Surfacing - Book One in the Swans Landing Series

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The slam of the front door downstairs made me jump from my spot on the mattress in the loft. My Saturday afternoon so far had consisted of ignoring the mounds of homework my teachers had loaded me down with in an effort to help me catch up to the rest of the class. Outside, rain had threatened to fall all day and thick ashy clouds blanketed the sky.

I was perfectly content to spend all afternoon examining the exposed wooden slats of my loft bedroom, hoping that Lake had found the time to replace the shingles on this crumbling little house every now and then over the years. Mostly, though, I was trying to take my mind off Josh Canavan, who seemed to be invading all of my thoughts lately. The more I tried not to think about him, the more his face appeared in my mind.

Heavy footsteps stomped across the floor downstairs. Lake must have gotten home from wherever he’d run off to this morning.

Then another sound drifted toward me. Shouting. More like ranting and raving actually, coming from outside.

Through the porthole window, I saw a thin woman with wild hair standing in our front yard. She screamed obscenities in the direction of the house. It took me a moment to figure out why she looked familiar.

It was the woman from the bus the first day I came to Swans Landing. She picked up one of the white rocks lining the path to the steps, then swung her arm back and hurled it at the house. The rock hit the wall and skittered back across the front porch.

What was going on now?

Lake stood at the kitchen counter, his back to me when I entered the room. “What’s that outside?” I asked.

Lake jumped and then tried to appear busy, as if he’d been downstairs washing the dishes all day, despite the fact that he rarely washed dishes.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “I didn’t know you were home. I figured you were hanging out with Dylan today.”

“No, I’m trying to take a nap,” I said.

Lake’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still seemed on edge. “Got anything interesting planned today?” he asked.

“Probably not as interesting as your day seems to be.”

His eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

I walked toward the front door and pulled it open. “I mean, there’s a woman standing on our front lawn and I think she just called you a barnacle sucker.” The woman still stood in the middle of our lawn, her hair waving in wild curls around her head. When she spotted me, her shouts grew louder and she tossed a few more rocks toward the house.

Lake took two wide steps toward the door and slammed it shut again. “Oh, that? That’s nothing.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s going on?”

“I told you, it’s nothing,” Lake said. But he wouldn’t meet my gaze and outside the shouting grew louder.

I didn’t say anything as I stared back at Lake, unwavering. He walked to the kitchen and turned on the faucet, letting water run until it was warm and then started rinsing off the bowls stacked inside the sink. Even when he attempted to do housework, he wasn’t very good at it, apparently unconcerned with things like soap or wash cloths to actually clean anything, as if the water would take care of the germs on its own.

“If you’re not going out there, I am,” I said, pulling the door open again.

Lake shut off the water and turned to me, twisting the silver pendant he wore around his neck. “It’s a misunderstanding.”