Page 27 of Lake Hollow Curses

I don’t like where this is going…

Wilder levels me with a look of anger as he reads off his phone, “Potassium chloride can be difficult to detect in an autopsy because post-mortem potassium concentrations don't necessarily reflect ante-mortem concentrations. For example, potassium concentrations in hemolyzed blood are much higher than in serum, making it hard to conclude potassium poisoning from post-mortem analysis. Additionally, fatal intravenous potassium injections can cause subtle or no anatomic changes, making it difficult for an autopsy surgeon to determine the cause of death.”

Oh, my fucking God. Why was that among my aunt’s belongings?

Dad looks like he swallowed his tongue, his eyebrows raised. “Why in the world would she have that?”

Do we ever really know anyone?

“Mitch said he never saw it, that he never put it in my boxes. So, she may not have had that. Someone may have wanted me to think that though…”

“Did you let the detective know about this?” Wilder asks me while shoving his phone back in the pocket of his shorts.

Dad interjects, “Mitchell Gibson? Do you trust any of those Gibsons anymore? Don’t make the same mistakes your aunt made. The worst thing that ever happened to her was that family.” And we’re back to this. Dad always circles back to them as the reason for discord in our family.

The Marlows vs. The Gibson’s round five hundred.

“Uhh… Jesus Christ, dad. This again?”

“Son, you don’t understand the history.” I’ve heard that more times than I could ever count. He never really explains what the fuck it means. I’m just supposed to take that as an answer.

“I’m not a kid anymore, that’s not good enough. If I don’t understand, tell me. What history?”

Wilder and I sit on the sagging old plaid couch in my parents cluttered den, while he tells us more than I wanted to know. Daniel Gibson was not a good kid. Prior to Carlotta getting involved with him, it was widely believed he was unwell, mentally. He’d harmed animals, he’d pushed an employee of his dad’s down the stairs, he’d pinned someone between the dock and a bumper boat trying to hurt them. All around bad seed type behavior. The family downplayed or lied about it all. His brother protected him constantly. Made excuses for it all. The day he drowned in front of The Bends he had beaten Lala when he found out she was pregnant. She ended up losing the baby two days after he had drowned. She was investigated, briefly, for pushing him intoxicated into the water causing him to strike his head. Everyone at the party that day told the police he was alone when it happened. After Daniel passed away, the Gibson’s denied all his issues. No one spoke a word about Carlotta’sabuse at his hands, the pregnancy that ended. Anyone in town that knew the truth kept it to themselves. Carlotta adopted an opinion in time that Daniel had a drinking problem, but he was the love of her life. My dad and mom’s attempts to remind her were met with hostility or shunning.

Grabbing Wilder’s hand, I squeeze it tightly.

“Do Mitchell and Charlie know the truth?” Wilder asks my dad.

“Do you think that David or Bonnie Gibson would ever admit to their kids or anyone else what Daniel Gibson truly was?” My dad shakes his head sadly.

“What was that?”

“A psychopath.”

Chapter Nineteen

Remington James

Two days of working from sunup to sundown has meant that our progress has been swift. Once I’d painted the black outline of the objects pictured on the mural, Keenan, Pops’ grandson, and two of Ceily’s friends from quilting started to paint in with the colors needed. The finer details I followed behind doing. Their company is helping distract me from thinking about Cal. Charlie spent an hour on the phone last night trying to get to the root of the problem. He wants to know why I’m not responding to Cal. I couldn’t tell him. It would kill him to know what I suspect is true about his best friend.

Instead, I played it off, telling him I’d tried to call back but with the mural I’ve been busy. Also that nerves about leaving have me distracted. He tried to talk me into meeting up with him at the Drive-In on Saturday night, but I made excuses not to. He’ll bring Cal.

Cal Truitt. He’s on my mind constantly, each loving moment, each shared laugh, intimate connection driving a deeper pain into my heart. Deep down, I can’t accept it. I don’t want to.

There’s a battle in my mind between what I know of Cal and what I know about the drownings. Carlotta’s words in the letter make me feel sick…“Please be careful. The person responsible is a pathological liar, psychopath…”

I take a breath, backing up in the alley to look up at the mural, which is a couple days from completion. Keenan pulls me close in a one-armed hug. “You fucking clobbered it, doll. It’s gorgeous. Meemaw came out when you were up on the scaffolding. She was moved to tears. I think she mentioned she's making you cookies.”

“Your meemaw is a menace to society.” I swat at my bestie. “It’s good, huh?” Being proud of myself feels indulgent. I choose instead, to appreciate that Ceily gave me the chance to show how much Lake Hollow means to me. This is the first time I’ve felt like I’ve found a true home, with friends and love. Natalie even said, yesterday, that Lake Hollow is better than she thought it would be. Of course, she went on to ask me what makes soup wet, so it may not have been a deep realization.

The widening gap between Uncle Skip and I doesn’t feel like it can be undone. There are resentments on both sides that could be unfixable. I resent feeling like a burden, being kept in the dark, and having to be his ‘rock’. He resents being stuck with me, my opinions, and decisions.

Him missing me when I’m back in Florida, might change our relationship, or solidify the problems.

Once the tarps are in place and all the equipment is stowed in the back of Hidden Treasures, I start off for The Bends. Since coming to Lake Hollow, I’ve walked the route from downtown to the cabin enough to note little changes; a new flyer on a light pole, a tree cut down in a yard, or the gigantic spotlight GaryMarlow erected pointing towards the Funpark. My big inhale of the breeze past the yard full of lilac trees makes the emotions I hid all day pour through me. Tears spill down my cheeks. I need to talk to someone about this, I just don’t know who to confide in. Obvious choices are Keenan, Wilder, or Grady, but once I say it out loud… tell them about finding the pages, about Cal having that picture in his pocket, there is no going back. The accusation will take on a life of its own.

If I’m wrong, if everyone was wrong, Cal’s life will be destroyed. I’d never do that to someone I disliked, much less one that I’ve come to love.

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