Betrayed!

By M. Pilotte

     For ten long years Jodie Breault has been hounded by the mystery surrounding her mother's drowning and her father's disappearance in a boating accident on Lake Champlain, VT.

     A senior at a Connecticut high school, Jodie resides with her parents' friends,, a foreign-born couple that harbors many secrets. That year she falls in love with a classmate, C. Travis Jones, AKA Jonesy, but they are separated when he goes off to college in California and remains there. Meanwhile she seeks answers from a medium and finds solace in reading a novel her mother has written. Armed with lessons from her father's Abenaki culture, she spots foreshadowing of events in her mother's novel and begins to suspect foul play in the so-called 'accident'. Over time she settles for a humdrum life as the wife of an auto mechanic--that is--until Jonesy reappears.

     As the tenth anniversary of the tragedy nears, Jodie experiences a number of startling revelations. She learns she has a younger half sister who provides many of the answers Jodie has sought. But this comes with unexpected twists of fate--suspense, betrayals and death--forcing Jodie to make soul-wrenching decisions.

 

 

M. Pilotte's Tales from Wexford Falls is a well written and enjoyable read. With an interesting blend of characters, some who appear in her previous novel and some the reader will meet for the first time, Pilotte has created a collection of short stories set in the small town of Wexford Falls. With their challenges, adventures, dreams and secrets, these characters and their stories are charming, sometimes quirky, but always entertaining. 

                                                   --ELIZABETH SMITH, author of French Crossing and The Gift

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wexford Falls Independent Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393695813

M. Pilotte

M. Pilotte has always enjoyed writing, whether it be for academic purposes, newspaper reporting, or simply as a creative outlet. A lifelong learner, she earned a Ph.D. from UCONN. Following her retirement as an educator, she wrote several plays. She and her husband reside in Connecticut. email: [e-mail] web: www.mpilottebooks.com

Book preview

BETRAYED!

Chapter 1

(AUGUST 2005)

It happened so fast, and it shouldn’t have happened at all. Not to Jodie Breault, and certainly not just days before her seventeenth birthday. It all began with a late night phone call from an unfamiliar number. But Jodie immediately recognized the chain smoker’s voice. Unmistakable—even though she hadn’t heard it in some time. It was Sally Ballard, manager of the Pine Ledge cottages on Lake Champlain’s North Hero Island so named after the Revolutionary War heroes, known as the Green Mountain Boys, fighters in an illegal militia.

Jodie’s parents were spending the week on the island in upstate Vermont, but she opted to stay back home in Wexford Falls, Connecticut, to babysit. She’d had her fill of vacationing there with her parents, and relished the solitude of her own home. Alone, she could listen to music without hearing, ‘Enough; turn it down’ or ‘I’ll throw that thing in the garbage.’  Veiled threats. But all things considered, the Breaults lived harmoniously enough. Often it was just two of them. Her mom, Sara, a middle school social studies teacher, was always there for her. Her dad, Henry, AKA Hank, was a long distance trucker who traveled regularly, across the US/Canadian border. On occasion, he’d be gone for weeks at a time.

Um, is this Jodie? said the husky voiced woman. Jodie could hear her exhale a stream of smoke into the receiver. Then, I, um, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. She coughed—dry, hacky. This is Sally Ballard. You know me, I’m the manager at Pine Ledge cottages, you know, where your folks are at. Jodie could picture her—bone thin, short, dirty-blond hair pulled back. Dark penciled brows and too light pink lipstick she was always retouching. Still in her thirties, she was worn looking as though life was a heavy load you had to lug around.

Jodie surely knew who she was. She recalled once when Sally’s toddler Francie wandered over to the water’s edge and Sally screamed ‘get back, naughty girl’. And Francie, defiant, her twiggy arms planted on her hips, she stuck her tongue out at her mom. And Sally looked like she was ready to smack her. Dead silence for one second, two seconds. Then Sally burst out laughing. And then everyone else did. That was Sally—strange and always dashing about and saddled with endless chores.

Jodie wondered why she could be phoning her close to midnight, waking her from a deep sleep. In the moments of silence before Sally spoke again, Jodie could hear her window air conditioner straining to keep the room comfortable this humid August night, blocking outside street noise.

