Wet as the Lake Below

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

-1-

You could say this is the story of why loon calls, lapping waves, and the scent of pine needles baked in the sun get me all hot and bothered. It's the story of the best night of my life—it's long behind me, but I'm not sad to know that's true. Perhaps that's because, in a way, it's never ended.

My mom's side of the family is Irish Catholic, which is to say crazy and numerous. I'm the fourth-oldest of 24 cousins (and counting—my youngest aunt, who's only a few years older than me, had twins less than a year ago), if you can believe it. My theory has always been that with those numbers, odds are you're going to have at least one or two cousins who are objectively hot. In my case, this was my cousin Megan.

She was a few years older than me, so I looked up to her when were little. She lived a couple hours away in a real redneck town, so she had the sort of thick Central Maine drawl actors are always butchering in movies based on Stephen King stories. She cussed like a lumberjack but dressed like the cool kids. She was a great soccer player and downhill skier, and she had the first six-pack abs I ever saw in person—the first I ever touched. When we were young, we saw each other all the time. Starting when I was maybe 9 or 10, she would spend a week with my family every summer. Since I have all brothers, she would always stay in my room.

We were both interested in boys, but by the time we were in middle school it became clear something unspoken had developed between us, a certain tension I'd never felt with anyone else, male or female. She was my first kiss. Our parents' generation thinks you should feel guilty for waking up in the morning, let alone catching feelings for a family member who's the same sex as you before marriage. Still, the thrill outweighed the shame.

There was a sense of inevitability between us, a magnetism we could neither understand nor control. One night, we crawled out onto the roof and she told me she loved me. It wasn't the first time she'd said this to me, but this time her eyes were different. I told her I knew what she meant.

I thought I'd go insane when she went home that year. I could hardly wait for the next time I saw her, or more importantly, for the next summer—the mere thought of that glorious week in July made me so delirious I could barely understand what I was feeling. I only knew I needed more of it, and that meant more of her.

That spring, however, my mom told me Megan's family was moving down to Indiana. She wouldn't be staying with us that year. I can't describe the devastation. I cried for days. I was sure it was all over, our friendship, our closeness, whatever you called what we had. It couldn't possibly survive her moving halfway across the country. Whatever momentum we had built would slowly but surely recede.

We'd talk on the phone now and then. She said she missed me. We saw each other only a couple times a year after that, sometimes only at Christmas. My whole family gathered at my grandparents' house at Christmastime, so it was impossible for us to get away with doing what I knew were both thinking about. Instead we compared notes on our dalliances with boys. We'd steal the occasional kiss in the woods, hold hands when no one was looking. All year I'd look forward to those few stolen moments.

For a while in high school Megan had a pretty serious boyfriend. One of the most difficult things I've ever done is indulge her in those conversations, hiding the irrational sense of betrayal and abandonment I felt. I didn't have a boyfriend. Megan might have been the only one who knew why. We talked less and less. Our conversations had longer, more frequent lapses of silence. Sometimes when I would lie in bed at night, I thought I could feel her drifting further and further away. For two years, her family didn't even come up to Maine for the holidays.

I figured we'd continue that way, maybe until the end of high school, until eventually the phone calls stopped. She'd be off at college, I'd still be stuck in my hometown, wondering what sort of adventures the rest of the world was having, how many guys and maybe girls would get to know Megan as I almost had. It was as if my body still craved her, I don't know how else to put it.

Toward the end of high school, I started making a conscious effort not to think about her. I figured she was thinking about me less and less, maybe even forgotten me, except when she was laughing with her friends about stupid things they'd done when they were younger.

I was doing a decent job, too, until I came home from track practice one day and my mom told me she had exciting news. That summer was my grandma and grandpa's 50^th wedding anniversary, and to celebrate two of my uncles had rented a huge cabin on a lake up north. The entire family was coming from all over the country to throw them a surprise party.

