She had overheard one of the men from underwater recovery talking about a typical scenario, how they’d normally pull a body from the lake within the first six to eight hours. But they still hadn’t found Sara.

Only one other time did she recall hearing a story about someone named Billy, a boy who hadn’t been found right away. It had happened years before Caroline was born. She had overheard Gram talking to Pop one night when they had thought she had been asleep. Her mother had taken off and hadn’t returned, and they had been worried. Caroline remembered feeling scared and angry, although she didn’t understand why.

She had crept out of her bed and entered the hall that separated her room from the bath and kitchen. She pressed her back against the yellow painted wall and hid in the shadow of the door. It was then she had learned that the boy named Billy had been missing for five days, how every waking hour had been spent dragging the lake for his body.

“It’s always been Billy,” Gram said. “And somehow she blames herself.”

Pop shook his head and smoothed his gray beard. “Well, something went wrong.” He covered his neck as if he were choking. “They shouldn’t have let it go on for five days.”

Caroline wasn’t exactly sure what they had meant, but it had been as if her mother had somehow played a part in it—the lake and the drowning. She had asked Gram only one time about the boy named Billy. Gram pinched her lips and told her never to mention his name again.

Caroline never did.

Now, as she whispered to Willow, she wondered what Sara had in common with Billy. Why hadn’t she been found? What did it mean?

CHAPTER SIX

Dee Dee pulled to the side of the cabin and stopped, the headlights resting on a large tree limb blocking the only parking space. Tired after another long shift at the hospital, she sat staring at the limb, the car idling. The storm earlier that night had been a bad one. Twice the lights on her floor had flickered but never went out, although they had a backup generator if they did. Chris, her son, had been able to get a text through—the service was always sketchy at the lake—letting her know the cabin’s power had gone out but was quickly restored and that a little girl had drowned.

She threw the car in park and got out, leaving the headlights glaring on the massive limb. She was late getting home. At the last minute Mrs. Hopper in Room 303 had needed help to get to the … well … hopper. She recently had her second knee replaced, both joints giving out under her considerable weight. The charge nurse, one of the RNs on the floor, had asked Dee Dee to help Mrs. Hopper, who had asked for her specifically.

“Come on,” she said, taking the big woman under the arm and helping her stand. “Try to put your weight on the walker,” she instructed. “I got you. You won’t fall.”

Slowly, the woman rose, grasping the walker in front of her. “Oh, I won’t fall,” she said. “But if I did, you’re the only one I trust to catch me. Those other nurses are too skinny. They should take a lesson from you and lift some weights, put some muscle on their bones. How much can you lift anyway? My grandson used to be a body builder. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No, I don’t think I heard about him before,” she said, having heard about everyone else in Mrs. Hopper’s family. She might as well hear about the grandson, too. “Try to lift your feet.” It was better for her to bend the new knee to get used to it, rather than shuffle along.

Mrs. Hopper went on and on about her grandson’s muscles and only stopped when Dee Dee stepped out of the bathroom to give her privacy. She checked the clock. Her shift had ended twenty minutes ago—not that it mattered. There wasn’t anyone at home waiting for her, which was just as well. She helped Mrs. Hopper back to bed and explained she didn’t lift weights. She credited or cursed, depending on how you looked at it, genetics.

“Chris,” she called after stepping through the cabin door, letting it slam behind her. No answer. “Chris,” she called again. It was close to midnight, but she really didn’t expect he’d be home. Living at the lake year round, Chris had waited all winter to see his summertime friends. And at sixteen years old, what boy his age wouldn’t still be out with them, out with Johnny and whatever girls had latched onto them for the night?

She dropped her purse onto the kitchen counter and slipped off her white sneakers. She was an LPN, a licensed practical nurse. It didn’t pay much, not as much as a RN, but a little more than an orderly. She liked her job and the patients, like Mrs. Hopper, helping her to and from the bathroom, and helping the weak with her strong arms. Besides, patients, especially the really sick ones, could be trusted to tell you the truth. They had nothing to lose. It was everybody else Dee Dee had a problem with.

“Chris.” She poked her head into his room, double-checking. His bed was empty.

She changed clothes, shoved her feet into work boots, and went back outside to the shed in search of a handsaw. It was too late at night for the chainsaw, which was too bad because it would’ve made the work that much easier. The door to the shed stuck, and she had to yank hard to get it open. She heard a small animal scurry to the corner when she stepped inside. She pulled the string to the bare light bulb and looked around. She found the handsaw hanging on a nail above the workbench. Underneath the saw was an old, deflated inner tube, the one Chris used to ride on behind their boat, the same inner tube her father had used to pull her and her brother, Billy.

She lifted the tube, and the unmistaken smell of rotting rubber wafted through the air, the scent unpleasant to most but not to her. It was the scent of happier times. She remembered not only the times when Chris was a young boy riding the tube, but also, more sharply, the times with her brother. When Billy was young, well before puberty, he’d sit between her legs and grip the handles. “Hold on!” she would yell as they sailed across the water. It had felt like flying.

And one time when their father had made a particularly sharp turn, the tube had flipped, sending both her and Billy jetting across the lake, their bodies slapping the water, their laughter filling the air. On the pier not far from where they were thrown, a group of girls around fourteen years of age, Dee Dee’s age at the time, jeered and poked fun at her. Even then her strong body and large frame evoked ridicule.

“Come on,” an eleven-year-old Billy had said, tugging on Dee Dee’s arm, pulling her away from the sneering girls. “I’ll race you to the boat.”

The endless summer days on the lake with her brother had been some of the best days of her life. He had been her best friend.

*   *   *

She grabbed the handsaw and slammed the door to the shed and the memories. She walked around the tree limb, careful not to trip over the smaller branches. It was thicker than she had originally thought. It split from the old oak tree next to the cabin. They were lucky it didn’t hit the roof. On the bright side, it would make good firewood. She tried lifting the end, grunting at the heft of it. “Well, shit.” Nothing was ever easy.

She set to work, sawing off the smaller branches and tossing them aside. She worked for another thirty minutes, her back and arms tiring from the labor. When she sawed off most of the smaller pieces, she began the arduous work of sawing the limb in quarters, her thoughts on the drowned little girl. She hoped she was found before the storm hit. The lake bottom was treacherous, formed by a glacier thousands of years ago, leaving behind shelves and caverns and ravines. It would be anyone’s guess where the strong current in a storm would take a little girl—anyone’s guess where she would be hidden.

After another thirty minutes or more she dragged the last piece of the limb to the side. She pulled the car into the opened space, cut the lights, and sat down on the porch step in the dark to wipe her brow and catch her breath.