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The Lake - Richard Laymon
- Дата:24.07.2024
- Категория: Разная литература / Прочее
- Название: The Lake
- Автор: Richard Laymon
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Leigh’s blouse clung to her back. It was tucked into her shorts, and it pulled at her shoulders each time she leaned forward.
After passing Carson’s Camp, she swung the bow eastward. She blinked sweat out of her eyes.
Awfully muggy.
Resting the paddle across the gunnels, she looked around. The nearest other boat was so far off that the people aboard were vague and without features. She tugged her blouse out of her shorts and lifted the front to wipe her face. She wished she could take it off, but she wore nothing beneath it.
Guys are so lucky, she thought. They can take off their shirt in weather like this.
She unbuttoned her blouse, lifted it around her lower ribs, and tied the front.
A lot better.
She picked up the paddle and dug it into the water. The canoe started forward again. Soon, it was shooting over the calm surface.
She kept a close watch on the southern shore. At last, she spotted a field of lily pads with a narrow path of open water down the middle. This had to be the channel to Goon Lake. She swung the prow toward it.
The canoe glided in, a bit to the left of the open water. The lily pads rustled like paper against the hull. Setting down the paddle, she let the canoe drift. She was out of breath, drenched with sweat. She pulled the towel out from under her knees and wiped her face with it. She wiped the back of her neck, and was glad she wore the ponytail; it kept the hair off her neck. Still gasping for breath, she plucked open the knot to let her blouse fall open. She rubbed her dripping sides and belly and chest.
As soon as the towel was gone, her skin felt damp again.
It was the heavy, hot, humid, suffocating air.
Air that smelled faintly of rain.
She wished it would rain.
Fat chance.
Leigh paddled farther into the channel. Ahead, there was no sign of Goon Lake. She looked behind her. Wahconda was out of sight.
Dragonflies hovered over the carpet of pads. She saw a green frog hop and splash. The motionless air seemed silent, but she realized it was noisy with buzzes, chitters, water plops, bird squawks, and chirrups. No human sounds; that’s what made it seem like silence.
Leigh took her blouse off. She leaned over the side with it, the canoe tipping slightly, the aluminum gunnel pushing hot against her breast, then she plunged her blouse into the water. She lifted it out. It dripped on her thighs. She sighed deeply as she pressed the wet, cool fabric to her face. She dunked it again, shook it open, and swept it against her torso. It plastered her from shoulder to waist.
She peeled it down, soaked it one more time, then struggled into it and tied the front again.
It had felt good while it lasted.
It hadn’t lasted long.
She needed to be in the water. Swimming. With Charlie.
Soon now.
Slowly, she paddled forward.
The channel curved one way, then the other. From the air, it must look like stacked S’s. Or a snake, she thought. This is probably a good place for water snakes, though she hadn’t noticed any so far.
She kept dipping the paddle in, drawing it back slowly, trying not to exert herself as she guided it along the twisting channel.
Finally, she came out at the other end. She laid the paddle across the gunnels. As she folded the towel and sat on it, her eyes swept Goon Lake. It was much smaller than Wahconda, maybe half the size. Like Wahconda, most of the piers and dwellings were along the western shore. She saw a skier being towed behind a motorboat, and three other boats off in the distance with people fishing. She didn’t see Charlie.
Maybe he hit a delay.
Maybe he was doing a brisk business in baskets and didn’t want to cut it short.
There were several small islands. One of them could be blocking Charlie from her view.
She waited.
He was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was still over on Willow Lake.
Leigh considered heading over to Willow, but she had no idea where the channel might be. She supposed she could find it. If she tried, however, there was some chance she might miss Charlie. He could end up waiting here while she was busy searching for him.
This is where we planned to meet, she told herself. I’d better stay put.
The canoe kept drifting back into the lily pads. After paddling it free a few times, she decided to simplify matters by landing. She headed to the right and brought the canoe up against the trunk of a fallen tree. Clamping her towel under one arm, she scurried in a crouch to the bow and picked up the mooring rope. She tied its end to one of the dead, leafless branches. Then she climbed onto the trunk, made her way carefully back toward its cluster of roots, and hopped to the ground.
At a shaded place close to shore, she toweled away her sweat once again, then spread the towel on the ground and sat on it.
From here, she had a full view of the lake.
