Lingering Echoes (14 page)

I stepped into a clothing store and ran my hands along the colorful racks of shirts.
Ignoring the floor associate who offered her overly cheery assistance, I waited just a minute longer. Then I exited the store and looked down the street. I could see Dad’s form a few blocks away. He was almost to the bookstore.

Good. Now, where to st
art...

I continued in the same direction, wandering with an outcome in mind, but no real plan.

“Something I can help you with, Miss?” The thin, older man to my right smiled at me, standing just outside the entrance to a small store. He was dressed in mustard-brown khakis with a striped white polo tucked into the high waistband of his pants. “Souvenir, perhaps?” He gestured inside.

I looked through the glass window he was in the midst of cleaning with a paper towel and spray bottle. He wasn’t joking about the souvenirs. There were
T-shirts hanging on circular racks throughout the store, though not to be outdone by the colorful layer of clothing plastering the walls. Even from the window, I could see the various Hidden Pines Lodge logos printed across the fronts of the shirts, cheesy and cliché with every statement. The shelves were littered with small porcelain figurines of wild animals, mountains, and other keepsake trinkets. Mugs, hats, postcards, sunglasses, swimwear...the room was packed full of vacation reminders.

“No, thank you. I
have my fair share of Hidden Pines souvenirs at home.”

“Oh, you come here often then?”

“Yep, every year. My family has a cabin up at the lodge. Are you from here?”

“Oh yes, I’ve been a
round a long while. Got myself many a memory ‘round these parts. Dad used to take me up to the lake all the time when I was a young thing. Fun place to grow up, I’ll tell you what.” He scratched his balding, white hair.

“Well, maybe you could help me with something,” I said.

“Oh sure, sure, Missy. I’ll be glad to help if I can. So long as you buy something in return.” He winked at me with a gruff chuckle. “Ah, I’m just joshin’ with ya. What can I do for you?”

I took a chance.
“Well, I heard a story...about a family who died up there in a fire just north of the lodge. But they had a son who survived. I guess, well, I wondered if you knew much about it.”

The smile on his wrinkled face disappeared.
He narrowed his eyes at me and did not answer. I waited, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

“
What you want to do with an awful story like that?”

I hesitated at his reac
tion, but driven with a need to know, I persisted. “Just curious, I suppose. I mean, it didn’t happen too far from the lodge. I heard about it during the festival, and read a couple of newspaper headlines. Most of the reports seemed to suggest the son was involved with the deaths. But you know the media these days.” I gave a hopeful, lighthearted laugh. “It’s hard to gauge what’s factual. They tend to exaggerate events.”

The man seemed distraught. He looked at me, then inside the empty store,
and then back at me again. “Not in this case, darlin’. The media was dead on. No, uh, pun intended, of course...” he mumbled, walking into the store. He turned back around, where I still stood at the doorway. “Well, come along, then. If you want to hear more, there’s one person you should talk to.”

I followed him to the back of store. He pushed through two swinging doors and entered another smaller r
oom. It was bare, uncarpeted, and appeared to be storage. The room was scattered with boxes of various sizes, some stacked on top of one another.

“Martha!” the man called out.
“Martha, where you hidin’ at?”

“Stop
yer yellin’. I’m right here! What is it?” A woman’s head popped up behind a stack of boxes. Her straggly black hair hung long beneath her shoulders. Thick, silver roots betrayed her age, as did the cranky wrinkles along her face and neck. She raised an eyebrow at me.

“If it
ain’t in the store, it’s not available. I’m not digging inside these here boxes for nothin’ and nobody.” She looked at the man in front of me, accusation in her voice. “You already know that, Robert. What’dya bring her back here for?”

He turned around and rolled his eyes at me. Facing Martha, h
e explained, “This young lady—Oh, didn’t catch your name—”

“Allie. Allie Collins.”

