Page 7 of Barefoot Lake

She’s finally stopped her shrieking and abandoned the shed. Even from here, I can see the door is barely hanging on. I swear she’s determined to completely destroy Rain’s house.

I take an involuntary step toward my back door when I see my new neighbor approach Rain’s boat. I’m fiercely protective of the lake and have a sinking suspicion (pun intended) that this woman does not know how to handle a boat. After watching her nearly fall into the lake and flee back to her house, I release the doorknob I didn’t even realize I had grasped. She had yanked the boat around, banging it aggressively into the dock when she pulled it back in.

I drag my hand down my face and groan. She’s a menace.

My alarm is set for 5:30 a.m., but a low rhythmic thudding sound wakes me up before it has time to sound. I check the clock and see it’s just after five. The sound continues. My body must have already been waking up for the sound to have stirred me. It’s like somebody is very slowly hammering underwater.

I throw back the covers and roll out of bed, going to the window to see if anything is amiss. The upstairs bedroom window looks out over the lake, and everything seems fine at first glance, but the noise is coming from this direction. I force open the window and get hit with a blast of brisk air. It feels like a real New England fall, now.

Hearing the thud more clearly with the window open, I spot Rain’s boat lazily bumping against the dock every few seconds after drifting a couple of feet out into the lake, slowly unwinding more of the rope with each pull.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She can’t even tie a knot?

I heave the window closed with more force than is necessary and swap my pajama pants for thick sweatpants. I throw on a hoodie and my hat before grabbing some socks, trudging downstairs, and yanking on my boots.

My footfalls are heavy as I stomp down the steps to the lake and the back porch door slams shut behind me. I’m not nearly as quiet as I should be, considering the hour, but I’m getting real tired of picking up after my new neighbor. For half a second, I consider just leaving for the nursery and letting the boat drift out onto the lake, but I remember the joy on Rain’s face when she’d come back from a drive on the water and dismiss the thought. I’m keeping that house standing and that boat safe for her, even if it kills me. Her home deserves better. Rain deserves better.

Once on the dock, I grab the extended rope as the boat drifts to the end of its lead before beginning its sway back toward the dock and slowly tow the boat back in, pulling it snug against the wood. I carefully loop the rope around the post, tucking it so each loop holds the end of the rope beneath it. Confident the little boat won’t be taking any solo adventures today, I head back to my house but stop when I see the shed door barely hanging on.

I stop and look to the heavens.

This is for you, Rain.

Pivoting back to the door, I gingerly try to open it. The top hinge screws were ripped right out of the old wood on the door. The whole thing should really be replaced, but I can do a patch job for now. I spot a toolbox just inside the door and swipe at some spiderwebs to get to it. I find a screwdriver inside, unscrew the other hinges, and lay the door flat beside me.

It’s just barely starting to get light out, so I’m grateful there’s a flashlight in the toolbox. I quickly spot some wooden stakes that Rain previously used to support her tomato plants and decide she wouldn’t mind if I repurposed part of one to fix the door. I pry off a few splintered pieces from one end and jam them into the striped screw holes on the door.

I heave the door back up and begin reattaching it to the hinges in the frame, using slightly longer screws for the damaged hinge, so they can grip the new wood pieces as well as wood further into the door. I swing it back and forth a few times and am satisfied that it will hold for now.

As I’m putting back the toolbox, I spot a broom propped in the corner. Hunching to reach it, I begin cleaning out more spiderwebs, sending their inhabitants scurrying out of the shed. Find another home, fellas. This place is a mess. As I swipe around, the end of the broom hits a box on an overhead shelf that I hadn’t seen in the dark. It shifts and tumbles onto my shoulder, making me swear loudly before I shove it roughly back on the shelf and resume my tidying.

Why am I doing this, again?

I’m still bent over inside the shed when I hear a shout from behind me a few minutes later.

“Hey!”

I close my eyes for a moment, hoping I’ve imagined the furious voice, but knowing I haven’t. I let my head fall forward and take a deep breath. This is really not how I wanted to start today.

I guess my days of avoiding my new neighbor are over.

CHAPTER 6

Alice

By this point, I’m used to nature sounds waking me up with the sun, but the crashing and banging I hear this morning definitely isn’t naturally occurring, unless a moose is running around.

That isn’t a thing that actually happens, right?

A laugh huffs out of me at my own joke before I remember there’s a very real something making noise somewhere on my property.

I reluctantly roll out of bed, letting gravity help me up. While I’m figuring out which way is up, there’s a particularly loud thud, followed by a low voice grunting an angry curse.

Oh shit – it is a person – but it thankfully doesn’t sound like they’re inside… yet. My heartbeat skyrockets as an image of my undiscovered, decaying body flashes in my mind. I really need to make friends out here and avoid that bleak future. I look around my room quickly before remembering that I plugged my phone into the charger by the couch while I was watching a movie last night. I forgot to grab it before coming to bed.

I crouch down as if that will help and sneak over to the window that looks out back. I peek around the curtains, but an overgrown branch blocks most of my view of my yard. I make a mental note to get that trimmed and tiptoe down the stairs. I scamper to the kitchen, grabbing my cell on the way. I punch in 9-1-1 but don’t dial yet. I don’t want to call if there’s no emergency.

I snatch up the iron skillet sitting on the stove a-la-Rapunzel and follow the sounds to the back of the house and toward the lake. This is for sure a terrible idea, but I shift the kitchen window curtain aside just barely and peek outside.