The Northwoods Chronicles by Elizabeth Engstrom Read Free Book Online Page A

perfection on Natasha’s tall, lean, ebony body.
    But Kim had to be careful. She didn’t want to
lose the friendship by taking an inappropriate step.
    And Natasha had gone to the mat for her, too.
Participated in Cousins’ removal. They were sealed together for
eternity by that act, one that could never be mentioned ever
again.
    Two weeks. Two weeks, less two days, and she
would be home free.
    The wind picked up and started throwing stuff
around outside. Kimberly went to the window and checked on the
greenhouse, but it was fine.
    She grabbed a pillow and blanket and decided to
sleep on the couch in front of the fire.
    ~~~
    Bright morning sun shining through the living
room windows woke Kimberly. Storm was over. She got up, stretched,
put the kettle back on the stove, noted that the power had never
gone off, strangely enough, then looked out the back door to check
the greenhouse. What she saw made her knees go wobbly again.
    The island. The bog island, the island with
Cousins’ body buried deep within it, was outside. Her pier and the
little boat tied to it had been pushed aside and washed up on the
lawn, and the island had been blown up alongside of it.
    This happens, she tried to tell herself. It was
not Cousins coming back to haunt her. It was not. She had heard of
these islands blowing about in windstorms. One time, an island blew
across a channel inlet and fishermen had to be rescued by
helicopter. That had been a big island; nobody knew it was a
free-floating thing until that storm. This was a smaller island,
maybe fifty yards across, but big enough to house pine trees and
bushes. Big enough to walk on. To tether one’s boat to, to sunbathe
nude on, to bury one’s husband in. It had every right to be blown
around the lake.
    Cousins was not driving it; Cousins was
dead.
    Kimberly stuck her feet into gum boots and went
outside. The earth had been turned in the storm and it still
smelled a little wild.
    The island had beached itself right at the edge
of her lawn. She stepped onto it from the yard, gushed around a few
steps, and then found firm footing. She walked, with trepidation,
toward the middle of the island, toward the bog.
    And there he was, floating in the middle of the
small, green-black pool of slime. The bamboo pole was still there,
so with heaving gasps and sobs, Kimberly picked up the pole and
shoved Cousins back under the grass. It took a long time to get him
entirely underneath the island, as things were surely churned up
under there, but, eventually, it was done, and she was sweating and
boggy and crying and a mess.
    She didn’t even know if there were any turtles
under there to do away with him anymore. She ran, as fast as she
could under the circumstances, back to the house, and against her
will, dialed Natasha’s number.
    “Kimberly, hi! Some storm, eh?”
    “Natasha, the storm blew the island into my
pier. It’s in my backyard!”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No, and he was out! I had to push him back
under with the pole.”
    “We’re not talking about that, Kim.” Natasha’s
voice was muffled as if she had turned away from Mort and held her
hand over the phone. “Deal with it.”
    “He’s in my backyard!” Kimberly heard a shred of
hysteria in her voice and she didn’t want to let it get a handhold
on her. She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
    “We’ll talk later, okay?” Natasha said.
    “Yeah, okay.”
    “Bye now.”
    Kimberly hung up and looked out the window. She
felt as though a demon had started to stalk her and she didn’t know
what to do. Sheriff Withens? No. Pastor Porter? No. Margie?
Definitely not. She’d just deal with it. Like Natasha said. Deal
with it.
    And deal with it she did. Every morning she had
to poke him back under the bog. Every morning when she went out
there, the island, like a huge white elephant, was there, and every
morning, she found Cousins floating in the black goo. Every
morning, like a mantra, she would pick up the bamboo pole