I had to hide behind the refrigerator door until I stopped blushing when my mom added that I'd finally get some "quality girl time" with my cousin Megan. That was how she put it. I wonder sometimes if she knows more than she lets on. She's the ultimate goody-two-shoes, though, at Mass every Sunday, doesn't drink or smoke or gamble, disapproves of most dancing. Surely she'd have something to say beyond a wink-wink quip if she knew I had the hots for my girl cousin.

The only other thing I remember about that day is what I did in the shower about half an hour later. I'm still surprised I didn't snap the detachable showerhead in half when I came. I felt ashamed of my weakness, of breaking my promise to myself—I was absolutely, under no circumstances, permitted to think about her like that. It was never going to happen, so why torment myself? But like that first meeting of our lips in my moonlit room a decade before, in the moment it felt too goddamn good to care.

-2-

I turned 18 at the beginning of that summer, which would have made Megan 20, almost 21. I hadn't seen her in two years, and I was nervous.

She had taken a gap year after high school during which she travelled throughout Europe and went on a cross-country road trip with her friends, ultimately settling in Colorado, where she was about to start her third year of college. She started out majoring in anthropology, but last I heard she'd settled on wildlife ecology after a brief switch to sports medicine.

She had done so much, seen so much while I was stuck rotting away in the middle of nowhere. What if she thought I was boring now? What if she was too good for me, too sophisticated? For weeks before the family reunion I lost sleep worrying that she'd be different. Maybe she'd even look different—what if she was fat now, or worse, what if she'd gotten even more beautiful? I even had a few nights where I was convinced she wouldn't remember me at all.

Then, the week before the big anniversary party, I got a text from an unfamiliar number asking if this was still me. When I said yes, the next text apologized for losing touch and said it was Megan. She had been looking forward to the family reunion all summer—"literally marking off the days on my calendar"—and in particular she couldn't wait to see me. It must have been five full minutes before I got up the courage to respond.

Megan's final text shook me to my core. It was like an out-of-body experience for a few seconds, like my soul levitated from my skin and did a few turns around the room before returning to me. I must have read the words 10 times to make sure they were real.

"Can't wait," Megan said, "happy belated 18^th bday! Have a present I've been wanting to give you for a long time."

I loved her all the more for not using a wink-face emoji. Instead, she sent the one with the sealed zipper for a mouth. All my years stuck in my boring town, the endless days and months of the same boring people and places and activities didn't feel half as long as the rest of that week. At one point, I was convinced I would die before I got up to the lake and I'd never see her again.

To keep myself busy, I went shopping at the gradually-emptying local mall for a new bathing suit. I wound up with two new bathing suits: one to wear at the party and one for Megan's eyes only.

-3-

The morning of the party I was shaking with excitement. I could not wrap my head around the fact that this was the day.

The drive to the lake took forever. My dad got lost at one point and managed to almost hit not one, not two, but three deer—one on the main road, one in a steep depression locals call Death Valley because of all the moose and deer accidents, and another on the dirt road around the lake. Not only did this mean it took us a ridiculous amount of time to get there, the whole experience was a reminder of just how embarrassing, how tiny and isolated and irrelevant this place was. I could only hope the country side of Megan had survived all her newfound worldliness. I decided if she still cared about me enough to text, some of the girl I remembered must remain.

When we finally found the right turnoff--yet another dirt road, this one rougher than the last--we came around a bend and saw it towering above the trees. My dad slowed to a crawl. We all craned our necks.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Gotta be, look at all the cars along the road. Yeah, look, there's Sean's car, Amy and Pat brought that stupid motorcycle, and that's Rick and Billie's van, there. We're here, guys!" my mom said as she tapped the small image of St. Anthony she kept above the rearview mirror—he was supposed to be the saint of finding lost things, though keeping him in a car never made sense to me because if you needed him while driving, you were the lost thing.

"Snap, Uncle Danny didn't skimp on the rental. Place is gigantic. It's like three times as big as any of the other ones we passed. I bet it's got a pool, even." Said one of my brothers.

I reminded him, perhaps too sharply, that we were on a lake. Another one of my brothers asked if the whole extended family could fit inside the house.

"Well, we have to sleep a lot of people in there. You kids will all have roommates, I'm sure." My mom said.

