“Go to the water and tell it.” She smiled slyly. “Promise me you’ll try?”
* * *
I kept my promise. Will took an afternoon nap, and I went out to the springs on my own, sneaking my way along the path, heart pounding. I felt like a young girl again, believing in fanciful things, that the world was full of magic and miracles. The green hills, the lush grounds, the roaming peacocks; I felt like a princess. And isn’t it true that in fairy tales, wishes are granted?
Once again, there was no one else at the pool as I approached. It was waiting just for me, shimmering and winking in the sun. I walked up hesitantly, wondering what I was doing, feeling suddenly foolish. But hadn’t I done plenty of foolish things already? Was making a wish at a spring that much different than carrying a sparrow’s egg for days? None of what’d I done so far had worked. Why should this be any different?
It pained me to think how desperate I’d become. It seemed unfair that I had to go to such lengths when it was so easy for other women to bear child after child. And what would Will say if he found me here now?
“Idiot,” I said out loud, and turned to leave before someone caught me there.
But then I thought of my promise to Eliza. And I remembered the feel of my arms around the little girl in my dream—how real she had seemed!—and how empty and aching I’d been when I woke.
Maybe I was an idiot, a foolish and desperate woman, but I ran back to the water’s edge, leaned down, pushed my face right against the surface, and I spoke to my reflection, the words making the deep water ripple. “Please,” I said, “I would do anything. Anything at all, anything to have a child.” My reflection went in and out of focus, and then it wasn’t me I was looking at, but the face of a little girl. The child from my dream with eyes so like my own. My not-yet daughter.
“Please,” I said to the water, “please bring her to me.” I had begun to cry. My tears fell into the pool, and I thought I saw something far beneath my own distorted reflection. A pale flash of movement, here and then gone.
chapter seven
June 17, 2019
I started to clean up the kitchen the next morning. In the bright light of day, my middle-of-the-night fears seemed silly—I shook my head as I remembered creeping around the dark house imagining banshees. The power wasn’t out after all; the outlets in the kitchen worked fine and the fridge was humming. I made myself a cup of espresso. It was burnt tasting, bitter and thick. I tried the kitchen lights and, when they didn’t come on, further inspection revealed missing bulbs. I checked the closet where our grandma had always kept the household supplies, but didn’t find any. Pig stalked into the kitchen and let out an angry meow, so I dumped another can of tuna onto a plate. There was no sign of cat food anywhere.
It looked like it had been weeks since Lexie had done the dishes. She’d gone through all the everyday ones and had moved on to the good china. Our grandmother’s delicate floral-rimmed plates were chipped and hosting broken crackers and shriveled bits of cheese. The kitchen smelled. I tried opening the Dutch door that led out to the patio, thinking fresh air and sunshine would be nice, but it wouldn’t budge. Looking more closely, I saw that metal brackets had been screwed in, sealing the door to the frame.
“Why on earth would you do that?” I asked, half expecting Lexie to give me some cockamamie explanation involving feng shui.
To the left of the Dutch door was a black rotary phone that had been there my entire life. The one Lexie had no doubt been calling me from before she drowned: Answer the fucking phone, Jax! I know you’re there. I can feel you listening.
Next to the phone was a wall calendar. I looked at June, then flipped back to May. Therapist and doctors’ appointments, a car tune-up, dental cleaning, lunch with Diane, dinner with Ryan. My sister had been having dinner with Ryan, when I didn’t even know he was back in town.
I remembered young Ryan with his halo of curly red hair, who’d show up at Sparrow Crest on his blue ten-speed, ready to follow Lexie on whatever adventure she had in store for us. One year, they spent the entire summer searching the woods for a peacock. Gram, Terri, Randy, Aunt Diane, Uncle Ralph, Ryan, and I had all been sitting on the patio by the pool. It was a hot day, but no one was swimming, just trying to stay cool by being near the water. The adults were having cocktails. I was playing Go Fish with Ryan. I always won when I played with him—he was so easy to read, I could tell what cards he had just by watching his face. Lexie came tearing in, sweaty and scratched up, saying she’d seen a peacock in the woods. She’d chased him to the top of Devil’s Hill, then lost him in the thick brush up there. Her hair was wild, and she was talking fast and loud as she told us her story.
The adults had laughed. “What on earth would a peacock be doing way back there?” Aunt Diane asked.
“Maybe it was a grouse?” Uncle Ralph suggested. “Or a wild turkey?”
“It was a peacock,” Lexie insisted. “He fanned his tail and everything.”
“A male turkey can fan its tail, too,” Ryan’s dad said.
It was just like Lexie, I thought, to see an ugly old Tom turkey and turn it into something beautiful.
“I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I know what a turkey looks like. What I saw was a peacock. And I’m going to catch him. I’ll do it on my own if none of you believe me.” She turned to walk away.
“I believe you,” Ryan said, setting down his cards, forgetting all about our game. Lexie stopped, turned back, and smiled at him.
“I’ll help you catch it,” he said. And I hated him a little then.
* * *
Coffee finished, I realized I was starving. I went to the fridge, found a list taped to it:
milk
coffee
cheese
long nails and screws
*Ask Bill about night vision camera—motion activated? infrared?
The fridge was nearly empty—a carton of spoiled milk, a lidless pot of congealed soup, an empty container of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, a few shriveled limes, and ancient condiments. I found half a box of stale graham crackers in one of the cupboards and nibbled on them as I picked up.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lexie was in the house, that she was just upstairs and would come down at any minute, hair disheveled, pajamas wrinkled. She’d sit down at the table, look around at the kitchen, and say, “Spick and span, Jax.”
I swept the floor, the broom pulling out another sheet of notebook paper from under the table. I bent down to grab it.
June 1
Something’s in the water
I froze, heart thudding in my ears. Then, slowly, I turned and looked out the kitchen window at the pool. The surface was still and black, like a great piece of polished onyx. I pulled the curtain closed so I didn’t have to look anymore and went back to sweeping.
Once the kitchen was in some semblance of order, I headed for the living room. Pig followed at a safe distance, watching with curiosity. A quick check confirmed that all the light bulbs in there had been removed, too. In fact, some of them were not removed but smashed, the metal socket still in place along with a ring of jagged broken glass. I picked up all the dishes and cups in the living room and brought them into the kitchen. Then I started on the papers and family photos pulled from old albums. They were scattered everywhere.