The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(12)

He hurried down to the clearing and caught sight of a woman in a canoe some fifteen yards offshore. Her hands gripped the sides of the little boat, and her dark brown hair was buffeted by the wind that pushed across the lake.

“My paddle,” she yelled, pointing toward a clump of reeds growing from the foremost tip of the island. A faded wooden canoe paddle floated there, its handle hooked on a bent reed.

Evan glanced back at the canoe and saw the woman’s dilemma. The wind was gradually pushing her farther and farther away, turning her in a gentle circle. He moved to the nearest tree and took Shaun off his shoulders, setting him at the pine’s base with his back resting against its trunk.

“You sit right here, don’t move.”

Evan jogged to the water’s edge and looked for a way to grab the paddle without getting soaked, but soon saw the canoe and the woman would be out of sight before he devised a plan. With a grimace, he waded into the water, the cold spring lake rushing in to fill his shoes and socks. Leaning forward, he reached out and snagged the paddle’s handle and drew it toward him.

“I’m going to toss it to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

He took aim and launched the paddle over the water with an underhand push. It sailed up and flipped once, and came down within feet of the canoe, bumping its side with a hollow thud. The woman pulled the paddle into the canoe, then stroked at the lake with long, practiced movements. Evan sidestepped through the muddy bottom until his feet were on solid ground again. To his relief, Shaun still sat where he’d left him. When he turned back to the lake, he saw that the canoe was closer and the woman aboard smiled at him as she neared.

“Where’s Elle?”

Evan’s heart jittered in his chest, and his mouth dropped open. “Wha ... what did you say?”

The front of the canoe scraped onto the bank and stopped, and its rear end drifted sideways. The woman placed a hand against her brow, blocking the setting sun, and looked at him.

“I said, it fell.” When Evan didn’t move, she lifted the paddle up and set it back down. “I was floating by your island and thought I saw a cardinal. When I set the paddle down and picked up my binoculars, it slipped into the water and drifted out of reach.”

Evan shut his mouth and blinked. “Sorry,” he said, stepping forward to pull the bow of the canoe farther onto land.

It was an old craft, with chunks of paint peeling off here and there, the inside speckled with bits of twigs and mud. He steadied the front as the woman stood and made her way out of the canoe and onto the island.

She was thin, in a way that spoke of athleticism and lean muscle rather than frailty, and not much over five feet tall. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and brown cargo pants that nearly matched the shade of her hair. Evan straightened up and broke from his inspection when the woman held her hand out.

“Selena Belgaurd.”

Evan grasped her small hand. “Evan Tormer, and this is my son, Shaun,” he said, motioning to Shaun, who tried to wave.

“Very nice to meet you both, and thank you,” Selena said, letting go of his hand. She smiled. Her lips curved up in a way that accentuated her blue eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Evan said. He glanced away.

“Do you guys live here?”

“Yeah, kind of. We moved in today. We’re house-sitting for my friend who owns it.”

“Well, it’s a beautiful place. Do you like it here, Shaun?”

Shaun smiled and his small mouth worked to form a word.

“He doesn’t speak well,” Evan said.

Selena’s face fell, and it looked as if she wanted to ask more. But Evan turned away.

“We really have to be getting back to the house.”

Selena nodded. “Sure, okay. Well, thank you again. If you wouldn’t have come along, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.”

“You’re welcome,” Evan said, and picked up Shaun.

Selena raised a hand and then turned, shoving the canoe back into the water and jumping inside in one motion. Evan hitched Shaun a little higher onto his hip and didn’t wait until the canoe was out of sight before climbing up the hill, toward the house.





6





They sat on the porch and watched the sun bleed its last rays onto the water. The trees ceased their movement, and birds washed the evening with song that seemed to fill up not only the island but the whole world.

After some rummaging through their belongings, Evan found two tracing books and a dry-erase marker. He stood behind Shaun, guiding his son’s hand beneath his own over letters and numbers alike, pronouncing their names as the marker traced the dotted lines.

“Okay, now you’re gonna do it on your own,” Evan said, letting go of Shaun’s hand.

The boy’s head bent closer to the book, and his fingers began to slip off the marker before he could trace a row of figure eights. Shaun grunted in frustration and tried to re-grip the marker, but it fell from his hand and rolled off the table.

“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay,” Evan said, kneeling to retrieve the fallen writing utensil. He placed it back between his son’s fingers. “Try again.”

Shaun started the eight and made it only inches before the marker spun away, this time to the opposite side of the porch.