The Lake

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.