The Lake Season (10 page)

“After Dad recovered from his heart attack, it just made sense. My restoration business had grown by then,” he said. And then something Iris couldn't hear.

Leah arched her back, laughing openly again. What was she doing? And that bikini top: it was so . . . red. Iris slowed, her heart pounding.

Leah noticed her first. “Oh. Look who I bumped into.” As if she'd had no idea Cooper was working that day. Or that Iris had been waiting all morning to join him.

Cooper turned. “Oh, hi, Iris.”

She couldn't quite read his expression. For an awkward moment she stood, feeling as though she'd interrupted something. Then she thrust the apples at Cooper. “Here.”

“Isn't Iris the greatest?” Leah said. She snatched one playfully from Cooper's hands and bit into it, rolling the fruit on her tongue.

Iris shot her a look. She didn't need Leah's flimsy accolades.

“Thanks,” Cooper said, tossing the other apple in one hand, his eyes fixed on Leah. “So, what're you up to today, Iris?”

Suddenly Iris felt like an idiot. Yes, Cooper had asked her to help him out the other day. But she realized now that it'd been a gesture. As in, “I'll see you around.” Not an invitation. Beside her, the tailgate jiggled as Leah slid off.

“Well, I'd better leave you two to your work,” she said, stretching her brown arms overhead and turning her face slowly toward the sun. “The lake's calling.” Her voice was as rich and thick as the afternoon heat. Or was Iris imagining it?

But Cooper seemed to hear it as well. He gazed at her retreating figure in that offhanded, stunned way that left men slow to recover their words. “Good to see you again, Leah,” he called.

Leah turned to face him and, walking backward, raised the bitten apple. In one graceful motion she tossed it his way, and he leaped to catch it. “You too, Coop.”

Coop
. The heat prickled Iris's neck.
If you take a bite of that, too, I will throw up right here
, she thought. But worse, he just stood there shaking his head. Another fool in Leah's wake. It was high school all over again. Iris had to get out of there.

“You going for a swim, too?” Cooper asked.

Iris held out her hands, and for the first time he noticed, bashfully, her denim jeans and work boots.

“Oh. Wait, did you come up here to help me?”

Here was her chance. But she didn't want it anymore.

“Actually, no.” She shoved the thermos into Cooper's free hand. “Just brought you some iced tea.”

Cooper looked confused.

“Maybe it'll cool you off,” she said over her shoulder. And though it was the last place she wanted to go, she headed across the lawn for the farm stand.

Eleven

L
ily? Is that you?”

“Mama!” Lily's voice trilled through the phone.

Iris closed her eyes and leaned back against the bed pillows. It was early in the morning, but she couldn't wait a moment longer to hear her kids' voices. The confrontation with Leah in the mudroom, combined with the uncomfortable scene at the barn the day before, had weighed on her all night, and she'd slept poorly.

“How are you, honey? How's camp? Tell me everything.”

And she did. Lily spoke at a breakneck speed that caused Iris to hold her breath for fear of missing a syllable. Her words jumbled into a jubilant account detailing swim lessons, playdates, camp, and, most recently, her lemonade stand.

“You started a lemonade stand?” Iris sat up, picturing Lily with a homemade sign. She could almost hear the clink of quarters in a mason jar.

“Daddy helped. We made pink lemonade and cookies. Well, not exactly. We bought the cookies. But everyone came, and we made sixteen dollars! I'm donating it to the Humane Society.”

Tears pressed at the corners of her eyes as Iris forced her voice to remain steady. “That's wonderful, honey. I'm so proud of you. Did you take lots of pictures?”

“Daddy did.”

Daddy did
. Iris swiped at a tear. “Can't wait to see them.”

Before she could ask anything more, Lily was passing the phone. “Here's Jack.”

“I love you!” Iris said quickly, wondering if Lily had waited long enough to hear it. She grinned when Lily shouted back a distant “You too!”

The phone clunked, and Iris strained to hear what was happening on the other end, picturing the kids at the kitchen island in their pajamas. Paul was probably hunched over a cup of coffee, his brow as creased as the morning paper. She hoped he'd remembered to let the dog out.

“Hey, Mom. What's up?”

Iris smiled at Jack's casual ease. Her fingers ached to tousle his chestnut hair.

“How are you, buddy? This mom sure misses her boy. Tell me about camp.”

