Lost Lake by Sarah Addison Allen

what to expect of himself. He’d been an exceptional student, but when the time came for him to leave for college, he’d been paralyzed with indecision. He’d had no idea what to do with his life. He’d expressed this fear to his mother, who had kissed him on the cheek in his dorm room the first day of his freshman year and had said with a laugh, “Since you don’t like looking people in the eye, why not focus on their feet?”
    So he became a podiatrist.
    It was the honest truth, but he found that when he told people that story, most laughed. It was his go-to joke when he absolutely had to attend a party or function.
    He first came to Lost Lake when an older doctor at his practice in Richmond asked him to join him and his wife on their summer vacation. He had obviously felt sorry for Jack, who had alienated the nurses and staff in those early years because he’d been so bad at personal interaction. He’d gotten better, but it had taken years. The old doctor soon retired and moved away, but every summer Jack kept coming back to Lost Lake. He liked the quiet here. He liked how removed it was. He liked that, after a while, the summer regulars got to know him and didn’t judge him for his shy nature and the way his eyes could never quite meet theirs. Most of all, he liked the quiet woman in the kitchen.
    He had never known how silent a person could be. Lisette’s presence was a comfort, and he spent most of his time in the dining room, near the kitchen door, near her. Sometimes when she cooked, she would bring him out little samples of summer borscht or smoked salmon tea sandwiches. She would set the food on the table in front of him, smile, then go back to the kitchen. One time she even reached out and touched his hair, but that seemed to shock her, and she never did it again.
    Being around her was unlike anything he’d ever known. Wherever he went, everyone talked. Even at the ballet—where he went specifically to have the comfort of people around but not have to hear them—there were still words, buzzing around in whispers. Lisette not only didn’t talk, she barely even made noise when she moved. Sometimes he wished the whole world was like Lisette. But it wasn’t. That was something his mother always made sure he knew. The world was not like him and was not going to change for him. The trick to getting through life, she’d told him, is not to resent it when it isn’t exactly how you think it should be.
    When Eby had called him to cancel his reservation, to tell him she was selling Lost Lake, she had said to him, “But Lisette is still here and will be for the summer, in case there’s something you want to tell her.”
    It didn’t hit him at first. He’d been too focused on how his plans for the summer had changed. What was he going to do now? Where was he going to go? But that night he’d woken from a dream about a girl on a bridge, and realized it had been Lisette on that bridge, and if she jumped, he would never see her again. He’d always known where to find her, but after this summer, he wouldn’t. Eby wanted him to tell Lisette something. He didn’t know what that was. Was it something that would make her stay? He hated being unprepared for anything, but he still packed and left the next day.
    That morning, his first morning at the lake, he’d woken up and gone for a jog, as he’d always done. When he’d seen the light flick on in the dining room, he’d gone inside. He’d sat by the kitchen door, waiting for Lisette to come out. When she hadn’t—which was odd because she always seemed to sense his presence—he’d gone back to his cabin to shower and change. When he’d come back, breakfast had been set out for the guests, but still no Lisette.
    Eby had asked him last night to take Lisette into town for groceries today, and he’d happily agreed. He was curious what it would be like to shop with her. Would it be like walking around in a pocket of quiet while the rest of the noisy world