Lake Overturn (21 page)

“Do you want some water, sweetheart?” Melissa asked.

Randy nodded.

“Let me,” said Wanda.

They sat with Randy patiently as he took sips of water. Melissa said, “Simon always knows. Did you see him scratching?”

On Randy’s face was an expression of deep sorrow. At last he looked at Wanda and said, “Sorry about that.”

Wanda shook her head, no.

“Randy’s epileptic,” Melissa said in a confidential tone. “It’s not severe. We haven’t told them, at the agency, because it will disqualify us.”

Randy corrected her weakly: “We
think
it
might
disqualify us.”

“In any case,” Melissa said, “we definitely planned to tell you—or whoever we ended up being matched with. I understand if this . . . disturbs you.”

Wanda, overwhelmed and frightened of saying the wrong thing, shook her head again.

“Well, I’d like to ask you not to tell Helen. I’ll understand if you feel that you need to tell her. But, as a favor to us, I ask you not to.”

Tears clouded Wanda’s vision—all those lies she had told them in the office!—and she said, “I won’t tell.”

“Thanks,” Melissa said briskly. Then she leaned in toward Randy. It seemed she wanted to distract him so he wouldn’t see the tears in Wanda’s eyes. “Sweetheart, do you want to lie down for a bit?”

“I think I will,” he said.

“He gets very tired . . .”

Randy rose from the chair and walked slowly across the room. Before he disappeared into the glass hallway, he reached up and touched the lowest-hanging leaf of a plant that overflowed from the balcony. Melissa had turned to Wanda to say, “Well, I guess you’ll be helping me with dinner,” and didn’t see Randy touch that leaf, but the gesture moved Wanda. It was obvious to her that it was something he did habitually, maybe every time he entered that hallway, like how she herself always looked through the peephole before opening the door, even when she knew who it was, and like how her mother used to pull the lever and move the car seat back and forth to get it just right before starting the car, even though she was the only one who drove it. Habit. Wanda sensed that Randy had done it this time to mark that the seizure was over—to touch waking life after the nightmare.

“I’m happy to help,” she said.

They went to the kitchen. “Wanda, could you rinse off the tuna? I get it at the Chinese grocery, and there’s always lots of flies.”

“Um, sure.” Did Melissa want her to clean the cans, or to rinse the tuna inside? Either seemed a little excessive. But, wary of saying anything that would make her seem stupid or rude, Wanda began searching a shelf for the tuna.

“It’s right there,” said Melissa, indicating the counter. There was no tuna there, though, and Wanda gave Melissa a hesitant, bewildered shake of the head.

Melissa came over and opened a paper packet, revealing what Wanda assumed was a slab of sirloin. “Here,” she said.

“That’s meat,” Wanda said, aware that she was stumbling, unaware of how.

“You’ve never seen fresh tuna?” Melissa marveled, laughing.

Wanda shrank.

“Of course you haven’t!” Melissa said, suddenly businesslike. “You live far from the ocean. Treat it just like a steak. Rinse it off in the sink, then cut it into three.”

Wanda took the package, sickened a little by the brilliant red color, the fleshy aroma, and the idea of a cow-sized fish. She had always assumed that tuna were smaller than the catfish she used to catch with her uncle and that the meat of one filled one can.

Later, as Wanda was setting the table, Randy walked in with a shy smile.

“Well, if it isn’t Lazarus!” cried Melissa.

“Back from the dead,” Randy responded.

Wanda saw that this was something they had said a thousand times, but this time it didn’t seem canned, but sweet. She regretted having judged them harshly at the office.

Randy put his arms around Melissa, and she drew him down to share some private words. Then she said aloud, “You’re just in time. Sit down, both of you. Dinner’s on.”

“Wanda, I’m sorry you had to see that, before,” Randy said.

“Please,” Wanda said.

“It can really scare some people,” Randy said.

“It’s okay. I’ve seen worse.”

Randy’s gaze lingered on her for a moment as Melissa brought in a big plate with tuna steaks, crisscrossed with grill marks and surrounded by little potatoes. “Ta-daa!” Melissa said.

