A House at the Bottom of a Lake

12

Darlene’s Grocery featured twelve aisles of everything a family could need. From food to toilet paper, Amelia’s co-worker Marcy liked to say. We’ve got both ends covered. And it was true. All ends, in fact. Including the flippers and snorkels and masks that made up the small, but popular, water aisle.

Working the next day’s shift, Amelia passed those bathing suits and water wings and thought about the house countless times.

What is it?

Specifically she thought about the coatrack and the glass bowl, neither of which should have stayed put in an environment like that. And the more she thought about it, the more the pristine state of the wood walls bothered her, too, the more the string hanging straight down from the lightbulb in the foyer confused her.

What is it?

These three words made a bigger racket than the more obvious four:

Why is it there?

She stocked shelves with paper towels and cereal and helped Marcy void an order. She talked briefly to the delivery guys from Saxon Foods about the apples and why some of them were bad and one of them asked her if she could do him a favor and keep quiet about the state of the apples? They were fine when they left Saxon, he said. He must’ve gone too fast over a bump. Boss would be angry. Amelia inspected the apples, found they were good enough, and told him it would be their little secret.

Our little secret.

But no fully furnished house at the bottom of a lake was anybody’s little secret. Somebody had to know about it.

Who?

She bagged groceries, careful with the eggs, and made small talk with the regulars. She passed the mirror in the employee hall twice and both times noted the fixed details of herself in the glass. She swept aisles. She aligned the labels on the soup cans so the customers could read the flavors. And yet despite all these distractions, somebody had to know about the house.

It almost made her feel like she was being watched. Watched at work. Spies in the parking lot outside Darlene’s waiting to ask her if she touched anything down there, prepared to search her car for wet spots.

Watched. But not quite watched. More like seen.

Uncle Bob?

Did he know about it? Amelia thought he had to. How could you own a home on the first lake and never think to check out the graffitied tunnel on the second? Never pass over the house James and Amelia had seen on their very first turn in the canoe?

It was covered up, Amelia reminded herself. Yes, the brush. Kinda made it hard to see the tunnel. The bright graffiti. The drawings of dicks and tits.

She wanted to ask Bob herself. Maybe James already had. Standing alone at register two, she checked her phone for any texts. There were none.

No Bob knows or Bob says it’s a movie set or anything from James at all.

So… had James talked to his uncle about it? And why did that idea make her feel so… bad inside?

What is it?

Marcy finished bagging a customer’s meats at register one and continued the “perpetual conversation,” the way some co-workers have of picking up a story exactly where they left off, even if that was two days past.

“So Tommy thinks it’s safe,” she said. Then she winked.

Amelia wasn’t sure who Tommy was or what was safe. She winked back.

She thought of the house.

In her mind’s eye, the half door was swinging smoothly on unseen waves. In her vision, the sun must have been directly above the lake because Amelia saw details in the wood of that door she hadn’t seen yesterday in person. And through the dark open half, she imagined a friendly face, barely distinguishable, perhaps her own reflection distorted in the hall mirror, and a voice, too.

Come back anytime, Amelia. Annnnnyyyyy tiiiiiimmmmmeeeeee.

“Oh boy,” Marcy said, half a finger jammed up her nose, another pointing to the front doors.

Amelia looked up.

“James?”

It was James. Walking toward the registers. And he was carrying something straight out of a science-fiction movie set. Or maybe something from the bottom of a fish tank.

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry to stalk you.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Relief. Together again. As if his presence alone denoted they were already on their way back to the third lake.

“Look,” he said, half lifting the monstrosity in his arms.

“Scuba,” Amelia said.

But it wasn’t scuba. It was an enormous moon helmet and the gold breathing tube that went with it.

“My cousin’s,” James said.

“Did you tell him what you needed it for?”

They exchanged a glance then, a knowing one. Amelia may as well have asked, Did you tell anybody about it?

“No. I just told him I wanted to go diving.”

He hadn’t told anybody about the house, Amelia could tell. She felt a second wave of relief. This one was peppered with a little shame. A little self-examination. But why not keep something to yourself?

Why not keep a secret?

“Uncle Bob knew about the third lake,” James said.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I mean… like… of course he knows. Right?”

“Right. But he said he never goes out there. I didn’t tell him we did. I just told him it looked like there might be a third lake. He said it’s more of a swamp. Said it’s ugly.”

“Ugly,” Amelia repeated.

“What’s the scuba gear for?” Marcy asked, stepping out from behind register one.

“Never mind,” James said.

“Never mind,” Amelia said.

Marcy looked from one to the other.

“Are the two of you… weird or something?”

James smiled at Amelia and carried the gear back toward the glass front doors. Before exiting he stopped and turned to face her.

We’re doing this, he mouthed silently.

Amelia whispered, Yes.

“You guys are weird,” Marcy said.

Amelia’s smile fell slowly from her face as James exited. Not because she wasn’t happy. Not because she wasn’t excited that he’d gone out and gotten the suit. But because, already, the house seemed to require a more careful consideration than any simple smile could supply.

We’re doing this, yes, Amelia thought. But… what is it?