Page 4 of Dream Lake

“Oh. At that point I was thinking about the scene inOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,when Jack Nicholson got the lobotomy and his friends smothered him with a pillow out of mercy.”

“Most of the time I wouldn’t mind smothering Alex with a pillow,” Mark said.

Sam grinned, but sobered quickly as he continued. “Someone should put him out of his misery. That Darcy is a piece of work. Remember at the rehearsal dinner when she referred to Alex as her first husband?”

“He is her first husband.”

“Yeah, but calling him the ‘first’ implies there’s going to be a second. Husbands are like cars to Darcy—she’s going to keep trading up. And what I don’t get is that Alex knew it, but he went ahead and married her anyway. I mean, if youhaveto get married, at least pick someone nice.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Then why do I get the feeling when I talk to her that I’d be better off viewing her reflection from a mirrored shield?”

“Darcy’s not my type,” Mark said, “but a lot of guys would say she’s hot.”

“Not a good reason to marry someone.”

“In your opinion, Sam, is thereanygood reason to get married?”

Sam shook his head. “I’d rather have a painful accident with a power tool.”

“Having seen the way you handle a compound miter saw,” Mark said, “I’d say that’s entirely likely.”

***

A few days later, Alex came to the house at Rainshadow Road for an unexpected visit. Since the ghost had last seen him, Alex had lost weight he hadn’t needed to lose. His cheekbones were as prominent as guard rails, the ice-colored eyes undermounted by deep shadows.

“Darcy wants to separate,” Alex said without preamble, as Sam welcomed him inside.

Sam shot him a glance of concern. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“She wouldn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Al. Don’t you want to know why your wife’s leaving you?”

“Not particularly.”

Sam’s tone turned gently arid. “Do you think that might be part of the problem? Like maybe she needs a husband who’s interested in her feelings?”

“One of the reasons I liked Darcy in the first place is that she and I never had to have those conversations.” Alex wandered into the parlor, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He surveyed the door casing that Sam had been hammering into place. “You’re going to split the wood. You need to predrill the holes.”

Sam surveyed him for a moment. “Want to lend a hand?”

“Sure.” Alex went to the worktable in the center of the room and picked up a cordless power drill. He checked the settings and the tightness of the chuck, and pressed the trigger experimentally. A metallic squeal tore through the air.

“Bearings are dried up,” Sam said apologetically. “I’ve been meaning to repack them with grease, but I haven’t had time.”

“It’s better to replace them completely. I’ll take care of it later. Meantime, I’ve got a good drill in the car. Four-pole motor, four hundred fifty pounds of torque.”

“Sweet.”

In the way of men, they dealt with the issue of Alex’s broken marriage by not talking about it at all, instead working together in companionable silence. Alex installed the door casings with precision and care, measuring and marking, hand-chiseling a thin edge of the plastered wall to ensure that the vertical casing was perfectly plumb.

The ghost loved good carpentry, the way it made sense of everything. Edges were neatly joined and finished, imperfections were sanded and painted, everything was level. He watched Alex’s work approvingly. Although Sam had acquitted himself well as an amateur, there had been plenty of mistakes and do-overs. Alex knew what he was doing, and it showed.

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