A Week at the Lake (18 page)

“Then that's what you should do,” he said agreeably with a disturbing note of relief. He didn't suggest that he'd like her to come out to LA. “Maybe when I've got the screenplay the way I want it and the deal is signed, I'll come out there.”

“Sure,” she said. “That would be great. I'm sure Emma would like that.”

“Okay, then,” he said, clearly ready to sign off. “Give Em a hug from me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And take care of yourself.”

“Will do,” Mackenzie said. But Adam was already gone. Gone to live the life he was so clearly enjoying. The one he would have chosen if she hadn't gotten pregnant. If he hadn't felt compelled to marry her. If she hadn't begged him to move back to Indiana to raise the children they never had.

S
everal days later Emma sat on the cushioned chaise watching Bob Fortson pack up his instruments of torture.

“I'll see you tomorrow, same time, same channel.”

“Right.” They'd just completed her fourth session of physical therapy and she was so tired she could barely move her lips. She twisted them into what she hoped would pass for a smile.

“You do good job. Try hard.” Nadia hung a towel around Emma's neck as if she were a fighter coming out of a boxing ring or a tennis player leaving center court after an especially difficult match, when in fact she'd spent only thirty grueling minutes doing strength-building exercises. “Drink thees.” The nurse handed her a glass filled with a thick lime-green-colored liquid. The nurse's energy concoctions came in a rainbow of colors, none of them particularly tasty, each with a pungent aroma. Emma was too tired to argue. She'd take any form of energy she could get.

It was a gorgeous midsummer day filled with clear blue sky, puffy white clouds, and a comfortable seventy-five degrees. The doors and windows were all thrown open to catch the breeze that came off the water. Everyone else was on or near the lake enjoying themselves. She was determined to get down to the lake under her own steam, but was appalled at how far away the achievement of that goal seemed. At the moment she
couldn't even make it inside, let alone downstairs, without assistance.

She sucked the drink down dutifully and had finally reached the bottom of the glass when a phone rang nearby. She realized with some surprise that the ringtone was hers, a melody she hadn't heard since, well, she couldn't actually remember the last time she'd heard it. Serena, who had turned the phone over to her just yesterday, had told her it had only survived her accident because it had been in the purse that flew out of her hands and landed in a nearby flowerbed. A detail that she didn't remember, couldn't picture, and might well have happened to someone else.

The phone was still ringing when Nadia brought it out to her. “Is Mrs. Mickhels.”

“No.”

The nurse tried to exchange the phone for the empty glass.

Emma refused to take it. “I don't want to speak to her.” She left off the “ever,” but thought her tone implied it.

“But she your mother.”

“Not really.”

The phone continued to ring, for some reason failing to go to voice mail. Not that she'd want to hear a voice mail from Eve any more than she wanted to speak to her.

“You talk.” Nadia tried again to hand the phone to Emma, who kept her hands at her sides. “Is boss. Make paycheck.”

Emma could have happily continued to pretend that she had no idea where the nurse had come from, that she had magically appeared like some larger, more muscular Mary Poppins. She did not want to be beholden to Eve.

“Then you talk to her.” Emma assumed that would end the conversation, but Nadia Kochenkov raised the phone to her ear.

“Kochenkov here.” A salute and maybe a parade ground should have accompanied that voice. “
Da
.”

The nurse snuck a look at her. “
Da
. Is better.” Another question. “Nyet.”

Nadia looked at Emma again. “You talk.” It was not a question. “Tell mother you happy with me.” She didn't bother to cover the mouthpiece when she issued this command, but the eyes that typically brooked no argument had turned beseeching.

Emma sighed and put out her hand. “Hello?”

“Oh. Hello, dar . . .” Eve halted abruptly. “. . . Emma.”

There was a silence that Emma had no intention of filling.

“I just wanted to check and see how you're doing.”

“I'm okay.” Emma fought back the Pavlovian panic that seemed tied to even the thought of Eve.

“That's good. I'm very glad to hear it.”

