger was so real, it had reached out and taken her sister.

I’ve heard about generational trauma, where post-traumatic stress disorder can actually be passed from parent to child through DNA.

I think that’s what happened to me. It’s why I keep seeing the children wandering off into the lake.

Perhaps my suspicion that David is a predator is simply my fear response kicking into overdrive.

My nervous system is always on high alert, and that’s probably at the root of my impulsivity.

Whenever I feel out of control, or want to fix something, I react too intensely and make rash decisions.

I’m sure as time goes on, I’ll become just like my mother, where all risks are to be avoided, and romantic relationships are just an invitation to disaster.

I know in my bones that I must solve the mysteries of the lake or I’ll spend my life worrying when the next shoe will drop and mistrusting kindness when I see it in a man.

No matter who I meet, I’ll always be looking for the darkness.

Taylor texts Lucas’s contact info to my phone. “Just be careful with him,” she says.

“After the shit he pulled in the woods, he should be careful with me,” I reassure her.

As soon as Taylor leaves, I grab my phone to message Lucas, but I write to my mom first. I’ve been terrible about staying in touch.

I don’t want to cause her more stress, so I don’t tell her about my ankle.

At this point, I’m so far from the truth that I don’t know how I’ll ever make my way back.

But I stick to my story and send a bland message that simply says: Love you, miss you!

Having a great time and learning a ton. Let’s talk soon!

I add a heart emoji so she knows I care.

It takes her all of twenty seconds to write back—she’s probably been checking her phone obsessively and trying not to bother me. My mom doesn’t want to be stifling. She just can’t help herself. One day without a message, and she’ll think I’m in a hospital; two days, I’m in a morgue.

Miss you SO much! she sends. It gets lonely here, but I’m happy you’re having fun and learning. Call when you can so we can really catch up. XO. Mom

She always signs her messages like I won’t know who they’re from. Gen X. They do the silliest things.

When this is over, and I break open the cold cases of Lake Timmeny, Mom will understand and forgive my deception. She will have the closure she needs and the healing she deserves. I’m counting on that to justify my lies.

I text Lucas and ask him to meet me upstairs in my room. Hopefully, I won’t regret that decision. I need to stay off my ankle, and I also want to prove that I’m not afraid of him.

It’s not long before I hear footsteps approaching. Lucas pokes his head through the door.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

This attitude is way better than the cocky bullshit he was pulling in the woods.

“I’m fine, no thanks to you,” I grumble.

He looks appropriately contrite as he enters, carrying a plastic tool kit in his right hand, like a doctor paying a house call.

He’s got that same lock of hair falling in front of his eyes that I’ve come to consider the signature Lucas look.

He might seem all innocent in his Henley T-shirt and dock shorts, but he’s not fooling me.

“You left me for dead out there!” I glare at him hard, though I doubt I’m very threatening.

I move to the edge of the bed, wincing when I turn my injured ankle. I want easy access to the crutch leaning against a wall, which I can easily convert into a weapon if Lucas decides he wants to finish the job.

“Left you for dead?” He looks and sounds wounded. “What on earth are you talking about? Did you hit your head when you fell? I spent ages searching for you. You walked off the trail, Izzy. You must have. I don’t know where you ended up, but it wasn’t anywhere near our meeting spot.”

Here’s where my memory isn’t so clear. I have a sudden nagging suspicion that I might not have accurately retraced my steps.

It seemed to take a lot longer than it should have, and I recall being disoriented.

Perhaps I confused one rock for another.

I mean, really, I’m no geologist. But I’m also not ready to give Lucas the satisfaction of being right.

“I kept screaming your name at the top of my lungs,” he continues. He sounds sincere and highly charged, like he’s still upset about it. “When I couldn’t find you, I ran the whole way back to get help. We searched all over, but couldn’t find a trace of you.”

I now feel compelled to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I still have many unanswered questions. Did he assault Taylor? What went down with Fiona after I stopped spying? And why did he lie to me about not kissing her back?

Since we’re being candid, I try the straightforward approach. “Taylor won’t talk to you. I’ve seen it myself, and I want to know why. What did you do to her?”

Lucas’s eyes go wide. He looks more confused than angry.

“What did I do?” The high pitch of his voice is rife with indignation.

“What the hell do you think of me? First, you interrogated me about Fiona, and now you’re accusing me of doing something to Taylor?

Why? Do you think that because I’m a guy, I must be guilty of something?

I mean, have you ever stopped to think that maybe I’m hurting, too?

Like, maybe I didn’t want Fiona to come on to me, and I don’t understand what’s up with Taylor?

Did you ever once consider, even for a second, that I might not be such an asshole? ”

That gives me pause. Sadly, the answer is no. It hadn’t crossed my mind that Lucas could be a good guy.

I shift my attention to the box on the bed. Here I am, wanting his help and accusing him simultaneously. That has to feel shitty.

“You never did anything to Taylor?” I ask.

A murky sorrow clouds his eyes. He’s protecting something, but what?

“Why don’t you go ask her, ” he says testily. He moves to go. He’ll leave, take his tools with him, and I’ll be stuck with a broken box and no way to fix it.

I soften my expression. “I’m sorry,” I say. “For accusing you. Maybe it was an accident and you did try to help find me.”

“Maybe? I broke down when I thought I’d lost you. I was convinced something awful had happened.”

“You sound like my mother,” I say, which earns me a smile.

“She worries a lot?” he asks.

“If worry was an Olympic sport, she’d have a stack of gold medals.”