I don’t wanna worry you, she cleared her throat, then began as though she’d rehearsed the message. But, um, your parents, well, they rented one of the motor boats for the day. You know those fourteen footers, you been on ‘em before, and um, they shoulda been back hours ago.

Whoa, wait a minute, Sally. I heard you say ‘parents’. My mom’s not cool about boats...no way would she go, and a for a day trip. Never, Jodie snapped. My dad, yeah, but my mom, never. She was not taking in the gravity of it all, not yet anyhow. It wouldn’t happen.

Well, they both did, and, um...I sure hope they’re OK, she added. Then Jodie could hear her yelling at Francie. Get your butt back into bed, missy. She apologized. Sorry to yell in your ear. That was Francie, Miss Nosybody. I’m shipping her off to her aunt’s tomorrow. Gotta get a rest now and then, you know. Sally coughed for what seemed like forever.

Jodie remembered Francie from another summer, pesky little one that she was. She wanted Jodie to play with her whenever the teen sat by the water’s edge on an old Adirondack chair—Francie always interrupting Jodie’s last minute summer reading.

Maybe they docked it up in Swanton, Jodie said, offering a plausible reason. You know we used to live there and they know lots of people in town. They probably just lost track of the time.  No need for concern for the manager to call her late at night.

Sally responded, Nah, don’t think so. They knew the boat hadda be back by eight, eight-fifteen the latest, before dark anyways. I’m real strict on that. They’da called if they were staying over somewheres. That’s what people do.

So, Sally, are you trying to say they could still be out there on the lake—like they’re missing or something? Jodie asked. She was trying to stay calm.

Could be, but I sure hope not, Sally responded. Well, sorry I bothered you. There’s gotta be an explanation. I, um, thought you should know, just in case...

In case of what? Jodie said, becoming alarmed.

Well, you never know, she answered. Jodie could hear her yawn, then, Um, Jodie, gimme a call in the morning and I’ll let you know how things worked out, OK? She was about to end their conversation.

Jodie began to think maybe the woman had been drinking and was making this to be more that it was. Her mom had hinted to her that the manager hit it up a little too often—not in her best interest—certainly not for a single woman with a child. And being so close to the water. 

Sure, OK. I can do that. Call me please when they get back. I don’t care what time that is, Jodie said. Another glance at her bedside alarm clock told her it was ten past midnight, and the air conditioner kept on struggling to cool the room. Jodie hoped it wouldn’t kick out with her parents away and all.

Yup, will do, Sally said. Jodie wondered if she did not seem especially worried, then why did she take the trouble to call her at this hour? Couldn’t she have waited until morning?

Jodie got up and adjusted the dial on the window unit that her dad had finally installed after finding her asleep night after night on the living room sofa their first summer in Wexford Falls. After the phone call, she had trouble falling asleep. Her mind meandered, taking her back to her childhood fears.

Growing up in northwestern Vermont, she knew the lake’s dimensions, its depth; she could name many of the shipwrecks still embedded in the lake’s bottom. And with an Abenaki dad, she knew the Native American legends associated with the lake, and the one all locals knew—of Champ, its resident monster, named for the French explorer, Samuel de Champlain. Whenever she was obstinate as a young child, her dad would threaten her with it. ‘Champ’s gonna getcha if you don’t...’ And she could visualize the monster with its two rows of razor sharp teeth and two and a half foot jaw ready to gobble her up.

Jodie chuckled at her gullibility—but then little children do believe in such things. Lying awake, she was struggling to clear her mind of ‘what ifs’. She kept obsessing over one thing: her mom would never set foot on a boat—let alone go on an all day boat trip—it was inconceivable. So why did Sally Ballard have to call and get her worried about something that must have a perfectly logical explanation? But no matter how hard Jodie tried, she couldn’t think of any.

Chapter 2

THE NEXT MORNING JODIE awoke with a start and turned on the TV to check the weather, and there it was: newsflash: ‘Local couple missing on Lake Champlain...search teams sent out at dawn.’ Jodie stared at the screen, disbelieving. Could it be her parents? Shaking with fear, she phoned Sally Ballard.

