Copper Lake Encounter. Marilyn Pappano
hand, while two kids climbed on the pirate ship nearby. She glanced up with a courteous smile when Nev passed, and then she went back to her book.
Nev walked to the edge of the asphalt path and gazed at the river a few yards away. The Gullah was lazy, not too wide, giving the impression it had nowhere to go and was in no hurry to get there. A few small boats puttered toward docks jutting into the water on the other side, weekend fishermen calling it a day.
It smelled familiar. Important. A century ago it would have been vital to the logging industry that had made fortunes here. Two centuries ago it would have played a major role in the decision to found the town here. People had used it to irrigate their crops and ship them to market. They’d culled fish from the water for their meals. Kids had swum in it. Folks had been baptized in it. It had given life, and it had taken life.
It held secrets.
She stood there so long that her feet began to ache, and awareness slowly crept over her. Floodlights buzzed in the parking lot, and sound—music, voices—came from a nearby restaurant whose deck hung over the river. The sun had set more quickly than she’d expected, and then a glance at her watch showed that, no, she’d been lost in the river longer than she’d realized.
The dusky evening wrapped around her, making her shudder, reminding her of the suffocating closeness of the dream, and she spun on her heels and hurried to her car. Though she was only a few hundred feet off River Road, though there were people within shouting distance, she felt frighteningly vulnerable and alone, and the sensation didn’t ease until she’d locked herself inside the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
No fan of eating in a restaurant by herself, she stopped at a drive-through for comfort food: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and golden buttery biscuits. Back in her room, she kicked off her shoes, her arches giving a little spasm of relief, and sat on the bed to eat, the television tuned to a movie she’d seen so many times that she didn’t need to pay attention.
She’d cleaned her plate, washed her face, changed into a nightgown and was about to settle in bed for mindless channel surfing when her cell rang. Muting the TV, she smiled as she answered, “Hello, YaYa.”
“Do you have a special ringtone so you know it’s me before you answer?”
“I don’t have special ringtones for anyone.”
“I need my own ring. Soon as you get back, give me your phone and I’ll hook you up. Every single person in my smartphone has her own ring. Rachelle’s is that Elton John song about the bitch.”
Her matter-of-fact tone choked a laugh from Nev. Rachelle Newton was YaYa’s neighbor, competitor in everything from cooking to gardening to tweeting and best friend she loved to hate. “YaYa! What if she finds out?”
“Oh, she knows. Her ringtone for me is ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead.’ She wishes.” Immediately she changed direction. “What do you think of Copper Lake?”
“Same thing I thought when I left Atlanta this afternoon. I’d rather not be here.”
“See anything that looked familiar?”
“Everything, just about.”
“What’s your plan?”
Nev bent one knee to massage her foot. Heels killed her feet, but they were her only real vanity. She wasn’t as tall as Marieka. She wasn’t as thin as Marieka. She wasn’t as beautiful as Marieka. But she had good legs and reasonably pretty feet, as far as feet went, and she loved heels. “I don’t have a plan, beyond going to church in the morning.”
The words surprised her more than her grandmother. At home, church was a Sunday morning requirement, at least for YaYa, Lima and Nev. Marieka got excused because she spent a lot of Saturday nights with her besties—or so she claimed—and because allowances were always made for Marieka. But Nev was the good girl. Besides, she loved singing old gospel hymns as much as she loved wearing heels, and she had the voice for it.
But she was on vacation. She was a stranger in a not-too-strange town. She’d figured she had a pass for tomorrow’s services.
Her subconscious apparently had other ideas, because it even knew which of the many churches she would attend: the AME Zion church, a small structure surrounded by tall pines and oaks, blindingly white with tall windows that opened for a cooling breeze and a small but faithful congregation. She wasn’t sure how she knew that last part. She didn’t want to think about it too much.
“That’s good,” YaYa said. “You might meet someone there who has information for you. You know, the Lord didn’t lead you to that town to just leave you hanging without answers.”
“The Lord, the internet and you.”
“And once you’ve put the dreams to rest, you’ll thank us.”
Nev wasn’t as convinced about that.
“Say a prayer for your sister while you’re in church tomorrow. She just left on a date with her new boyfriend. Ooh, mama, that man was hot. Maybe he’ll be the one to settle her down and get me some great-grandbabies. Though I expect I’ll have a houseful of them from her before you even say ‘I do.’”
She didn’t mean to put Nev down. Nev understood that. Heavens, it wasn’t as if she’d had even one-tenth the dates Marieka had. But she hadn’t been a nun living in a convent, either. She’d even been in love a time or two. It hadn’t worked out, but...
Ruefully she admitted that, with her current prospects, Marieka was more likely to fall in love, get married and have babies before Nev met the right guy. And Marieka wasn’t even looking.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” YaYa said, “and let you know what monstrosity Rachelle wears to church. Love you, little girl.”
“Love you, YaYa.”
Nev laid the phone on the night table and curled onto her side, mindless channel surfing forgotten. It wasn’t fair that some women had men lined up around the block and couldn’t care less while others wanted nothing more than love, marriage and a family of their own and were lucky to get two dates a year. It wasn’t as if she was asking for a man who was hot enough to impress her grandma. Just a nice guy who shared her values and her goals. He didn’t have to be tall and muscular or supersuccessful or model-handsome. An ordinary guy for an ordinary woman who would share an ordinary life.
An image of Ty Gadney came to mind, and she gave a little sigh involuntarily. See, Lord? She wasn’t expecting someone like him. She was sure she didn’t even register as a dateable woman from his perspective, especially given the less than stunning impression she must have made on him when they’d met, lost in her own world, barely able to answer questions coherently.
Not that she would object if the man chosen for her was handsome...tall...sexy...with gleaming dark eyes...
* * *
Neveah’s nightmare, take thirty-four.
It starts the same as usual: walking along the sidewalk, following the running trail, reaching the tree. But there, things change. The tree remains the same, crooked wooden fingers dipping into the river, branches rising into the sky, swaying in the breeze. Way off to the northwest, darkness encroaches, a storm, winds pushing the clouds so fast that they bump into each other, turning purplish blue in their anger, but overhead the sun is bright, the sky vivid blue, the clouds puffy and white.
I watch the gentle movement of the branches, and an inexplicable urge to kick off my shoes and climb up the massive trunk strikes me. It’s ridiculous enough to make me laugh. I’m not a tomboy. I’ve never climbed a tree. I don’t even go barefoot, ever. My bright orange sundress would snag, and the tender soles of my feet throb at even the thought of digging into the bark for purchase.
The wind picks up, and someone ahead along the winding path calls. I look just in time to catch a glimpse of a slender leg, a long black curl, disappearing into the tall grass. A child, and her giggle is all that remains by the time I reach the spot. Raindrops begin