Curtain Call: Part VI

They silently drifted further and further from shore.

It took quite a while to reach a point where the water opened up enough to speak comfortably, enough so that they were confident that their voices would not carry.

There, Emily brought them to a steady pace that allowed conversation.

Emily told Sloan about the terrain and how something called "peat" made the water look nearly black and somehow thick. She told her about the neighboring towns and how the islands formed in the lake over millions of years. She told her about the deer beyond the tree-line that sometimes came sniffing around the lake-house. She told her how she and Peter met, long ago when they were teens. She told her how she considered the event to be a case of love at first sight.

"I remember seeing him doing some carpentry on a construction site, that was the first time. His arms… the arms still get to me."

Sloan laughed, a little embarrassed but thankful for the little joy.

"When I look at him I still see him at nineteen. Every time," Emily reminisced. "He's a good man. Always has been."

"I can see that," Sloan agreed, making Emily smile. Sloan paused, a question caught in her throat. She ultimately decided to clear it and ask anyway. "Emily, what were you and Peter arguing about?"

Emily's grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"Because if it's about you helping me, you've already done enough. This is too much. I can figure out another-"

"Don't. We've got you, all right? Our... discussion wasn't about you. You are a factor in it but- As I said before, another story for another time."

"Okay."

Emily glanced at Sloan from the corner of her eye. "Who's Shannon?"

Sloan raised an eyebrow and countered, "Another story for another time."

Emily relaxed and chuckled, "Fair enough, sweet girl. Fair enough."

Sloan relaxed with her into their mutually excluded secrets, sitting back and turning her attention to the now faintly blue sky as they crossed the lake. They wove between widely spaced islands and peninsulas covered in trees both incredibly bare and brown as well as lush and evergreen. The spray of the lake was freezing but fresh, and Sloan found herself perking up a bit.

After nearly thirty minutes, she poked her head over the edge of the boat.

“Emily?”

“Yes, dear?” She answered, tilting her head in Sloan's direction without looking at her.

“...Can I stand up?”

Emily searched the shoreline in every direction, squinting. “Just for a minute or two. I’ll tell you when to sit back down, but go ahead. I'm sure you'd like to stretch your legs.”

No kidding.

Sloan pulled herself up onto her feet. She did stretch, standing up on the tips of her toes and lengthening her whole body as far as it would go. She rolled her shoulders back and rubbed at a tender spot on the back of her neck as she made her way to the stern of the boat to watch how it carved through glassy, deep-navy water.

When the wind's blowing of her hair in an uncomfortable direction began bothering her, she turned toward the front and let the bone-chilling wind batter her clothes, the cold nearly feeling hot on the bare parts of her skin. She raised her arms up slightly to feel it all around as she looked at the yellowing horizon and where it met the water as the sun began taking its first steps toward setting. As it grew and deepened, the sunset stained the peaks of each little wave in the water, where there was more color than Sloan had known water to be capable of holding.

It was vibrant and harsh and lovely.

Sloan did not have to will herself to breathe this time. Her body just did it, and happily so. Those deep, full breaths of crisp lake air made it all - running, hiding, and everything in between - fall away for a few minutes. Sloan felt high on the oxygen, as if the air was too rich or too full. She laughed in a quick, disbelieving exhale, letting her hands move up and down as if they ran along the waves on the sides of the boat. Sloan's face turned up into a smile, a wide toothy smile that wrote relief all over her face.

There is nothing other than this lake.

“Okay, Sloan, I think you ought to sit down now,” Emily yelled. “We’re about to pass a few docks.”

Sloan's face fell. She nodded, getting a grip on the reality of where they were and why. She sighed and rubbed her dry lips against each other as she carefully walked back to her seat.

Well, that was nice while it lasted.

The boat crept to half their previous speed. As it neared the docks, it sent ripples under them. They bobbed up and down as Sloan and Emily passed them, even from many yards away. Back to sitting on the deck, Sloan kept her head down.

The last time she thought no one would see her did not turn out well.

"I guess you can stand back up if you want to, sweetie," Emily offered. "If anyone is inside, they are not in the habit of keeping their lights on."