Yeah, it’s them, gotta be, she said. I, uh, hadda report ‘em missing when they didn’t show up after all this time. But don’t you worry none. Patrol boats will be out there looking for ‘em with their rescue boats and stuff. Your dad prob’ly took your mom out somewheres and they docked, like you said. They’d be weirded out if they knew everyone was out looking for ‘em, she said, punctuating her words with a nervous laugh.

Yeah, probably, Jodie said, not totally convinced. She didn’t wish to prolong the conversation; she had to rush. She was due at the Westmores’ in half an hour. Dr. Jake Westmore, a local podiatrist, would have already left for his office, and Mrs. W., Barbie, had flexible hours but Jodie didn’t want to keep her waiting. The kids would want breakfast—Jodie’s first chore of the day. Keeping them engaged in various activities occupied Jodie’s time until Mrs. W. returned later that afternoon. But Jodie couldn’t get the idea of a boating accident out of her mind. She’d declined a dinner offer, said she needed to get home. She hadn’t said a word to anyone about her parents. Somehow verbalizing it would make it more real. However, the Westmores had gotten word of the missing couple, as had many residents of Wexford Falls.

Jodie envied the Westmores. The doctor, despite the stress of dealing with patients, always had a smile on his face, and it seemed sincere, natural. He rarely had an emergency so he kept fairly regular hours. Mrs. Westmore, although pleasant to her, always seemed preoccupied. She was short with her three children, especially when in a hurry to get out to work. But for the most part, they seemed like a picture perfect family.

Not like her own—the three of them. Not that Jodie’s family was what they’d call ‘dysfunctional’. No, it was just ‘different’. Her dad Hank was affectionate and lots of fun when he returned from one of his treks up to Canada. By all appearances her parents seemed happy despite their many differences. Her mom spent far too much time engrossed in history books, according to Jodie and her dad. Despite that, Jodie thought she’d follow in her mom’s footsteps and become a teacher, but not of history –too much to remember—maybe of younger children. Often after her dad’s return, he seemed to be aching for the open road, and so it went, especially the last few years after the family moved to Connecticut. But that was their lifestyle, their own kind of normalcy.

Once back home, Jodie tried to reach Sally Ballard, but there was no answer. Jodie saw that storms were predicted for the lake that afternoon, not unusual for a summer day. Unable to focus on anything else, Jodie phoned her mom’s best friend Olga White who offered to come spend the night, hoping to provide Jodie some measure of comfort as the search continued. Sara had befriended Olga one day in the local supermarket after the two women just happened to meet in the produce aisle, and not long after, and they became very close friends.

The next morning Jodie learned that the boat had washed ashore a few miles south of Pine Ledge. It was battered, either rammed by another boat, or it may have collided with a large rock. All four life vests were secured in a compartment—dry, unused. That afternoon on the local news the authorities urged anyone who may have seen the incident to contact them with any information they could provide.

Chapter 3

THE FOLLOWING DAY JODIE informed the Westmores that she’d be staying home and waiting around until she got news about her parents. Mrs. W. told her she’d take the day off and care for her children, so not to worry. She even offered to bring them to Jodie’s house for a visit—to cheer her up, distract her. Jodie told her she wouldn’t be good company for anyone. She needed to wait for news, and that a friend of her mom’s was staying with her.

For what seemed like forever, Jodie was numb. Then, as though bitten by some energizing bug, she set about to make the house spotless so when her parents returned from their trip they would be delighted. And so she changed her bed linens and ensured that her parents’ bed had clean sheets and blankets as well; she knew they would appreciate that. The washer and dryer tumbled and hummed for hours. The sounds of continual motion—agitation and tumbling—served to dull her senses and keep her from agonizing, picturing the worst. She vacuumed every corner of the house and dusted all the furniture and washed all the dishes that had accumulated since her parents’ absence. She even wiped down the appliances as she’d seen her mother do at the end of each day.

She wouldn’t let Olga do a thing, insisting that she needed to keep busy, so the woman just sat by the living room window and crocheted, not that she expected to see her friend Sara come up the front walk, but her calm demeanor somehow diverted Jodie’s attention from her worst fears. Olga was a woman of a few words so interaction was minimal. Her presence did not involve overindulging or showering Jodie with unsolicited care and attention. It was though she’d had lots of practice dealing with such situations in the past. But oddly, Jodie knew very little of Olga’s background, only that she and her husband hailed from Eastern Europe and had endured some ‘turbulent times’—her mom’s exact words.

