The Boy in the Lake by Eric Swanson

Author:Eric Swanson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780312262976
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin
Published: 1999-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

“The summer I broke my leg, do you remember?” Judith asks.

We’re in the kitchen now. I’m making a pot of coffee while she cleans the lunch dishes.

“I cried almost every day for a month because I felt like such a goblin with that enormous cast on my leg. No one came around and I was convinced I would never have any friends for the rest of my life. But you came, every day on that funny little red bike that had been your mom’s. You played cards with me and Chinese checkers and I don’t remember what else.”

“School. You gave me gold stars when I did well.”

“That’s right.”

“There was a song you taught me,” I say. “We had to sing it every time we went over the bridge to Wheeling. The river is up, the channel is deep, the wind is steady and strong....”

“You remember that?” Judith laughs. “I used to get car sick unless there was something to distract me.”

“I can’t remember the rest of the words, though. Oh Dinah something something something, as we go sailing along”

“Dinah put your hotcakes on.”

“That’s right. I remember now. I think I imagined her wearing them, like a hat. Dinah put your hotcakes on.”

“Strange child.”

I’m not sure how she means this remark—whether it’s the closest she can come to acknowledging something she may find painful, embarrassing, or worse. Nevertheless, it may be the only opening she gives me and I decide to take it.

“Judith,” I say, “I need to find Reis.”

She opens her mouth to respond and then shuts it again and turns back to the sink.

“I don’t know where he is,” she replies.

“I looked in the telephone book this morning. It seemed as good a place as any to start. Actually, I didn’t expect to find him listed, but I was surprised not to find anything for his mother. Did she go back to Alabama?”

“Roberta died five years ago. I guess your grandma didn’t tell you.”

The news stings, but I merely shake my head. Judith opens the cupboard below the sink, pulls out a dish towel, and starts to dry the dishes.

“I used to see Roberta in the grocery store sometimes,” she says. “She was a nice woman, well-dressed, well-spoken. Lovely skin. Some women are lucky that way, you know, they never seem to age. I don’t think she knew what to do with Reis.”

“So you don’t know how I could get in touch with him?”

“Coffee’s ready,” Judith says, moving past me toward the stove. “Do you take anything in it?”

“Milk. I’ll get it.”

She pours the coffee out while I reach the milk from the refrigerator. I add a splash to my cup and ask if she wants any, but she shakes her head no. She carries her cup to the table and sits. Pale afternoon light shining through the window softens her face. She looks like she might be praying.

“He came by looking for you right after your grandma died,” she says. “I told him I hadn’t seen you in almost twenty years.

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