Opal Is That You?, Page 3

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  "I'm so sorry, Mal." Mitchell held his wife's hand as Mallory leaned over the pontoon boat's railing and vomited into the lake. "I just remembered how much fun we used to have on the water when we first started dating. Thought it might bring back some great memories. I feel terrible."

  Mallory smiled, though doing so tasted bitter. "Likely not as terrible as I do. But it was a great idea, Mitch. The view is wonderful."

  "I just hate seeing you sick, Mal."

  Mallory saw Mitchell frown as he turned to the water. He had arranged the boat trip that morning, a meandering, slow float along a series of small and connected northern lakes. Not a single cloud threatened rain, and the morning's brisk breeze succeeded in chasing away much of the alarm that had haunted Mallory through the dark, early morning as they drove away from that small hotel so many miles off of the interstate. Mitchell had hoped the float trip would provide a quiet time, a chance for them to catch their breath, to enjoy something as simple as sunlight reflecting off of water.

  But nausea gripped Mallory soon after the pontoon boat drifted away from shore. She felt foolish. She had never experienced such sickness on the water before.

  Nor was the nausea the worse of the morning's discomforts. A ringing pained her ears each time Mallory gazed over the waters. A dizziness made her swoon each time she attempted to look over those waves to spot a loon or turtle.

  "Would you take a look at that lake house?" Mitchell whistled as the boat floated beyond an inlet of trees to reveal the well-manicured landscape, the boat docks, the timber decks and the brick stories filled with glistening windows of a northern lakefront mansion. "It makes my head spin to imagine how much those two speed boats must cost. Just think of having that as a second home."

  Mallory peeked at the home. Perhaps it was the sunlight shimmering off of the lake that accounted for her headache.

  "They shouldn't have edged their shores with all those rocks," Mallory winced.

  Mitchell frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "They destroyed whatever filtration system they had with all those rocks," Mallory continued. "The reeds and grasses that grow naturally along the shore would help keep some of the lawn fertilizers those homes are spraying on their grass from seeping into the lake. Some might think that all those rocks help beautify the shore, maybe increase property value. But they're killing the lake. All those lawn chemicals will add up until the loons and the turtles have no place to go."

  Mitchell shook his head. "You always have something."

  "Well, it's true."

  "Whatever." Mitchell sighed. "I can't help but wonder how people make so much money to build those kinds of homes."

  Mallory didn't attempt to think of an answer. She recognized when Mitchell didn't want his questions answered.

  "Even the reflection looks expensive, Mal."

  Mallory gazed into the lake waters though that ringing in her ears hammered and a pain throbbed behind her eyes. Something in the lake's mirrored surface seemed off. The waters fractured her reflection into a thousand pieces. The rolling waves distorted her shape. Was there really so much gray sprinkled among her dark locks? When had her face gained so much weight? Why did her features appear so swollen? She did not remember her skin appearing so pale, did not think herself so sensitive to the sun. Staring deeper into those waters, Mallory squinted upon the reflections of her eyes, and she could not understand why the waters turned them gray rather than their usual emerald green.

  Mallory retched before leaning back into the boat and turning away from the waters. She must have eaten something that soured her stomach.

  Mallory shivered. Was she catching a fever?

  "We probably couldn't afford to buy even a boat-house on this lake," Mitchell sighed as the boat floated past the lakeshore mansion.

  A new bitterness coated Mallory's tongue. The promises they had made on the onset of their vacation proved so easy to break. They had promised to set aside the cutting inferences and the snide comments. But now, Mitchell clubbed Mallory with his regret. They had relocated numerous times in the span of their marriage. They had followed the opportunity Mallory's diligent work earned, taken the doors her night classes opened for her. They had not followed Mitchell's dreams because Mitchell had never displayed the discipline nor the desire to develop aspirations of his own. He had never invested to develop a talent. He had never trained to learn a skill. He never did any of those things if it was ever possible to pick up a dime doing something else. And so Mitchell chased each glittering thing, until he filled his pockets with nickels. Why wouldn't they follow Mallory's opportunity?

  Mallory knew she had become a crutch for Mitchell's weakness. She knew she had become that excuse for the lake homes Mitchell never built. Mitchell could only admire the view from a distant boat. He recognized only the beauty of facades, without ever calculating the cost of building foundations.

  "It's not like we're poor, Mitch."

  Mitchell faced Mallory with a frown. But then he remembered what they had hoped the vacation might return to them, and he forced a crooked smile.

  "You're right, Mal. It's just that I thought I would be someone else by now. Not sure if I expected more, but I expected something different," and Mitchell gazed into the water. "But I suppose you can't deny the face the mirror gives you each morning."

  Mallory held her stomach, and Mitchell returned to admiring the estates erected upon the shore. The boat's guide cut the tour short to help Mallory's sickness, and the Howards politely declined the guide's invitation for a parting beer before crumpling back into their car. By sunset, they had roared many miles further into the dense northern woods, the falling sun flashing between the trees that flickered past their windows.