He continued. “This is my lovely wife, Martha. Martha, Miss Collins here wants to know ‘bout them Michaels, poor souls. Told her you’re the one to talk to ‘bout that. Or ‘bout anything for that matter.” Robert turned to me again and muttered, “Nosiest woman you’ll ever meet. Knows everything about anyone and everything. Keep your own secrets to yourself,” he warned.

Martha’s face lit up, brightening with a cracked smile. Her haggard, nasally voice lifted a notch. “Oh?
Oh now really?” She stepped out of the boxes and hurried towards me. She stuck out her hand. “Well, in that case, it’s nice to meet you. Let’s have a seat, shall we?”

She towed me over to a row of boxes lined
up next to each other. “Here we are. Not fancy or nothin’, but this will do for a nice chat.”

“Martha will talk your ear off if you let her. Holler if you need any help
gettin’ away, darlin’.” He winked at me again, and then turned to Martha. “I’ll tend to the store.”

He left me with the older woman at my side, who odd
ly reminded me of a little girl withholding many secrets herself. A wrinkled, decrepit little girl, that is. I contained a shudder.

“So, you want to know about the
m Michaels, hmm? Well, now, that
is
a story. I been around these parts for quite some time. Heard a lot of things about a lot of different people, but none as tragic as that one.” She shook her head in pity.

“The
Michaels were well-known and well-liked ‘round here. They stayed at their cabin often throughout the year, skiing, boating...quite an active little family. And, ‘course, they would make frequent trips into town for fancy dinners and needless shopping. Great supporters of this town, they were. Always willing to buy and donate if things were slow for local business.”

“What do you know about their son, Damien?”

Martha’s eyes narrowed and she raised her index finger. “That boy...yes, that boy was a bit of a monster around here, even before word got out ‘bout what he’d most certainly done.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, he was getting into all sorts of trouble during their last visit. Nothin’ too major to begin with, of course. He pulled pranks on the locals, spray-painted a few walls, shoplifted here and there...Odd behavior for a kid who comes from that kinda wealth, if you want my opinion. He could’ve had anything he wanted, yet he still chose to sneak around and steal whatever would fit in his pockets or inside his jacket. Got caught a number of times here in town. His father had to come down and pick him up from the jailhouse. Had to pay the fine, too. Neighbors ‘round here say it was never a pleasant sight, or a quiet one either. Mr. Michaels would come late in the evening, hollering at his boy for what a ‘screw up’ and embarrassment he was to the family.”

I cringed, imagining the scene.

Martha looked at me in surprise and then chided, “Oh, don’t feel sorry for him. The boy deserved it. Back in my day, he would have been given a whoopin’ that would have left his hide raw. It’s too bad his father wasn’t harder on him to begin with. Perhaps it might’a prevented the worst that was to come.”

“What else happened?” I asked. Martha smiled
with enthusiasm, more than happy to share her wealth of gossip.

“There was talk he
had started hanging out with a rough crowd of older boys from Oakland the same year his family died in that awful fire. Sometimes he’d come through town with a large group of hooligans and commit all sorts of mischief, those nasty little rogues. Well, they were quite large, truth be told. Frighteningly so. Most of them were thick as tree trunks with skin brown as milk chocolate. Not sure where to place them in the world. One of those islands, I suppose. Either way, Damien Michaels stuck out like a sore thumb. Perhaps that is why everyone around here remembers him so well.”

“So, the fire
....” I prompted.

“Ah, yes, the fire.”
She shook her head again, letting out a remorseful sigh. “That poor, poor family. Maybe it wouldna’ happened had his father not threatened to send him away to military school.

“Trina
, the waitress at Ramsey’s Grill, just a ways down this street, says the family was over there for dinner. They had just done eatin’ their meal, and Trina was about to see if they cared for dessert. She heard Mr. Michaels tell Damien that he might be going to military school. The boy made such a fuss, yelling to the whole restaurant that he wished his family were dead, that he wished he’d never been a part of their family. And within a week, the cabin burned down, killing all of them but Damien. You can imagine the talk that stirred the community ‘round here.”

