“It was a BUI case—boating under the influence—and unfortunately the judge is a sailor herself. In pretrial she basically insinuated that my client was guilty because nobody would chart a course like he didunlesshe was drunk. Absolute rubbish, so naturally, we won. But the whole thing was ridiculous.”
“I’m glad you won, and if I’m ever in legal hot water, I certainly know who to call. But, Erika, it’s crazy what David did.”
God, how she wanted an ally, or even a dollop of validation. She might not have received the expected reaction from Erika, but Julia anticipated that Rick would reset the tone. He could blaze hotter than his wife when aggrieved. He did kill things for a living, after all. She braced herself for a Rick tirade—thunderous voice, pounding fists, and ominous threats.
Instead of a rampage, Rick shrugged as he set his suitcase down. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “Lots of windows. Dave was right about that. And look at all the trees he cleared. That’s one less problem we have to deal with.”
Julia was stunned. “Youknew?” she asked.
Rick and Erika exchanged glances like two people trying to get their stories straight. Rick attempted to explain.
“My folks checked on the progress, gave us some early reports, saw a lot of land cleared, so we knew it would be big. Honestly, I’m surprised how fast it went up. Modular homes have become really sophisticated.”
At least one part of that story made sense. Rick was close with his parents who stayed in the area after they sold off their nearby camping ground. Julia understood they were his inspiration for getting into the fish and game business. Rick was a basic sort; there weren’t a lot of layers to his onion. He was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy. But what Julia saw baffled her. Where was the shock, the fury?
Christian spoke up. “We all knew Dave was doing an addition,honey. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he went a little over the top. His company is on fire… unlikeours.”
Julia picked up the jealous undertones, but what galled her was the side-eye he gave her. On top of suggesting she was overreacting, somehow, without words, Christian managed to make Julia feel responsible for their business’s downward trajectory. Then again, taking responsibility wasn’t something that came easily to him.
“David said he was keeping you in the loop,” Erika said, sounding too much like a defense attorney for Julia’s liking. “If you were upset, we figured you’d have called. I guess we assumed everyone was accepting of it. And you know how David is—he never goes small.”
That was true as well. David’s creed was if a little was good, a lot must be better.
But Rick and Erika perplexed Julia beyond measure. There simply had to be more to the story than they were letting on.
But what?
Chapter 6
Izzy
So this is what a two-week lake getaway looks like. There’s a roaring blaze in the stone firepit, fresh air bathing my skin, waves gently lapping the shoreline, a happy dog bounding about, the kids running around with sparklers, and the smell of burgers and hot dogs sizzling on the grill. Kenny Chesney is playing through portable speakers, but not loud enough to drown out the haunting wail of loons calling back and forth, or the pleasing hum of night critters. I’m accustomed to beautiful star-drenched summer nights, but tonight the sky looks incredibly full, like someone spread a bag of shimmering diamonds across a velvety black cloth.
My mom would disapprove of the DEET I’ve lathered on, but I’m desperate, and she’s not here to protest. As a family, we’ve had some nice vacations together, but we always kept it simple (and cheap). We’re working-class Vermonters, not the second-home, ski-trip types. Mom is an elementary school teacher, and my father runs a grocery store. He started behind the deli counter, worked his way up to manager, and then became a regional manager for a new supermarket chain. Unfortunately, that meant he had to move to Arizona. At least we have Face Time, and we visit each other a couple of times each year.
My parents have been doing better since the divorce. Well, my father is, anyway. He’s dating a woman who took his blood. No, she’s not a vampire. She’s a Red Cross volunteer. They hit it off ata local blood drive. He’s got a thing for bad dad jokes, and told me the one that made her laugh.
“A priest, an imam, and a rabbit walk into a blood bank. The rabbit says, ‘I think I might be a type O.’”
I admit that made me chuckle. The phlebotomist accepted his dinner invitation only after Dad had a cookie and some juice to ensure he wasn’t delirious.
The three couples here are enjoying plenty of laughs themselves. Fiona has planted herself on David’s lap in a territorial way. She has coconuts for boobs, too round to be true, contained inside a string bikini top, her bottom half covered in a red satin wrap skirt. She looks hotter than the fire.
Rick operates the grill, while Erika plates the food. Those two act like a well-oiled team, as do Christian and Julia, who lounge in adjacent Adirondack chairs, chatting pleasantly and sharing intimate smiles from time to time. But not all are joyful. Taylor and Lucas don’t want to play in the same sandbox. She’s off by herself on her phone, and he’s doing the same thing on the opposite side of the beach.
And I’m struggling with the twins. My parents’ divorce hasn’t soured me on the idea of marriage, but these kids are a cold-water bath to my future prospects of becoming a mother. I’m stunned the day isn’t over yet. It feels as though I’ve been on the job for a week. I can’t count the number of squabbles, outbursts, and breakdowns I’ve already refereed.
Brody dropped his hot dog on the ground, and the way he cried, you’d have thought he broke his arm. Once he understood that we could make another, he settled.
As I was roasting him a second dog, Becca started in on her string of questions. At first it was cute.Where are you from? Where do you go to school? Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?It kept going from there:How hot is the fire? What are marshmallows made of?(I didn’t have the heart to tell her about gelatin.)What’s that star? And that one? And that one? And…
This went on until I wanted to rip the hair out of my head one follicle at a time. And talk about fussiness. Becca turned her nose up at everything I tried to feed her.It’s too hot. It’s too cold. That’s too slimy. It’s too yucky. I don’t like that, or that, or that… no, no, and no.
I found myself using the same ludicrous threats as David.
“Then I guess you won’t eat anything ever again,” I said, as I tossed her paper plate—which was filled with enough food options to qualify as a buffet—into the trash.
I fear I am not experienced, capable, or tolerant enough to keep these two in check for the duration. I might have to leave early for the sake of my mental health, ashamed and embarrassed. Even worse, that would mean abandoning my reason for being here, which I could sum up in two words: true crime.
