The Broken Lake (6 page)

Yikes, Lenny.

“Oh, my,” I said out loud.

I stepped closer to the box and he moved aside to give me plenty of space. It was sort of creepy, because the items were from someone who was both missing in the flesh and standing there in the body. After taking a deep breath, I bent down and pulled out the first item. Pale blue bell-bottom slacks. Suddenly, creepy images were replaced by a
Brady Bunch
episode.

“Wes, please tell me I didn’t wear these.”

He laughed and reached into the box. “Yeah, you did. With this.”

He held up a baby-blue and white horizontal-striped long-sleeved shirt. I cringed.

“Sophie, you looked really good in this. Trust me.”

“If you say so.” Next, I reached in and picked up some pajamas. Pale yellow pants and matching sleeveless top. Not too bad, other than the pleated seam going across the chest. Then it registered. “You mean I stayed with you?”

“Sometimes.”

I smiled deviously, plotting how I could continue with tradition. A few more cute but like-to-forget garments later, I came to a bikini, a skimpy yellow two-piece that tied in the center of the chest and the matching bottom which tied at the hips.

I’d certainly worn two-pieces before, but I preferred something a little more sporty now. “I don’t guess they did sporty in the sixties?” I asked.

“Not really,” he answered. “I have a T-shirt if you want to swim in that.”

Our eyes locked and the oddness of the moment was building. I was starting to see regret in his eyes, as if he wished he hadn’t suggested I swim half naked. Then I started thinking about seeing him in his trunks and I instinctively licked my lips.

“I’ll go get you a T-shirt to—”

“No, don’t. This is good. I like it.”

And at that instant, I decided this would be a good time to start working on his clarity. As if he could read my mind, his shoulders dropped, and he cleared his throat. His eyes confirmed he regretted the suggestion.

I smiled and stood up. “Where can I change?”

I
almost didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror, afraid I’d chicken out at flaunting it around, but then couldn’t resist. Aside from the fact that I was lacking my summer tan, I wasn’t bad. I smiled slightly and then adjusted my cleavage for added effect before turning for the door.

I came out in just my bathing suit only to be greeted by a wall of terry cloth.

“Are you ready?” he asked, wrapping it around me.

“Yes.” I frowned as I was being transformed into a burrito.

“Good. Let’s go.”

I followed him toward the pool room, wondering how I ended up in this position. I had come over to settle a major concern, and was now plotting on how to intimately provoke him.
I am so shallow.
I rolled my eyes at myself, glad he was behind me, and then remembered this was his suggestion. Swim, clear our heads, is what he said.
So
, I thought,
let’s swim.

I dropped my towel as soon as we entered the warm room, and walked over to the pool. I might have even attempted a little hip movement on my way, but my mind turned to mush as soon as I turned around and saw he’d removed his shirt. Sweat seeped out of my pores as I pictured myself being able to feel his perfect, smooth chest against my almost bare body.

He walked over to me cautiously, never blinking his inviting eyes. “You look unbelievably good in that bathing suit.”

The words sang in my ears as I thought the exact same thing about him. I cleared my throat. “Thanks.” And then my seductive façade was gone. I felt completely nervous and vulnerable to my immaturity.

As if once again reading my mind, he relieved my racing pulse and our intense faceoff. He stepped sideways into the pool, feet first and soundless. I moved to the edge just as he resurfaced. For some reason, I was hesitant to jump in right then, probably because I didn’t want to make a clumsy splash. Instead, I sat down and slowly put my feet over the edge and into the room-temperature water.

Wes was treading water in front of me. “Come on, get in.”

“I will. In a minute.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ever so smoothly, he disappeared and swam the length of the pool under water. “Get in,” he ordered from the far end of the pool.

I shook my head, playing hard to get. Without another word, he pushed off the wall and swam toward me with the most perfect freestyle I had ever seen. Watching him glide his way to me made my body temperature rise, and I was ready to get in. He stopped right in front of me, threatening to pull me in.

“You wouldn’t,” I said.