Quiet,
I sat there, ingesting this information. Could this spoiled, juvenile delinquent be the Damien I knew? I paused, rolling the last part of the question in my mind.

I could not deny how
powerfully I was drawn to him. Even the mere thought of his lips pressed against mine released the butterflies in my stomach. But did I know him? Did I know anything about him? Before now, that is...

Martha was watching me battle with my emotions, a look of curiosity in her eyes.

“Why so interested?” she asked me with sudden scrutiny.

I looked down at the ground, not trusting myself to speak. But it was impossible to hide the warm redness that flooded my face, betraying the deep connection I felt to Dami
en. Martha threw a shrewd smile at me.

“He’s found you, hasn’t he?
Swept you right off your feet from the looks of it.” Her voice was softer now, a hint of surprise and mockery touching her tone as she dissected my thoughts. “I’ve seen him now and again when he’s driven through town on that reckless bike of his. Grown into his looks now, hasn’t he? Dark haired, handsome young thing. I suspect you’re not the first Hidden Pines visitor to fall for him. You’re pretty, unsuspecting...and naïve.” The last word was harsh, hurtful.

I lifted my face to look at her, perplexed at her intended slight.

“If you know what’s good for you, Miss Collins, you best stay away from him. Dark pasts will always find a way to catch up with ya. You seem like a nice girl. It’d be a shame to read about you in the papers.”

“Did she say anything else?” Brooke asked me over the roar of the motor. We sat at the bow of the
ski boat with Dad behind the wheel. Looking over the edge, I tightened my life jacket, watching the water split and bubble while we picked up speed. The wide lake sparkled in the blazing afternoon sun, expanding until it touched the rim of the mountains around us.

I shook my head at Brooke’s question. “No, that was it.” I looked back at
Dad, who was driving with Clara sitting beside him. He waved, still happy that I was on the boat.

I lowered my voice, even though I knew the motor and the whipping air around us would drown it out. “
My dad called me right then, wondering where I was. So I left the souvenir shop and met him at the grocery store. This reminds me, you need to help me figure out what to make with clams, quinoa, and olives.”

“With
what
? What are you trying to make, vomit?”

“Hey, give me a break. I had to pick food items that I knew we wouldn’t have in the kitchen.”

“Or anyone’s kitchen,” Brooke added.

“Funny. But at least you see my dilemma. I told
my dad I was planning on making dinner tonight and needed special ingredients we didn’t already have. That’s why he thinks we drove into town this morning.”
              “And that’s what you came up with?” Brooke gagged. “Well, I’ll help you figure out what to make. Just don’t invite me over for dinner.”

“You’re a real pal.” I gave her a light shove.

“I know. So anyway. Back to Damien.” She hesitated, looking down at her feet for a moment. “Ok, I know this is opposite of what I was saying earlier, about giving him a chance and all. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if everything that Martha woman said is true, well, maybe you should keep your distance.” She bit her lip, waiting for my reaction.

“Having a bad past doesn’t make you a bad person, does it?”

“No, not necessarily. But it’s not like he just had a bad habit of shoplifting and vandalism, though apparently he was into that as well....” She grabbed my hand with both of hers.

“Allie, he might have killed his en
tire family on purpose. And if he didn’t, it’s bad enough that so many people believe him capable of it. The fire happened only a year and a half ago. How much do you think a person can change in that amount of time? And do you really want to risk finding out?”

The boat slowed to a stop, not easing the queasiness that stirred my stomach.

“Who’s up for a run?” Dad called out, looking towards the back of the boat at Nick and Aaron. “We have two boards today if you both want to go at the same time.”

I took a deep breath. “I’ll go.” All eyes shot my direction, looking as astonished as I felt inside. Ignoring the raised eyebrows and open mout
hs, I moved to the stern, placing myself between Nick and Aaron.