Emma stared out over the railing to where Zoe lay in her favorite spot on the swimming platform. Serena and Mackenzie sat in two Adirondack chairs on the beach, their feet in the water. They had what looked like glasses of iced tea in their hands and were talking.

“Are you satisfied with the care you're receiving? Because I'm sure I could find someone else if . . .”

“It's fine. She's . . . fine.” At first Emma had just been too tired to argue about the nurse's presence. Then she'd been too tired to argue
with
her. Now it was hard to imagine how she would have even gotten out of bed without her. “Thank you.”

Nadia's smile was large, revealing one missing tooth near the back and two gold crowns. Eve, who had far better teeth, sounded both surprised and pleased. And oddly not in control of the conversation. “Oh, I'm so . . . that's good.”

Silence fell between them once again.

“Is there anything else that might be helpful?” Eve asked. “Anything at all that you want or need?”

“Nyet,” Emma said, shooting Nadia a look. She was exhausted and more than ready for this conversation to be over.

“Oh, of course,” Eve said. “You must be tired. But you will let me know if there's anything, anything at all that I can do. Or . . .”

Emma hung up before Eve had finished. Wearily, she
handed the phone to Nadia Kochenkov. “Don't ever do that again,” she said as the nurse hefted her up out of the chaise. “And if I ever hear that you've been reporting back to Eve, you'll be out of here. Understand?”

“
Da
,” the nurse said. But Emma could tell that the woman didn't understand at all. Nadia Kochenkov might have left Mother Russia, but that didn't mean she'd divorced her.

E
ach day dissolved into the next, marked by small signs of improvement that Mackenzie and the rest of Emma's cheering section celebrated as major victories. Emma fell asleep before the fireworks on the Fourth of July but her arrival downstairs for breakfast a few mornings later, after only minimal leaning on Nadia's broad shoulder, was commemorated with stacks of Mackenzie's soon-to-be-famous chocolate chip pancakes, which she served to Emma and the others on the screened porch overlooking the lake.

“Just making it down here this morning makes me feel like I've won an Olympic medal,” Emma announced as she raised a forkful of pancake in victory before popping it into her mouth. Mackenzie made the call and the next day when Bob Fortson arrived, he set up his equipment on the front porch instead of the bedroom balcony. Then he hung a gold-colored plastic medallion strung on a red, white, and blue ribbon around Emma's neck and made her stand on the practice step, arms raised triumphantly, while they all hummed a horribly off-key rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

There were benchmarks as small as Emma's first trip to the bathroom alone, an accomplishment she clearly relished and which won her an entire half hour of privacy there interrupted only by Nadia's gentle (for her) knock. “Just checking you not on floor in pool of blood.”

When Emma managed to dress herself, she received one-third of a white wine spritzer, which she savored with two
of Martha's fudge brownies, a reward Emma admitted she would go to great lengths for. And about which Nadia observed, “Next time put brownie crumbs on stair steps. Get down faster.”

On the tenth day, physical therapy moved from the front porch to the yard and Emma sweated through it in an ancient one-piece bathing suit and a battered baseball cap over the thickening red-gold stubble that now covered her head. Her efforts were focused on what she announced as her ultimate goal: getting to the beach and into the lake, which Bob Fortson agreed would be a great place to build strength.

They gathered in Emma's bedroom at night to watch television. There Emma claimed to feel like Rocky Balboa training for his first big fight—a movie Serena chose the first night—only minus the raw egg and the sweat clothes.
Rocky
was followed by
Chariots of Fire
,
Braveheart
,
Seabiscuit
, and
Miracle
, films Emma said she appreciated but mostly slept through. Mackenzie was cueing up
The Rookie
the night Emma called a halt. “Enough. I promise I'm fully motivated. I need some escape here.” At which point Serena pulled out Ethan's gift basket so that they could binge-watch
I Love Lucy
and
Dick Van Dyke
episodes. Emma didn't necessarily stay awake all the way through these programs either but, Mackenzie noticed as they tiptoed quietly out of the master bedroom, at least they put Emma to sleep smiling.

