There were too many eyes on him. That was Henry’s professional assessment: there were too many eyes on him. It was Monday, so Truman was off again, and that really meant there should be fewer eyes, but it didn’t feel that way.
He started with his usual coffee, and this morning nobody knocked. He figured he’d have to play Emily a bit, reel her back in, but it also probably wouldn’t take too long. She wasn’t getting the attention she wanted anywhere else so, once she’d made it clear he’d pissed her off, she’d come back. Maybe not today, but tomorrow or Wednesday …
Jonathan was at the lodge when he went over. Maybe that was an every Monday thing, but when Henry passed through to grab a water, he saw Jonathan at one of the open doors, ostensibly checking supplies. He nodded, but Henry stayed far enough away that neither he nor Alyssa could really greet him or ask how he was enjoying his stay. He couldn’t be sure that Jonathan followed him with his eyes, but it certainly felt like he was being watched.
What of it? This was his usual by now. Maybe Emily got so emotional that she’d run to Jonathan with her story, and it got twisted so that Henry was insensitive and dismissed her female concerns, but come on. Emily was the one who went to his cabin. She came to him every time. He just put himself out here, in a public space, where people could join or avoid him as they pleased.
It started raining as he sat there on the porch, but it wasn’t windy enough to drive the rain into him. It was hoodie and jeans weather for sure, which was why it wasn’t all that surprising that Edgar, in the red kayak, made a beeline for shore much earlier than usual. It was weird to see him out alone, but Henry supposed grownups who’d signed all they’d signed could take kayaks out and risk their own lives without a lifeguard present.
If someone like Edgar died while at a place like Loon Lake, how would that make it into the news? They’d have to report it, because everyone would wonder why he’d suddenly disappeared, but who’d be the one to find out? His agent? Or did Jonathan have contact information for a relative? Even an accidental death like that would bring legal scrutiny down on Loon Lake. Everyone would have to give up their real names, and Henry’s scoop would be lost.
After pulling the kayak up on the rocky beach, turned so it wouldn’t collect water, Edgar came straight up to the porch on his way inside. He nodded at Henry but didn’t slow down, much less break stride. Edgar clearly wasn’t nearly as personable as his public image suggested.
And it wasn’t really weird that none of the girls came by to talk to Henry today. They hadn’t every single day, anyway, and this was the first truly rainy day. Maybe Emily hadn’t even packed a raincoat or shoes that would work on wet ground. It was on the list, but who really wanted to lug gum boots around when they weren’t nearly as fashionable as heels? Maybe there were rain boots with heels and he was just too far removed from the fashion world to know about them.
So maybe it wasn’t actually weird that the few people he did see seemed to be taking a closer look. It was a curiosity thing: who’s out in this weather? And not …
He wasn’t sure what. Not Oh that’s Henry, who doesn’t think women should be protected. Or Ah, Henry: the guy who doesn’t believe women. Hashtag me too.
Like women were perfect and never did anything wrong. Never killed the children they were being paid to protect. Never flaunted their bodies and acted like they wanted something, maybe even did want something, and then changed their minds or decided it was just sex, all on their own, without outside input.
The way some young women—say, Annabeth Deschain—decided, apparently on their own, that their boyfriends didn’t need their daughters. Seriously, it was a good thing Aaron Gladieux’s older kids were all out of the house. Imagine what Annabeth Deschain would’ve had to do to them. Okay, the rain was getting to him. Henry put the stoppers on the ends of his needles, tucked his knitting back into his bag, and decided he might as well grab some lunch to take back to his cabin where he’d figure out how to work the fireplace. At least there he could be relatively sure no one was staring at him.
Cold Comfort: Monday, July 8, 2024 – Agatha, coming July 23
Rebecca Frost 
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