To allay Jodie’s concerns, Olga told her she had an idea. Although leery of the occult, Olga admitted consulting a medium concerning an important decision she was mulling over and needed the kind of help this person claimed to possess. Normally she’d go to Sara for her take on things, but it seemed that her friend was burdened with problems of her own lately. So Olga, whose driving was limited to the Wexford Falls vicinity, enlisted her husband Pietr to drive her up to Litchfield for the reading, but it well worth the trip. Her husband did not object to it, although he was skeptical of such persons who claimed to have special powers.  

She had hoped sharing this with Jodie might motivate her to consult the same medium, that the woman might be able to tell her something—anything. Olga too was worried about Jodie’s parents, especially her best friend Sara who’d become like a sister to her.  She feared the worst but did her best not to show it. Pietr seemed unconcerned, but then that was the way he reacted to most things. He might have accompanied her to be with Jodie, to comfort her, but he preferred to work at home on his computer, as he did each day, even on Saturdays.

On Sundays the couple would take a leisurely drive in the Litchfield hills through picturesque towns, trying out new restaurants, taking in the sights. During the week Olga kept busy at home in the kitchen and the yard; she had no outside employment. And now, fearing the loss of her best friend, she needed Jodie as much as Jodie needed her, but like her husband, she kept her feelings buried inside, for Jodie’s sake.

A medium? Jodie said in astonishment. Don’t tell me you believe in that kind of stuff?

You would too, she countered, nodding her head to emphasize her assertion. I could not believe what she say. No one else could know, and she help me make hard decision. It is too personal so I cannot say what it is.

So what would I even say to this woman who’s supposed to know things we can’t figure out? Jodie asked her.

Olga reacted with a smile. You not need to say anything, she began. She will ask you to bring something of your mother’s, like comb, something personal. She hold it in her hands. Then she close her eyes and go somewhere back in her mind for long time—minutes. And you be quiet, you say nothing. Then she tell you stuff.

Oh, really, Jodie was incredulous. Oh, come on, Olga, what stuff could this lady tell me? She doesn’t even know me.

She tell you where your mother is, where your father is—well, maybe. We hope, Olga said, dead serious.

That silenced Jodie; her emotions were jumbled. All she wanted to do was to hang onto whatever shred of hope that remained.

I call her, see if we can go see her, Olga said calmly. She took the cell phone out of her bag. You find something your mother touch, something close to her.

Jodie thought her mom would have taken her most personal items with her to the lake, as she usually did, but she’d look around anyhow. She excused herself and rummaged around in her parents’ bedroom and espied the pink crocheted afghan that her mother wrapped herself in evenings as she read or watched TV. She was surprised to find it there in the room, folded on her chair by the window. It should have gone with her on vacation; it always had since she got it.

Jodie couldn’t help feeling skeptical, but Olga persisted—anything to provide some solace and Olga was fortunate to get an appointment with Madame Sofia. Olga reminded her to bring something personal of her dad’s, as well. So she selected his favorite winter scarf—a charcoal grey striped one. All along, she figured that this whole conjuring thing must be part of Olga’s culture, which she came to learn was so different from hers and her family’s, but the woman was so kind and patient staying with her until her parents could be found. So Jodie decided to humor her and follow through with a visit to the medium.

Once again Olga had asked her husband Pietr to take time off from his computer and drive them to Litchfield. She said it would be worth his time to stop at the local farmer’s market to buy fresh produce, some nice beets, so she could make borscht for Jodie; she insisted the teen needed some for sustenance. She’d hardly touched a morsel of food since receiving the news of her parents’ disappearance.

In resigned silence, Pietr complied and left Jodie and Olga off at a storefront in the center of town. Madame Sofia’s ‘office’ was located at the end of a hallway at the rear of the building. A bell jangled when Olga opened the door to what looked like a cozy sitting room with an overstuffed couch and a side table with a box of Kleenex. They waited a few minutes and the medium, a heavyset woman with grayish-blond braids knotted around her head, came out to greet them. With a hint of a smile, she beckoned for Jodie to enter. Jodie looked at Olga whose nod was intended to give her confidence to follow the woman and embark into the unknown.

