Cabin by the Lake (2 page)

Lydia stepped into her apartment, hoping her roommate was already in bed. Jessie was a sweet girl who talked a lot. Tonight she wasn’t in the mood to listen. She wished she could afford a place of her own, but waitressing was not a high-paying job. Her feet hurt and she wanted nothing more than to relax in a hot bath.

Jessie’s cheerful face greeted her, her makeup case open on the coffee table. “You’re home early, great! We got some samples in today, and I’ve got something way better than the smoky eye. The cat eye is all the rage now, and with your green eyes, this will be a fabulous look for you. Sit down and let me work my magic. You’ll be amazed!”

“Oh, that’s so sweet, but I got some bad news today, and I’m really not up for a makeover. Maybe another time, huh?”

Jessie was instantly concerned. “What happened?”

“I found out that my Uncle Todd died.”

“I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

She deposited her purse on the bench beside the front door and collapsed on the couch. Yes, she’d been close. When her mother called her at work this morning to tell her about the new man she was dating, she had been slammed with breakfast orders and had little interest in her mother’s love life.

“I’m really busy, Mom. Can we talk about this later?”

“Well, if you had a cell phone, we could talk any time. I just have to grab you when I can. You’re as bad as your Aunt Vivian. Ever since Todd died, she has no time for me anymore. It’s not like she has anything to do now, so you’d think—”

“Wait, back up,” she said, focusing on her mother’s last words. “What do you mean? Uncle Todd died?”

“Of course he died, Lydia,” Katie snapped impatiently.

She was bewildered. “When did that happen? When is the funeral?”

“The funeral was two years ago. Oh, right, now I remember. I tried to get in touch with you, but when I called, you were moving into your new apartment and you didn’t have time to talk, so I guess I just forgot.”

Lydia was almost left without the ability to speak. “You forgot? You mean, you just forgot to tell me that Uncle Todd died?”

“Now, don’t make this all about you.”

“Two years ago? You forgot for two years?”

She knew her uncle had been sick for a long time, but she had been under the impression that he was getting better. “Mom, seriously, did you even try? Really, you came by my apartment six months ago. You could have told me then.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I have a lot of important things on my mind. And anyway, you haven’t even spoken to Vivian and Todd since, well, before your unfortunate incarceration. Besides, I figured you didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. And you know, you always cause some kind of trouble, so I thought I’d just leave it be.”

She closed her eyes tightly shut, as if to block out her mother’s words. Katie could turn any conversation around to include a reminder of her past mistakes. “Mom, I haven’t seen them in a long time, but I loved Uncle Todd. I should have been there for Aunt Vi.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Vivian was a basket case, anyway, walking around like a zombie. I doubt she missed you. She hasn’t even mentioned you not being there at the funeral, which is not surprising after the mean way you talked to her that time.”

A pang of hurt went through her heart. Of all the relationships in her life, the one she’d had with her aunt was the one she regretted losing the most. “I can’t believe you would bring that up again, Mother,” she said coldly.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Lydia. Facts are facts, and I can’t just wave a magic wand and make the things you said and did go away. You need to grow up, girl, and realize you’ve got to live with your mistakes.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and counted to ten. “I live with my mistakes every day, Mom. I’ve got to get back to work now.”

“I can’t believe you’re still waitressing at that bar.”

“It’s not a bar, Mom. It’s Barney’s Diner.”

“Whatever. That’s so trashy. You’re twenty-eight years old, for gosh sakes. Don’t you think you should look for a job that’s a little classier?”

“I’m looking, Mom. Anne is trying to help me find something better.”

“Anne, your old parole officer,” she said, disapproval apparent in her voice. “I can’t believe the people you choose for friends. I hate to say it, Lydia, but frankly, I’m embarrassed to tell my friends what you do for a living. At least your sister Brittany is—”

“I’ve really got to go. Talk to you later.” She hung up before she could hear about her beautiful, successful sister. There was just so much she could take. It never changed. Her mother could find a way to work some sort of criticism into any conversation.

She replaced the receiver on the old wall phone and leaned her head against it.

“You okay?” asked Barney. He was sixty-five, rough around the edges, but he’d been very kind to her and gave her as many hours a week as he could.

“I need a minute,” she said.

“Sure, the morning rush is slowing; take a break.”

She locked herself in the grungy bathroom in the back and began to cry. Uncle Todd had been a huge influence in her life. As men rotated in and out of her mother’s life, Todd had been the one constant father-figure who had always been there. Strong, quiet and steady, he was always there for a hug and would let her hang around in his garage while he worked on a project, listening as she chattered on incessantly, nodding his approval when she looked to see if he was paying attention.

He and Aunt Vi were like one entity, always together, and when she was with them, she felt surrounded by safety and love. Time seemed to slow down when she was at the lake. She and Brittany stayed with them the summer she was nine while her mother was on her honeymoon with her third husband. Vivian taught her to sew that summer, patiently showing her how to hand-stitch neatly and evenly, giving her projects a professional look.

When she got home that fall, she’d been full of creative fervor, and made colorful tie-dyed pillows for her bed with matching curtains. She was eager to have a more grown-up room, and she worked tirelessly, painting peace signs on picture frames and stringing beads to hang on the wall above her bed. She hot-glued scraps of fabric on the border of her bulletin board, and was so pleased with the results. She thought it might be the coolest bedroom ever.

A month later they moved to a McMansion in a gated neighborhood—a step up, socially—and Katie hired a professional decorator to design the entire house, top to bottom. All of her creative work was discarded in favor of a tasteful white canopy bed with monochromatic shades of peach and heavy flowered drapery tied back around the cushioned window seat.

