On Mystic Lake

She threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Without bothering to put on her robe and slippers, she crept out of her bedroom and hurried down the hall. She paused at her daddy’s bedroom, then moved past. Down the stairs and out the front doors, into the darkest part of the night.

She stared at the lake. At first it was nothing but a charcoal-gray shadow in the vee of the mountains, but after a while, she could see the glistening waves and hear the murmuring voice of the water against the gravelly shore. The mist had thickened into a gray fog spiked with black toothpick trees.

Izzy-bear, is that you?

She flinched. The screen door jumped out of her hand and banged back into place. “Mommy?”

Something white flashed beside the shore.

She glanced back at the house and saw that her daddy’s bedroom was dark. She knew she should tell her daddy where she was going, but then she saw the flash of white again and heard the sound of a woman crying, and she forgot all about it. She picked up the hem of her nightgown and hurried across the wet grass, her toes squishing in muddy ground.

There were sounds everywhere—the cawing of crows, the hooting of a lonely owl, the ribbiting of bullfrogs—and though the sounds scared her, she didn’t stop until she reached the lake.

“Mommy?” she whispered.

A fine mist rose from the water. It was in the mist that she saw her mommy. Clear as day, she was standing on the water, her hands clasped at her waist, her golden-blond hair a halo around her face. Izzy got a flashing glimpse of white wings, and she heard a rhythmic sound, like the blurring start of a lawn mower, but she couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing. There was a brightness to her mommy that hurt Izzy’s eyes, like looking right at the sun. She blinked and tried to focus, but she kept seeing a spray of black dots and stars and her mommy went in and out of focus.

Izzy-bear, why did you call me?

Izzy blinked and tried to see her mommy’s pretty blue eyes. “I didn’t call you this time. ”

I heard you calling in your sleep.

Izzy tried to remember her dream, but it was just pictures and feelings and panic and it didn’t seem to mean anything at all right now. “I don’t know what I wanted. ”

She felt her mother’s touch, a breeze on her forehead, brushing the hair away, a kiss that smelled of mist and rain and her mommy’s favorite perfume. “I miss you, Mommy. ”

Your daddy’s back now.

“What if he goes away again?”

Another touch, softer. He won’t, Izzy-bear.

This time, when Izzy looked up, her mother was closer, and she was certain she saw dove-white wings. “I can’t follow you, can I?”

For a split second, the mist was gone, and Izzy saw her mom. There were no wings, no white brightness, no mist. There was just a sad-eyed, blond-haired woman in a pinkflowered flannel nightgown, looking down at her little girl. I’ll always be inside you, Izzy. You don’t have to disappear or follow me or reach for me. All you have to do is close your eyes and think of me and I’ll be there. You think about the time we went to the circus and I was laughing so hard at the clowns that I fell off the bench. And when you smile at that, you’ll find me.

Tears streaked down Izzy’s face, plopped on her hands. She stared, blinking, into her mommy’s blue, blue eyes. “I love you, Mommy . . . ”

And then suddenly her mommy was gone.

“Izzy!”

Her father’s panicked voice sliced through Izzy’s thoughts. She twisted around and saw him running toward her. “Daddy?”

He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “Izzy. ” He said her name in a weird way, as if he’d been running for miles. “Oh, Izzy . . . you scared me. I didn’t know where you were. . . . ”

“I di’n’t go anywhere bad, Daddy. ”

He gave her a wobbly smile. “I know, honey. ”

He carried her back into the house and put her gently in bed. She scooted under the covers, but she wasn’t ready to be by herself yet. She grabbed a book off the table by the bed. It was her treasured copy of Cinderella, the one that had been handed down from Grandma Myrtle, to Mommy, to Izzy. “Could you read me a story, Daddy?”

He climbed into bed beside her. Very gently, he opened the book to the first page. He read as he’d always read to her, with vigor and gusto and lots of funny voices.

Only Izzy didn’t laugh. She couldn’t; instead, she sat propped against the bright yellow Big Bird pillow, staring at the vibrant paintings on the page. When he finished the story, she was very quiet. “What happened to Cinderella’s mommy?”

It was a minute before he said softly, “I think Cinderella’s mommy went to heaven. ”