Read The Lake (The Lake Trilogy, Book 1) for Free Online

Abshire’s words.
    “It’s hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he’s ok. It’s hard to be the one who stays.”
    I put the book down with the last sentence echoing in my head. It’s hard to be the one who stays. I know how Clare feels because I’m the one who stayed. Mom. Dad. Gram. Gramps. They all left me. I understand her loneliness. You can be strong but sometimes the loneliness is so overwhelming that you don’t know if you’ll be able to take another breath. The pain in your heart is so excruciating that it can’t help but spread to your stomach, eventually overtaking every fiber of your being. You cry until you’re sure you’ve dehydrated yourself, so you compensate. You throw yourself into mind numbing activities where you don’t have to think about anything. You find an escape, a way for you to be fully present somewhere your loneliness doesn’t exist.  But for Clare, at least she has some hope that Henry will return. He isn’t gone forever. He will literally always be somewhere in time.
    At 5:15 we pack the car with a blanket, a few camping chairs, – which I’m pretty sure have never been used for actual camping – some sodas, and snacks and make our way to downtown Davidson. I hadn’t gotten as much as a glimpse of the perimeter of town on the way here yesterday, so I’m looking forward to seeing how accurate Claire’s description is. The weather is warm so I’m wearing my traditional ponytail, along with khaki shorts and a striped t-shirt and sandals. I am completely and utterly plain. We round the corner onto the main drag of town and I’m pleasantly surprised. Davidson is lovely and quaint. It’s like something out of story that begins “back in my day” and I half-expect June Cleaver to pop her head up from behind a rose bush and wave. Davidson College is nestled right in the middle of this nostalgic little town, and there are stores and restaurants on one side of the street. They’re contained mostly in one long building, but with different roof heights distinguishing between vendors. The exterior of each merchant’s store is different than his neighbor, which only serves to add more charm to this picturesque little town. The Soda Shop has huge windows with a few metal café tables and chairs out front, while the bridal store next door is adorned with hanging flowerpots and an awning that makes it look like a house. Luke tells me there is a bookstore right on the strip that I should check out. I make a mental note to do so sooner rather than later.
    A wide two-lane road runs through town on, of course, Main Street. We drive slowly since the speed limit is twenty-five and there are a hundred people making their way to the Village Green. I can see the Green where the Public Library is when Luke makes a few turns and parks the car. We gather our things and make our way across the grass, which I can tell has been freshly cut by one of my favorite scents lingering in the air. Luke and Claire say hello to several people on the way to finding a good spot in the middle of the crowd at the center of the stage. I use the word stage loosely since it’s really just a raised platform set up in front of the steps to the small Davidson Public Library.
    Claire wasn’t kidding when she said there’d be some good people watching. There are so many people who reminded me of home. They’re dressed and ready for summer, having fun with no regard for who sees them. There are parents with babies and some dads with toddlers on their shoulders. Older kids are running around playing tag and screaming at the top of their lungs. Most of these townsfolk don’t have folding chairs. They just sit on their blankets eating homemade sandwiches and chips and drinking soda. I feel comfortable here.
    Then…then there are others who are distinctly different than the rest of the crowd, which is to say they are distinctly different than me. The first thing I notice is