“Only if you want me to.”

And I did want him to. I reached out my arms and he placed his hands on each side of my ribs and lifted me into the water. I instantly wrapped my arms around his neck, realizing I couldn’t touch the bottom. I flinched, trying to keep my cast out of the water.

“I’ve got you,” he assured.

Slowly, he turned himself around until my arms were wrapped around his neck from behind. Pressing myself against his back was complete bliss, and I was one hundred percent sure there was no place else on earth I’d rather be.

“Feel better now?”

“A little.” I answered truthfully, but still on edge about why I had come over. “I still don’t understand why you want to do a press conference.”

“I don’t
want
to.”

“Then why?”

“Because if I don’t give them something, they will snoop around for things I may not want them to find.”

“But why do
you
have to do it? Don’t you have people who can do that?”

“Yes, but it’s the same thing. If I seem like I’m hiding something, then that will spark reporters to dig.”

“I hate this. This is my fault.”

“No.” Still holding my arms, he turned to face me again. “This is not your fault. It’s just part of life.”

“But, if I hadn’t—”

“Sophie, if you hadn’t done a lot of things, I wouldn’t even be here right now. This is nothing. Just a small speed bump.”

I smiled softly enough to spark one from him in return, and with a calming energy that reached my toes, he leaned in and kissed my lips. The sweet taste of his mouth mixed with chlorine reminded me that I was in a pool, pressed against the bare chest of perfection.

It didn’t matter that I almost died. It didn’t matter that I might die. It didn’t matter that we were two freaks of nature. All that mattered was that he was mine.

I put my fingers through his wet hair and absorbed each kiss until I felt like I was floating, and then realized I was. I looked around and noticed we had drifted away from the edge.

“What?” he asked, looking around too.

I thought of a few pointless remarks and then decided to kiss him instead. Which I did until my head was completely void of worry. At least for the moment.

We ended up swimming for a while after that, but the insistent ring of my cell phone brought me back to reality. I’d forgotten to call my mother. Lifting myself out of the pool, I wrapped my towel around me and found the phone. Apologizing for my whereabouts was getting old and my frustration was obvious by the time I hung up.

“Is that what I’m like?”

“Geeze.” I exhaled and turned around. I hadn’t even heard him come up behind me.

“Sorry. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sort of but not really.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

“You’re not high-strung like she is, so you’re not that bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? I can handle my mother.”

“No, I don’t want to make you feel like that. Like you’re being interrogated.” He put his hand to the side of my face and I leaned into it. “I’ll still worry about you all the time, but I’ll try not to make you feel like you’re in trouble.”

I smiled. “If that’s what I was in when I got here, then please, by all means.” He let go. “What?” I asked innocently.

He smiled and leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “I’m going to change.”

“But—”

Oh, well. I suppose dry clothes were good. I went upstairs to change as well, and by then, it was lunchtime. With two plates of sandwiches and chips, we sat on the couch. We rarely watched TV. Our conversation usually filled up the space around us and also seemed to make our time together more valuable.

I took a bite of my sandwich and watched him pop some chips into his mouth. “So when is the press conference scheduled?”

Unfazed, he answered, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Still eating and not looking my way, he nodded casually.

“Where? When?”

“At the California Blood Research Lab.” I waited for the rest. “Ten a.m.,” he continued.

“That soon?” I put my plate to the side. “So let me get this straight. Tomorrow morning, you are going on television to talk about the very same stuff Dr. Thomas kept hidden, and you’re enjoying a sandwich right now?”

Finally making eye contact, he put his plate aside and turned my way. “Yes, but I’ll starve if you want me to.”

“Wes! I’m not playing around.”

“Me either. I will.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Only to you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Come on. Stop worrying.” He moved closer. “I’m not concerned. It’ll be fine.”

That was easy for him to say. I was a wreck all that day and through the night, worrying and wondering what he was going to say. And the morning was worse. He wouldn’t let me go with him and I didn’t blame him. But that meant I was stuck in my house with my mom and Tom, who were both hovering around the only decent-size TV we had in the house. Not good for settling my nerves.

