The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All by Laird Barron

in the lake, inviting them to signal their presence, which of course they may or may not have done as it was difficult to discern much over the clattering shutters and the wind screeching in the eaves. Dixie, head bowed, almost fell over as she nodded off, eliciting chuckles from all present.
        Things began to wind down after that. The cabin was quite warm and cozy and the wine did it's trick to induce drowsiness. Again Bernice had decided not to mention her recent bad dreams that revolved around drowning and the ghost of her aunt bobbing to the surface of the lake like a bloated ice cube, then skating across the water, her face black as the occulted moon. Dixie would've laughed and said something about zombie ballerinas, while Karla raised an eyebrow and warned her to lay off the booze. Worst of all, Li-Hua was likely to take it seriously. So, you've returned to face your childhood demons. Good for you ! No, no, no-far better to keep her mouth shut.
        She fell asleep and dreamed of sinking into icy water, of drifting helplessly as a white figure crowned in a Medusa snarl of hair reached for her. In the instant before she snapped awake tearing at her blankets and gasping for air, she saw her sister's face.
        
    4
        
        Unhappily-so far as Bernice was concerned-they did indeed embark upon a hike along the cluttered beach directly after breakfast. The Redfield Girls had the shore to themselves, although there were a few small boats on the lake. The sky was flat and gray. It sprinkled occasionally, and a stiff breeze chopped the surface of the water. They picked their way until reaching the farthest point on the north side where a stream rushed over jumbled stones; shaggy bushes and low-hanging alders formed an impenetrable screen between shore and deep forest.
        The women rested for a bit in a patch of golden light sifted from a knothole in the clouds. Bernice pulled off her shoe and poured out pebbles and sand, and scowled at the blister already puffing on her ankle.
        "Don't tell me you thought we'd let you lead us to God's swimming hole and then hibernate all weekend." Dixie sat beside her on a log.
        "That's precisely what I thought."
        "Silly woman. Hiking is f-u-u-n!"
        "Look at this damned thing on my foot and say that again."
        Lourdes and Karla skipped pebbles across the water and laughed. Li-Hua came over and stared at Bernice's blister. "Maybe we should pop it? Let me."
        "What the hell are you talking about?"
        "You know, to drain the pus."
        "For the love of-that's not what you do with a blister," Bernice said. She quickly stuck her shoe on before Li-Hua got any more ideas.
        "Yeah, that's crazy talk. You just want to try one of your ancient herbal remedies and see if it works, or if her foot swells like a melon."
        Li-Hua shrugged and grinned. She didn't think much of Western medicine, this prejudice exacerbated by complications stemming from her hysterectomy conducted at Saint Peter's Hospital. Her own grandmother had been an apothecary and lived in perfect health to one hundred and three.
         "M y husband knew an old fisherman who lived here." Li-Hua's husband Hung worked for the state as a cultural researcher. He'd assisted on a demographical study of the region and spent several weeks among the Klallam, and Norwegian and Dutch immigrants who'd lived nearby for decades. "Job Nilsson had a ramshackle cabin over one of these ridges. After Hung interviewed him, we brought him cases of canned goods and other supplies every winter until he passed away. It was sad."
        "Yeesh," Dixie said. She'd gone to El Salvador and Nicaragua on many humanitarian missions. "I never knew, Li-Hua. You guys are wonderful." She sprang from her perch and hugged Li-Hua.
        "Job wouldn't talk about the lake much. He stopped fishing here in 1973 and went to the river instead. He believed what the Klallam said-that