Dad
tried to hide the shock and excitement from his voice. “Ok, Allie’s up.” He handed me the board with a smile.

I was sure it was all he could do to contain himself. Had my nerves not been shooting up and down my spine, I might have laughed. I fastened one foot into the boot, sitting on the edge of the platform. I looked at the water and the small waves that popped up and dow
n below me. Despite my success swimming in the small spring, there was something different about being pulled behind a speedboat.

“So are you any good?” Aaron asked
, trying to maintain a casual conversation. He offered an encouraging smile.

I swallowed, looking up at him
and then back at the water. “I do all right.” My voice trailed off to a quiet mumble. “At least, I used to.”

“Maybe if you sit there long
enough, we’ll have just enough time to watch the sun go down. Get in or get out.” The impatience could only belong to one person.

“Nicholas, can I talk to
you for a minute?” Clara’s stern voice spoke from beside the wheel, with her arms crossed. She waited for her son, her eyebrows creased. Nick rolled his eyes but complied. She tugged him to the very front of the boat, her voice full of harsh whispers.

“Never too old to be chastised by your mother, I guess.” Aaron laughed, lightening the mood.

Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “You all set?”

“Yeah.
I guess I’m ready.” I paused a moment longer, before I scrunched my face and hopped into the water. I made a loud splash, sinking for an instant before the water buoyed me back up. The boat pulled away, tightening the slack in the rope. I wiped the water from my eyes.

“Ready, Allie?”
Dad called. His voice sounded far away. Looking around, I felt very small, curled up and bobbing inside this mass of water. I was on my own. There was no Damien to lean on for support. Not today. Maybe not ever again.

I swallowed hard, fighting against the ball of fe
ar in my stomach. I tried to calm my nerves, pocketing the image of Damien in my mind. His hand reaching out to me, guiding me into the water, but the image wavered and I let it go.

It’s now or never
, I thought, blowing out a breath of air.

I
raised my arm in the air, and then clenched the handle with both hands. The rope tightened. I felt the pressure behind my board at the same time I felt the pull of the rope in my hands. The water split as the rope yanked me onto my feet, the water rocky beneath me.

M
y mind flooded with images:

Maddie’s
pale face. Terrified blue eyes. My own lungs choking, gasping for air.

The rope tore out of my hands. I
plummeted face-first into the water. The images disappeared. Resurfacing, I spit out a mouthful of water and waited for the boat to pull around beside me.

C
hagrined, I met Dad’s concerned expression. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought I could do it.” Feeling miserable, I swam towards the ladder.

A large splash exploded in front of me, showering me with water. Aaron’s body popped back up, the second board
attached to one foot. He finished clasping his other foot into the boot.

“What are you doing?” I asked, once again wiping water out of my eyes. “I was just about to get out. You could have used my board if you waited just a minute.” I started to unfasten my feet.

Aaron grabbed my wrist. “Hang on a second.” He reeled in the rope and placed the handle in my hands. “Nick, throw on another rope, will you?”

Nick complied
with a grudging expression. He tossed the second rope to Aaron.

“R
eady to try again?” he asked me. His blue eyes glinted in the sun.

“Um, I
—”

Aaron d
idn’t wait for my answer. “We’ll be ready to go in just a minute, Mr. Collins!” He gave him a thumbs-up. Dad hesitated, trying to read my expression.

Too stunned to argue, I watched Aaron line up his rope parallel to mine. I stared at my hands gripping the handle as I heard the motor kick on. The boat pulled away to tighten the slack in the rope. I shook my head
in doubt.

“You’re wasting our time. I can’t do it right now.”

“Sure you can. Didn’t you tell me you already went swimming?” Aaron asked.

“Yes, but swimming in a small pool of water is one thing. Being pulle
d behind this boat—it feels like I’m not in control. Something else is in charge. Just like when I was in the river.”

“You can do it. I know you can
,” Aaron said.

