5
In the inky stillness of the next morning, Lisette woke up and dressed quietly in the silks her elderly mother still sent her from Paris—cool slippery things that made her feel like she was covering herself with fresh air. For a while, after she left Paris, Lisette threw away her mother’s packages on principle. Lisette was not the same vain pretty girl her mother had once known. But then Lisette started making an exception for the lingerie. It was not vain if no one but herself saw her wear them. She then put on a blue dress and a freshly laundered apron that smelled like the lemongrass soap Eby used for the camp’s sheets and towels, the only soap that could take out the damp mustiness that wanted to cling to everything in this place.
She moved soundlessly downstairs to start breakfast, first cracking open the door to Eby’s bedroom slightly to make sure she was still breathing. She had done this every morning since George died. Eby did not know. Eby did not like it when Lisette worried too much. Their relationship had always been disproportionate that way. It was only Eby, capable and confident, who was allowed to worry about Lisette, moody and delicate.
Lisette turned on the lights in her kitchen and began to work. Everything was quiet, too quiet. But she had forced herself over the years to become accustomed to morning, even though it was evening she used to truly love for its energy and restlessness. That, at least, she would acknowledge she got from her father. His restaurant had stayed open late, one of the latest in Paris, and it had attracted people of poetic and turbulent minds.
The ghost of Luc sat quietly in the chair in the corner, near the blue refrigerator, as he did every morning, looking as he did the last time she saw him over dinner when they were both sixteen, his good white shirt stained yellow from nervous sweat under his arms, his young face eagerly watching her every move. He was caught in the moment before she had handed him the note over dinner, the one that broke his heart, a note like countless others she had written before. She had not understood what it was like to be rejected, as she had never been rejected herself. She had been shocked to hear of his suicide the next day. What was she, a monster? No one should have the power to hurt another that fully, that completely. She deserved to die in the same way, because changing was out of the question.
Eby had saved her with her goodness. That was why Lisette had decided to follow Eby wherever she went, finally settling here at Lost Lake. Eby made her a better person. Lisette had no idea what she would do without Eby. It frightened her so much that she could not think of it. She could not see her life anywhere but here. She would never go back to Paris. What did Eby think would happen? That Lisette would see her mother and suddenly want to live with her again?
No. Never.
But without Eby, without this camp, all Lisette had left was Luc, and she did not want to accept that he was not enough, that he was sixteen and a ghost, neither of which knew much about living.
She turned on the small coffeemaker in the kitchen for herself and Eby, then got to work on the chive biscuits and fruit tarts, like the ones she remembered from a patisserie she used to go to as a child. They had loved her there, giving her sweets for free because she had been so beautiful. The child, Devin, would like them. It had been so long since there had been children here. It made Lisette happy. It made Eby even happier. Lisette knew that the only regret Eby had when it came to cutting ties with her family was that she never got to see her niece grow up. But then there was that summer George died, when her niece, Quinn, showed up, and Eby got to meet her great-niece Kate. Lisette thought that, finally, Eby would have children in her life like she had always wanted … but that had not worked out. Maybe now, the third time, the third generation, would be the charm.
Maybe the girls would make Eby want to stay. Or at least not go so far.
Lisette knew Eby wanted to go back to Europe. Eby and George had often talked about it. And when Eby dreamed of Paris, she always told Lisette in the morning. Lisette would always tense, hearing of it, but she said nothing. They were just dreams, after all. Lisette had no idea those dreams had meant so much to Eby. She had never suspected Eby would be willing to sacrifice Lost Lake for those dreams to come true.
Once everything was under way, Lisette turned on the large stainless-steel coffeemaker for the guests in the dining room and took the chairs off the tables, stopping at the window to look out. The mist from the lake was giving off its own odd light, as if it were alive.
Something caught her eye and she leaned forward, her forehead almost resting against the glass. Someone was jogging around the lawn in a hooded sweatshirt, shorts, and tennis shoes.
Despite her initial start at seeing anyone out on the lawn after a season of no guests, Lisette did not have to see his face to know who he was.
When had he arrived? Last night, probably. Eby had not told her.
She stepped back quickly and hurried to the kitchen and locked the door behind her. That was ridiculous. Why did she lock the door? It was not as if Jack would come in there. He was not that bold, that aggressive.
But, still, shy had its own form of aggression. She had no armor against slow, invasive feelings. They slipped straight to her as if through mouse holes. Jack had been working his way inside for years, as earnest and trusting as Luc had been.
She looked over at Luc, only to see him smile at her from the corner. He seemed to approve of this madness.
Lisette heard a shuffling sound and turned to see that Eby had entered the kitchen and was pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was wearing pink baggy pajamas, which only served to make her look taller and thinner.
“I take it Jack is out there,” Eby said.
Lisette rolled her eyes as she pushed herself away from the door, where she’d been leaning against it, as if barricading it. She went to take the pastry shells out of the oven.
“He arrived last night. I know I said I’d take you into town for more groceries today, but I have all this inventory to do. Inventory you won’t help me with. So Jack said he’d take you.”
Lisette set the pastry shells down and quickly wrote on her notepad, It can wait.
“I don’t think so. Bulahdeen has decided to throw us a farewell party. You might want to help her, or we’ll end up with a lot of liquor and nothing to eat.”
Lisette narrowed her eyes at Eby, then she wrote, I know what you are doing.
Eby read that and smiled. “Me?” she said, turning to go back upstairs with her cup of coffee. “All I’m doing is inventory.”