The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [107]
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look terrible.”
“Do I?” I looked at all the papers scattered across the floor, covered with dates and facts. I wondered if I’d changed in this short time, if Yoshi would even know me anymore. “I just woke up,” I explained. “I fell asleep in the middle of all this research. It was a long day yesterday, I guess.”
“Well, it was long for me, too. I was worried when I couldn’t reach you. What research are you talking about?”
I explained then about Rose and Iris and the letters, but I was still groggy and the story sounded both confused and boring, too full of detail.
“Anyway,” I ended. “How are the meetings going?”
“Okay. We go out to the site tomorrow.”
“It will be interesting to see the sacred places,” I said, thinking of the chapel and the ancient burial sites on the depot land.
“I don’t know if interesting is the word I’d use,” Yoshi said. “I have a feeling this is going to be confrontational, though probably in a very passive-aggressive way. I have a feeling we won’t get much accomplished.”
“Maybe that’s okay.”
“Not if I get fired.”
“Are you really worried about that?”
“Not really,” he said, but I could tell that he was. “Look, I have to get some dinner, and I need to get some sleep.”
“At least you’re on your way to a vacation, once it’s all done.”
“We’ll have to see, Lucy.” Yoshi sounded tense, but I wasn’t sure; it might have been my own scattered feelings I was projecting. “This might turn out to be a bad time for me to leave, job-wise.”
“But you already have your tickets.”
“I know. Look, let’s just wait and see how it goes.”
“All right,” I said. Everything seemed so fragile now, after the dream, and I didn’t want to argue with Yoshi. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to call him, so lost in the mysteries of the past that I’d neglected what was happening all around me. “Let me know, okay? I’m planning that you’ll be here, unless I hear otherwise.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, then. Hope your meetings go well.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll call you soon.” And then he was gone.
Chapter 13
THE REVEREND SUZI WELLS WALKED UP THE GRASSY SLOPE to the chapel, which stood alone in a field, a small red stone building with windows that resembled keyholes, four on each side. She led an odd procession: Keegan followed her, dressed in jeans and work boots and a T-shirt with a small tear at the shoulder. Next came Oliver Parrott in his black bespoke suit and polished leather shoes, stepping gingerly through the long grass as if he might somehow avoid the dew. A bald reporter from The Lake of Dreams Gazette walked by Oliver’s side, a little recorder clipped to his black leather jacket, asking questions about Frank Westrum, which Oliver answered effusively, in great detail. Suzi had contacted the Gazette, maybe hoping for publicity for the church, perhaps as a smart preemptive action to keep Oliver and his acquisitions committee at bay, but Oliver was losing no time in telling the story of his illustrious ancestor and his museum. Behind these two came Zoe, in cutoff shorts and flip-flops and a tank top, a canvas bag over her shoulder, bouncing against her hip. She’d called again, wanting to see if I’d drive her to the mall, and I’d told her about my plans, never imagining she’d want to come. But now here she was, plunging through the tall weeds, pausing to brush away insects or remove grass that had stuck between her toes, tossing back excited comments on the day, the weather, the adventure of entering this church, which had stood empty for so long.
She didn’t seem to expect me to answer any of this, which was good, because I was still preoccupied, as I had been for the past two days, caught in the secret history Rose had written, consumed with wondering what had happened to her next. It was frustrating, of course, that the historical society was closed, but it had given me time to read Rose’s letters again and again, to think about her life as