What could this strange woman possibly tell her? Jodie wondered. She tried to feel hopeful but she was anxious at the same time so she just froze in her footsteps. Olga nodded again to encourage her and then turned away from her and took a seat to do her crocheting. That way she’d pass the time and lose herself in the present but unlike so many people, she needed to be in the present. The past was too painful to bring up. For her, blessedly, it was behind her and she wasn’t going to look back. What good would it do? And so she crocheted. Actually it was she who’d made the afghan that Sara treasured. She’d presented it to her the first Christmas after they’d met as a token of gratitude for making her life more bearable after relocating to still another town.

Chapter 4

JODIE ENTERED WARILY behind the medium whose billowing skirts made a swooshing sound as she moved. Jodie wondered how she didn’t step on the hems or trip as she shuffled in her shiny ballet slippers. Jodie took a seat, as directed, opposite Madame Sofia who took a few moments to organize the ample fabric beneath her before seating herself. Between the two was a smallish round table covered with an ornate damask cloth, which like the medium’s skirts hung onto the floor. The room was not much larger than Jodie’s own bedroom. Flickering candles cast Munch-like shadows that seemed alive in the dimly lit area. The ceiling was painted inky black like the midnight sky, but devoid of stars, and the walls were covered with heavy draperies. Whether they shielded windows or not could not be determined. The whole effect could have given Jodie a claustrophobic feeling, but strangely it did not. It wasn’t her surroundings but what could come of the reading that was the main thing on her mind.

Madame Sofia’s limpid blue eyes seemed adrift in a milky white sea. She fixed her look squarely on Jodie as though it could unlock her inner spirit. This intense look could have unnerved her, but the medium’s hint of a smile and the tone of her voice had a calming effect.

My dear one, now you have to tell me why you are here, she said in a velvety toned voice, as she grasped Jodie’s moist hand.  I cannot help you if I do not know.

Didn’t Olga, uh, Mrs. White, tell you? Jodie began nervously.

That she may have, Madame Sofia answered softly, but I need to hear it from you. It is just you and me here.

Jodie gulped. She wasn’t sure how or where to begin. Olga had told her she had only half an hour as Madame Sofia had arranged to see Jodie during a lunch break. She had a full day of readings. After a moment Jodie managed to gather her forces.

She, uh, said you might be able to help me find my parents, my mom and my dad. They’re missing at Lake Champlain in Vermont, two days now. They went out in a boat, and, uh, they haven’t returned, yet, Jodie explained, her voice quivering, her respirations increasing.

I see, she responded, poised, tranquil. She sensed the girl’s overwhelming anxiety. She understood.

Jodie told her what she thought had transpired at the lake. Madame Sofia’s look was impassable. She was visualizing what she was hearing.

You remembered to bring a personal item, yes? She asked her. Her American English was good, but she was definitely foreign born, like Olga.

Jodie opened a grocery sack and pulled out the uppermost item, Sara’s pink angora afghan. A faint scent of Jean Naté was discernible. Jodie held it to her face and looked as though she would break into tears.

No, Madame Sofia surprised her. Give it over to me, please. I need her scent, not yours. We must not mix them—I do not want to receive mixed messages.

Jodie passed it to her as though it was an explosive. Madame Sofia took the afghan, unfolded it and studied it as though it could speak to her. She smoothed it and stroked it lovingly; then she placed it loosely around her shoulders, as Sara had always done. She told Jodie to close her eyes and said she would do likewise. She’d tell her when to open them. At this time she told Jodie to relax and breathe deeply, and she would do likewise until their breaths were in sync, even, rhythmical. She said that connection needed to happen for the right things to emerge. Seconds later, Jodie could hear a faint humming sound, a steady stream of vibrations, almost hypnotic, seamless, emerging from the medium. It went on and on. Jodie wondered how the woman could breathe and hum at the same time.  

Jodie figured her half hour must have been up. She had somehow stayed in the present mode but it was apparent that Madame Sofia was elsewhere. She began to talk in a different voice. I can see her, your mother, Sara, you told me her name was, just barely. She is very, very quiet, still, peaceful...oh, now I am seeing water, lots of it. Ah, yes, she has a sense of awareness. She senses me. I am making contact. Wait...I sense slight waves of motion. I cannot concentrate as well when there is movement, floating...gone...no more contact...you may open your eyes now.