“Sophie, sit down. Stop pacing, will you?”

No, I couldn’t. An escape was needed. “Mom, I’m going upstairs. Call me when it’s over.”

“Are you kidding? Sit down. Wes is going to be on
TV
. You can’t miss that. He’s going to have his fifteen minutes of fame. That only comes around once in a lifetime.”

She was clueless. I looked at Tom, whose expression was much more intense.

“Gayle, he’s just a kid. He’s not winning an award. He’s talking about important stuff here. Even I don’t know what goes on in those labs. It’s very interesting.”

“Hmm. If you say so,” she said. “Sophie, sit down now. You’re making me dizzy.”

I plopped onto the couch with my arms crossed, biting my lip, waiting for the inevitable.

Just then, the Channel 7 live news flash graphic grew on the screen, spun around, and twisted one time before disappearing to reveal Topper Harris, a morning newscaster I’d seen many times throughout my mother’s morning coffee sessions. Now he was going to be talking about my Wes. I flinched at the thought.

“Good morning, this is Topper Harris coming to you live from the lobby of the California Blood Research Lab, a facility rumored to be on the fast track to possible cures for cancer, HIV, and other diseases. As some of you may already know, last week, Andrew Walters, a security guard at the UC Berkeley campus, was found dead after allegedly kidnapping a young woman and holding her in exchange for experimental serums believed to be from this lab.

“Reports indicate that he had previously stolen rare samples belonging to the lab in a desperate attempt to cure his inoperable cancer. He later died from an apparent overdose of those stolen samples.

“All reports indicate that his victim is now safe and has returned home, but one question still remains. What, exactly, is going on in this lab that would make someone desperate enough to kidnap an innocent girl and risk his life to obtain it?

“In just a few moments, we are expected to hear from Weston Wilson III, the current owner and nephew of the legendary Dr. Oliver Thomas, a man remembered for his great contributions to blood research and new discoveries in that field.”

Shortly afterward, Topper turned his head in acknowledgment and the camera shifted to a podium and microphone. It was a basic setup with nothing distracting. A plain gray backdrop read California Blood Research Lab in navy blue lettering, and nothing else. All eyes would certainly be on the speaker who, I cringed at the thought, would be Wes. After what seemed like the longest amount of time, a door to the right of the platform opened. Filing onto the raised landing were two older men wearing white lab coats with pocket protectors. Following were three younger men in lab coats, then finally Wes, also in a lab coat.

Shockingly, he looked mature and professional—
and
nerdy. His hair was doing some crazy parted-on-one-side thing and was brushed forward a little, and his perfect face was hidden behind a pair of rectangular black-framed glasses. I almost laughed out loud, but I was too intrigued and mesmerized by the images on the screen. He was perfect. It was still clearly him to anyone who knew him, and not so shockingly different that his friends would question his motives. They might pick on him for turning into a medical nerd, but nothing here was too different to raise an alarm.

“Ah, look at him. He looks so professional.” My mom beamed at him like she was admiring her child at an elementary school play.

“He certainly does,” Tom added. “All the weight he’s carrying, he must be sweating bullets.”

No, Wes doesn’t sweat, but I wasn’t about to fill him in on that.

“No, Tom, I think Sophie is doing enough sweating for him. Look at her. She’s so nervous. Don’t worry, honey. He’ll do fine.”

I took a deep breath, eyes fixated on the screen. The first five men walked to the far side of the platform, standing with their arms at their sides. As soon as their gazes shifted to Wes, I knew it was coming.

Unlike them, he strode to the podium. Cameras started flashing like crazy. He cleared his throat, and softly, in a steady voice, he began, not quite making eye contact with the camera, but rather looking at people throughout the room.

“Thank you all for coming. This has been an odd few days for me and quite an ordeal for other innocent people. I want to first apologize for any hurt that recent events have caused anyone. When my uncle began his research, he had only the best of intentions, to end suffering. It would sadden him to know that his work caused someone harm.