Page 4 of Barefoot Lake

I stop by my car to grab the bag of food I’d brought with me and head back inside. I drop the food in the kitchen and go upstairs.

Both bedrooms are mostly cleaned out and packed away. I poke my head into the bathroom.

A plain sheet covers towels and linens in the bathroom closet, protecting everything from dust. New bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, shaving lotion, and hand soap are lined up on the sink. I find cleaning supplies in the cabinet underneath and get to work. Mom did a great job protecting as much as possible, but the whole house still needs vacuuming and a good wipe-down.

Downstairs, I start a load of the random sheets she had used to cover things and get to work. I spend the day snacking and cleaning and am thoroughly exhausted by the time evening rolls around.

I step outside to finally get some more bags from my car, hopefully including one with pajamas, but screech and fling myself back inside when I see a raccoon launch from under my back bumper and into the woods. I always thought I liked raccoons and would react well to seeing one in the wild, but here we are, likely both nursing pounding hearts.

After heaving and hip-checking windows and doors closed so none of nature can get inside, I frantically bolt up the stairs and change into a robe I found in the bathroom. I flop on the bed and fall asleep right in the middle of the stripped mattress, oblivious to the pouring rain starting outside.

Funnily enough, it turns out Mom is right even after death. I blew a fuse four more times today.

CHAPTER 3

Alice

Iwake up early the next morning to the shockingly loud sound of birds chittering among themselves and a soft whistle from the breeze outside. I always imagined homes outside of the city to be quiet without blaring horns and Diesel engines growling past the windows at all hours of the night, but I guess there’s just a different kind of symphony out here.

Surprisingly invigorated, I hop right in the shower before remembering that it takes time for the water to warm up. If I wasn’t awake before, I certainly am now.

After showering and putting the robe back on, I try unloading my car again. Today, I lose the battle with the side door. There’s no chance it’s opening after a night of rain. Instead, I go out the front door and come face-to-face with a surprised deer on my front lawn, no more than two feet away from me at the base of the steps. I freeze, and my mouth pops open.

Where the heck AM I?

The deer overcomes its shock much quicker than I do and lazily walks away, disappearing into the forest.

Sorry for interrupting your breakfast, Bambi.

Maybe they’ll come back for some more grass later, so I don’t have to figure out how to mow a lawn. I’ve never had my own yard to care for before.

I take a few very quick trips to unload my car, extremely aware that I’m only in a robe. Thankfully, Neighbor’s house stays quiet, and no other animals come by to say hello.

I leave my bags in the living room for now and take pride in the fact that I only stepped on the broken step once, and when I did, I still didn’t fall.

I throw on jeans and a sweater from one of my bags but leave unpacking for later. Food is a must, and there’s nothing in the house. Mom’s note, pleasantly cooled from sitting inside the fridge directs me to the grocery store. I punch the address into maps on my phone, and take off. A quick glance at Neighbor’s house as I turn through the trees toward the road tells me there’s still no sign of life over there and no car out front.

On my way to the grocery store, I stop at the post office to check the PO Box. Yet another note in a kitchen drawer informed me that, in addition to not getting trash service, the lake house also doesn’t get mail service. I wait in line to speak with somebody about picking up my mom’s mail and getting my name added to the box. An older woman with kind eyes summons me forward after a few minutes. Handing over my license, I ask about the PO Box.

“Alice McDermott… you must be Rain’s daughter, then?” She has a light southern drawl, not a common accent in New England, and her name tag says Bets.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say hesitantly. I’m not used to anybody knowing anything about anyone. The Boston metro area has almost five million people, and everyone goes about their own business.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. She’s good people.” Bets gently pats my hand on the counter between us. I bite hard on the inside of my bottom lip to keep from crying and give a jerky nod in appreciation. Apparently, I don’t mind strangers knowing my business when they’re warm like Bets and still use the present tense when talking about Mom. Who knew the post office could get me right in my feelings?

She gives my hand a light squeeze before leaving to go get Mom’s mail.

“You’re Rain McDermott’s kid?” a gravelly voice comes from my right.

The voice comes from a tall, lanky man with long, white hair tied back in a low ponytail. He’s wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt with jeans and work boots, but it’s his denim jacket that catches my attention, covered with patches from seemingly everywhere. I quickly spot one from the Marines, one from the library, and half a dozen with what look like black and white ducks on them. Thin old people usually seem frail, but he’s got sharp eyes and seems sturdy. Honestly, he could be anywhere between sixty-five and a hundred years old.

I realize I’ve been silently gawking at him when he holds out his hand.

“I’m Grateful Bob. I live a few houses down from Rain’s old place. I really enjoyed having her around, and I’m sorry she’s gone. I assume the house is yours now?” He smiles kindly and looks sort of over my shoulder like he’s remembering her. Mom had mentioned Grateful Bob before, but her description of a “kind old man” didn’t do him justice.

“Yeah, it’s mine now. And thanks. She talked about you a lot. It’s a real pleasure.” Mom told me he makes up a new explanation for his nickname every time somebody asks, and I’d be doing her a disservice if I didn’t get my own answer.

“How’d you get the nickname Grateful Bob?”