Read Online The Lake of Dreams by Kim Edwards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kim Edwards
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quiet, the gates closed, no one in sight.
“I see you brought those papers,” my mother said, opening the folder on the seat between us. “I was wondering if the historical society could shed some light on them. You could ask Art if he knows anything, too.”
“Art doesn’t exactly seem like the family history type.” We were traveling through the outskirts of the village by then, the houses closer together, the road hugging the lake. “So—what happened? Between Dad and Art, I mean.”
“Oh, why does it matter, Lucy?” she asked. “I don’t really like thinking about that time, honey. It can’t be changed, right? Life goes on.”
“Well, of course.” Though I could feel her reluctance, I couldn’t back away. “But don’t you think it matters to remember?”
“I don’t know, Lucy. Maybe. Probably. But it doesn’t help me, not anymore.”
I pushed again; I couldn’t leave it.
“I just don’t get it. I guess I’m thinking about Blake, Mom. Working for Art at Dream Master—it can’t possibly end well with so much history.”
“Suddenly the past is so important,” my mother observed drily, and I knew she was thinking again of all the years I’d been gone.
“Ah. Why not just tell me? I’m afraid for Blake. I mean, Art’s never going to make a real place for him at Dream Master. He’d never displace Joey, not even a little, to do that.”
There was a brief silence. I turned onto the main street into town.
“All I really know is that Art didn’t go to Vietnam,” my mother said, finally. “That’s the main thing. There was the draft, and your father’s number came up, and Art’s didn’t. It was a terrible time, when I think back, waiting to hear if you’d been born on a good day or a bad day, all those young men all over the country, connected by a random date. A terrible time, and terrible luck, too. Your father was supposed to have an equal share at Dream Master, that was always the plan, but while he was in Vietnam your grandfather had a stroke, and your grandmother gave power of attorney to Art.”
“Why would she do that?”
My mother shrugged. “Maybe she just got nervous. Your father was fighting a war, after all, half a world away. In any case, by the time your father came back, Art owned the controlling share of Dream Master. He’d already started having conversations, quietly, about selling the lock factory and all the patents to a rival company. He never said a word to us, and your father didn’t realize what was going on, not for years. He came back and we got married and he went straight to work, just glad to be home. Glad to be alive. When he finally found out what had happened, he was so mad. He thought about selling out and leaving, but then your grandfather died and your grandmother moved into town and gave us the lake house and the acreage. It felt like a consolation prize, but she was shrewd; it was just enough to keep us here.”
“That’s when everyone stopped speaking to each other?”
“More or less. The beginning of the end, you could say. Your father stayed on at Dream Master for a few years even after the lock business was gone, thinking maybe he and Art could build something new. They hardly spoke, though. The final straw came in 1986. You know, when the comet came back? The local paper ran a big story about your great-grandfather and how he’d come to this country and started Dream Master after the comet of 1910. Art was featured quite prominently in the article. Your father wasn’t even mentioned. I remember he threw the paper on the counter, went to work, and came back two hours later with his things in a box. He never went back.”
“I remember that.”
“Really? You were so young.”
“I remember lying in my room and hearing people arguing downstairs. I remember how weird it was when Dad didn’t go to work for a long time.”
She was quiet for a moment. “We always talked about moving away. Maybe we should have. Instead, we
“I see you brought those papers,” my mother said, opening the folder on the seat between us. “I was wondering if the historical society could shed some light on them. You could ask Art if he knows anything, too.”
“Art doesn’t exactly seem like the family history type.” We were traveling through the outskirts of the village by then, the houses closer together, the road hugging the lake. “So—what happened? Between Dad and Art, I mean.”
“Oh, why does it matter, Lucy?” she asked. “I don’t really like thinking about that time, honey. It can’t be changed, right? Life goes on.”
“Well, of course.” Though I could feel her reluctance, I couldn’t back away. “But don’t you think it matters to remember?”
“I don’t know, Lucy. Maybe. Probably. But it doesn’t help me, not anymore.”
I pushed again; I couldn’t leave it.
“I just don’t get it. I guess I’m thinking about Blake, Mom. Working for Art at Dream Master—it can’t possibly end well with so much history.”
“Suddenly the past is so important,” my mother observed drily, and I knew she was thinking again of all the years I’d been gone.
“Ah. Why not just tell me? I’m afraid for Blake. I mean, Art’s never going to make a real place for him at Dream Master. He’d never displace Joey, not even a little, to do that.”
There was a brief silence. I turned onto the main street into town.
“All I really know is that Art didn’t go to Vietnam,” my mother said, finally. “That’s the main thing. There was the draft, and your father’s number came up, and Art’s didn’t. It was a terrible time, when I think back, waiting to hear if you’d been born on a good day or a bad day, all those young men all over the country, connected by a random date. A terrible time, and terrible luck, too. Your father was supposed to have an equal share at Dream Master, that was always the plan, but while he was in Vietnam your grandfather had a stroke, and your grandmother gave power of attorney to Art.”
“Why would she do that?”
My mother shrugged. “Maybe she just got nervous. Your father was fighting a war, after all, half a world away. In any case, by the time your father came back, Art owned the controlling share of Dream Master. He’d already started having conversations, quietly, about selling the lock factory and all the patents to a rival company. He never said a word to us, and your father didn’t realize what was going on, not for years. He came back and we got married and he went straight to work, just glad to be home. Glad to be alive. When he finally found out what had happened, he was so mad. He thought about selling out and leaving, but then your grandfather died and your grandmother moved into town and gave us the lake house and the acreage. It felt like a consolation prize, but she was shrewd; it was just enough to keep us here.”
“That’s when everyone stopped speaking to each other?”
“More or less. The beginning of the end, you could say. Your father stayed on at Dream Master for a few years even after the lock business was gone, thinking maybe he and Art could build something new. They hardly spoke, though. The final straw came in 1986. You know, when the comet came back? The local paper ran a big story about your great-grandfather and how he’d come to this country and started Dream Master after the comet of 1910. Art was featured quite prominently in the article. Your father wasn’t even mentioned. I remember he threw the paper on the counter, went to work, and came back two hours later with his things in a box. He never went back.”
“I remember that.”
“Really? You were so young.”
“I remember lying in my room and hearing people arguing downstairs. I remember how weird it was when Dad didn’t go to work for a long time.”
She was quiet for a moment. “We always talked about moving away. Maybe we should have. Instead, we
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