The Lake

Allan finally took off his T-shirt and wore it like a tail the rest of the day. Later, he gave the shorts to Deana, giftwrapped but still torn, as a memento of the journey.

Elbows on the dresser top, the shorts pressed to her face, Deana tried to stop the crying that had begun when she started to remember. She wiped her eyes dry, but they filled again.

The seam in the rear looked almost as good as new where she had stitched it with the sewing machine.

Maybe best, she thought, to put the shorts away. Hide them in the bottom of a drawer or something, so they wouldn’t be around to remind her of Allan.

Hell, I don’t want to forget him. If the memories hurt, it’s only because they’re good memories. I’ll wear these shorts till they fall apart, and then I’ll still keep them.

Sniffing, Deana stepped into the shorts and pulled them up. The wet seat clung to her skin.

She put on a bra. God knows, that hadn’t come from Allan. It was an elastic harness made for running—the female equivalent of a jockstrap. He liked the flimsy, transparent kind that unhooked in front. Or none at all. The look on his face that first time she didn’t have one on and he didn’t know it until he reached under her sweatshirt and touched her breast instead of fabric.

In the mirror, she saw herself smile. Just a bit. She looked like hell with her eyes all red and puffy.

Allan hadn’t said anything. He’d moaned.

Deana pulled a T-shirt over her head, took socks from the drawer, and sat on the edge of her bed to put them on.

After that night, she’d started making a game of it. Sometimes she wore a bra, sometimes she didn’t. It drove Allan nuts each time they were together, until he found out one way or another. He never came right out and asked. He observed. He pulled little maneuvers such as running his hand down her back. If he determined that she was wearing a bra, he relaxed. If she wasn’t, he spent the rest of the evening watching her chest at every opportunity—apparently eager to catch a jiggle of breast or evidence of nipples pushing against her clothes. If she wore a loose top, he kept trying for glimpses down the front. And Deana would help him by bending over a lot. Obsessed, that’s what he was.

Was.

Oh shit oh shit.

Deana sprang from her bed. It’s okay to think about him, she told herself. Just not all the time.

She took her shoes from the closet. She put them on quickly, grabbed the front-door key off her dresser, and hurried down the hall, slipping the long key chain over her head. She dropped the key down the front of her shirt. It felt cold for a second against her skin.

“Back in a while,” she called out through the silence.

“Hey!” came her mother’s voice. “I want to talk to you.”

“Mom.”

“Come here.”

Deana backtracked to the master bedroom. She crossed to the bathroom door. It was open a crack. “Yes?”

“You’re not going out to run, are you?”

“That was the plan.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Keep it light. “Gotta stay fit, Ma.”

“Not today, all right?”

“Why not?” She knew why not.

“Because.”

“Mom.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You want to turn me into a hermit?”

“You know what Mace said.”

“Mace? You mean Detective Harrison?”

“Yes, Detective Harrison.”

“I know what he said. He said to be careful. I’ll be careful.”

“I don’t want you going out alone. Not for a few days, anyway.”

“I need to run, Mom.”

She heard some quiet splashing sounds from behind the door. Then Mom said, “Okay, but I’ll go with you.”

Deana didn’t want to wait. She didn’t want company. It wouldn’t be the same. “You’d never be able to keep up with me.”

“You’re talking about the gal who wipes you off the tennis courts.”

“You don’t want to get sweaty after your bath.”

“I’m not kidding about this. I don’t want you going out alone. I mean it.”

Deana sighed. “Is it all right if I wait for you out front?”

“Where out front?”

“On the driveway. I’ll just warm up while I wait.”

“Where on the driveway?”

“At the bottom.”

“All right. But keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Deana started away. Christ, Mom thinks the guy’s out there. Ready to pounce on me. Or run me down.

What if she’s right?

That is just what I need on top of everything, a good case of paranoia.

“I don’t want to frighten you,” Harrison had said. Mace. “You and the Powers boy might very well have been random victims. On the other hand, it’s possible that the assailant knew precisely who he was after. If he was after you, Deana, then he might make another attempt. You and your mother need to face that possibility and take precautions. Do you understand?”

“He wasn’t after me. I mean, it had to be random like you said.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I already told you, I haven’t dumped any boyfriends, I don’t have any enemies, I—”