10
ASTRID
The indoor swimming pool is on the other side of town, so after leaving Cake and Coffee and collecting the girls from the ballet studio, we split up to drive separately to our sisters’ next lesson. I arrive first, with Callan sliding into the space beside my car in the parking lot at the back of the building.
After we’ve deposited the girls, we take seats in the observation area. Several of the moms openly stare at Callan while others are whispering and pointing at him, and it’s rude as fuck. I want to storm over and remind them they are married women with young, impressionable daughters, who look to them as role models, and far too old to be leering at a high school senior the way they are, but making a scene would only embarrass Callan. I don’t know if he has noticed, but it’s disgusting, and it’s creepingmeout. “Want to get out of here?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Desperately.”
“Come on.” Grabbing his arm, I all but drag him out through the front door.
“Fan i helvete,” I hiss, incensed on Callan’s behalf.
“Tell me that means what I think it means.”
“Which is?” I ask, grappling with my irrational anger.
“Fucking whores.”
I almost choke on my tongue before I burst out laughing. Callan joins in, and we receive some strange stares from a few latecomers who are hustling kids into the building.
“No, that would bejävla horor.”
He repeats it a few times, and it’s funny as fuck hearing him say it in his Irish accent. “I think I like fucking whores better,” he admits after a few attempts. “It sounds nastier, which fits the occasion.”
“Either works.”
“What does what you said mean?” he asks, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Fan i helvetemeans fucking hell.”
“I need to start writing these down.” Removing his phone from his back pocket, he slides his finger across the screen.
I focus on calming down while he types in some notes.
“What now?” he asks when he’s finished.
“Have you been to the Whispering Lake yet?”
He shakes his head. “Haven’t heard of it.”
“You need to see it.” I lift one shoulder and turn my head toward the large, wooded area in the distance. “It’s not popular because it’s smaller and on this side of town, which is mostly nonresidential, but I like to walk around there when I need to clear my head. It’s through those woods. The Whispering Woods.”
His brows tip up. “Whispering Lake and Whispering Woods?”
A giggle bursts from my lips. “I know. It sounds like fantasy land, but there is a story behind it.”
“I’m intrigued, and I definitely need to see it.”
“Okay, we’d best hurry if we want to be back in time for the girls.”
We take off walking at a fast pace, and I start explaining. “So, I don’t know if this is actually true or just town gossip or an urban legend, but the story goes that a reclusive Scottish inventor bought the land in the late eighteen hundreds and built a house for his native Vermonter bride.”
“What did he invent?” Callan asks as we cross over the road, heading toward the entrance to the forest.
“Lots of things, but it was his tire invention that put him on the map and generated the kind of wealth that enabled him to buy the property for his beautiful new wife.”
“How romantic,” he deadpans.
