Chapter 9: Indian Lake

The lake house sat at the end of a gravel road on the north shore of Indian Lake.

Lana drove her ten-year-old Corolla, because I didn't own a car, and the engine ticked the whole way.

"I can't believe I'm doing this on my day off," she said.

"You said you'd come."

"I said I'd come so you didn't murder anyone."

The house was two stories of cedar and glass, with a deck wrapped around three sides.

A flag hung by the door with a fish on it.

Down at the water, a white boat floated at the end of a long dock, polished like a tooth.

I walked down to it.

The name was painted on the stern in neat blue script.

"Overtime."

I stood there for a long time.

"That's him being funny," I said. "Because I worked it. Because the boat is paid for by my overtime."

"I'm going to throw up," Lana said.

"Get in line."

She sat down on the edge of the dock and pulled her new gray coat tight.

I sat beside her.

The lake was flat and brown and bare, and across the water a man in waders pulled a net, minding his own business.

"What are you feeling?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"I thought I'd want to burn it. I thought I'd stand here and want to burn it all down."

"And?"

"And I'm tired. I'm so tired, Lana. Nine years. I had a bed this whole time. I had a bed I could have slept in."

My voice broke on the last word.

I hadn't cried at the dinner, or at the mall, or in the laundromat.

I put my elbows on my knees and dropped my head, and it came all at once.

Keep reading free with an account. Start I Won $1 Billion and Ditched the Deadbeats from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.