From A Dead Sleep

CHAPTER 5

Chapter 5“Come on, you wuss! Don’t give up!” yelled a young red-haired boy through his own laughter, glancing down at his plastic wristwatch. “Fifteen more seconds!”

“Fifteen more seconds?” came the reply, laden with exhausted disbelief from the boy’s heavy-set friend. He sat waist-deep in a shallow stream of water along the smooth sand. His eyes were wide and his voice shaky but excited. “Are you s-s-serious???”

Jogging by briskly along an isolated beach, Lisa Kimble couldn’t help but form a smile upon eavesdropping in on the boys’ conversation. They were the same two kids she had seen the day before searching through the nearby woods for Indian arrowheads. Now they were in their swimming trunks, contesting who could sit in freezing-cold spring water the longest.

Lisa loved Traverse City, Michigan. It was a place she held close to her heart since the day her husband had first brought her there. The rain had stopped after two days of showers, and she took advantage of the calmer weather for a quick run.

The sun shone down unhindered above the clear blue sky and onto her bright blonde hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. It was so much easier to breathe in upstate Michigan. The air was crisp and clean—much unlike what she was used to.

The distant sound of a boat horn prompted Lisa to glance out along the calm and crystal-clear water of Little Traverse Bay. About a hundred yards out, a proud sailboat skimmed along like it floated on air. The lake looked just like the ocean—outlying buoys, swooping gulls, and water as far as the eye could see. The view was something she never grew tired of. The sand below her feet was bright and clean, as if it had been completely filtered of all impurities.

She saw the boy with the wristwatch wave to her, a large, toothy grin on his face, and she waved back. He reminded her of one of her students.

She sometimes ventured a glance into the future with her mind picturing children of her own playing along that very beach. Sandcastles, bodysurfing, picnics . . . It was a fabulous dream, but it seemed increasingly unlikely.

At thirty-three years of age, Lisa looked no older than twenty—a testimonial to a healthy diet and staying active. Her friends often joked with her about her youthful appearance. Most people might have taken such remarks as a compliment. However, Lisa felt it often led others into not taking her seriously. Whether the perception was real or something merely in her head, it got under her skin when she felt people were talking down to her.

Her athletic frame and pretty face caught the eye of a couple of middle-aged men with overly tanned skin wearing almost matching white polo shirts with raised collars. They had been looking out along the water with their arms crossed in front of them—probably discussing their businesses or a golf game. One of them winked at Lisa. She pretended she didn’t see him.

She turned to head up a narrow, angled dirt path that was almost hidden by a line of thick brush at the back edge of the beach. Keeping up her pace, she disappeared into a dense forest of tall cottonwood trees, which blocked out the sunlight like a blanket.

She liked to turn up the intensity at the tail end of her jogs, digging the tips of her running shoes into the steep incline and pumping her legs hard to make it to the top of the hill. With perspiration gliding down along her neck, she reached the top of the path, which intersected into her paved blacktop driveway. Emerging from the darkened woods, she decided not to slow down there, instead keeping her speed and continuing up toward the top of the driveway, which bent sharply to the right. She was pretending to race her husband, as they’d sometimes do, though they hadn’t in a while.

Ahead, she thought she heard what sounded like the slam of a car door. A sense of wishful thinking pulsed along with her heartbeat as she rounded the bend. With bright blue eyes, she leaned her head at an angle in hopes of catching a glimpse of the sight she crossed her fingers would be there. He wasn’t. Her momentum came to an exhausted halt once the front of the cottage’s side garage came into clear sight. Only her car sat by itself outside. Her shoulders deflated like a punctured balloon. He still hadn’t arrived.