Sloan curled her legs up like she was on the old alphabet carpet from her classroom in kindergarten. "I'm okay."

"What was that?" Emily asked, not hearing her.

"I'm fine! Thanks!"

Sloan watched the sunset. The sky was orange now, and it scattered the water's surface with even more and ever deepening shades of gold, blush, and indigo. The clouds were pillowing and gradually parting, letting the light and color pour through. The wind was still deceptively bone-chilling considering the warm light, but Sloan could not have possibly cared any less about temperature.

Sloan sighed.

Emily steered the boat to the right between two points of the shore that jutted out a bit. Sloan found herself looking up and to the left at a modest cabin in the trees, and found it curious that, only here, a porch light was on. She squinted but couldn't see anything else.

"Huh."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing! There's a porch light on up there."

Emily turned her head to look, finding they already passed it. "Probably someone keeping an eye on their house off-season. Or a hermit. You never really know out here. People keep to themselves."

"Works for me," Sloan chuckled.

Emily sighed and reached over to squeeze Sloan's knee. "See, I'm not worried about you at all. Not at all."

That makes one of us.

Not long after this exchange, the water began to narrow a bit. Emily began slowing down even more, steering the boat to the right only to take a wide left turn into the small opening of a cove nearly entirely hidden by evergreen trees. The cove was small and broken up by a small island near the shore that was lined with trees that were too bare and thin to conceal the A-frame lake-house.

Emily rode the waves out patiently, the water chopping at the boat, as they neared a small dock Emily was aiming for.

"You weren't kidding about this place being secluded."

"Well, Charlie liked his privacy," Emily explained as she let the waves settle around the boat for a moment after they docked. "He liked the quiet to do his painting. He'd venture out for breakfasts on Saturday mornings and come over for dinner here and there. But," Emily stood to tie off the rope anchoring them in place, "that was just him. There when you really needed him, here… the rest of the time. Okay, hands."

Sloan grabbed Emily's hands to steady herself as she stepped down onto the dark wooden dock.

"The island isn't really an island. It's more like a hill and the valley gets covered in water when the tide is high. When it's low, you can walk across the lakebed. I mean, it's muddy, so you wouldn't want to… Anyway, when it's high, the bridge rises!"

"Like a moat?"

"Kind of. No drawbridge."

"Well, sure, that would be a bit eccentric."

Emily snorted before they each grabbed a few bags and began walking up the steep dirt road that wound partially around the island. They passed the bridge, and Emily told the story of how she and Charlie built it one summer. Sloan nodded along to confirm she was listening but her attention turned elsewhere.

There were formerly well-kept and currently barren trees and bushes separating the island from the view of the rest of the lake beyond the cove, and up close they looked intentionally places. This far into the season, only a few sparse evergreen trees obstructed the view. The grass was a dull yellow and brown, but Sloan imagined in the summer it became a golden green expanse that reached all the way to the tree line from the front porch.

I hope it's only ugly in winter.

The lake-house itself was modest to say the least. The brown A-frame looked as if it was partially stilted, with stairs reaching up to the front door. Found underneath the house was nothing more than long-forgotten storage: a variety of moldy firewood, old lawn mowers, and rather rusty tools spilling out of a toolbox and onto a makeshift work table. There were paintbrushes that were never quite washed thoroughly enough to be useful, dirty pallets, and the nubs of charcoals spilling out of aluminum cans that were stacked on and around each other.

Tidy.

Sloan's feet and still-swollen ankle were not thrilled with the cold, hard-packed earth beneath them and were even less thrilled with the climb up to the door. She followed Emily up the narrow steps, breathing heavily after their hike up the steep path from the dock up to the house. She readjusted her grip on her bags as Emily dug in one of the old tins in search of an old rusty key. After fumbling around at the bottom of it, cursing when her hand hit miscellaneous screws and nails, Emily finally managed to unlock the door, which proved to be a task in and of itself.

Emily thrust her shoulder into the door's edge once, twice, three times, and on the fourth finally succeeded in the dislodging.