“It's cool. Ryan and Aiden are there. Did you hear about ­Aiden's tooth?”

She grimaced as she listened to Jack's gruesome account of his friend's dental mishap with the lacrosse stick, feeling simultaneously bad for Aiden and relieved that it wasn't her own child.

“You're wearing your mask every practice, right?” she asked.

“Mom. You missed the point. He's getting a fake tooth! How cool is that?”

“Very,” Iris relented.

Then the phone was passed again, and she held her breath waiting for Sadie.

“Iris?” Paul's voice startled her.

“Oh . . . hi.” Reflexively, she sat up straight and tucked her hair back. As if he could see her. As if she should care. “Is everything okay?”

“Good. Fine. Listen, where's the cortisone cream for Lily?”

Iris's mind flashed: it was in the kids' bathroom closet. But why did he need it? “Is she okay? Is her eczema flaring up?”

He cleared his throat impatiently. “She's fine. Just a little dry skin from the pool water.”

“Oh.” Immediately Iris's internal mother radar went off. Lily's eczema bouts could get pretty bad if they weren't treated—something Paul probably wouldn't remember. “You know, that prescription may be expired. Why don't I call the doctor and—”

“It's fine, Iris. She just needs a little.”

“Well, how bad is the eczema? Because—”

“Iris,” Paul interrupted again. “It's a tiny spot on her leg. I've got it under control.”

“Which leg?” Iris couldn't help it. She felt so far away all of a sudden.

“Does it matter?” Paul's tone was his usual one of exasperation. Which infuriated her. She was their mother. A mother who was two hundred miles away. If she wanted to ask about eczema, he should answer. Hell, he should take a picture of it and message it to her.

“I'm her mother, remember?”

“Yes, Iris. How could we forget?”

Finally, Sadie came to the phone.

“Hey.” Sadie's morning voice was gravelly.

“How are you, honey?”

“Fine.”

Iris waited for her older daughter to elaborate, as she attempted to switch gears from separated spouse to sullen teenager. It was like learning to drive stick shift all over again, only in one of those touchy European sports cars, the ones that never failed to stall in a long line of traffic.

“So, what's new at home? Is cheerleading going okay?”

“Yeah. It's going.” Sadie yawned audibly.

“Did you just wake up?”

“Nope.”

Iris covered her sigh with her hand. No use letting Sadie hear her struggle two hundred miles away.

“I can't wait 'til you guys come up to the farm. We've got corn, tomatoes, peas. Maybe you could work at the stand? I'm sure you'd be better at the cash register than I am.”

“Maybe. Is Aunt Leah there?”

Iris swallowed. “Yes. But I'm not sure if she's awake yet.”

Instantly Sadie brightened. “Can you check?”

“Well, sure, but why don't you tell me a little more about what you've been up to first?”

Sadie grew impatient. “I'm fine, I already told you.”

“Okay, then how about Samson?” The dog was a pathetic last resort. But he was also the sole topic everyone in the family could agree on.

“Samson rolled in something dead the other morning. Lily and Dad had to give him a bath in the backyard. He still stinks, though.”

“No, he does not!” Lily disagreed loudly in the background. Iris smiled. They sounded so close, her chest fluttered.

“So, can I talk to Leah?” Sadie asked again.

Iris gave up. The fermenting smell of Samson's coat was the most she'd gotten from Sadie since she'd arrived. “Hang on.”

She handed the phone to Leah, whom she located downstairs at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. “For you,” she said.

Iris plopped down across from her, trying to hide how hard she was listening, as Millie scrambled eggs at the stove. The two sisters had not spoken since the day before, but now, chatting with Sadie, Leah was her old cheerful self. Iris listened to the description of her wedding dress. Sadie's excitement was audible on the line as she fired questions at her aunt, causing Iris to scrape irritably at her scrambled eggs. Why couldn't she speak to her own daughter like that?

“How're the kids?” Millie asked her, setting a glass of juice before her.

“Good. I miss them.”

“Are they enjoying their summer camps?”

“Seem to be.”

“And Paul?”

When Iris didn't answer, Millie turned, her arched eyebrows raising the question again.

“I don't know, Mom. We didn't talk much,” Iris mumbled, surprised by the annoyance in her voice. And a wave of shame rose up in her throat, as it occurred to her right then that her conversation with her own mother was not that unlike the one she'd just had with Sadie.