She felt as if she were living in someone else’s room, someone who was boring and, quite possibly, already dead. That whole house seemed like a museum to her, and she was never allowed to insert her own personal touches that would make the room her own.

But Vivian’s influence served her well now. She and Jessie had decorated their apartment with every thrift store and yard sale find that they could drag home. Her creative juices flowed. Everything in the apartment had been repainted, re-glued or reupholstered. The result was a cheerful environment that she knew was tacky—because her mother had said so during her one visit—but she was very comfortable there. It fit her personality and her budget. She felt extremely fulfilled when she resurrected something that had been thrown away and made it beautiful and useful again.

She would like to do the same with her own life. If she could just paint over her past with a fresh coat of re-do, and embroider over hurtful words that should never have been said, she could escape the burden of the bad decisions that haunted her.

But now Uncle Todd was dead. Dead was dead; final and over. She didn’t even get to say goodbye. It may have happened two years ago, but it was right now to her. She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the spotted mirror. She didn’t like what she saw, but she didn’t know how to change it.

She could hear the lunch-crowd noise picking up, and knew she had to get back to work. Barney was a patient man, but she was grounded in reality, and the tips she received made all the difference between paying her bills and going under. She pulled herself together and went back to waitressing, a smile on her face and a spring in her step. One didn’t get big tips for being a sour puss.

Now she explained to Jessie that they had been very close at one time, but she hadn’t seen her aunt and uncle in ten years.

“Are you going to the funeral?”

“No, you’re not going to believe this, but he died two years ago. My mother just got around to telling me this morning.”

She slipped out of her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table. It felt so good to be off her feet, she didn’t think she had the energy to get up again.

“This was your aunt and uncle who live on the lake, right?”

“Yes, and I wish I could have been at the funeral.”

Jessie shook her head. “Your mother is a real piece of work.”

She rolled her shoulders, feeling the tension slowly leave her body. She couldn’t get her mind off of Vivian. She should call her. Or write a letter. Or send a card. But she couldn’t. Not after the way she’d behaved the last time she saw her. She didn’t think Vivian would want to hear how sorry she was that Uncle Todd died, especially now that two years had passed. She was sure Aunt Vi thought she didn’t care. She ached inside for the closeness they had once shared that she’d thrown away so recklessly.

She could remember, when she was little, pretending that Vivian was her real mother. Life was slow and uncomplicated when she lived at the lake. It was only for short periods of time, vacations and summers, but those visits stood out in her mind more clearly than the rest of her life, where all of Katie’s attention was centered on her sister Brittany.

Vivian never found fault with her. She always seemed to be interested in what she thought, and what she said. Everything she knew about cooking, she learned from her. She patiently let her help in the kitchen, even though there was always a big mess to clean up. She took up for her when her mother criticized because she’d gotten her clothes dirty down by the lake catching frogs, or her hair hadn’t been brushed.

“Let her be a kid,” Vivian had said one Sunday morning in her defense.

Her words just made Katie snatch the brush through Lydia’s tangles even harder, and that morning Vivian grabbed the brush from her sister’s hand.

“You’re hurting her.”

Katie was angry. “I told her to get ready. She knew we had to leave for church soon. And what does she do? Goes up to the garage and pesters Todd when she should have been minding me. The way she looks is a reflection on me. Give me that brush.”

Vivian stood her ground. “I’ll finish. You go on and—”

Katie grabbed the brush but Vivian wouldn’t let go. They stood frozen in a tug-of-war for a long moment, Katie glaring at her older sister, but Vivian was stronger. By that time Lydia had tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Fine!” Katie finally said, and leaned over, her face close to her daughter’s. “You are a brat!”

When she stomped out, Vivian gathered Lydia in her arms. “You are definitely not a brat,” she said, wiping away her tears. “You’re perfect, and I think you have the most beautiful hair; not all crazy like mine.” She shook her cascade of unruly curls and made her niece laugh. She began to gently brush out the snarls and by the time Todd cranked the car, they looked like the picture-perfect family.

Now Lydia shook her head to clear out the memories. Thinking about the past made her sad. She went to bed exhausted, and the next morning looked forward to a better day.

The diner was busy, and she pulled a double shift because her relief was a no-show. She often came home alone after Barney’s closed at two in the morning, and never thought much about it. But this time it was different. She had no sooner parked her Volkswagen in front of the apartment and gotten out when three skulking figures emerged from the gloom beside her front stoop.

“Hey, baby. Long time, no see.” She recognized the man as Leon, one of Rocco’s old clients. He was one of the rough crowd she tried hard to avoid. His companions looked even meaner than he did. One was tall and bald, and the other had tattoos of teardrops dripping from the corner of one eye.

Her heart slammed against her chest.

“You remember me, right? Sure, I see you do.”

“Hi, how are you?” she said, trying to casually slip by, as if this encounter were a normal chance meeting of old friends.

“Hold up,” he said. “See, my friends and me, we’re in a bad way and we’re lookin’ to score. You know?”

“Sorry,” she said, backing up the steps. Leon was twitching as he talked, and she could see that he was, indeed, in a bad way. “I don’t know anyone who’s into that anymore. Sorry.”

“Come on now, don’t be holdin’ back on your old pal.”

“I don’t have any drugs, Leon.”

“Lemme see,” Baldy said, snatching her purse from her and dumping out the contents in the middle of the street.

“Hey, no need to get rough.” Leon chastised Baldy in a friendly tone, even though his twitching was getting worse. He turned to Lydia, shuffling from foot to foot as he reached out and took her arm. She could feel his grip jittering through her jacket sleeve. “Look, we’ve got to roll. Sorry about your purse,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “But, see, here’s the problem: we’re short. We need another hundred to score tonight. You look like you could spot me a hundred, Lydia. Huh? See, I wouldn’t ask but—”