The Secret Pond Read online

  I must have been insane to move out here, she thought as the guilt started to pile up. Before Margie was through, Hannah found herself agreeing to dinner, and yes, she’d be there early so that Margie could talk to Jack about the church camp.

  Oh, how did her life turn into all of this? How did she end up here, living near her in-laws, so far from the normalcy of her own family? It was easy to blame James, of course. If he hadn’t gotten sick…

  She shook her head. No. She wasn’t going to go there. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. She would save that for the nighttime, when she was alone. Jack wasn’t there to see her tears then.

  She closed the door after Margie left and leaned against it. Eventually, to save her own sanity, she would have to talk to Margie. There was no reason for her to come over every single day. If there was one thing she and Jack needed right now, it was some space. Time to get used to living without James in their lives. She’d come to terms with it. Even before he died, she’d accepted what was going to happen. She and James had talked—and cried—at length and she’d made peace with it. That didn’t mean she was over it. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss him. There was an emptiness now that hovered around them, a dark cloud of sadness. She could see it in Jack’s eyes even though he bravely tried to hide it. And no doubt Jack could see it in her eyes too. She hoped this summer would help them heal. There was no school, no job, no doctor’s visits, no hospital to rush off to. There was only her and Jack…as they tried to learn how to be a family of two.

  She smiled. Well, three, if she counted Barney. And Jack did count Barney. The dog slept with him, ate with him, and played with him. That was one thing she had been adamant about to Margie. Even though Great-grandma Larson—Lilly—did not ever allow dogs in her house, Barney was to be the exception. Because right now, Barney was Jack’s only friend.

  Chapter Three

  Lindsey sat on the back porch of her grandparents’ house, the ceiling fan buzzing lazily overhead. The covered porch was part of the original house. The expansive deck had been added later. She remembered when they’d built it. She was just a kid, barely six, but she had memories of helping to carry boards. Most likely she was getting in the way, but she’d been a part of the remodel, like her older brother and sister had been. Everything had been a family affair. For as long as she could remember, that’s how it had been. Every birthday, every anniversary, every event required a family gathering. To say they were close-knit would be an understatement.

  She picked up her glass of amber liquid. Death required bourbon. That’s what her grandmother said when they’d buried her only sibling. Lindsey had been twenty-three at the time and after the funeral for Aunt Lena, they’d all sat around the table here, passing around an expensive bottle.

  Death required bourbon.

  She wasn’t sure if that was true or not…but it sure as hell didn’t hurt. She took a sip now, savoring the taste a few seconds before she swallowed. Max was stretched out beside her, his legs twitching as he dreamed of chasing a rabbit or something equally elusive.

  She really needed to slow down on her nightly visits with the bottle. It could become a habit. Wine. She enjoyed wine more than bourbon. Her grandparents had quite an extensive wine collection. She’d eyed it a few times. She’d even opened a bottle once. But she’d been saddled with guilt…so much so that she couldn’t finish the bottle. Then she got angry. Angry that she’d felt guilty.

  But guilt was what she carried with her. Survivor’s guilt. Her uncle, her only remaining relative, had tried to tell her to let it go. Easy to say, she’d told him. He was removed from it. Her father’s younger brother, he’d left the nest at eighteen, never to return. He’d made a life in New York City…far, far away from tiny Concan. Growing up, she’d rarely seen him. The occasional Christmas visit was about it. He had come down, though, after she’d called him. He’d stayed two weeks, helping to make the arrangements. They didn’t talk much. She’d been too distraught. Too traumatized by the events to make idle conversation.

  It was Uncle Louis who had talked her into moving here. He had no hard feelings over the will. The bulk of her grandparents’ estate went to her father. Uncle Louis said that’s how it should be. That, of course, meant that it was now hers. At the time, she couldn’t even consider it. She could barely make it through a day without being medicated. Come here? Alone? Where the memories would flood her?

  No way.

  He’d left her in Dallas and headed back to New York. But he called every day, whether she wanted him to or not. His words finally struck a chord with her.

  For your own good, you’ve got to go out there. That’s where they were happy. That’s where they loved and laughed. That’s where you loved and laughed. That’s where you were happy. Those memories are still there, Lindsey. You just have to find them…find them and let them in.

  So she’d quit a job she could no longer function at. She gave up her apartment. She sold most of her furniture. She got a dog.

  She reached down, running her fingers through Max’s soft fur. She got a dog and they packed up and came out here. The first month was brutal. She couldn’t even remember how she got through it. She didn’t remember eating. She didn’t remember sleeping. She remembered crying. A lot.

  And she remembered the dark thoughts she’d had. Awful thoughts. If not for Max, she wondered if…well, she wondered if she’d still be here. Some days…some nights…she wondered still.

