The lake hadn’t changed much, not really at least. The same smell of mud and honeysuckle, the same hum of cicadas rising up. Only the water seemed meaner now, faster, darker, like it knew who was missing.
Carter parked the truck by the bank and cut the engine. The world fell quiet except for the slosh of the lake and the buzz of late June heat. He stepped out slowly, his boots sinking into the wet clay, and looked down at the tackle box lying in the truck bed. His brother’s name was still carved into the top, Wayne. The knife mark had faded some, but it was there.
He picked it up and walked toward the water. Frogs croaked low in the cattails, and something about that sound made Carter’s stomach knot. He hadn’t been back here in five years, not since the vigil.
Wayne had loved this place. Said the lake was honest. “Ain’t no lies in water,” he used to tell Carter. “She gives what she gives, and takes what she takes.”
Carter knelt at the edge of the bank, setting the box beside him. The latch had rusted, but it popped open with a familiar click. Inside lay two cracked bobbers, a tangle of line, and one of Wayne’s old hand-tied lures. It was purple and silver, feathered like a bird’s wing.
He could almost hear him.
“You’re holdin the rod wrong again, little brother.”
“Shut up, Wayne.”
“Nah, you gotta feel the lake, not fight it.”
Carter smiled despite himself. He pulled out the lure, tied it to the line, and cast it long across the lake. The sound of the reel spinning filled the silence for a moment, then faded into the rush of water. The sun was starting to dip behind the trees, turning the lake gold. Somewhere upstream, a heron took flight. Carter watched it glide low across the water, wings heavy and slow.
He remembered that day, one just like this, eight years ago. Wayne had almost caught a catfish so big it nearly pulled him in. He’d laughed the whole time, cussing and hollering, boots sliding through the mud. Carter had fallen back laughing too, water soaking his jeans. They would’ve cooked that fish over a campfire that night, and told stories until the stars burned bright enough to forget how poor they were if not for the line breaking.
Back then, Wayne had been everything Carter wanted. He was reckless. He was loud. He was untouchable, but damnit he loved. Wayne loved like no other person ever could. There wasn’t a person on this planet that he wouldn’t have given the shirt off of his back, both physically and figuratively.
Then came the pills. The kind that promised to make the noise stop. Then came the needles. The ones filled with a promise to make the noise endless.
Carter reeled in, cast again. His mama used to sing to him an old folk tale. He sung it to himself:
“Papa said the river’s healing,
But he never saw it flood.
Said it’ll wash away your troubles,
But it can’t promise not to take blood.”
That word hit Carter like a bullet. “Blood.” He cast again, and the lure caught the last streak of sunlight before disappearing beneath the surface. He closed his eyes.
“You remember that time we stole that basketball goal, Carter?”
“How could I forget? You told me to run with 20 pounds of metal on my shoulder.”
“You always were a softy, little brother.”
Carter could still see him: Wayne at twenty-two, shirtless, and barefoot. The bones of his ribs showed under their Nana’s porch light. He’d looked wild and alive, so sure the world was his ruin. Carter swallowed hard.
“Why’d you do it Wayne?” he whispered. “You had the whole damn world.”
A gust of wind cut through the trees, rattling the leaves. He’d asked that question a thousand times, in dreams, in prayers, in the silence between daylight and dark. It never changed anything. The truth was buried somewhere between the lake and the bottle of heroin Wayne never put down.
Carter reeled in again, slowly this time, until the lure broke the surface. The lure dripped and shined in the twilight. He set the rod aside and pulled out an old photograph from his pocket. It was taken by their mom, many years ago, back when Carter was just eight years old and Wayne was fifteen. Both of them were dressed in matching outfits, grinning ear to ear, ready for the first day of school. Wayne’s smile took up half his face and Carter’s eyes lit up the world.
He turned the photo over. His mom had written on the back: “Don’t let the lake forget him.” Carter let out a shaky breath and looked toward the water. The lake seemed to darken, pulling light away with every ripple.
“Alright,” he said softly. “You win.”
He stood, took the photograph in both hands, and tore it clean down the middle. The two halves fluttered for a second before landing in the water. They span apart, one sinking and one floating. Carter watched them until they disappeared.
Carter gathered his things and walked back to the truck. Before he climbed in, he turned one last time toward the water.
“Good fishin today,” he said quietly. “See you next summer, Wayne.”
He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. The headlights cut across the lank, catching a shimmer of light. It was something small and purple floating. It looked, for a moment, like one of Wayne’s lures. Then it was gone.
As Carter drove off, the road wound away from the water. The sound of the lake faded into the hum of the night. It was endless, echoing, and alive.
“Ain’t no lies in water,” Wayne had said once. Maybe that was true. Tonight though, the water lied a little, for mercy’s sake. The lake let Carter believe his older brother was still fishing somewhere just around the bend.
