Page 1 of Whispers of the Lake

CHAPTER ONE

Fuck Happiness.

The fleeting thought crossed my mind as I stood in the bedroom closet I shared with Cole and stared at the racks of clothes. What would happen to me now? Where do I go next? How do I find that dreaded happiness again? When it arrives, will it come temporarily, like a visitor? Or will it stay this time? Will it hold me forever?

Only yesterday I was smiling. Hopeful even, ready to put one foot forward and focus on my future. But today, tears fill my eyes and the various colors of clothes become one irritating blur.

People speak of happiness like it’s some tangible, obtainable object—like you can simply grab hold of it, kiss it, and cling to it. Make it promise to never leave you.

Perhaps it is like an object in the metaphorical sense. You can hold on to it all you want, but the thing I’ve learned about Happiness is that it hates clingy bitches. Happiness is disloyal. Unfaithful. Unyielding. It doesn’t care what happens to you when it walks out of the door. It’s like a bad guest, one who shows up when they feel like it. Lingers around. Takes up space. Eats all your favorite snacks. It’s the kind of friend who is so charming and loving that you forget all about their flaws and the way they walked away from you the first time.

Like I said,Fuck happiness. It can go to hell for all I care.I sniffled as I stepped deeper into the closet, wiping my face with the back of my arm. The brakes of a car let off a light squeal.

Cole was home.

A sudden flash of anger wrapped around me, so white-hot that I swear my skin was sizzling. I snatched as many of his pieces of clothing as I could off the hangers. My arms were full of trousers, button-down shirts, silk ties, jeans, T-shirts—whatever I could manage. All of it had to be worth thousands of dollars. I even bent down to grab a pair of his favorite Jordans—a custom-made eggplant pair that I always hated the color of. I snatched down belts, a case of watches, a pair of Versace sunglasses.

The front door closed just as I left the bedroom and rounded the corner, hugging the items. I could smell burning wood from here. Cole’s eyes expanded when he caught sight of me. “Rose,” he said, but I was already walking in the opposite direction, toward the back door. “Rose. Hey, what are you doing?”

I ignored him and walked straight through the door I’d left wide-open. I hoped a million mosquitoes had flown inside just to bite his ass up all night long. The sun was setting, and the air was cool. The firepit was ablaze and the flames enticed me the closer I got. The heat swelled, strong enough to make a person sweat. I swear the crackling of the flames sounded like someone was laughing while chanting,Do it, do it, do it!

Cole shouted my name, chasing after me as I approached the roaring fire. I hurled all of his clothes into the firepit, pulled off my wedding ring, tossed it in too, and watched it all burn.

Eve Castillo journal entry

I found myself staring at my reflection again. I stared for so long it seemed I wasn’t even real anymore. My features became invisible, and my eyes did that weird thing where they glaze over. It’s like an out-of-body-experience—like I’m not myself at all.

Then I blink, snap out of it, and feel the breath coursing through my lungs, the prickle of my skin, the beating of my heart. I wish I could stay that way—living outside my body, watching this ridiculous girl stand for so long she rots.

I wish I was happier, or that I had a simpler life.

I wish I didn’t have to fake smiles.

I wish I didn’t hate myself so much.

CHAPTER TWO

Three Months Later

Corporate parties should be illegal. I didn’t understand how people really looked forward to these things. Socializing outside of working hours with coworkers? Being in the same room as your boss and enjoying an alcoholic beverage with them?

There’s this odd, invisible line that lingers. Sometimes it loops and threatens to wrap around your neck like a noose. You must remain professional, but also let your guard down just a bit—but nottoomuch, or people will judge you. If you’re too forward, they’ll think you’re doing too much. If you’re too reserved, they’ll think you’re standoffish. I was certain the latter was what some of my coworkers thought of me now.

Reserved.

Quiet.

Weird.

I checked my phone, feeling annoyed that Herbert wasn’t here. He was the only person I could tolerate during these gatherings, but he was at home tending to his sick dog, Dozer, after leaving the vet. Dozer had gotten ahold of a dropped grape, the poor thing. Perhaps I should’ve used that as my excuse too—to be there for my worried friend and his sick pet.

As I sipped red wine, my eyes traveled across the room to my boss andPremier Daily’s senior editor, Twyla. She was flashing all her teeth as she spoke to a cluster of other correspondents, waving her hand dismissively at the appropriate times (likely from a compliment) and giggling when necessary. She’d gotten veneers. They made her teeth look like Jim Carrey’s when he starred inThe Mask. No one had the balls to tell her how bad they looked, though—not even me.

Her eyes swung my way, and she threw up a hand, as if pausing the entire party, before scuttling across the room to me in her Italian leather heels. I didn’t miss the way some of my coworkers glanced my way, then rolled their eyes.

“Rose! Girl, what are you doing over here all by yourself?” Twyla pressed a hand to my shoulder, scanning me with big hazel eyes.

Twyla was light-skinned with brown freckles and big, bushy curls that took up a lot of space. She was mixed and often talked about not being able to properly identify with either race—Black or white. Some days she was too Black. Others she was too white. I always suggested she be herself. It seemed she still didn’t know how to do that. In a month, she’d be getting cheek fillers. I couldn’t imagine how that was going to look with her teeth.

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