The Lake

Swinging out of bed, she peeled off her nightgown. It was soaked with sweat. She spread it over the bedrail, grabbed her robe, and shrugged into it.

It felt soft and comforting to her damp, chilled skin.

She tied the sash tight.

Wouldn’t do for Mr. Hatchet Man to catch her naked.

Mr. who?

That was a nightmare, dummy, and don’t you forget it.

Still her breath came hard and fast.

Calm down, she told herself.

You’re safe.

The doors are locked.

Mom’s in the next room…

Everything’s okay. Honest.

In the busy flickering shadows, familiar things greeted her like old friends.

She made for the kitchen.

Opening the fridge door, she reached inside and took out a jug of lemonade.

It felt good and cold.

Mom made it only yesterday. From fresh lemons. It was her own special brew, and Deana knew it’d taste bittersweet, tart, with just a dash of honey.

The way I like it.

The glass jug clouded up. It felt deliciously cold in her hands. Licking her lips, she watched the pale liquid swish around inside it—almost tasting that first almighty swig as it hit her throat.

First, she set the jug on the table and went over to the sink. Turning on the cold faucet, she cupped her hands and splashed water over her face.

Then she grabbed a hand towel, patted herself dry.

Feeling better, safer, all the time.

It was only a nightmare, she told herself again.

Deana downed two glassfuls of juice, knowing she’d probably spend the remainder of the night in the bathroom.

Who cares? I’m awake, I’m alive, and I’m all in one piece!

Back in her bedroom, she caught that same weird figure slink past the window.

Again?

NO!

Frowning, she stared hard. But saw nothing.

Just the curtain, stirring softly.

And her tree, murmuring in the breeze.

Wonderful. I’m going crazy. My mind’s playing tricks…

She set her refilled glass on the nightstand, took off her robe, and climbed into bed.

She yawned, glad the nightmare was over.

She felt safe again.

And sleepy.

Her lips curved in a smile.

As her lids closed, she thought about the party tomorrow night…

Tomorrow night?

Tonight, she reminded herself.

Deana yawned again, going through the scenario of telling Mom how she and Allan would be going to the movies after dinner. Mom’d be furious, but she’d soon simmer down. Hey. She knew how it was; she’d been there herself, hadn’t she?

Once upon a time.

So she keeps reminding me.

Deana smiled sleepily. It felt good, touching her naked body beneath the sheet, the soft breeze wafting through the window.

Thinking about the dinner party—and afterward, when she and Allan would bunk off together.

“Mmm…,” she whispered. “Tonight, we’re gonna have the time of our lives!”

THREE

“If I were the suspicious type,” Deana said, “I might think that car is following us.”

“But you’re not,” Allan said.

“A little bit, maybe.” She looked over her shoulder. The other car was still beyond the last curve, its beams dim and barely visible through the narrow rear window of Allan’s Mustang. Seconds later, the headlights appeared. One was out of alignment, throwing its beam crooked and high. Deana didn’t like the cross-eyed look. It made the car seem a bit demented.

“How about turning around,” Allan suggested. “You’re making me nervous.”

“It’s making me nervous.”

“Probably just some guy on his way to Stinson Beach. Once you’re on this road, you’re on it for keeps.”

Deana faced the front. Her hands were sweaty. She wiped them on her kilt. “Maybe you should slow down and let him pass.”

“You’ve seen too many Friday the 13th movies.”

“You dragged me to some of them.”

“I love the way you squeal and cover your eyes…and peek through your fingers.”

“Maybe we should have gone to a movie,” Deana said.

“Losing your nerve?”

“It’s awfully dark out here.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“How soon’s the turnoff?” Deana asked.

“It’s coming up.”

“Well, if he makes the turn, too, I say we forget it.”

Allan turned his head toward her. She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness, but he obviously wasn’t thrilled by the idea of forgetting it. She couldn’t blame him. He had suffered through the dinner with Deana’s mother and grandparents, which must’ve been quite a drag for him, probably able to keep his spirits up only by reminding himself of what was planned for afterward.

“One more thing,” she had told him on the telephone before the party.

He had responded with an “Uh-oh.”

“This isn’t an ‘uh-oh,’ pal, this is an ‘ah-ha.’ Once dinner’s over, you and I will be free to amscray. I was thinking of somewhere very dark and very secluded, perhaps in the vicinity of Mount Tamalpias. You might want to bring a blanket.”