The Speed of Mercy by Christy Conlin (adventure books to read .txt) 📗

to Mercy Lake with Cynthia and Frank. She thinks about what Granny and Cynthia said the previous day. Cynthia doesn’t seem to want to go either. She crosses her arms and frowns as she stamps her foot. Frank is changing the plan without even asking them, a slight menace in what he’s talking about now.

“You said you’d take us to see Granny Scotia,” Cynthia says. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing well, Cynthia, but she needs to rest. She might have a heart problem. She’s not making a lot of sense and it would just confuse her to see you girls in there. We’ll go see her in a few days, okay? I let your father know what’s happening, Stella.”

It’s a lengthy drive and Stella is completely disoriented. Frank cruises at Sunday-drive pace. They head southwest, passing a very odd abandoned shack on the side of the road with faded flowers painted on the little front window. Cynthia explains that this is the house where Maud Lewis lived and painted. Her husband was murdered in the previous year, and Maud died a decade ago. Stella’s eyes tear up as they pass the minute house where this painter had lived but now was forgotten. Stella feels this way too, how no one even knows she and Cynthia are alive. They continue on and eventually turn off the main road and drive down a paved back road for what seems an hour before turning onto a dirt road, and then onto an even smaller bumpy dirt road for miles until finally there is a wooden sign: The Lodge at Mercy Lake. There are security guards at the gate. They look like forest rangers but they have guns. They wear explorer hats and mirrored sunglasses, faceless as they let the car in through the imposing gate. Frank whistles as they drive down a winding lane that twists and turns for a few more miles, and at last, there’s the old lodge on the lake. It is a magnificent setting, with forest right to the water’s edge, and Mercy Lake stretching far, far back. Stella had no idea a lake could even be this large, could disappear into the woods. There is one beach area. And some men with gas tanks and chainsaws.

Frank smiles in the rear-view mirror. “Just some fellows helping with the maintenance and such.”

Loons call as they get out of the car. Stella has an urge to run into the woods, but that seems a dangerous thing to do. Frank is here and Cynthia is here. Security is here.

Frank goes into the lodge after pointing out some canoes and saying they should have fun. Stella has no idea how to canoe but Cynthia does, and she pulls one into the water from where it’s been resting higher on the beach. Cynthia has a backpack and gives Stella a granola bar. She’s starving. By the time they turn back there is a chill in the end-of-day shadows, the trees casting dark ribbons over the lake, the silhouette of the lodge against the sky. They pull the canoe onto the beach and gape up at the lodge. A fire flickers inside and dusky smoke coils out of the immense stone chimney.

Tommy Jessome appears with two glasses of juice. They are champagne flutes, the same kinds as the ones at Frank’s house up at Seabury Gorge, crystal with a gold rim, goblets in this setting. Tommy smiles at Cynthia, acting like nothing happened a few weeks earlier in the dining room of Cedar Grove. He doesn’t look at the scar on Cynthia’s arm. And she doesn’t behave as though it happened either.

“Lovely evening isn’t it, girls?” Stella is immobilized. She tells her legs and arms to move but they don’t, instead keeping her upright as a statue.

Tommy looks at Stella. “Have a drink. Fruit punch. Doesn’t every girl love a drink of fruit punch? Helps keep it sweet. Stella, you look parched. This will fix you right up. I’ve spent time in Ohio — in Athens, Ohio — and they do have the nicest punches. And library.”

It is, Stella thinks, an odd comment.

Cynthia puts her hands on her hips. “I thought my dad said the conference wasn’t until next week?”

“That’s right, it’s next week. This is just the executive meeting.”

“Where’s my father?”

“He got called back to town. Your grandmother was asking for him. Poor old lady. I guess it was a heart attack. I know how fond you gals are of her. But old age comes for us all. Stella, your father understood when Frank said you were needed out here to keep Cynthia company. After all Frank’s done for your father, he couldn’t say no. I told him I’d make sure you get brought back into town.”

Stella follows Cynthia towards the lodge. They carry their drinks. Tommy Jessome is gone. Stella isn’t sure where he went. It’s the purple hour and the light is fading quickly from the sky. Cynthia sets her backpack on the table near the lodge and puts her crystal glass beside it. She tells Stella to set hers down. But Stella is thirsty. “Put it down, Stella. Listen to me. Take mine,” she orders, in a voice resembling her father’s.

But Stella doesn’t trust anybody now, especially someone who sounds like Frank, so she tips back her fancy glass and drinks her own drink. Cynthia won’t tell her what to do. She won’t let her shame over Cynthia guilt her into a worse mess than they are already in.

It takes only a few minutes before Stella’s head is light and she can hardly feel her legs. Her stomach is on fire. She has trouble walking. Tommy comes back out and next thing Stella knows, she and Cynthia are in another room. The light is low and Stella is laughing. It’s one of her dreams. She wonders if she’ll see her mother here. But Cynthia is pinching her cheeks. “Stella, you have to snap out of it. Please, Stella.”

There is a dress on the