Page 89 of The Souls of Lost Lake
Wren ping-ponged her attention between her dad and her brother.
Pippin poured a bowl of cereal while nodding. “Yeah, I heard it on the camp’s scanner. Troy’s group just got back from their trip to Black River Harbor. They’re taking him and a couple other guys from camp to help since they’re certified divers.”
“They’re really going to search Lost Lake?” Wren hadn’t forgotten Wayne’s declaration and his influence on the local police. But it made her already nauseated and grief-laden stomach wrench harder after her own breakfast of her dad’s dry, homemade carrot muffins.
“Yep.” Pippin chewed a spoonful of cereal.The Prancing Ponysign hung on the wall just beyond him. A remnant of their mother’s attempt to turn the house into a literal-looking setting ofThe Lord of the Rings.
Wren pushed away from the table. Resolution weighed heavily. “I need to go.”
“Where?” Tristan looked up at his daughter. His morning devotions splayed on the table beside him. Her dad’s meditations were another’s study in Greek, a thick theology textbook with fine print.
“Lost Lake.” Wren tugged her sweatshirt over her shorts and went to the cupboard to fish out a water bottle from the array of odds and ends jammed into it.
“I don’t think that’s wise.” Tristan leaned back in his chair. “After losing Patty? Arwen, you don’t know what they’ll find, and I’m not sure your constitution can handle it at the moment.”
“I can handle it.” She lifted the faucet handle to let the water rush into the bottle. Besides, she needed to see Troy. Things were weighing on her. Lots of things. She avoided letting her mind drift in that direction.
Pippin eyed her, chewing his cereal as he leaned against the counter. She cast him a sideways glance. He was growing a mustache. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the water bottle. Her older brother was going to turn into a walking hairy hobbit.
“Want me to come with you?” Pippin preferred his basement and screens to the woods and mosquitoes. From most, it would have seemed a generous offer. To Wren, she heard the critical tone in his voice. He expected her to break. To collapse. Some sort of emotional demise. Pippin was a conundrum to her. Never the protective older brother, he was more a lurker in her shadows. Rarely did they find camaraderie. Instead it was a truce between two vastly different people who were siblings in a house that never quite felt like home.
“No, that’s fine.”
“I’m serious. I’ll come with you.”
Maybe she’d misread his intentions. “Just—” she hesitated—“do some more digging on my behalf, okay?”
“On your behalf?” Tristan interjected. He looked between his adult children. “What’s this about?”
Wren screwed the lid on her water bottle. “Nothing, Dad.”
“She can’t find her birth certificate,” Pippin provided.
Wren shot him an irritated look.
“What?” He shrugged. “I told you it was better to ask Dad, anyway.”
“Your birth certificate?” Tristan’s voice boomed into her thoughts.
Wren waved her hand in dismissal. “Never mind about that.” She really didn’t want to question Tristan Blythe about it now. Not when Jasmine and Lost Lake were calling to her. She couldn’t deal with the idea of casting suspicion over her mother’s memory and faithfulness. What would Dad do if he found out she thought Mom had an affair and she resulted from it?
“Your mom kept your certificate in a metal file box under our bed,” Tristan offered blandly. He reached for his coffee and took a sip as though it were nothing to have a missing birth certificate.
“She did?” It was too late to back out now. Wren set her water bottle on the granite counter with a metalclank.
Tristan dismissed her with a tip of his mug in her direction. “Mm-hmm. It was easy to grab when she needed it for things like your driver’s license test. Pippin’s is in there too.”
“Then I can just—go get it from there? Is there a key for the box?”
Tristan pushed his glasses up his nose, his attention directed at his textbook. He tapped a pencil against his notepad. “You can look, but I don’t think it’s there anymore. Last time your mom used it, though, I recall it got torn. Something about getting caught in the car door or something? I don’t know. She was going to get you a replacement.” He scribbled something on his notepad. “I’m not sure if she ever did.”
Back to square one. “Then I’ll go online and request a new one.”
“You can’t. No one has records of you.” Pippin’s interruption brought Wren’s stare swinging back to him. She remembered his voicemail. She just didn’t think he’d offer it up so passively. There was a tremendous impact in that statement. Aside from the implications of infidelity, even the most practical was affected.
“I have to be able to get one. What if I need a passport? What if I get married? What if I switch jobs?”
“You’ll never switch jobs.” Pippin stated it as a fact. She really didn’t like the mustache shadow on his upper lip. He pushed past her. “I’ve gotta get to work.”