  She had a plan, though. A plan she’d been mulling over for weeks. She hadn’t been able to get going, however. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

  Well, tomorrow was a good day to start. She would take the Mule over to her parents’ cabin. It had to be done and she’d put it off long enough. She didn’t know why it was so hard for her. Their house in San Antonio, she’d cleaned out and put up for sale without much thought. Of course, her uncle had helped get it started. She’d been too numb to even sort through their things. He’d boxed up pictures and other keepsakes for her. The rest they’d either sold or given away. She hadn’t felt much attachment to the house. It wasn’t where she grew up. They’d sold that one not long after she’d left home. No, here was where the memories were. Here, at their little weekend cabin. When the family gathered, she always stayed with them. Her brother and sister, both with kids, would stay here at the big house with her grandparents.

  So she’d go to the cabin tomorrow. She’d taken the trails along the river, but she’d always bypassed the cabin. It would be neat and tidy, as her mother usually left it. No doubt there would be food in the fridge that was months past good. That would definitely need to be cleaned out. She would open the windows and let in some fresh air. She wasn’t certain what she’d do with it yet. She really didn’t have to do anything, she supposed. The cabin sat at the edge of the Frio River. During the hot months of summer, she thought maybe she’d stay there instead of here. The cold water would be a refreshing change.

  She pushed her glass away. No. She couldn’t. All the tubes would be there. The floats that the kids used. That section of river was wide but calm, just downstream of the rapids they used to float through. Many a lazy summer day was spent in that river, the kids laughing as they tried to flip her out of her tube. She closed her eyes, picturing her family, all fourteen of them floating idly in the water, her brother handing out beer from the cooler he towed behind him. Laughter…splashing…her grandfather singing…always singing.

  “Christ…I can’t do it,” she murmured.

  She sighed. Maybe tomorrow wasn’t the best day. Maybe it could wait another day or two.

  Chapter Four

  She didn’t know why she’d taken the creek trail again instead of the river or even up north through the hills. The views up there were great and now was a good time to go, before the summer heat would keep her near the water. Without much conscious thought, she’d stopped the Mule at the crossroads, taking the lower trail toward the creek as she’d done yesterday. Max was already bounding ahead of
her. There were spots along the trail where she could see the shallow water of the creek, then trees would hide it once again.

  When she was little, before she’d learned to swim, they would come down to the creek instead of the river and she’d splash in the clear water. Inevitably, Old Lady Larson would hear her laughter and she’d come down to inspect. Her grandmother used to say that she wanted to make sure we weren’t crossing the creek onto their property. Her grandfather, however, said she came down because she couldn’t stand the sound of laughter and she wanted to put an end to it. Regardless of the reason, whenever the old lady showed up, they’d take their leave. There were lots of spots along the creek where she could have played, yet her grandparents always brought her here. Perhaps they liked provoking Mrs. Larson. They sure did laugh about it later. She smiled as she pictured her grandfather singing some old country classic at the top of his lungs as they climbed back toward the trail, Old Lady Larson glaring at them from below.

  She stopped at the same place, the one where she’d first heard the little boy’s laugh. She tilted her head, listening. All was quiet except for a scrub jay that had been following them. She was about to walk on, then decided to head toward the creek anyway. She was oddly disappointed to find it empty, no sign of the boy and his dog. She was about to turn around when Max looked up alertly. Before he could take off, she grabbed his collar, holding him beside her. Sure enough, the yellow dog came running down the hill on the opposite side, the little boy hurrying after him. Today he was carrying a fishing pole. The creek was wide, twenty- to twenty-five feet across in places, but it was too shallow, too rocky for fishing.

  The boy placed his fishing pole on the ground, then proceeded to pick up some pebbles and rocks and began methodically tossing them into the water. As before, the yellow dog pounced after them, splashing the boy in the process. It was too much for Max to resist. He jerked out of her hold and ran down toward the creek, giving a high-pitched puppy bark in the process.

  The boy ran back, startled. The yellow dog met Max in the creek, both their tails wagging wildly as they sniffed each other. As is often the case with puppies, the sniffing quickly turned to play and they were soon chasing in the water, running back and forth from side to side.

  Instead of calling Max back—which she had no doubt he would ignore—she walked down to the creek to get him. The little boy looked at her suspiciously, and she gave him a smile, hoping to ease his fears.

  “Hi,” she said. “I see our dogs have met.” The two dogs ran by the kid, nearly knocking him down. “What’s your name?”

  He tilted his head, watching her from across the water. “My mom said I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

  She nodded. “I guess that’s a good rule.” She motioned with her head behind her. “I live back there though. So I’m not really a stranger. Where do you live?”

  He turned and pointed up the hill. “Up there. My great-grandmother’s house.” He chewed his lower lip as if deciding whether to talk to her or not. “My name is Jack.”

  She smiled again. “I’m Lindsey.” She pointed at the black dog. “That’s Max.”

  He pointed to the yellow dog. “That’s Barney.”

  She walked to the edge of the water. “How old are you, Jack?”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine?” She looked around. “Kinda young to be out here by yourself. Easy to get lost.”

  “I’m almost ten,” he said, as if that changed everything. “I have a trail marked. Mom cut up some old dress she found in one of the closets.” He grinned. “She said if Grandma caught her doing it, she’d be pissed as hell.” Then his eyes widened. “I’m not supposed to say those words. Or damn or…shit,” he said, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. “She says just because she says them that doesn’t mean I can.”