She still did not see Charlie.
What could be keeping him?
He’ll be along. He’s only a little bit late.
Probably half an hour late already, and no sign of him in the distance.
Does he have a watch? Leigh had never seen him with one.
I should have brought a book.
She was sitting cross-legged. The ground felt very hard. After a while, her rump and legs began to go numb and tingly. She leaned back, bracing herself on her elbows and stretching out her legs. She kept her head up to watch the lake. That felt a lot better, at first. But soon the strain of her already stiff neck and shoulder muscles became painful. She wanted to lie down.
If you do that, you’ll fall asleep.
She had napped for a couple of hours after lunch, but that hadn’t been enough to make up for last night.
If she fell asleep now, she might miss Charlie. He could show up, not see her or the canoe, and figure she had either stayed away or given up on waiting.
Moaning with aches and weariness, Leigh got to her feet. She climbed onto the tree, walked along its wide trunk past the place where the canoe was tied, and sat down. The water felt smooth and cool around her feet.
The skier was gone. One of the boats was moving slowly near an island, its motor a faint humm. She spotted a rowboat!
Her heart quickened.
It’s about time, she thought.
She gazed at the rowboat. It drew slowly closer, then turned as if heading for one of the piers. A cloud moved briefly out of the sun’s way. The rowboat caught sunlight and glinted.
It was aluminum.
Charlie’s boat was wood, painted green.
It’s not him.
Leigh’s disappointment came out in a long sigh.
“Where the hell is he?” she muttered.
He’ll be here, she told herself.
Maybe he chickened out.
Or he had to change plans. Maybe his mother wanted him to postpone today’s trip for some reason.
Am I in the right place? How do I know for sure this is Goon Lake? Maybe this is Circle, where Charlie went yesterday, and he’s waiting for me at the channel into Goon and wondering where I am.
Mike told me yesterday where to find the channel to Goon.
Maybe Mike was wrong.
Something went wrong, that’s for sure.
Trickles slid down her cheeks. She felt like crying, but these weren’t tears. She rubbed her face with the backs of her hands. The backs of her hands were wet, too, and only smeared the sweat on her face.
Couldn’t there at least be a breeze?
Where is Charlie?
I’m not giving up. I’ll wait here till Hell freezes over.
Fat chance of anything freezing over.
A tickling drop of sweat slid down her neck and between her breasts. She wiped it away.
And remembered her sea-thing necklace.
She didn’t have it on.
Maybe that’s the problem, she thought. Should’ve worn my good-luck charm.
I didn’t wear it last night, though, and had plenty of luck without it.
The necklace has nothing to do with luck.
Still, she wished she were wearing it.
Even if you’re not superstitious, always a good idea to keep the bases covered.
From now on, I’ll wear it.
She kicked her feet, making the cool water splash her legs.
The hell with the necklace, I should’ve worn my bikini.
She’d thought she wouldn’t need it. She’d planned on skinny-dipping at Charlie’s secret place, expecting it to be an inlet similar to the one last night, or maybe a stream or pond.
Here, nobody was nearby. But there was no real privacy. She couldn’t go in naked.
With a shrug, she pushed herself off the trunk. She dropped into the waist-deep water with barely a splash, took a few steps along the slippery rock bottom until she was clear of the trees, then left her feet. The cool engulfed her. It felt wonderful. She glided beneath the surface until she needed air, then came up. She rolled onto her back. Floating, she closed her blouse over her breasts. Then she shut her eyes.
Buoyed up, it felt like she was lying spread-eagled on a cool, liquid mattress. She had to hold her back arched to keep from sinking, but otherwise no effort was needed. The water turned her slowly, toyed with her limp arms and legs.
I should’ve done this a long time ago, she thought.
She felt fine and relaxed and drowsy.
Like this, I could wait all afternoon for Charlie.
He’ll be along…
…pretty soon.
A nose full of water startled Leigh awake. Spluttering, she slapped the surface and kicked. A few quick strokes took her close enough to shore so she could stand. She coughed and blew her nose. Then she was all right except for a burning sensation behind her eyes.
Wonderful, she thought. Drown, why don’t you.
Wiping her eyes, she turned around and scanned the lake.
No Charlie.
It must be four o’clock by now.
He’s not coming.
Goddamn it.
She waded ashore and flopped facedown on her towel.