“It’s too soon!”

“It will always feel too soon unless you keep trying.” Aaron leaned back against the rope, resting a couple of feet behind me with his longer rope.

I looked back at him in frustration. “You don’t know what this
feels like. You can’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But can I of
fer a suggestion?” He took my silence as a yes because he continued. “You just need to let go a little. Not of the rope, of course, unless you want to face-plant again.”

I didn’t laugh at his joke.

“Sorry. What I mean is, whatever you’re feeling, use it to your advantage. For instance, before my basketball games, everyone’s adrenaline is pumping. Their blood is flowing, the team is excited, nervous...Sometimes players let it get out of control on the court. They’re running all over the place, making sloppy passes, missing shots. They let the adrenaline control them. On the other hand, some players know how to channel that energy into good use. Their bodies are alert; their response is quick. The adrenaline becomes power rather than a hindrance. It’s all just a matter of how you use it.”

I raised my eyebrows in confusion. “What does this have to do with basketball?”

Aaron looked down, rubbing his lips together in thought. “Sorry. Basketball just makes sense to me.” He tried again.

“Ok. I know you’re scared and a little anxious. But those emotions are just energy. Put them to good use. Let go with your mind, and allow your body to put that energy to work.”

Skeptical, I nodded my head.

Aaron looked across to the boat where all heads were turned our way. He raised his hand. “We’re ready!”

Whatever I was feeling right now...I tried to empty my mind, letting my emotions flow through my torso, out to my limbs, my fingers. The handle was hard inside my grip, my feet planted against the board.

The rope pulled in my hands
. I leaned back, my rapid heart sending shocks of blood and endorphins through my veins...and then I was standing on my board, coasting across the crisp water. I inhaled as the wind tackled my face. My ponytail whipped behind me.

But I was soaring. The sense of triumph was exhilarating.

“There you go, Allie!” Aaron called from behind me.

I took a moment to glance
over my shoulder, grinning. Aaron glided twenty feet away, sliding to the opposite wake. From the boat, I could see Dad waving and Brooke clapping her hands.

No longer anchored by fear, my body recalled the motions so ingrained from years of wakeboarding. As the boat turned and curved my path, I tilted my board. I bent down and dipped my hand in the water, my fingertips slicing along
the surface. Straightening, I jumped as I caught air, grabbing the edge of my board before I landed a simple trick. The waves bounced beneath me when I came back down, attempting to knock me off my feet. Wobbling, my legs shook beneath me.

“Allie, hang in there!” Aaron called again.

My body flexed, tightening every muscle to regain control. I found my balance. I was in charge. My confidence returning, I beamed. I looked back to see Aaron zigzag back and forth, his board swooshing as it curved up against the waves. He flipped in the air, landing with a loud whoop.

I was not to be outdone. I popped up and twir
led through the air, spinning a 360. Landing with ease, I cut across Aaron’s path, meandering in front of him and laughing as I left a spray of water behind me.

“Is that the best you got?”

His taunting urged me on. Taking a deep breath, I flipped, spinning my board over my head. It was a short moment but I felt weightless, rotating through the air without a care in the world. The long-awaited euphoria trilled through my spine.

And then I stuck the landing, not turning to look back at the turbulent wake I left behind me.

***

The
sun was setting as I sat on the dock that evening. My legs draped over the edge, and I leaned back against the post with a sigh. The elation I had felt from this afternoon’s wakeboarding had surpassed. With the darkness approaching, I had another matter weighing on my mind.

I looked down at the pages stacked in my hands, the edges now crinkled on every side. My eyes fell across the words, stirring up the relentless confusion in my mind. Despite having read them over and over again, I was still at a loss of what to do or how to feel about Damien. Everyone’s words, inclu
ding his own, echoed in my mind:

“I’m not a good person, Allie.”

“He’s manipulating you...dangerous and unstable.”

“You’re naïve
...you best stay away from him.”