But even as Emma improved, Zoe's worry never seemed to lessen. “Would you like another cookie?” Mackenzie asked her one afternoon when Emma had gone up to rest.

“Yes, please,” Zoe replied.

“Do you want to come to the grocery with me?” Serena asked.

“No, thank you,” Zoe replied. “After Mom gets up, I'm going to sit with her.”

Mackenzie and Serena exchanged glances.

“Colleen McAfee called,” Mackenzie said, putting the
cookies on a plate. “She wanted to know if you'd like to go to the club with them tomorrow.” The Lake George Club, which the Michaelses had been members of since the original Valburn had been built, was maybe a half mile away.

“No, I'm good here, thanks.” This had been Zoe's response to every invitation and opportunity to leave the cottage no matter for how short a time. Even an invitation to go out on the Jet Ski with Jason had been politely turned down.

When Emma was with them Zoe positioned herself inches away from her. When they ate, Zoe watched each forkful that went into Emma's mouth as if figuring out calories and nutrients and checking them off on a list.

“Am I the only one who's finding this behavior of Zoe's alarming?” Serena asked when Zoe had gone upstairs to see if Emma needed anything. “She's practically superglued to Emma's side and she's scarily polite.”

“Her mother almost died,” Mackenzie said. “Did you expect her to be out partying all night and engaging in shouting matches with Emma?”

“I'm just saying it seems like a little acting out would be more normal. She's become like some Stepford child. And have you noticed she hasn't gone farther than the cove? Not once. Not to the store. Not for a walk. Not even for an ice cream cone. And you know that club has to be filled with teenage boys right now.”

They were lingering on the porch one afternoon after lunch the day Zoe turned down an invitation to go out on a local friend's family boat to see the Thursday night fireworks.

“I don't want to go. I want to be here,” Zoe said to Emma. “With you.”

“Nothing's going to happen to me, Zoe,” Emma said softly. “Really. I'm getting stronger every day. Even Nadia thinks so. Tell her, Nadia.”

“Is true. Not exactly ready for Soviet team, but better.”

“Tomorrow I'm going in the water even if I have to crawl the
last few yards on my belly to get there,” Emma said. “I'm serious, Zoe. I want you to go out and have some fun. You deserve it.”

But after Nadia helped Emma upstairs to rest that afternoon, Serena and Mackenzie found Zoe pacing the beach. They led her to a trio of Adirondack chairs and motioned her into the middle chair, trapping her between them in a fairy godmother sandwich.

“Zoe, you're going to have to let go a bit. You heard your mother. She wants you to leave occasionally, have a good time,” Serena said. “I think she'd even welcome a little bratty teenage behavior.”

“I can't do it.”

“I know you can see how much she's improved,” Mackenzie said soothingly. “She's never going to be left here alone.”

Zoe shook her head. “Every time I look at her I see her lying there on the street. In that coma in the hospital. Fighting off that infection. All of it's my fault.”

“No. It's not,” Serena replied. “It was an accident, Zoe. One she doesn't even remember.”

“But one day she's going to.” Zoe stared out at the lake as she talked. “I see her concentrating sometimes, trying to remember things. Like she knows there's stuff there and she's trying to get it back. I know you've seen it, too.”

Mackenzie nodded. Every once in a while Emma would startle when she walked into a room, then stare at Mackenzie intently as if something were hovering there and if she only held still long enough, it would come to her.

“Dr. Markham seems certain she'll never remember the day of the accident or even most of what happened in the hospital.” Mackenzie reached a hand out and placed it on the back of Zoe's neck.

“Dr. Markham deals with head trauma all the time,” Serena added. “The more-distant past is all there, but even the things happening now get kind of jumbled for her.”

“But what if he's wrong?” Zoe whispered. Her arms wrapped
around her bare midriff, and her eyes stayed on the distant shore of the lake. “What if one day she looks at me and it all comes back to her? What if she remembers our fight about that stupid movie and all the nasty things I said to her? What if she remembers chasing after me? What if she remembers that van that hit her?”

