Page 6 of Barefoot Lake

I tell him a bit about my life back in Boston and how I worked in the English department at a large university, but I had a planned sabbatical for this semester because I was taking care of my mom. I tell him I needed to lose some dead weight back in the city, and Wilcox Grove called me up.

He gives me a knowing look out of the corner of his eye and simply says, “I have kids. I know what it means when somebody doesn’t appreciate what they’ve got, and he didn’t appreciate what he had with you.”

Grateful Bob seems to know something about everything. He offered to help with Mom’s boat once it comes time to take it out of the water and shared some stories about people I haven’t met, the old gossip.

As I’m walking Grateful Bob around the house and back to his car, I finally pluck up the courage to ask about Neighbor. Jerking my head in the direction of the other house, I ask, “Do you know who lives there?”

“Jake? Yeah. He’s lived up here his whole life. Always been a nice boy.”

“Is he… a hermit?” I awkwardly ask.

Grateful Bob barks out a laugh. “He keeps somewhat to himself, but no. He owns Wilcox Nursery and had to go raise some trees to bring back for his new field. The last batch he got delivered was diseased, so he went himself to make sure they’d be alright this time. It’s been a bit now, so I expect he’ll be back soon.”

Once I realized the nursery was for plants and not children, picking up trees made more sense.

A yellow sticky note on Mom’s fridge flashes in my mind – with a “J” and a phone number. Is “J” for “Jake”?

Engaging in my ongoing war with the house has kept me on my toes. I find a new “quirk” every day. The drawer under the oven won’t open unless I kick it on the right side first. The bench swing on the back patio gives sizable splinters. The railing by the stairs out front now wobbles from how many times I’ve fallen into it because of the trick step. And I’ve blown more fuses than I can admit to anybody I respect. It’s literally mortifying. “Charming house” indeed, Mom.

As the days pass, I start noticing changes around the house, and they’re not ordinary things. It seems like the house is… healing? One day, as I walk to my car, I notice my one, sad bundle of firewood no longer sits alone in the wood storage rack. The iron structure has been filled and is covered with a dark green tarp.

I peek around my house to eye Jake’s warily, but it’s as silent as ever. As Grateful Bob predicted, though, I do think he’s back from his trip. I know I’ve heard his car late at night and early in the morning — before the sun has risen — but I haven’t seen a shadow of him or a light on in the home. I even try knocking again, but there is still no answer. The blackout curtains on those front windows were certainly closed by somebody. I think he might be actively avoiding me and decide to give him his space.

A few days later, I come home from the pharmacy to find my lawn has been mowed. Either that or Bambi had come by with a hundred of his closest friends and done the fastest eating I’d ever seen. The next week, I’m climbing the front steps and mistakenly put my foot on the bad part of the wood, but it doesn’t flip up. It’s solid. So is the banister I’m clutching out of habit.

Other than (presumably) Jake’s midnight arrivals and sunrise departures, I never hear a sound or see anybody around my house, and the fact that I can be so oblivious makes me a little nervous. Does New Hampshire come supplied with handyman wood nymphs in addition to raccoons, deer, and four billion mosquitos? At least, it seems like my visitor is benevolent.

I feel guilty that somebody else has been taking care of my house and finally resolve to investigate Mom’s boat and the shed beside it to take inventory of that situation. I haven’t resorted to calling Grateful Bob for help with the boat — yet. I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness and be a nuisance. I can at least check things out on my own first.

I put the boat keys in my pocket and head down the stairs toward the lake and over to the dock. The boat is happily bobbing in the water to the right of the dock and a sizable, enclosed shed is half on land and half over the water to the left. I unlatch the shed door, pull it open, and peer inside.

I instantly feel like there’s a stray hair on my face and swat at my cheek, trying to brush it away. Then, I feel a tickle on my forearm. Another on my neck. And another… and another.

I fling myself backward and crash heavily into the door and it makes an angry cracking sound under my weight. I’m not sure what sound comes out of my mouth, or if it’s even words. It’s possible I’ve just invented some brand-new swear words. I dance around, flailing my arms and pulling at my clothes, trying to remove the spiders that were upset by my disruption of their home.

With my heart pounding and hands shaking, I heave the door closed. It hangs crooked since my fall snapped it off the top hinge but fixing it will be a problem for another day, assuming I don’t decide just to burn the whole thing down. There were a lot of spiders.

I bend at the waist with my hands on my hips for a few minutes, catching my breath before warily peering over at the boat. It’s a bit dirty from dust that got turned into mud from rain and then dried, but it doesn’t seem to have succumbed to the spider overlords yet.

I head down the dock and put one foot on the boat before I begin untying its rope from around a solid post. Maybe a gentle drive around the lake and the wind in my hair is what I need to feel calm again. It takes some persuading to get the rope to let go after remaining tied for so long, but it eventually gives. I’m holding it in my hand as my legs begin to steadily drift apart from one another. I throw myself onto the dock, choosing the sturdier of my two feet to favor before I do the splits or end up in the lake. I hastily loop the rope several times around the post.

You win today, dock. I retreat back to the house, sweaty and with a few years shaved off my life.

I should have just called Grateful Bob.

CHAPTER 5

Jake

What on earth is this girl doing? I stand at my kitchen sink, looking out the window that faces the lake and watching my new neighbor jerk and flail across her yard. Her yelps drew me to the back of my house, and I half expected to find her on fire from the sounds she was making.

When I got home two weeks ago, she was just there. I guess I knew somebody had to buy Rain’s house eventually, but I was hoping it would take longer to sell than it did. I’d really hoped it would just stay empty. Rain was a good neighbor, but I like my privacy. More importantly, I like the quiet. This new woman doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word.

I probably should have introduced myself by now, but I’ve been avoiding the human-shaped tornado. I make sure I leave for the nursery before any sane human would be awake and stay out as late as I can working or with Eli just to minimize the chance that I bump into her. I’m rarely home, but when I am, it’s easy enough to keep to myself until I see her car drive away.

I can practically hear Rain’s voice in my head, scolding me for being rude and un-neighborly. She had said the same thing to my face when I hadn’t welcomed Rain herself five years ago.

In my defense, I didn’t know Rain had come to stay. The house next to mine had spent a few years as a rental property, and I was used to different groups of inconsiderate vacationers stomping through one after the next. If I were lucky, this new person would also be temporary, but I wasn’t holding my breath. People didn’t usually come to vacation at lake houses when the weather was getting colder. Chances are, she bought the place.