The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [140]
“Lucy,” he said. “If it didn’t matter, why did you even tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to have it between us. That secret. That lie.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“It’s over,” I told him. “It was over before it began. I’m sure.”
He nodded. “Okay. I believe you. I’m glad it didn’t feel right,” he said.
I smiled, and then he did. “Come on!” I shouted over the rush of the water. Slipping, laughing, we made our way to the falls. I stepped beneath the cascade, water pounding off my face, my shoulders, and lifted my arms high, my hands open like the people in the window, as if I could catch the downpour, let it fill me up. Yoshi stepped in, too, laughing out loud in the wild hard rush of water, and in that moment the uneasiness that had trailed me throughout the day washed away completely. I took a step toward Yoshi, meaning to kiss him like we were in a monsoon, but my foot slipped and I fell trying to catch my balance. I fell through the falls into a calm space behind the wall of water, a wet shale wall to my back and the water like a curtain rushing down before me. The world beyond the water was a blur of green and stone and blue. A moment later Yoshi pushed through, the water pouring down in sheets so smooth it looked like glass, and stepped into the calm. He helped me stand, and pressed his hands against my wet face, and this was the moment from the past that mattered, this was the moment I wanted to continue. We stood there kissing in the little hollow between the water and the stone, a place completely and utterly private, a place I’d never known existed.
We stayed behind the curtain of water until we grew chilled, then stepped out to sit on the warm rocks, our feet dangling in a pool hollowed out by the power of the falls. Yoshi told me the story of how he’d spoken up at the meeting, feeling the room go coldly silent around him. We talked about money, how much we had and how long it would last, and we talked about what we might do next. We both had enough experience to move easily into new jobs, but we decided that this time we’d both look for work, and we’d be more careful about what kinds of jobs we took, and where.
Yoshi made it back to the house and through the early dinner my mother fixed—grilled chicken and a salad—before jet lag hit him like a train. He barely made it up to the cupola, where I’d set up a space for us, hauling up two old futons and putting on clean sheets. I’d left the windows open and the early evening twilight filled the little room.
“Nice,” Yoshi said, collapsing on the futon and closing his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep.
I went back downstairs and chatted with my mother while we cleaned up. When I told her about Iris, she was surprised that I’d called and a little disapproving, concerned I might be stirring up histories better left hidden.
“What’s to lose?” I said. “Besides, I’m too curious not to find out what I can. If Oliver hadn’t sent the information, I never would have found her.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s one way to spin it,” she said. “By the way, I like Yoshi. He’s very charming, isn’t he? It’s so strange, he almost has a British accent. I didn’t expect that, somehow.”
“His mother’s British,” I said. “He spent some time in London, too, though they moved around the world a lot for his father’s work. Sometime I’d like to go there with him. I’ve heard it’s a wonderful city.”
“Well, I hardly know him. I mean, he just got here. But there’s something very easy and comfortable about him. You feel right away like you’ve known him a long time. Do you think he’ll be up for a trip to Niagara Falls tomorrow? Or will his jet lag be too bad?”
I said we’d have to wait and see. Then we discussed what to bring to Blake’s Fourth of July party. My phone rang and I went to get it, drying my hands, still debating between potato salad and fresh fruit.
The voice on the phone was low, unfamiliar, and rather clipped.
“I’m Ned Stone,” he