That’s all? So tell me, Madame Sofia, what does that mean? Is my mom OK? Is she alive? I have to know, Jodie said, her words tumbling out of control. She needed reassurance from the medium—now. Her curiosity soon turned to dread and seconds later she was sobbing.

Madame Sofia was silent a moment too long. She removed the afghan from her shoulders. My dear, you will know very, very soon, she said softly, gently. She is at peace if that makes you feel any better. You will be able to see her soon, in a day or so.

Upon hearing those words, Jodie calmed herself. She looked up at the medium. Madame Sofia, you saw her? Oh my God. I just want to know if she’s alive, if she’s OK, that’s all; tell me, please, Jodie said, frantic.

Madame Sofia looked into Jodie’s troubled eyes and handed her the afghan, saying, I cannot say, my dear.

Jodie just sat there, speechless, holding the afghan. Then she shoved it into the bag on top of her dad’s scarf. She didn’t want to know anything more—what else was there to know? She wasn’t so much confused as dumb struck. But as the medium had said, Jodie would see her mom soon. She hoped she’d also see her dad. No time to run through this again with the scarf. She was sure her half hour was over.

Just then Madame Sofia rose and took Jodie’s arm, escorting her to the waiting room. Olga smiled weakly at her. She read the distress on Jodie’s face. The bag overflowing with Sara’s afghan affected her deeply, calling to mind when she and her friend sat together in the cooler weather. That afghan for one reason or another had become Sara’s security blanket.

Olga had to put her feelings aside and did her best to comfort Jodie. She handed cash to the medium who thanked her and returned to her inner room, shutting the door behind her. It made a clicking sound. As they were leaving, a distinguished looking middle-aged man, briefcase in hand, was entering for an appointment. He had a sheepish look on his face as though being recognized could embarrass him. Olga guessed Madame Sofia had a flourishing business; she figured that we all need help beyond our reach at some time or another, regardless of your status in life.

Chapter 5

THEN THE INEVITABLE happened just a day later. Somehow Sally got to her first before the authorities came with the pronouncement an hour later. Sara Breault’s body had washed ashore just miles from the Pine Ledge cottages after a pop up thunderstorm. The assumption was death by drowning.

Jodie, she said solemnly, in her raspy voice. Jodie didn’t have to hear it. She knew. That had to explain the movement Madame Sofia had sensed, the flow from the currents of Lake Champlain towards the shore. The medium had ‘seen’ Sara, sensed her emerging from wherever her water burial was onto the nearest shore. This is real hard for me to say. Long pause. Jodie could hear Sally’s labored respirations. But they, uh, they found your mom’s body. I’m sorry, Jodie, real sorry.

Jodie reacted with disbelief. There must be some mistake. It’s not her. No, it just can’t be. Jodie never remembered the rest of the conversation. Olga held her in her arms, both of them sobbing now. Somehow—time had stalled for Jodie—she regained her forces and called Sally who’d apparently hung up, knowing how Jodie would take the news. What else could she say to the girl?

Jodie whispered in a broken voice. My dad? What about my dad? Wasn’t he with her? Where is he?

Don’t know, Sally responded quietly. Probably same thing. Musta drowned with her. Accident musta thrown both of ‘em overboard somewheres, too far out there for ‘em to swim, guess it was in one of the deep spots out there. Some of ‘em 400 feet deep, you know.

Jodie couldn’t take in the enormity of it all. This is not happening, she said. It’s not real. It can’t be. What am I going to do? I can’t be alone now in the world. I just can’t.  I need them. We need each other. We’re a family. So what does that make me now?

Olga, wiping tears from her eyes, shushed her. Jodie’s mind was flooded with the paralyzing shock of what she’d just learned, and then the dread of the future, the unknown—gray and colorless. For a moment she felt as though she was the only person left on earth and she had to forge a life in a barren land devoid of life.

