Lake Overturn Read Free

patting Lina on the shoulder like it was an idea that they had struck upon together. And it was done: she’d work a half hour less every other Thursday. That was nowhere near enough time to fit in another house, so Sandra had effectively tricked her into a pay cut.
    Lina threw away her gloves, washed her hands in the bathroom, and put on her shoes. She gathered all the bottles and rags and put them in the broom closet, then hesitated. It would be rude to just leave when Mr. Hall was in the kitchen. So she poked her head in. “All done, Mr. Hall. Tell Sandra hi.”
    “Are you rushing off? You won’t join me?” He had an empty plate and a folded newspaper on the table before him, a bottle and two wine glasses, one half-full.
    “You know, I don’ really drink.”
    “It’s just wine.”
    “And the boys will be home soon.”
    Mr. Hall lifted the wine bottle, offering to pour.
    “Well, maybe one glass.” She left her duffel bag in the foyer.
    “How is Jay?” asked Mr. Hall. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”
    Two nights ago, after Mass, someone (maybe Connie, her neighbor, had had company) took Lina’s spot, so she had to park a few units down. As she approached the porch, she heard Jay’s angry voice and stopped to listen. “Why do you talk Spanish to her, Enrique? Talk English.”
    “Why you care?” (Enrique’s sad little voice.)
    “See? You sound like a fuckin’ wetback. ‘Why you care?’ Say, ‘Why do you care?’ ”
    “Guys, I’m home,” Lina had called. She climbed the stairs and stood at the screen door. Enrique was on the floor surrounded by his homework. Jay sat on the coffee table looming over Enrique’s shoulder. He was shirtless, his long brown torso leaning forward, elbows on knees, his big hands hanging.
    “Jay?” she said now to Mr. Hall. “He’s good.”
    “Still playing basketball?”
    “He will once season starts.”
    “And what’s your younger one named?”
    “Enrique.”
    “And . . . the boys’ father?”
    Two sips of wine were enough to make Lina bold. Instead of scrambling for an answer, she pursed her lips and wagged her finger scoldingly.
    Mr. Hall dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry,” he half-coughed.
    For a while they talked about the townspeople they knew in common. “You know Dr. and Mrs. Barnes just celebrated their fiftieth,” Mr. Hall said.
    “Yeah, big party.” Lina knew this because she had cleaned their house the next day.
    “Fifty years. You know, Lina, Sandra and I . . . our marriage isn’t so much of a marriage anymore. We love each other for what we once had, and for Abby. But we don’t love each other . . . passionately anymore.” He said this matter-of-factly, as if it followed what came before. Like a car with bad alignment, his conversation kept turning this way, and it seemed funnier now than at first, because he was so clumsy, and she was so tipsy. She would never let him in.
    They talked on and Mr. Hall refilled her glass. “Not so much, Mr. Hall. I have to drive home.” He was a nice man, just lonely. She would have used his first name if she could remember it. But he didn’t seem to notice enough to say, Oh, Lina, please call me . . . whatever. A lawyer for the city, he was certainly used to everyone calling him Mr. Hall.
    “My husband, he got a job in Nevada,” Lina offered when conversation failed.
    “And that’s where he lives? Nevada?”
    Lina nodded.
    “When was the last time he . . . lived here?”
    “Long time ago. He’ll come up here around Christmas.” Lina didn’t know why she added this little lie. She didn’t know when Jorge would come around, or, for that matter, if he still lived in Nevada. She called him her husband—she always had; he was the father of her two boys—but he had never married her in the church. Jorge hated priests.
    “Do you want to see something really amazing?” Mr. Hall asked in a brisk voice, as if to clear the air.
    “Um, sure.”
    “It’s upstairs. Bring your