Come on, Charlie.
Where are you, Charlie?
Goddamn it to hell anyway.
Shit!
Leigh began to sob.
SEVENTEEN
Leigh rolled over, sat up, and knuckled the tears from her eyes. Like a kid at school. Despite her frustration at Charlie’s absence, the idea struck her as a little amusing. Tears welled up again, but she thought better of it. Wouldn’t do for Charlie to catch her like this, eyes all red and puffy from crying.
If Charlie deigned to put in an appearance this side of tomorrow.
Fine. Put it down to experience, Leigh. World’s full of gals who’ve been let down—are being let down at this very moment, she told herself. But she could swear Charlie had been serious last night. Serious enough to come out to look for her, anyhow.
Not today, though.
Must have had second thoughts.
Maybe his mom beat him when she saw his wet pants and he’s stayed home.
Who gives a shit, anyway…
She wasn’t a gal to hang around after some guy who couldn’t stand up to his own mother.
She must be a tough old bitch.
Not like her mom.
Leigh imagined her own mom and dad—if they could see her now. Waiting around for this guy who sells baskets for a living, how would they react? “Don’t tell me,” she muttered. “They’d be all self-righteousness and pursed lips. Accusing eyes. Mom’s would be red with weeping.”
“Pull yourself together, young lady,” Dad would say, with a pleading glance at Mom, like “We got ourselves a situation here, Helen. She’s your daughter, too, y’know. Tell me, what are we going to do with her?” Mom would just shake her head, wring her hands, stem back more despairing tears.
“What are Mike and Jenny doing?” she’d blurt. “Allowing her out on her lonesome like this? Leigh’s so vulnerable just now. What with that showdown with the police and everything. Your brother should have had more sense than to encourage her to meet up with this…this basket-seller!”
“My brother. That’s rich! My brother indeed! I don’t recall you putting forward any of your family to help out with your errant daughter…”
“You mean our errant daughter!”
God, what a mess!
For the millionth time (it seemed like the millionth), Leigh lifted her head and scanned the lake. She was weary with waiting. Charlie had either forgotten, or was being held captive by that witch bitch mother of his.
“That’s it,” she muttered. “Mom found out, locked her precious boy in the closet, and swallowed the key. Jeez. What kind of fool am I? Driven to the point of suicide by some kid who can’t even stand up to his own mother?”
Some kid who’s gagging for sex but doesn’t even know it yet. Wouldn’t know a pussy if it jumped up and bit him. “No,” she told herself. “That’s not true.” She remembered Charlie last night, the state he was in (the state they were both in), and knew that no way was that true.
Time to haul ass and head for home, honey. Quit being a prize idiot and just get gone.
She looked at her wristwatch. 5:57. Mike and Jenny would be getting worried. More than that. They’d most likely be hairless by now. Wondering if they should call Mom and Dad.
Or the cops…
No, they wouldn’t do that. Not Mike and Jenny. They were okay guys. Sensible. Levelheaded. Teachers, for godsake. Through her tears, Leigh was sorry for what they must be feeling right now. They’d be thinking they had let her parents down.
Let her down.
Jesus.
At least she owed them the courtesy of an appearance before they called the police department.
She climbed to her feet. Her back and legs were wrecked; she felt like she’d done a fifty-mile route march.
Aaaghh…
She limped over to the canoe. Clambered into it. Sat down and eased the paddle off the gunnel. It was so muggy and hot. She unbuttoned her blouse. Her almost new blouse, the one she’d worn only twice before. She liked it, too, knew the color red looked good against her fair hair and sun-bronzed skin.
But it wasn’t looking so new, or so good, now.
Hanging off her shoulders like a limp rag.
She dragged it together, tied the ends in a knot. Under the thin fabric, she felt the weight of her breasts as she leaned forward, skimming the paddle through the water. She scanned the dark pines and the shining lake spread out before her…and saw Charlie up ahead, powering his rowboat toward the shore with strong, well-muscled arms, his back against the sun, his front in shadow.
Like last night, he wasn’t wearing his hat.
She could see his gleaming white teeth.
Because he was smiling, for chrissake.
The smile did it for her.
Goddamn you, Charlie. I don’t believe this. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and I’ve just spent an entire afternoon waiting for you. Shit, Charlie. How could you?
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