She proudly smiled at Sloan, tucking a bit of hair away from her face and behind her ear. "The cold makes the wood shift, you see."

"Sure."

Emily used her hip to swing the door open further and into the musty lake-house which Sloan would now more appropriately call a cabin.

There were no walls separating the rooms, save for what looked like a sliding door concealing the bathroom. Across from a dining area consisting of a round table, two chairs, and a crate, the kitchen sat. There was maybe a yard of counter space, a rusty fridge, a gas stove, and a kettle. There was a ladder propped against one wall that appeared to serve as a pantry, with a couple of cans of crushed tomatoes near the bottom, some canned peaches, and small tins, the contents of which Sloan could not make out. The wood floors creaked beneath their feet as they entered, and Sloan flipped a stray corner of the well-worn and homely area rug back into place.

Next to the pantry/ladder was another ladder, this one built into the house with a far sturdier look to it. It led straight up into the loft where a sure to be ancient cot or mattress resided. The ceiling looked low up there, but Sloan thought it looked like it could be cozy, up and out of the way of everything.

Hopefully not too tight.

Emily pointed up at it and said proudly, "Heat rises!" She then gestured to the fireplace whose chimney ran up to the edge of the loft and through the roof. "It's real warm up there if you put enough firewood for the night in. And there's a little window to crack in the summer for a breeze. Charlie was so smart building this place the way he did. You know he always told me…"

Sloan let Emily talk her ears off for a while as she explored the cabin, nodding enthusiastically when needed.

The living area, directly below the loft, seemed promising beneath all the dust. There were maybe a hundred tea-stained, dog-eared books stacked on top of each other in haphazard columns lining the wall. By the fireplace, there was a big arm chair with the fabric on the arms clearly needing some work. There was a green-shaded lamp on a small side table adjacent to the chair, and behind it were canvases. Beside it were canvases. All along the four walls, Sloan found canvases. Some were laid flat against each other and leaning against the wall, corners curling. Most were rolled up and shoved into old paint cans-

Paint cans! That's what they are!

-sitting in random places throughout the home. Those cans were everywhere and in every size. They had the muddiest mixes of colors in them, nothing like the clear colors of the lake.

"...I come up here when I miss him. He's written all over the place," Emily explained as she turned on a couple of lights, including one hanging over the table.

"He certainly read a lot," Sloan said, appreciating the small library she had at her disposal. She held up a book with a title she knew well. "Lots of Faulkner."

Emily whistled, "I tried giving him a shot a couple of times. Never could wrap my brain around what he was yammering on about. Wordy bastard, ain't he?"

Sloan giggled a bit. "Yes, he sure was."

"I never knew why Charlie liked him so much, seeing as how he himself was a man of few words."

"I-" Sloan cut herself off. Emily raised her eyebrows and bowed her head a bit, urging her to continue. "Isolation, maybe. Just based on the ones that look the most worn out, and the fact that he called this place - of all places - 'home'."

Emily shook her head, "I don't know. He started reading those way before he moved out here. Must have been something else."

"Must have."

Sloan put the book back down on top of its pile and helped Emily unpack the rest of the evening. They made a few more trips back to the boat but decided to close up shop when it got too dark out. Emily knocked the mold off of some firewood and made a modest fire that soon enveloped the whole cabin in warmth and buttery light.

Once everything was put away and organized to some degree, Emily beckoned Sloan to sit in a wobbly kitchen chair while she started some water for tea.

“My nephew Miles might be able to help make deliveries on occasion, once supplies run low. He’s not really my nephew, but I was good friends with his mother and she passed away when he was young. So I’m his honorary aunt!”

“You’re his Auntie Em.”

Emily tilted her head, processing the reference, before excitedly pointing at Sloan. “Wizard of Oz!”

Sloan gave her a thumbs up. “Nailed it.”

Emily wiped her hands on her jeans as she inspected the room. “Well, what do they say in that, ‘home sweet home’?”

“‘There’s no place like home’.”