Wanda, when she said that she had seen worse, had meant finding her mother passed out on the floor—that had happened more than once. And, naturally, that led her thoughts to the morning she found her mother dead—the blaring TV and the cheerful breeze. They began to eat. Wanda didn’t like the flavor of the tuna where it was red inside, and labored to eat only the cooked part without making a show. The three struggled to make conversation, and for Wanda it was as difficult to manage as the tuna steak. Every avenue dead-ended in something about which she had lied. She would curb her story abruptly, and Randy, who still seemed weak, would nod, leaving poor Melissa to come up with a fresh topic. Wanda’s lies seemed almost to crowd her lungs and block her breath. Finally she said, “Can I tell you guys something?”

There must have been an alarm in her voice, because Melissa and Randy stopped eating.

“It’s not just you,” Wanda said. “I lied to Helen, too. My parents didn’t die in a car wreck last year, they died when I was little. I can’t even remember my dad. My uncle killed him in a hunting accident when I was just two. And my mom died when I was eleven. She had been . . . sick . . . a long time.” Even now Wanda couldn’t tell the whole truth, but this was a giant step toward it. “My life hasn’t really been like I said. It’s been pretty rough.” She stopped herself. That was enough for now.

Melissa and Randy looked down and, after a moment, started to eat again. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Melissa said.

“Did you go into foster care?” Randy asked.

“Yeah, for a year. I lived in this house in Chandler with these other foster kids, boys. Most of them ended up in prison.”

“And,” Randy said, “probably should have been in prison already?”

“Yeah.”

Randy nodded gravely.

“Then I lived with my big sister awhile, till she moved to Boise.”

“I was a foster kid,” Randy said.

“Melissa told me.”

“I was quite a mess until I met Melissa. It was Melissa that made me get my GED, and her parents that helped me open the bike shop.”

Wanda looked to Melissa, who shook her head without raising her eyes. Wanda had always dreamed that someone would come and save her like that.

They were quiet for a while, then Wanda said, “I hope what I said doesn’t change your mind. I mean, if you were going to choose me.”

“Wanda,” Melissa said. “Remember how I burst out crying when I saw you?”

“Mel, don’t,” Randy said.

“Randy doesn’t want me to tell you, but I will. I never cry. The reason I cried when I saw you was because I
knew
, I absolutely
knew
that you were the one who would carry our baby.”

Randy put his hand on Melissa’s and said, “Wanda, don’t let this make you feel pressured. It’s just a feeling Melissa had, and we’re both pretty wound up.”

“He’s right,” said Melissa. “It’s just a feeling . . .” Her eyes locked with Wanda’s significantly, as if to say,
But it’s true
.

Wanda smiled bashfully.

“All right,” Randy said, “enough serious talk. Let’s enjoy our meal.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Wanda said. “Earlier tonight, when I said that grown-ups in Eula don’t ride bikes, I didn’t mean anything by it. I think it’s great that you ride a bike. Really. I think your whole life here is great.”

“Thank you,” Randy said.

Now Wanda felt as if the block had been removed and her breath was free. They finished their dinner and sat for a while talking before empty plates. Then Melissa brought out bowls of ice cream sprinkled with warmed berries.

“These are from Melissa’s garden,” Randy said, picking up a blueberry with his fingertips and tossing it into his mouth. “She freezes them so we can have them year-round.”

“Yummy,” Wanda said.

“It’s a shame you’re leaving tomorrow,” Melissa said. “We could have shown you the area. Oh, but I forget, you’ve been to Portland before.”

“Yeah, well, barely,” Wanda said.

“What do you mean?”

“I was here with some friends for a weekend. All I saw of Portland was the inside of a few bars.”

“You didn’t go to the Cascades?” Randy said.

“Nope.”

“Have you been to Seattle?” Melissa asked. “Have you seen Puget Sound?”

“Portland’s as far as I got.”

“You didn’t even go to the beach? It’s just over an hour away!” Randy said.

“No. I’ve never seen the ocean. Isn’t that stupid?”

Melissa and Randy were dumbstruck. Then they glanced at each other as if to confirm something.

“What time is your bus tomorrow?” Randy asked.

“Noon.”

“You can’t go back to Eula without seeing the ocean.”

“Wanda,” Melissa said, “would you like to stay here tonight, in the guest room, and go to the ocean in the morning? We can have you back at your hotel in time to make a noon bus.”

“Don’t you guys have to work?” Wanda asked.

“The shop doesn’t open till ten,” Randy said.