"We don't mind," I said.

My mom gave me a look in the rearview mirror. Mercifully, my dad had parked by then. It was time to join the party.

-4-

I was horrified to learn that despite our own extended detour down a series of old logging roads as my dad hunted for the place, Megan's family hadn't yet arrived. There was some kind of mix-up with their flight from Indianapolis. My aunt said they hoped to make it up in time for dinner. Dinner! I thought I was going to pass out when I looked at my phone. It wasn't even noon. Now I was stuck waiting another five, six hours, maybe more. I'm all for suspense, but this was getting unbearable. I reminded myself that Megan was worth the wait.

I was a little confused she hadn't texted me to give a heads up they were late, but I was too nervous to initiate the conversation. We'd left it on such a flirty, mysterious note I didn't want to cancel that out with some pointless question about where they were or what was going on. All I could do was pass the time.

I resolved not to think about Megan until I saw here in the flesh (though it took me a long time to get her out of my head after using that phrasing in my mind.) There were like 40 other people there to hang out with. If I didn't keep myself distracted, by the time she showed up I'd be ready for a padded room instead of her top secret surprise. I had a certain scenario in mind. I wondered, not for the first time, if she might have the same idea.

The water was freezing at first. The only way to make it tolerable, of course, was to dunk under and stay in. I don't know how long we were out there, my brothers and cousins and I, jumping off the dock, building a flotilla of inner tubes and kayaks, all while sneaking into the trees to smoke thick joints of stuff my cousin Rodney had grown in an empty lot behind his buddy's house. None of the younger kids seemed to catch on. By the time we came in for the evening, a giggling, dripping horde ascending the hill to the towering log house above, I was so stoned and exhausted I realized I hadn't thought about Megan in hours. I was in my element, and, to my surprise, I was having a great time. I convinced myself the weed was exactly what would help me play it cool if she ever arrived.

When we crested the hill, shadows stretched over the lawn. Below, the lake had developed a steady chop, tugging at the boats and water toys tied to the dock. Across the water, the horizon was still vivid in the sinking sun, but the clouds overhead were irregular streaks and swirls purple and pink. I guess I don't need to tell you what I saw in those clouds.

Somewhere in the distance loons joined our uncontrollable laughter. Soon the crickets and frogs, and even an owl kicked up their evening chorus. A group of my uncles, by now deep into the Bud Lights and Allen's Coffee-Flavored Brandy, had started a huge bonfire on a level area of the lawn at which two of my cousins now noodled on acoustic guitars, looking up occasionally to see if anyone was paying attention. Several of my aunts were cackling around a pair of charcoal grills, brandishing Solo cups and greasy spatulas. A peace fell around me. All of these people—every single one of them—thought they knew me. Yet none of them could ever guess what Megan and I would be getting up to once the sun dropped behind the evergreens on the far side of the lake, leaving only the moon and winking stars to see what we did.

I looked back to my aunts at the grills. It clicked that they were cooking dinner. Megan's family could be here at any moment! They could be pulling up right now! Despite my best efforts at securing a room inside the house, I wound up relegated to one of several bunk houses forming a horseshoe shape between the cabin and the woods.

Two of my younger cousins seemed to have moved in while I was down at the lake. Even high, I knew there would be no kicking them out without raising suspicion. Whatever Megan had in mind, it couldn't happen in here.

I changed out of my wet one-piece and into my secret suit, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one came in while I did. Even my mom didn't know I had it. She'd lose her mind if she knew I was wearing something this skimpy. Over it, I pulled on my favorite jean skirt and a dark tank top.

The bunk squeaked as it took my weight. I think I was going to lie down for a moment and check my phone. All the jangling nerves and pitched anticipation and potent-ass ganja must have finally caught up with me, because apparently I fell sound asleep.

-5-

A low murmur, murky, as if underwater. My body shaking. A weight on my shoulder. A familiar smell of too much fruity perfume.

I opened my eyes, furious that I'd been taken from the dream. I'd had it before and I knew what came next.

