On Mystic Lake

Twice during the night, Annie awoke from her solitary bed and paced the room. Kathy’s death had reminded her how precious time was, how fleeting. How sometimes life snipped the edges off your good intentions and left you with no second chance to say what really mattered.

She didn’t want to think about her husband—I love her, Annie—but the thoughts were always there, gathered in the air around her, crackling like heat lightning in the darkness of her room. She stared at her face in the mirror, studying the haircut, trying to figure out who she was and where she belonged. She stared at herself so long, the image changed and twisted and turned gray, and she was lost in the blurry reflection of a woman she’d never known.

Without Blake, she had no one who’d witnessed the past twenty years of her life. No one but Hank who could remember what she’d been like at twenty-five or thirty, no one with whom to share her lost dreams.

Stop it.

She glanced at the clock beside the bed. It was six o’clock in the morning. She sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed the phone, and dialed Natalie’s number, but her daughter was already gone for the day. Then she took a chance on Terri.

Terri answered on the fifth ring. “This better be important,” she growled.

Annie laughed. “Sorry, it’s just me. Is it too early?”

“No, no. I love getting up before God. Is everything okay?”

Annie didn’t know if things would ever be okay again, but that answer was getting stale. “I’m getting by. ”

“Judging by the hour, I’d say you weren’t sleeping well. ”

“Not much. ”

“Yeah, I pretty much paced and cried for the first three months after Rom-the-shit-heel left me. You need to find something to do. ”

“I’m in Mystic; the choices are a bit limited. I suppose I could try my hand at beer-can art. That’s a big seller up here. Or maybe I can learn to hunt with a bow and arrow and then stuff my own kills. ”

“It’s good to hear you laugh. ”

“It beats crying. ”

“Seriously, Annie. You need to find something to do. Something that gets you out of your bed—or into someone else’s. Try shopping. Go buy some new clothes. Something that changes your look. ”

Annie rubbed her shorn hair. “Oh, I’ve changed my looks all right. I look like Rush Limbaugh on Phen-fen. ”

They talked for another half hour, and when she hung up, Annie felt, if not stronger, then at least better. She roused herself from her bed and took a long, hot shower.

Dressing in a white cashmere boat-necked sweater and winter-white wool slacks, she went downstairs and cooked Hank a big breakfast of scrambled eggs, orange juice, pancakes, and turkey bacon. It wasn’t long before the aroma drew her dad downstairs.

He walked into the kitchen, tightening the gray cotton belt around his ankle-length robe. He scratched his scruffy white beard and stared at her. “You’re up. Are you out of bed for long, or just roving until the headache starts again?”

The perceptiveness of the question reminded Annie that her father had known tragedy and had more than a waltzing acquaintance with depression himself. She pulled some china plates from the old oak breakfront in the corner and quickly set two places at the breakfast table. “I’m moving on with my life, Dad. Starting now. Starting here. Sit down. ”

He pulled out a chair. It made a grating sound on the worn yellow linoleum. “I’m not sure feeding a man is a big leap forward. ”

She gave him a crooked grin and took a seat across from him. “Actually, I thought I’d go shopping. ”

He plucked up a mouthful of egg in his blunt-edged fingers. “In Mystic? Unless you’re looking for the ideal steel-head lure, I don’t know how much luck you’ll have. ”

Annie stared down at her eggs. She wanted to eat—she really did—but the sight of the food made her faintly nauseous. She hoped her dad didn’t notice. “I thought I’d start by getting a few books. This seems like a good time to catch up on my reading. Hell, I could get through Moby-Dick in my spare time. And the clothes I brought won’t work up here. ”

“Yeah, white’s not a very practical color up here in mud-land. ” He poured a blot of ketchup alongside his eggs and peppered everything. Reaching for his fork, he glanced across the table at Annie. She could tell that he was doing his best not to grin. “Good for you, Annie Virginia. ” Then, softer, “Good for you. ”

Mystic dozed beneath a bright spring sun. The town was full of activity today, with farmers and housewives and fishermen scurrying up and down the concrete sidewalks, in a hurry to get their errands done while the clouds were slim and spread out beneath a pale blue sky. Everyone knew that those same clouds could suddenly bunch together like school-yard bullies, releasing a torrent of rain so vicious that even a full-grown eagle couldn’t take flight.

Annie strolled down Main Street, peeking into the various stores, a couple of times pushing through a half-open door. Invariably a bell tinkled overhead and a voice called out, Hiya, miss. Fine day, isn’t it? At the Bagels and Beans coffee shop, she ordered a double tall mocha latte, and she sipped it as she moved down the street.

She passed stores that sold trinkets for tourists, hardware, fabric, and fishing tackle. But there wasn’t a single bookstore. At the H & P Drugstore, she picked up the latest Pat Conroy bestseller but couldn’t find anything else that interested her. There wasn’t much of a selection. It was too bad, because she needed a manual for the rest of her life.

At last, she found herself standing in front of Eve’s Leaves Dress Emporium. A mannequin smiled down at her from the display window, wearing a bright yellow rain slicker and matching hat. Her awkwardly bent elbow held a sign that read: Spring is in the air. Multicolored silk flowers sprouted from watering cans at her booted feet, and a rake was slanted against one wall.