But it was real. No life in her house, just her, experiencing a void she could never imagine possible. Her parents were gone and there would be no seventeenth birthday celebration. Her age would just sneak on past her—sixteen today, seventeen tomorrow—slipping unnoticed, unheeded as she slept, the minutes passing by, one after the other, like the sheep one counts before nodding off. Where do they go? And what of it?

No back to school shopping. How important were new clothes anyhow? It was a chore even to change out of one set of clothes at night, and then again in the morning. Jodie went three days without even changing her underwear. Olga didn’t say a word to her. She understood the pangs of grief and how it could paralyze one.

Everything felt unreal. Jodie had to touch herself to know that she existed. The summer reading that she hadn’t finished would go undone. And how important was that really? She couldn’t imagine herself concentrating on the literary works, or even on her life as it was. Her teachers would understand—or so they would say they did. They’d certainly taught students who’d experienced loss at one time or another. They’d act all empathetic, and really mean it, and then get right back to their teaching. They had to. The world moves on even if you don’t.

But now there was something to do other than sit around and wait. Jodie had to deal with the arrangements, funeral preparations for her mom—poor, lifeless, sodden Sara Breault—gone from her family forever. Whenever Jodie thought of her mom’s death, she was confused. Sara did not like boats even though she was raised not far from Lake Champlain. She respected it and knew its history dating back to the origins of the area, knew it well, and went on to major in United States History.

Her marriage to Hank made her even more sympathetic to the plight of Native Americans. She wanted her students to know the history and culture of the diverse peoples that comprise this great nation; the contributions of its forefathers; the trials and triumphs it endured and celebrated; and the tales of its heroes and infamous individuals. She taught her students to learn from the study of history, and not tuck its lessons back in the recesses of their mind, seeing it all as an incomprehensible jumble of dates and facts. And she was bothered by blatant errors and omissions in textbooks, and always sought to rectify them. Jodie knew her mom would always be remembered as a teacher who made an impact on young minds. Jodie hoped she’d remember all these accomplishments for Sara’s eulogy.

IN THE MEANTIME SHE was in a quandary: should she wait for her dad’s body to wash ashore and have a double funeral? There was no telling when that would occur. But could she tolerate going through the whole thing—services and burial—a second time? Those labored words of comfort uttered by well-meaning folks only pained her. But she’d taught herself to put up with them; the words, it was what people said. And sometimes those well-meaning words came out wrong, distorting their true intent, causing embarrassment.

Jodie was advised to hold off making any such plans for a few more days; then she caved.  She was aware of the perils of the lake, both real and legendary. She envisioned her dad out there in the depths, entangled in undergrowth or possibly pinned under a section of the old Revolutionary War Bridge. Or he could be stuck in the skeletal remains of a shipwreck—the Water Witch or the Spitfire, or any other battleship that met its demise during one of the wars as opposing forces battled for the control of the Lake Champlain waterway.  

Her mom was amazing; she could relate the details—the war and the date of the battle, the ship that went down and under whose command. She could also tell you if the captain and crew survived or not. The lake to Sara was always about history. Jodie was also mesmerized when her dad would talk about Odziozo, the legendary creature that had filled the huge crater between the two mountain ranges in New York and Vermont with enough water to create Lake Champlain, called Petonbowk by Native Americans. Yes, Jodie knew the lake in the fullest sense, but each of her parents viewed it through a very different lens.

LATE ONE AUGUST BEFORE the start of school, Sara was at an in-service meeting so Hank’s duty was to put Jodie to bed. And Jodie, being a typical five-year-old, gave her characteristic stall so he decided to tell her another bedtime story. That was always Sara’s job, but he had Jodie’s full attention. She was wide-awake but it worked like magic; it put her to sleep before she could fire a round of questions at him. He too was tired, had a long drive ahead of him. The next morning as Sara prepared to say good-bye to him before his run across the Canadian border, she thought she’d give him a piece of her mind. He could tell she was peeved, hands on her hips, giving him the glare.

Before you leave, Hank, I need a minute, she announced, brushing hair away from her face. Her words were sharp.

I’m just about ready, gotta head out and load up or I’ll miss my deadline. What is it? Can’t it wait?  Hank asked her, running his hand through his lush dark hair. He’d taken to wearing it slicked back behind his ears, collar length. She still found him sexy.

No, honey,