"Shhhhh," the voice above me said, "don't wake up the kids."

The voice was low yet distinctly female, with the faintest hint of a Central Maine drawl. A small, quivering gasp escaped me. Suddenly I understood what was happening.

Before I could say anything, her lips pressed mine against my teeth, lingering, savoring. The delicacy and dexterity of her tongue took my breath away and I surrendered to my most primal urges. It was as if I'd awoken into the dream, only this time the details were too many and too sharp for it to be anything but real. She must have cut her hair short, as my fingers slid along her head instead of burying themselves in the thick caramel waves I remembered.

Across the small cabin, one of the little cousins shifted, her mattress whining, a long, dozy breath with a hint of hum in it coming from her nose. It must be late. We had to be cautious leaving the cabin and quick once we got outside.

"Come on," she whispered, the details of her face slowly coming into focus in deep shades of blue and black.

She took my arm and slid off the mattress, watching the kids' bunks for any signs of movement. With all the restraint I could muster under the circumstances, I sat up, wincing at the popping, ancient springs threatening to expose us. I decided, if it somehow came up, it would be reasonable for me to claim we were just excited to see each other and she woke me up to talk. Holding fast to this idea, I swung my legs over and dropped with a muffled thud to the floor beside Megan.

"Stealthy," she giggled.

I need to kiss her, to feel her body against mine, to go with her wherever she wanted to take me. A twinge of anxiety coiled in my belly as I took in her face. She was no girl anymore. There was a refinement about her whole look, an assured air of confidence and self-possession. Yet all my favorite details remained: the freckles saddling her nose, the cleft in her chin, the mole above the left corner of her upper lip. Best of all was the flicker in her eyes, the unfettered glee of a rebellious child basking in the glory of her naughtiness. There was even a glimmer of insanity in them, the glint of a mind resolved to a particular action regardless of the consequences. As soon as I saw those eyes, I knew I was in for a night I would never forget.

As I eased open the heavy wooden screen door, silently negotiating with it to be quiet, I felt like I was 14 again, sneaking out my bedroom window to run around with my friends while the whole town was fast asleep. I had the same feeling that the world was ours, that we were stepping out of time and space, where no one of a mind to stop us would ever be able to find us. This was the best version of that feeling, though, because there was no one on earth I'd rather be sneaking around with.

We moved low and fast until we made the tree-line behind the cabins. There were no windows on this side, so as long as no one was out and about, we should be home free. We stood face-to-face now, studying each other, my hands on her shoulders, hers on my arms.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hey, Cuz," she said, and kissed me, this time with abandon.

We were getting pretty hot and heavy right there by the woods until something crashed along the forest floor, causing both of us to cry out and stumble back toward the cabins. When our eyes met, we had to laugh. Soon it was more than we could handle. We could hardly breathe. I was worried we were going to wake someone up when she motioned for me to follow her. We hurried down the steep hill toward the beach. At one point she lost her balance and started log rolling. Not wanting to be left behind, I followed suit.

My plan was to put the brakes on about two-thirds of the way down and jog the rest of the way to the lake, which must be our destination, but I picked up more speed than expected. It was fun until I hit something, a rock or a stick, that turned me so instead of rolling sideways I was somersaulting down, faster and faster, and all I could do was tuck into a cannonball and hope for the best. I hit a bump and when I landed, something sharp bit at my shoulder. I heard a snap and felt a pinch. For a split second, I was caught on something, which spun me. I skidded on my stomach, the wind knocked out of me, until I reached the steepest part of the hill and was able to go back into a log roll.

I remember wondering if Megan had watched the entire shitshow from the bottom, thinking I was an idiot, then I was crashing into what I realized were legs. I took Megan down like a bowling pin, sat up, stopped myself, and managed to half-catch her as she fell on top of me. When the shock wore off, we were laughing harder than ever. This wasn't the sweeping Hollywood scene I'd always pictured, but it was better because it was us—this was exactly how it would play out between the two of us, a comedy of errors that, with any luck, had a happy ending. Well, two happy endings to be exact.