The Secrets of Lake Road - Karen Katchur Page 0,55

cut on his bottom lip. “What have we done?” she whispered, and quietly got out of bed.

After two aspirin and a hot shower, she peeked into Caroline’s room. Her daughter was curled into a ball, sound asleep. On the floor by the bed were dirty clothes and muddy sneakers. Something about it gave her pause, made her feel uneasy, but she had been feeling that way so often over the last few days, it was hard to tell whether it was her intuition or if she was just being paranoid.

She turned away.

Gram was awake, shuffling her feet in the back bedroom, talking in a hushed voice on the old rotary phone before hanging up with a click.

“Jo, is that you?” Gram called.

Jo didn’t answer. Whatever Gram wanted could wait. She was sure it had something to do with cleaning closets, and just the thought of lugging old boxes around exhausted her. She had hardly slept last night, tossing, unable to shake the way the sheriff had looked at her, his questions, his accusations, the fractured bone.

* * *

Jo slipped out the screen door without making a sound. Thunder continued to roll, and the rain fell hard and fast, pelting her cheeks and shoulders. She didn’t mind. It felt good to feel something real, tangible. And besides, summer storms never lasted long. Already the sun was peeking through the clouds on the other side of the mountain.

She walked across the dirt road, dodging the deeper puddles. She glanced in the direction of the Sparrow, the cabin Patricia rented. Patricia was standing behind the screen door, watching the storm, her arms wrapped around her waist. Jo waved, and Patricia called her over.

Lightning flashed.

“Please, come in out of the rain.” Patricia held the door open. She smoothed her blond tangled hair away from her drawn face. “Is there any news?” She clutched the collar of her blouse. Her clothes were wrinkled and worn, as though she had been wearing them for days.

Jo shook her head and stepped inside. “Not that I heard.” She scanned the room. A stuffed cloth doll sat on one of the wicker rocking chairs in front of a child’s tea set. Coloring books were scattered on the floor amidst spilled crayons and colored pencils. Drawings of ponies and kittens covered the coffee table.

Thunder continued to roar.

Jo picked up a drawing. “These are really good.”

Patricia looked at the picture. A smile crossed her lips. “Sara’s. She had an eye for detail. I teach art at the school. I guess she had a natural talent for it.” She covered her mouth and turned away.

Jo put the picture down. “Why don’t I make you some coffee?” She fumbled around the unfamiliar kitchen. She was aware that her wet shoes and clothes dripped onto the linoleum floor, but by the looks of the stained countertops and dirty dishes in the sink, the place hadn’t been cleaned recently.

While Jo waited for the coffee to percolate, she washed the dishes and wiped the table and countertops. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, why she was even here. But there was something about Patricia she found comforting. Maybe they were just two women who understood about regret and mistakes, two women who shared a similar burden in its own terrible way. She picked up a coffee cup.

Patricia settled into a chair at the kitchen table. She wore the expression of someone tired yet wired. The look in her eyes said she was barely hanging on. She turned to Jo as though she had remembered something important. “Tell me,” she said. “Do you still talk to Billy?”

The question was so startling, the cup dropped from Jo’s hand and shattered on the floor. Thunder cracked and lightening lit up the room.

Patricia looked so innocent. Was she mocking her? Did she want to cause Jo pain? Before Jo could find her voice to respond, there was a loud knock at the front door.

“Hello?” Sheriff Borg called. He stepped inside and removed his sheriff’s hat, his gray hair clipped short and neat.

Patricia sprung from her seat. “You found her?” she asked him.

“No, I’m sorry. Not yet.”

Jo’s heart pounded in her ears. She avoided Sheriff Borg’s eyes and grabbed a tea towel. She dropped to her knees and wiped the floor, at the same time trying to make sense of what Patricia had said. Her hands shook as she picked up the pieces of the broken cup.

“Everything okay?” he asked, and raked his eyes over Jo’s wet clothes, her chest,