Seeing the forest in real life made the previous landowner’s decision to install a chain-link fence more inscrutable. Its presence suggested that the network of plants, trees, and moss had to be caged like dangerous animals in a zoo, but the area seemed too wild to be contained by the unfriendly barrier. Uncultivated nature sprang from the ground all around her. Odder still was the fact that the metal links did not extend around the entire property—only the large, forested section between the neighboring house and her own—which indicated that the purpose of the fence wasn’t security. The long stretch of shoreline that she owned was left unrestricted, leaving the northern access points to her home from the lake completely open. Instead, the placement suggested that it had been designed to keep something in rather than to ensure people stayed out. She made a note to ask Betty about it, feeling a pang of concern that other important items might also have slipped her notice. Since Graham had died, Mallory had sometimes found herself struggling to follow the thread of conversations. Several times, she had entered a room only to become bewildered by her purpose in being there. It worried her to think that the fog that clogged her thoughts might have also obscured her ability to understand details about her new home, but she willed the concern away. She was here now. She would learn what she needed to know.
The trees thinned a little on both sides of the road, and Mallory passed the northern perimeter of the fence. Ten feet farther up, as the map had promised, a driveway—her driveway!—appeared on the right. She turned onto it, feeling triumphant in her ability to find her way. Graham had always assumed the role of navigator in their relationship. She was pleased to realize that had been more a habit than a necessity. The road that led to her new home had been cleared to the width of two cars. The leafy trees that stood like soldiers on either side of it were also flirting with autumn, their broad leaves turning from green to the same vibrant hues of yellow, orange, and red she had noticed on the main road.
Then, as the dirt road crested to the level of the shore, the lake came into view once again. This time, the sight made her gasp. Though she had grown up beside the ocean, which nearly lapped against the sidewalks of Vancouver, Loss Lake seemed more vast and imposing. The gentle slope of the narrow lane shortened the foreground, making the lake blur into the deep-blue sky above it. The blended horizon of water and air seemed to go on forever. The late-day sunlight bounced off the surface like headlights approaching her on a dark highway. A light breeze picked up. The ripple of the waves reminded her of the way the piano keys had moved when her mother used to play.
Three days before, during their final dinner together, her mother had asked Mallory if she really believed uprooting herself and moving more than a thousand miles northwest was the right decision, especially so soon after her husband’s death. Mallory knew the question was underscored by her mother’s deep dread of change. She still lived in the same split-level suburban home she and Mallory’s father had purchased shortly after their marriage. Mallory hadn’t let her mother’s anxiety nip at her heels. She was in motion. The goodbye dinner was a formality, one last thing to tick off her list. Mallory had already left her old life behind. One house was sold and the other bought. One person was alive and the other dead. It was time to go. She told her mother that she had been in limbo for nearly two months. She couldn’t stay a minute longer in the house where Graham had died.
Her mother’s eyes had shone as she murmured her understanding. As they embraced, Mallory could feel her mother relaxing. On some level, she knew her mother was happy to have her gone. Mallory was living proof of her mother’s greatest fear. All her life, her mother had fretted about women left alone by the passing of their husbands. Having Mallory safely ensconced in a home of her own more than a day’s drive away meant that she didn’t have to be reminded of her daughter’s plight and her own to come. Someday, possibly soon, Mallory’s father would end up succumbing to liver damage from his quiet alcoholism. As her mother kissed her cheek, she had asked Mallory to check in once a month. Mallory had agreed. She knew it was unlikely that they would speak much more than that.
Though she had made her decision quickly, moving to McNamara hadn’t been as rash as her mother thought. Mallory’s methodical training as a nurse was too ingrained for that. Before making her purchase, Mallory had assessed the small town. McNamara was small and remote—the closest community to it was a town of five thousand people called Turner about seventy-five miles away—but the tiny population of only three hundred and fifty-four people was close-knit and active. Mallory had seen an activity listed every month of the year on the online community calendar: festivals, Bake-Offs, and dances. The social media groups were active, and people were unusually kind to each other in the forums, often gently policing anyone who made negative posts or offhand comments that could be interpreted as insults. The lack of a hospital in town wasn’t a deterrent to her, though it meant reentering her field would be challenging. Even after purchasing her new property, the sale of their home had left her with enough of a financial cushion that she didn’t have to worry about finding work again anytime soon. It was possible that, with careful planning, she might never nurse again. But what had really sealed the deal for the small northern town was the lake that hugged the residential and commercial areas like a lover. In photographs, Mallory had been drawn to it. In real life, the effect was amplified beyond measure. Loss Lake may have been an accident, but it was mesmerizing. She unrolled her window another inch to hear the waves as she drove forward to her home and her future.
As the road jogged to the right, Mallory finally saw her brown-shingled one-level home. Like the lake, it looked exactly like the pictures Betty had emailed her but somehow entirely different in its three-dimensional reality. A tiny thrill ran down Mallory’s spine, and she realized that a part of her had doubted it actually existed. The sale of her previous home had felt so onerous and time consuming, though it had been rapid compared to the usual time frame of real estate. There had been moments when Mallory believed she would never be able to leave the house in which she no longer belonged. To fill the time she’d rubbed her hands raw cleaning, but the air inside had still smelled sour, like something inside the walls had spoiled.
In contrast, the clean lines of the ranch house standing in front of the lake radiated strength and peace as they had in the digital images Mallory often pulled up on her laptop late at night after the purchase had been finalized. The house wasn’t beautiful, but it looked solid and strong, like it could weather the blows of guilt and grief that Mallory had been forced to absorb during every one of the sixty-two nights since Graham had died. It was surrounded by a wide expanse of lawn and well-tended flower beds. The leaves of a cluster of fading marigolds were browning as fall began to take hold, but nothing could diminish the beauty of the property.
She winced as her back tire hit a particularly deep pothole, drawing her gaze away from the velvety water that made the scene as bucolic as a landscape painting. She pulled slowly into a level spot outside the front door, shifted to park, got out of the car, and stretched herself into a straight line. The movement reminded her of how her body had changed over the twelve months of Graham’s illness. Though she had quit her job and done her best to nurse her husband by herself, the task had proved too much to handle alone. She had lost nearly as much weight as Graham by the end due to stress and lack of sleep. Back in Vancouver, her weight loss had made her feel insubstantial, as if her sadness were eating away at her the same way Graham’s illness had at him. Here, it made her feel as light as the whispering breeze.