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’salwaysa 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 afraidforme. 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.
