The Lake

She stood up slowly, listening to the quiet squeak of the bedsprings, and crept to her door. Her heart thudded wildly as she eased the door open.

What are you jumpy for? You don’t have to sneak out. Mike and Jenny wouldn’t care.

It’s not them, she realized. It’s this. It’s going out alone, at this hour, in your nightgown.

She wasn’t afraid, she was excited.

It’s no big deal.

Then how come you’re shaking like a leaf?

Except for creamy moonlight from the windows, the cabin was dark. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms, then walked silently to the front door. She inched it open and squeezed through the gap, her breath snagging as the edge of the door rubbed her stiff right nipple. Trembling, she pulled the door shut.

The porch floor was cool and smooth under her bare feet. The screen door groaned, but the noise didn’t worry her. She stepped down the wooden stairs.

You’re out. You made it.

When her feet touched the ground, she stopped. She took a deep breath. A lightning bug drifted by, glowing and fading. Closing her eyes, she let herself feel the breeze. It stirred her hair, blew softly against her face, stroked her arms and legs, moved the nightgown against her skin. Its touch was subtle and erotic.

Her legs felt weak as she walked down the steep path to the lake. At the pier, she looked both ways. She saw no one along the shore. Water lapped and sloshed quietly around the pilings. To the right, the moon made a silver path over the lake.

She walked to the end of the pier. The breeze was stronger here. It fluttered her nightgown and slipped beneath it—lover’s hands, gentle, exploring with tentative, intimate caresses.

Leigh wanted to take the nightgown off, to stand naked in the moonlight and feel the breeze all over her.

Not here, at the end of the pier. Someone might be watching.

From over the water came a quiet groan.

It didn’t sound human.

Metallic, almost like an oarlock.

The sound startled Leigh out of her dreamy languor. She stiffened. Her eyes searched the darkness.

The boat was a vague blur on the lake’s black surface. In the center sat an upright shape. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed it at once; the boat was directly ahead, no more than fifty feet beyond the end of the pier.

It went nowhere.

Charlie?

She almost spoke his name, but stopped herself. What if it’s not Charlie?

It might be anyone.

The man from Jody’s.

She felt her skin prickle.

Don’t be silly.

It might be someone night-fishing.

She couldn’t see a pole.

It is Charlie. It has to be.

This is too weird, she thought. Spooky weird.

What’s he doing here?

“Charlie?” she asked. She didn’t raise her voice. In the silence, it wasn’t necessary. She knew the name would carry out to him.

The oarlocks groaned, more loudly this time. She heard the soft swoosh of the blades rising out of the water. The dim silhouette leaned forward and back, beginning to row. The boat turned.

He’s coming for me.

Oh dear God.

Leigh’s heart felt as if it might smash through her rib cage.

This isn’t happening. It’s a dream. A very weird dream. You’re going to wake up any second.

She knew she was not dreaming.

She locked her knees to keep herself upright.

Calm down, she thought. You wanted something like this. Well, it’s happening.

She was a little frightened, but excited. She couldn’t stop trembling.

Then she realized that the boat wasn’t moving closer. It was heading away.

Charlie had lost his nerve.

He’d been drawn here, late at night when she would be sleeping, only to stare at the cabin, to…what, fantasize?

Calling out to him would do no good.

Leigh dove, leaping from the edge of the pier and stretching out, hitting the water and slicing down beneath its surface. The first shock of cold made her flinch. Then the rush of water felt good. She arched upward and broke the surface. Taking a breath, she blinked her eyes clear and spotted the distant shape of the boat. She swam for it.

She knew Charlie must have seen her dive. Rowing away, he would be facing her. He had to see. But would he stop, or row all the harder hoping to get away?

Leigh was a strong, swift swimmer. In a canoe, Charlie would be able to leave her behind, but rowboats were heavy and ungainly. She was sure she could catch up to him, no matter how hard he might row.

She kicked steadily, darting out one arm then the other with smooth, easy strokes, turning her head for a breath on every sixth stroke.

He probably thinks I’m crazy, she thought.

I must be crazy.

I could’ve taken the canoe.

This is better.

A corner of Leigh’s mind, which seemed to be observing her from a distance, was admiring her nerve. And was a little amused. You’ve really gone and done it.

She raised her head.

The boat was broadside to her, not far ahead. So Charlie was no longer trying to get away.

Good for him.

He wasn’t wearing his odd, feathered hat.

She lowered her face into the water and kept on swimming.

What if it’s not Charlie?

She considered taking another look. That wouldn’t solve anything, though. Too dark.

It better be him.

What if it’s not?