“And I can be late,” Melissa said.

“You guys are so nice,” Wanda said, humbled yet again.

“D
ID YOU MAKE
them?” Enrique asked Gene when they met that night to paint the diorama.

Gene handed over not several large, colorful posters but a flimsy chart made from taped-together sheets of lined notebook paper. Small cross-sections of lakes drawn in pencil were accompanied by mathematical calculations marred with eraser marks. “Crater Lake in Oregon is the deepest lake in America,” Gene said in his computer-voice. “It’s two thousand feet deep. Three times as deep as Lake Nyos, and five times the volume. If this happened there, everyone in the towns of Kirk, Fort Klamath, and Union would die. Thirty thousand people.”

“That’s neat, Gene, but it’s not our project. Our project is to list the possible causes of what happened, and show what it would be like if it happened here. Remember what Abby said?
Narrow the focus
.”

Gene pointed farther down the chart. “Pend Oreille Lake. Twelve hundred feet deep, three times the surface area, five times the volume. Everyone in Sandpoint and Coeur d’Alene could die—half the population of northern Idaho.”

“Gene,” whimpered Enrique, flapping the sheet, “we’re doing Lake Overlook, not Pend Oreille! You didn’t make them, did you?”

Gene ducked his head.

Enrique had been forced to give Gene assignments to keep him from following tangents such as this one. Gene was supposed to have made posters listing the gases that could have poisoned the people, demonstrating how the weight of the water could have held down the gas and showing the volume of Lake Nyos versus Lake Overlook.

“Will you make them, tomorrow,
please
?”

Gene’s face churned.

“Let’s paint,” Enrique said.

As they covered the papier-mâché surface with green tempera, Gene repeatedly ran to the kitchen to wash smudges from his hands. Then Jay came home and Gene’s attention was lost. He sat poised over the project, a paintbrush ready in his hand, and watched Jay watching TV. “Go home, Gene,” Enrique said finally. There was no formality between the two boys as far as bidding each other good-bye. Often Gene slipped away soundlessly without Enrique noticing; other times he stayed late watching TV after Enrique had put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth. Enrique or Lina would tell him to go home without risking offense.

“Your friend’s a retard,” said Jay once Gene was gone, and this time Enrique didn’t spring to his defense. He couldn’t deny it: Gene stared at Jay like a retard.

Before heading off to bed, Enrique looked over the diorama. It didn’t live up to his vision. At four feet square, it took up an entire corner of the living room. Lake Overlook was a round metal bowl in the corner. They had made the papier-mâché slope leading to the lake as gentle as they could, but it still looked a little like a volcano. Headlines showed through the green paint. Mr. Hall’s trees and houses would save the project. It might not be identifiable as Eula, as Enrique had hoped, but it would at least resemble a lakeside village. When dry ice was placed in the metal bowl on the day of the science fair, the effect of carbon dioxide fumes swirling among the tiny trees would be dramatic.

W
HILE
R
ANDY TOOK
the dogs on their night walk, Melissa showed Wanda the guest room. “This wing of the house can get a little chilly, so if you need an extra blanket, there’s one in the closet. There should be a new toothbrush under the sink and a bathrobe and towel on the back of the door. Is there anything else you need?”

“No.”

“We’re just down the hallway if you need us.” Then Melissa hesitated, apparently wondering if there was something more she should do or say. She looked around the room, shrugged, and said, “Sleep tight, then. I’ll be getting you up pretty early.”

Wanda brushed her teeth, undressed, and slid into bed. She lay for a few minutes with the lights on, feeling restless. Having always slept in a big T-shirt, she didn’t know if she could sleep like this, in her bra. And more than this, although she didn’t articulate it to herself, she wanted to see Melissa again before bed, maybe to stay up for a while, talking.

I’ll ask for a T-shirt to sleep in
, Wanda said to herself. She put on the bathrobe and went down the hall. A door was ajar at the end, allowing a great bar of light to shine on the wood floor of the hallway. Wanda heard a tiny sound.
Tick
. . .
tick
. . .
tick
. . . Maybe the faucet was dripping. She tapped on the door and it swung open a little, revealing Melissa in plaid pajamas with her foot on the rim of the toilet, clipping her toenails.

“Oops, sorry,” Wanda said.

“That’s all right,” Melissa said. “Do you need something?”