“Right. Well, my dear, here’s home!" She plopped a couple of tea bags into some tin mugs that she had to blow dust out of before use. "At least for right now. Is there anything you think you’ll need?”

Sloan mulled that over for a second before answering, “No, but I’m sure something will come up by the time you come back. Oh maybe, um, feminine…”

Emily nodded eagerly, “Of course. I’ll pick up a few things for you.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

Emily poured the water into the mugs, giving Sloan the navy blue one and herself the red before plopping tea bags into both. They sat in comfortable silence as they enjoyed their tea, Emily interjecting occasionally with little stories about the various objects found around the cabin, like an old, broken-down grandfather clock and a dulcimer with delicate hearts carved into the body.

After her storytelling, she placed her hand on the table and grunted as she stood. "Welp…"

Sloan watched Emily make her way across the room to pull out a bag from the corner and two knives from a drawer by the sink. "...yes?"

Emily sat down, handing a paring knife to Sloan. From the bag, she removed a plastic wrapped package of cheese and a loaf of bread in crinkly paper. She passed them to Sloan before reaching into a box and grabbing an apple.

Sloan picked up the bread, determining it to be sourdough. She cut the loaf into thick slices before doing the same to the cheese. She cut a small corner off the edge of the block and tasted it.

Monterey jack?

"It's Havarti. I like Havarti."

"As do I. Goes well with apples."

Emily gave Sloan her fair share of apple slices. "I'm glad you think so, because you'll be eating quite a bit of it over the next few days, both the Havarti and the apples."

Sloan nodded but furrowed her brow, confused a bit but not enough to press further.

Emily met her gaze. "Perishables go first."

"Ah."

They ate as the fire slowly burned down to embers, Sloan considering what questions she could have answered at the moment before deciding on an easy one.

"So, Miles."

"Yes?"

"Are you… are you sure he'll be willing to help me?"

Emily shook her head vigorously before assuring, "No doubt in my mind. Miles hates Curtain Call. Only thing he likes about it is that it gives him the chance to use the phrase 'morally repugnant' on a regular basis."

"That would be the thing to call it, I guess."

"More than that, he loves helping out. He loves a cause. He'll be over the moon about your situation. Respectfully, of course."

"Right."

Silence returned.

What can I say?

She watched Emily chew.

I don't even know how I feel about all this. Can she tell? How does she feel about me in her brother's house? Is this hard for her, being here? Sharing this place? Does she know how hard this is for me? Will this ever be anything but hard?

Emily slurped her tea, trying to cool it down enough to drink comfortably.

I… I don't know what to say…

She didn't have to know, though. Dinner was quick, and after they finished, Emily cleared the table.

"I'll sleep in the chair tonight. It's certainly not my first time doing so. The quilt in the loft might be a bit dusty, but there are spares stacked in the corner. I'll be sure to bring more choices or launder what's up there whenever I head out. I imagine you'll sleep like a baby, given how tired you must be."

"Right. Is it, uh, tight up there? Is it roomy?"

Emily shook her head gently, a soft expression crossing her face. "You may need to bow your head a bit standing up, but there is plenty of room to stretch out. Charlie was over six feet tall, and he built this place per his exact specifications."

"Oh, that sounds great, then. Thank you."

"You should be comfortable," Emily said as she dusted the crumbs from her hands into the sink and briefly rinsed them. She turned, weighing the pros and cons of sharing whatever was on her mind before ultimately deciding that the pros were heavier. "You won't need to keep thanking me, baby. I appreciate it, of course. But, considering why we are both here, we may just need to accept our extraordinary circumstances and warm up to each other sooner rather than later. Be casual. I wouldn't share this place with anyone I didn't consider family. I will do for you what I would do for my family," she paused to cough, her speech choking up ever so slightly. She gave a tight-lipped grin before continuing, "I'll do what I would have done for him. But, now, what I would do for my family is tell them to get their ass into bed."

Sloan's previously severe expression broke into one of grateful surprise. "Yes ma'am. Am I allowed to clean up first?"

"Don't be a smart-ass," Emily said, winking at her while turning on the bathroom light.

Maybe I'll be just fine.