  Lindsey couldn’t hide her smile so she gave up trying. “So who’s your grandma?”

  “Grandma Margie.”

  Lindsey nodded. “Margie Larson.” She married Old Lady Larson’s son. From what her grandmother had told her, Margie was as sour and bitter as the old lady herself.

  “Yeah, that’s my grandma.”

  The dogs were up on the bank on her side, playing tug-of-war with a stick. She looked back over at him, her gaze going to his fishing pole.

  “You like to fish?”

  He nodded. “It’s too shallow here. I haven’t caught anything.” He looked downstream. “I can’t go any further, though. Mom marked it.” He pointed to a tree and she saw a piece of blue fabric tied to a branch. “Down at the other end, she put another one. I can’t go past that.”

  That was smart of the mother, but she was surprised that a nine-year-old kid had obeyed. “That’s good,” she said. “Even though you’re almost ten, if you get lost out here, you’d be hard to find.”

  “That’s what she said but I want to go exploring. I hope later this summer she’ll let me go farther.” He kicked at a rock. “My grandma said I wasn’t to cross the creek, though. She said mean people used to live over there. She doesn’t know who’s there now.”

  Lindsey laughed. No, the McDermotts and Larsons never did get along. Her smile faded though. “Those…those mean people, as she called them…they…they died,” she said with difficulty.

  “Oh.” He kicked at another rock. “My daddy died. That’s why we’re here.”

  They stared at each other across the creek and it was only then that she saw—and recognized—the sadness in his eyes. Was that why he made this solitary trek to the creek? To think about his dad? Did he do it much like she made her solitary walks in the woods…to reflect on her family? She cleared her throat. She wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore.

  “I should get going. Come on, Max.” She beckoned, but the dog ignored her. He and Barney were wrestling in the water. She looked over at the kid—Jack—and smiled. “I guess I might see you again. Looks like the dogs have made friends.”

  He nodded. “I come down here every day. I can’t stay too long or my mom worries.” He tapped the large watch strapped to his thin wrist. “One hour at a time, then I have to go back and let her know that I’m okay.”

  “That’s good. Well…maybe I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  She pried Max away from Barney, holding him while Jack called Barney back to his side of the creek. Barney apparently was better trained than Max. He went obediently over to Jack while Max struggled against her.

  “We need to work on that, Maxwell,” she murmured as she pulled him up the trail. At the top, she glanced through the trees, back to the creek. Jack sat cross-legged on the ground, his dog squatting down beside him, licking his face. She didn’t know why the sight of that brought tears to her eyes, but it did. She wiped them away, then headed on down the trail to finish their walk.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah twirled the spaghetti on her fork, her eyes not on the pasta but on her son as he snuck a meatball down to Barney. He looked up, smiling when he saw that’d she’d seen him.

  “Barney likes your meatballs too.”

  “Barney will eat anything,” she said. “Except his own dog food,” she added.

  “Well, he’s not stupid.”

  She smiled, pleasantly surprised at Jack’s good mood this evening. Dinner was usually a quiet affair…for both of them. She watched him now as he held a long spaghetti noodle up high and sucked it into his mouth with a slurping sound.

  “So you had a good day?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I guess. Did you?”

  “I spent most of the day boxing up ancient kitchenware so that we can put our own stuff out. And as an added bonus, Grandma Margie did not come over.”

  “This house is old.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s also free.”

  He looked at her, his face serious. “With Daddy gone, will we have enough money to live?”

  “Oh, honey, we’ll be fine. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

  “Are you going to have to get a job?”

&nb
sp; “Have to and want to are two different things,” she said. “Once school starts and you’re not here, I may go crazy being out here by myself.” She grinned. “Or your Grandma Margie will drive me crazy.”

  He laughed. “She drives me crazy too. Please don’t make me go to that stupid church camp.”

  “I’m not going to make you, Jack. It’s your decision.”

  “She said she’d already paid for it.”

  “That’s her problem, not yours.”

  “She also said that we were going to go to church with them on Sunday. Are we?”

  Hannah nearly choked on her meatball. She took a large swallow of water, pausing before speaking. Jack was an intelligent boy and very intuitive. She tried to keep her expression neutral.

  “Do you want to go to church with them?”

  He studied her. “Do you?”

  “Your dad and I…well…” How do you tell a nine-year-old boy what agnostic means? “Your dad and I didn’t feel that it was necessary to spend our Sunday mornings in church. Or Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, and Wednesday evenings, like your grandma does,” she added. “We also decided that when you were old enough, you could decide for yourself if you wanted to go to church or not.” She looked at him pointedly. “So the question is, do you want to go to church with them?”

  He shrugged. “No. I’d have to get dressed up then.”

  She smiled at his logic but said nothing else. She was, however, a bit peeved at Margie for indicating to him that they would go. She knew James had spoken to his mother on numerous occasions about their feelings on the matter and she also knew that Margie blamed her. She’d even gone so far as to insinuate that James’s cancer was a result of them “shunning God” and that that was their punishment.

  Yeah…she should have listened to her mother and stayed in San Antonio.