Page 8 of Barefoot Lake

I see the boat gently rocking side-to-side in the water and the unmistakable figure of a man in the shed beside the dock. This man has to be the worst trespasser ever because he’s on his way to waking up the entire lake, animal and human alike. Un-fucking-believable.

Rational thought isn’t on the menu this morning because I’m out the door and shouting at this stranger before I can think better of it. My feet are bare, and I’m in my pajamas, but at least the pan is still in my hand. So is my phone, but I haven’t dialed the police yet. I really, really don’t want to make trouble if there isn’t any, and I’ve made it this far in life handling things on my own.

“Hey!” I unintelligently holler at him.

He doesn’t react.

“Hey, ASSHOLE!” I shout even louder.

Slowly, the hunched figure backs out of the shed toward me, and he turns his head to look over his shoulder. I’m met with the most disinterested expression I’ve ever seen. Apologies for interrupting your vandalism, sir.

“This is private property,” I say stupidly.

“I know,” he says in a gruff voice as he turns completely and stands to his full height.

He’s wearing dark sweatpants and a charcoal hoodie that stretches around his biceps as he crosses his arms. He has a baseball cap on, so I can’t see his whole face. It’s kind of a cozy outfit for a looter. I realize he’s massive and lose some of my steam. If he’s a criminal, I’m for sure going to die.

“So, you-you need to leave.”

Way to go, Alice. Very authoritative. I’m about to hit “call” on my phone when he looks up, and I can see his face.

He doesn’t look evil. He looks… bored? Inconvenienced? He huffs a sigh, and his slouched shoulders are definitively non-threatening. Since coming to Wilcox Grove, I’ve been existing on vibes, and the vibes tell me he’s ok.

“I’m done. So, you can get back to…” He glances at the pan clutched in my fist. “Breakfast.” He turns toward the neighboring house. Is this… Jake?

“You’re done? Done with what?” I prickle at being brushed off so easily by the Brawny man.

He spins back to me, clearly irritated.

“You’ve been treating this place like shit. If you’re going to have a boat, learn about boats. This place is home for some people, not some cute place for you to traipse through and destroy. And stop leaving your garage door open!” Not only does he completely ignore my question, but now he’s scolding me like I’m a child.

“Excuse me?” I literally cannot find other words to combat the audacity of this man. But I also hadn’t even realized I’d been leaving the garage door open.

“You’re excused,” he grunts and starts walking away toward the house next to mine. Great. This is Neighbor Jake. And Neighbor Jake is a jerk.

“What the hell is your problem?” I start marching after him, riled up all over again.

“The lady who lived here cared about this place. You should, too,” he barks so coldly that I stop short and take a step back like he’s slapped me.

Does this giant think he knows more about my mom than I do? The balls he’s got to have. My mouth opens, but I have no words that match the incredulousness I feel.

My pause gives him enough time for his long legs to carry him across his yard and patio and to his back door. He wrenches it open, goes in, and it slams shut before I can say another word.

After a quick glance back to the dock to make sure he didn’t untie my boat just to spite me, I decide to go after him. YOLO, right? Grateful Bob said Jake’s a good boy, so what could go wrong? Since he took it upon himself to trespass on my property, I have no qualms about doing the same to him, and I barge right into his home.

Just like in my house, the door leads to the kitchen, and Oscar the Grouch is at the sink washing his hands. I’ll admit I’m disappointed that he doesn’t jump when I charge in, not even a little.

“I don’t know where you get off speaking to me that way, but it doesn’t work for me.” I’m no longer shouting, but I can still feel my anger vibrating under my skin. “That ‘lady’ was my mother, and you have no right to assume anything about how I feel about that house. I’m doing my fucking best, ok?”

He stops moving, and the water runs over his still hands. He blinks with realization.

“You’re Dumbo,” he says quietly, looking at me and using the nickname my mom had called me for as long as I can remember. She said it was payback for how many times I made her play the Disney movie when I was a baby. Some days, it was all that would keep me from shrieking.

Hearing the name takes all the wind out of my sails. My throat suddenly feels sandpaper dry.

“It’s Alice.” My voice comes out as barely a whisper, one distinctly scratchy and hoarse.

Jake looks confused and personally offended by my name.