The Lake

here and there reaching down from the banks. She wondered if Charlie’s place was nearby, maybe on the other side of one of the islands.

If so, there was a chance she might see him when he rowed out with his baskets.

The white top of her bobber rode the small waves, rising and falling. She watched it. She watched the lake.

Her thoughts returned to last night. She let the images play through her mind, the feelings come back. It was almost like being with him again.

She would be with him again, this afternoon. They would go to his secret place.

I’ll take along the suntan oil, she thought.

Charlie would spread it over her naked body, then she would rub it on him. She pictured their skin gleaming with oil. She felt them squirming together, all slippery.

In just a few more hours.

She watched her bobber. She watched the lake.

There was no sign of Charlie.

Maybe he’d started early and was already on one of the other lakes. Of course. He would have wanted to finish his selling rounds as fast as possible so he could be ready to meet her.

At three o’clock.

She wondered if she could stand to wait that long.

At two-thirty, Leigh left the cabin after telling Mike and Jenny she planned to “go exploring” in the canoe.

They said to have fun.

Her heart thudded hard as she made her way down to the shore. She felt tight and trembly inside. She wore her fresh shorts, just as she had planned, and a red sleeveless blouse. She carried a towel. Rolled inside the towel was the plastic bottle of suntan oil.

She pushed the canoe into the water, wading out for a few steps before climbing aboard. She took out the suntan oil, then knelt on the towel and paddled away.

Though Leigh wanted bright sunlight for the rendezvous, there were high clouds shadowing the lake.

If the sun’s not out, she thought, we won’t glisten.

There wasn’t even a cool breeze to compensate for the sun’s loss. The air was still and muggy.

Leigh’s blouse clung to her back. It was tucked into her shorts, and it pulled at her shoulders each time she leaned forward.

After passing Carson’s Camp, she swung the bow eastward. She blinked sweat out of her eyes.

Awfully muggy.

Resting the paddle across the gunnels, she looked around. The nearest other boat was so far off that the people aboard were vague and without features. She tugged her blouse out of her shorts and lifted the front to wipe her face. She wished she could take it off, but she wore nothing beneath it.

Guys are so lucky, she thought. They can take off their shirt in weather like this.

She unbuttoned her blouse, lifted it around her lower ribs, and tied the front.

A lot better.

She picked up the paddle and dug it into the water. The canoe started forward again. Soon, it was shooting over the calm surface.

She kept a close watch on the southern shore. At last, she spotted a field of lily pads with a narrow path of open water down the middle. This had to be the channel to Goon Lake. She swung the prow toward it.

The canoe glided in, a bit to the left of the open water. The lily pads rustled like paper against the hull. Setting down the paddle, she let the canoe drift. She was out of breath, drenched with sweat. She pulled the towel out from under her knees and wiped her face with it. She wiped the back of her neck, and was glad she wore the ponytail; it kept the hair off her neck. Still gasping for breath, she plucked open the knot to let her blouse fall open. She rubbed her dripping sides and belly and chest.

As soon as the towel was gone, her skin felt damp again.

It was the heavy, hot, humid, suffocating air.

Air that smelled faintly of rain.

She wished it would rain.

Fat chance.

Leigh paddled farther into the channel. Ahead, there was no sign of Goon Lake. She looked behind her. Wahconda was out of sight.

Dragonflies hovered over the carpet of pads. She saw a green frog hop and splash. The motionless air seemed silent, but she realized it was noisy with buzzes, chitters, water plops, bird squawks, and chirrups. No human sounds; that’s what made it seem like silence.

Leigh took her blouse off. She leaned over the side with it, the canoe tipping slightly, the aluminum gunnel pushing hot against her breast, then she plunged her blouse into the water. She lifted it out. It dripped on her thighs. She sighed deeply as she pressed the wet, cool fabric to her face. She dunked it again, shook it open, and swept it against her torso. It plastered her from shoulder to waist.

She peeled it down, soaked it one more time, then struggled into it and tied the front again.

It had felt good while it lasted.

It hadn’t lasted long.

She needed to be in the water. Swimming. With Charlie.

Soon now.

Slowly, she paddled forward.

The channel curved one way, then the other. From the air, it must look like stacked S’s. Or a snake, she thought. This is probably a good place for water snakes, though she hadn’t noticed any so far.

She kept dipping the paddle in, drawing it back slowly, trying not to exert herself as she guided it along the twisting channel.

Finally, she came out at the other end. She laid the paddle across the gunnels. As she folded the towel and sat on it, her eyes swept Goon Lake. It was much smaller than Wahconda, maybe half the size. Like Wahconda, most of the piers and dwellings were along the western shore. She saw a skier being towed behind a motorboat, and three other boats off in the distance with people fishing. She didn’t see Charlie.

Maybe he hit a delay.

Maybe he was doing a brisk business in baskets and didn’t want to cut it short.

There were several small islands. One of them could be blocking Charlie from her view.

She waited.

He was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was still over on Willow Lake.

Leigh considered heading over to Willow, but she had no idea where the channel might be. She supposed she could find it. If she tried, however, there was some chance she might miss Charlie. He could end up waiting here while she was busy searching for him.

This is where we planned to meet, she told herself. I’d better stay put.

The canoe kept drifting back into the lily pads. After paddling it free a few times, she decided to simplify matters by landing. She headed to the right and brought the canoe up against the trunk of a fallen tree. Clamping her towel under one arm, she scurried in a crouch to the bow and picked up the mooring rope. She tied its end to one of the dead, leafless branches. Then she climbed onto the trunk, made her way carefully back toward its cluster of roots, and hopped to the ground.

At a shaded place close to shore, she toweled away her sweat once again, then spread the towel on the ground and sat on it.

From here, she had a full view of the lake.

She still did not see Charlie.

What could be keeping him?

He’ll be along. He’s only a little bit late.