The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [74]
The trail was narrow, gravel-covered, winding its way through the trees, which were still dripping a little from the morning rain. We followed the outlet, veering away from it and then drawing closer again. Max refused to hold my hand. He said he wanted to walk a few steps ahead because I didn’t know where I was going.
So I let him, watching him half-run, half-skip over the gravel. He was wearing jeans and a puffy red jacket and his shoes had little lights in the heels that flashed with every step. Max moved with the same lithe agility as his father.
“Maybe we should wait here for your dad,” I suggested as we made a slow curve that took us out of sight of the old factory buildings. There was a historical marker noting that this was the site of worker dormitories and later individual houses back at the turn of the century, when factories were thriving in The Lake of Dreams. The ruins of one such house had been left. Another structure, just the framing, a ghost of a building, stood beside it. “Hey, Max!” I called as the distance between us grew; he had gotten quite far ahead. “Come look at this!” He didn’t even turn around. “Hey!” I called again. “Wait up. You can’t go by yourself.”
“My dad lets me,” he said, his small voice drifting back to me. “My dad does, all the time. Besides, I’m the leader.”
“Right. Okay. You’re the leader. Wait up anyway.”
I jogged to catch up and we walked awhile longer, Max staying just a few feet ahead, the path drawing near the outlet, which rushed in its banks, the surface as smooth and molten as glass, then moving back into the trees. My thoughts kept circling back to Keegan, to his lips against the metal pipe, to the swelling glass, to the play of fire reflected on his skin. We walked, and then my phone rang and I stopped to rummage in my purse.
“Hey, Max, hang on,” I called. He turned as I flipped open the phone and paused beneath the trees to talk. It was Keegan.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Sorry, Lucy, slight change of plans. The supplier just called and he’s running late. So, why not just bring Max back here? Whenever you’re ready, I mean, there’s no rush. Everything going okay?”
“Everything’s fine. He’s a fun kid. Has a mind of his own.”
“Yeah, I know. I like to think he takes after his mother that way.”
“I’m sure. He must get the charming part from you, then.”
Keegan gave a low, familiar laugh. I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering his breath on my cheek, my lips against the metal.
“Glad you still think so.”
“Really, he seems like a sweet boy.”
I smiled as I spoke, then looked up, expecting to see Max in his red coat poking his stick impatiently on the ground. But the path was empty. He was nowhere in sight. I took a step, scanning the foliage—surely he was hiding somewhere, or had stepped off the trail to look at another bug. With the phone still against my ear I started hurrying.
“Well, bring him back whenever,” Keegan was saying. “I’m sure he’d love to stay out all day, but I know you must have things to do.”
“It’s okay,” I said, though it wasn’t—I’d rounded the curve and still didn’t see Max, and panic was beating through my blood. It was the panic of my dream. “Hey, do you let him walk ahead? He says you do.”
Keegan laughed. “He can tell you’re a novice. Don’t let him push you around.”
“All right. We’ll be back soon,” I said, already closing the phone, already starting to run, calling out for Max. The wet leaves flashed and slapped my arms, the gravel slipped under my feet. I shouted, but my voice faded in the dense wet air. There was no answer. He had stepped into the trees, perhaps, like a child in a fairy tale, lured by some treasure my grown-up eyes overlooked. I was thinking with terrible panic of stolen children, too—anyone could have been here, could have pulled him into the trees and be holding him there right now, even as I ran past shouting, calling his name.
The path curved again. I glimpsed Max’s red coat and felt a rush of relief. I slowed down a little, catching my breath, trying to still my racing heart.
Then I saw where he was.
There