Tears streamed unchecked down Zoe's cheeks. Mackenzie ached for her. “Aw, Zoe, honey. You need to let go of this. Your mother loves you more than anything. She wouldn't want you to feel this way even if she remembered every single detail.” Mackenzie might have been denied the daughter she'd dreamed of having, but she knew this with absolute certainty.

“I can't go out and have fun like nothing happened. I can't do it. I don't want to.”

They sat in silence for a time as gulls wheeled overhead and boats crisscrossed each other's wakes out in the lake.

“Interesting,” Serena said. “I don't remember Emma or your grandmother ever mentioning any Catholic or Jewish ancestors, so I'm not sure where all this guilt is coming from.”

Zoe turned to look at Serena. So did Mackenzie.

“But I'm wondering, is there a certain amount of penance you're planning to do? Or is this a lifetime commitment of misery?”

Zoe blinked.

“Are you thinking two weeks? A month? Until your twenty-first birthday?”

Mackenzie raised an eyebrow, impressed with Serena's calm logic.

“You might want to give this some thought,” Serena said. “The timing of it, I mean. Because if you're not going to be available to come in and record your part on
As the World Churns
next week, I'm going to have to let Ethan know so that he has time to find someone else.

“Oh.” Zoe's face registered her surprise. Her eyes were still wet, but the tears had stopped falling.

“I figured we'd stay over in the city. Maybe go see
Once
on Broadway. A good friend of mine has the second lead.” Mackenzie could see that Zoe was trying not to react. She herself was trying not to smile. “We'd come back the next day.”

Serena shot Mackenzie a wink over Zoe's head. The woman might not know anything about parenting, but she seemed to understand how to make an offer that was too good to refuse.

“We're going to go check on Em,” Serena said. “ But I'll give you an hour to think about the New York trip. If you just don't feel like you can do it, let me know. And I'll call Ethan.”

They left Zoe sitting in the Adirondack chair staring out over the lake. They were careful not to look back as they made their way up the yard and the porch steps. “Wow, I have to say that was really impressive,” Mackenzie said.

“It was, wasn't it?” Serena said. “Who knew watching
The Godfather
so many times would come in so handy? If I weren't afraid she'd turn around and catch me, I'd be patting myself on the back.”

On the porch, they turned for a quick look. Zoe was hunched over seemingly staring at her feet. “Do you want to lay odds on what she decides?” Serena asked.

Mackenzie shook her head. “I don't want to take a chance on jinxing anything. And I guess it's safe to assume that whatever she decides, no one will be finding a horse head when they wake up tomorrow morning?”

E
mma lay prone on the L-shaped dock, the brim of her baseball cap pulled low, one hand shielding her eyes from the late morning sun. The fingers of her other hand trailed in the water. “This is one of those ‘be careful what you wish for' moments. Why did I think I wanted to do water exercises?”

“Good question.” Mackenzie lay head-to-head, their bodies stretched out in opposite directions on the thin stretch of dock.

“What kind of masochist am I?”

“I don't know,” Mackenzie said. “How many kinds are there?”

Emma smiled. “I thought it would hurt less in the water.”

“Doesn't it?”

“Kind of. But I still feel like I just ran a marathon. I'm so tired of being tired all the time.”

She could hear Bob on the beach packing up the floaties and other equipment he'd brought with him for the water workout. Nadia sat under a tree nearby talking softly, for her, in Russian on her cell phone. From the lake came occasional shouts and the whir of engines.

“I'm glad Zoe went with Serena,” Emma said. “I was afraid she was going to sit here all summer worrying.”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent. Emma heard the low hum of an engine, felt the vibration of a boat stirring the water as it approached. She was too tired and too comfortable to move.

“Ahoy there, matey!” A male voice called out.

Before Emma could get her eyes all the way open and her arm out of the water, Mackenzie had sprung to her feet. Other feet pounded toward them on the dock, causing it to shake. Before the boat had reached them, Bob and Nadia had moved to either side of Emma.