At the Water's Edge Read Free

that same question over and over again before deciding to come here. But work was part of the problem. How I completely buried myself in it. Took on more seats on more committees than any member of faculty—despite finding committee work the biggest waste of time ever invented. But anything was good enough to keep me from going home to my house and the blackness that awaited me there.
    “I’m sure she knows best, John,” my mother comes to my defense, and it strangely touches me—tears at the ready behind my eyes and everything. But she’s wrong, because if I had truly known better, I wouldn’t have done what I did.
    “I won’t be teaching the first term,” I state, as though I’m facing a class of students instead of my parents. “I’m only slated to return in the New Year.”
    Then, out of nowhere, my mother’s hand lands on my wrist. I flinch because I hadn’t expected it, but it only makes her claw her fingers deeper into my flesh. “If there’s anything—” she starts to say, but chokes up.
    I swallow the tightness out of my throat—images of the splendor of West Waters flooding my brain—and put my hand on hers. It’s all I’ve got for now.
    “I—uh, I’d like to get a picture from my old room,” I stammer, uncomfortable in the moment as it drags on.
    “Sure.” Mom removes her hand and stares into her empty coffee cup.
    “You still know the way, I hope,” Dad says in an overly cheerful voice that doesn’t fit the mood at all.
    “Sure.” I push my chair back, my eyes fixed on the stairwell, and I can’t get out of there fast enough.
    Once upstairs, the bedroom where I spent my youth is still semi-intact. The bed I slept in is still there, but numerous other objects have found their way in. Toaster ovens Dad has won at card games, old electrical appliances Mom can’t bear to throw out, a worn, deflated lilo we used to take to West Waters.
    The picture I’m looking for is one of Nina and me, taken outside the cabin. I find it facedown on the corner of my former desk. Nina’s at least two heads taller than me, her hair straw-blond and scraggly—and always that glint of trouble in her eyes. She must be ten, still young enough to wrap an arm around my shoulders for a picture, and I’m seven. I am smiling broadly, one tooth missing, my hair much darker than my sister’s, and, despite the toothless grin, my glance much more demure.
    I look around the room but the anticipated wave of nostalgia doesn’t come. Too much time has passed, too many new memories have erased the ones I made here. I wonder what Nina’s old room looks like these days, but instead of walking across the landing to find out, I take the stairs down, and hide the picture in my purse.
    “We’re having Aunt Mary over for dinner this weekend,” Mom says when I re-enter the living room. “Will you co—”
    “Don’t pressure her, Dee,” Dad cuts her off.
    “It’s fine,” I quickly jump in to avoid further arguing about me. “I’ll come, but I should go now. I want to get to the store before it closes.”
    Their goodbye is casual and quick—the goodbye to someone they’ll see again soon. This time it’s true, despite it being the exact same type of farewell we always exchange.
    * * *
    Back at West Waters, the sun is already bleeding out its last rays of the day over the lake, and it all weighs heavy on me again. Before putting the groceries away, I lean against the kitchen counter and dig up the picture I snatched from my childhood bedroom.
    You were always the easy one. I hear my mother’s voice in my head. You never caused us trouble like your sister did. Dr. Hakim has taught me that there is absolutely no use in trying to guess what someone else might be thinking. I used to sit in his office three times a week, motionless, detached, and impossible to read. I’d listen to his baritone full of wisdom, stare at the liver spots on his hands as he rubbed a finger over his thin beard. It reminded me of a