The Lost Women of Lost Lake Read Free

the choice between sitting in a chair and reading a book or going for a walk, the chair and the book would win every time.
    Jill was athletic, lived in a body that still water-skied in the summer, skated and cross-country skied in the winter. She ran a couple miles every day, swam in the evenings if the weather permitted. She loved activity and took great pleasure in the simple joy of motion. She liked nothing more than fixing things—cars, motorcycles, boat motors, clocks. To her, everything was a puzzle, and that meant everything had a solution.
    What seemed most ironic to Tessa was that Jill, in the eyes of the world, was a nobody. Tessa was the accomplished one. She’d written twenty-seven plays, most of which had been produced at least once. She had a dozen or more awards to her credit. And yet, without Jill as an anchor, she would have spun off into the cosmos long ago. Jill kept her going, kept her feet firmly planted on the ground. She was strong and centered and kind. In a crazy world, Jill was Tessa’s tether to a reality that kept her sane.
    Taking another couple of swallows from the blender jar, Tessa continued down the stairs to the garage. She weaved a little, thinking it was funny until she nearly tripped over a crowbar. She kicked it, angry that it had crawled into her path, then bent down to pick it up. The cold, heavy metal felt good in her hand. A solid means of destruction. Swaying out of the drive, past the log pile into the trees that surrounded the cottage, she took a swing at a low-hanging branch. To her amazement, it ripped clean away. She would take this crowbar up to her study to help her hack through the thick weeds of thought.
    Forging ahead, with a nearly full moon lighting her way, she continued to sip from the jar. By now there wasn’t much left, which was probably why her body felt light and buoyant. In contrast, her ruminations had grown so heavy that she was afraid they would crack her head open.
    â€œStop it,” she ordered, recognizing alcohol-fueled melodrama when she saw it.
    â€œBesides,” she grumbled, “it was all Hubey’s fault.” She took a swipe at another branch. “It was freakin’ kindergarten ethics. Always has been. You’re either for us or against us.”
    She walked on, not thinking too much about where she was headed. The night air felt cool against her hot skin. When the blender was empty, she set it down on a rock, intending to come back for it. “Time for a gut check. Gotta keep doing those gut checks. Where are you? What are you thinking? Come on, now. No cop-outs. A cop-out is a mortal sin.” She cringed at the jargon of her youth.
    Wielding the crowbar as if it were a scythe, she cleared the brush as she went. “Always needed a theory to rationalize my life. Gotta have a good theory. A good theory can take you anywhere you want to go.”
    Stumbling over a tree root, she righted herself with some difficulty and then turned around, deciding that it might be politic to head back. “Before I get totally lost,” she mumbled. “Hell, I am totally lost. With me, it’s a state of being.” She thrust the crowbar in the air. “Kill the mind-controlling maniacs.”
    She was halfway up the deck stairs when Jill pulled the Jeep back into the drive. As she got out, she glanced up. “What are you doing with that crowbar?”
    â€œWhere’s a good dose of healthy doubt when you need it?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œDoubt!”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œMy life, ” she shouted. She twisted around to make her point by banging the crowbar on the railing. Instead, she lost her balance and fell forward. She heard Jill’s scream as she hit the bottom step.
    â€œAre you all right?” cried Jill, rushing to her. She knelt down, a look of horror on her face.
    â€œI think…” said Tessa, arching her body in pain, “I