Page 60 of Coram House

My phone vibrates. I pull it out to see a text from Stedsan, asking if I’m going to Jeannette Leroy’s funeral tomorrow.

“Do you want a coffee?” Xander asks. His voice is overly bright, like a kid who knows he’s in trouble but isn’t sure why. “I could show you the lake before you go. It’s a great view of downtown at night.”

I feel guilty—he’s obviously trying—and also something close to euphoric at having the photocopy folded safely in my pocket.Tommy U. It could be him.

“Sure,” I say. “Coffee sounds great.”

We wind our way back through the dark house to the front hall, where I pull on my jacket and hat. Xander disappears into the kitchen and reappears with two thermoses. Outside, liquid dark presses against the windows. We could be in a submarine, deep in the ocean. When Xander opens the door, I half expect the darkness to flood inside—to drown us. But it’s just the freezing air, the mineral tang of impending snow.

Outside, Xander taps his phone, and a soft glow rises from the ground, illuminating a path that leads into the woods. Uneasiness creeps up my spine. It’s the darkness of the trees, the flicker of shadows. Nothing particular. Just monsters in the woods.

The path winds beneath the trees to a set of stone steps cut into a steep hillside. Gravel and salt crunch underfoot. At the base of the hill, a dock stretches into the black night. Two red Adirondack chairs sit at the end, waiting for summer. The sight triggers something in my brain, some sense of familiarity.

“Careful, it might be icy,” Xander says, as we step onto the dock’s wooden boards.

The moon emerges from behind a cloud and illuminates the rocky cliffs across the water. And I understand, now, why the chairs felt familiar.

The cliff across the water is Rock Point. Five days ago, I stood right over there, looking across the ice at a huge house nestled in the trees. At a dock with two red chairs. This house. This dock. I feel untethered, as if I’ve stepped through the looking glass.

Xander is still talking and I force myself to return my attention to the present. “What?” I say.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just babbling,” Xander says, laughing. “I was just saying—there’s something hypnotic about the water. It’s always the same, but always changing, you know? It just froze out there, so we should be able to ice sail in a few days if the cold weather holds.”

“Out there?”

I look at the flat ice beyond us, beyond Rock Point, and realize what’s different. Everything out there was open water just five days ago. Now it’s all frozen solid.

“And to complete tonight’s tour, that’s downtown over there.”

Xander raises his cup to a scattering of twinkly lights to our right, resting in the curve of the bay.

In the distance, I make out the fishing shacks that dot the ice, but there’s something else out there too. A shadowy lump. Snippets of what Parker told me at the police station come back. A car on the ice. A fire. I point. “Is that—”

“My car, yeah.” Xander clears his throat, embarrassed.

“And you walked all the way from that to here?” I ask, incredulous. Now that I’m standing here—it’s not a funny story anymore.

“The ice is solid,” he says, defensive. “I drink my coffee down here every morning. Sure it was open water beyond the point, but the bay has been frozen for weeks.”

“Right.”

“It’s not like I’m the only one. People are out there fishing all the time. Skating. I mean, I saw someone paddling a canoe around the point last week.”

“The canoe thing isn’t exactly supporting your argument.”

Xander sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes. He’s silent for a few seconds and I wonder if he’s mad at me. When he takes his hand away, his smile is rueful. “I don’t know why I’m trying to recast my bad, drunk idea as something logical. I guess I just don’t want you to think I’m a total idiot.”

“I don’t,” I say. “Think you’re an idiot, I mean.”

He smiles at me. “I don’t know if that’s true, but I appreciate you saying it either way. Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

At the car, Xander opens the driver’s side door and I slide inside. I thank him for dinner, for the photo, and wait for him to close the door, but he doesn’t.

“Sorry, can I just ask something? My therapist—I’m working on being more direct—and I just, did I say something wrong before, at dinner? You seemed annoyed at me.”

I have a ridiculous urge to hit the gas and drive until he’s forced to let go of the car. But, of course, I don’t. Xander is so direct—no room for subtext. Maybe this is what people are like in California. Everyone’s on the road to self-actualization.

“I just have a hard time seeing Coram House turned into condos for people who want a water view.”

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