Millie turned back to the stove. “Eat up, Iris. You need to stay nourished.”

Iris forced herself to take a few bites as Leah held court on the phone. By this point, she'd lost track of which girl she was talking to; it appeared the phone had been handed back and forth as the topics jumped from swimming to movies, and more details about the now famed lemonade stand. Perhaps Leah should take over the daily phone calls; she'd garnered more information in one sitting than Iris had since leaving home.

“Miss you,” Leah said, rising from the table.

Iris motioned to her to pass the phone. “Leah!”

But Leah had moved to the window. “Give your brother a big raspberry for me.” A pause, followed by a laugh. “Yeah, love you, too, Sades!”

Iris bit her bottom lip.
Love you, too.
Meaning Sadie said it first.

“They're so grown-up,” Leah said, returning to the table. She set the phone down between them and Iris reached for it, but the line was already dead. “Can you believe Sadie made junior varsity?” Leah asked.

“She what?”

Leah cocked her head. “Didn't she tell you? She made the JV cheer squad. And she's just a freshman!”

Iris stood and stalked to the sink, where she dumped her breakfast plate.

“You barely ate,” Millie observed.

“I'm not hungry.” She was torn; desperately wanting to stay and hear more about her kids, and furious that she'd gotten so little from them herself. Not to mention Paul; he'd barely spoken to her. They were still parents, after all. He should've told her about the junior varsity squad.

Upstairs her bedroom was already sticky with humidity, the morning haze having risen off the lake to fill the upstairs chambers of the house. Iris tugged her blankets back into place in a makeshift attempt to tidy up, then stripped them off the bed altogether. She spun around to the window, raking her hands through her hair. What was she doing here? It had only been a week, but already it seemed she was missing the kids' whole summer. If she packed quickly, she could be on the road and home in three hours. But the thought of that filled her with an emptiness so acute, she had to force herself to breathe. It would only make things worse. As much as she missed the kids, she didn't want to see Paul. She didn't want to drag the kids into the mess she was sure would erupt if she were to return home unannounced. And so, like a refugee, she was forced to sit tight where she was. The farm was hardly neutral territory, but there really wasn't any place else for her to go.

There were two new messages on her cell, but she had to walk back downstairs and out onto the patio to get any reception. The first was from Joan Myer, the cookbook editor. “Hello, Iris. I wanted to get back to you with a final decision about the proposal.” Joan paused, and Iris held her breath. “I'm sorry, but as much as I love the concept, I can't get my team on board with this writer. She's not a chef. And what we need is an actual chef.” Iris closed her eyes. She'd known it was coming, but as with all rejections, it was like a punch to the gut. Now she'd have to call her author and share the bad news.

In the next message Trish's voice boomed into her ear, grounding her instantly. Good old Trish, who wanted to know if she was free to grab a drink. Was the pope Catholic?

Quickly Iris punched in Trish's home number. It didn't matter that it was eight o'clock on a Wednesday morning. A drink was exactly what she needed.

•    •    •

Wednesday night was ladies' night at the Hampstead Brewery. Iris paused outside the pub doors, glancing down at her baggy mom jeans. She hadn't brought anything terribly trendy to the lake, not that she owned anything terribly trendy these days. Since she'd arrived Trish had already ordered her to go shopping, and fast, before marital assets were divided.

“What?” Trish had said, looking at her with exasperation. “You need to wake up, Iris. A separation is the last set of doors before a divorce.” She'd looked Iris over as she said it. “Besides, it might not hurt to get Mama a new look.”

But shopping for her new self would have to wait. For now, her dark jeans and white T-shirt would have to do. She fingered her chunky silver bracelet nervously as she peeked inside the pub window. The bracelet was a gift from the kids for her last birthday, something Sadie had picked out. The girl had great taste, and had recently begun to troll Iris's closet, borrowing little things here and there. Iris suspected that was part of the reason for the fashionable gift. But it didn't matter. At that moment, it felt like her kids were wrapped around her wrist.

Inside the pub the music was loud. “Jack & Diane” played on an old jukebox in the corner, and a row of young men lined the stools at the mahogany-paneled bar, glued to the ball game on the TV screen. Not much had changed since Iris had been a regular here, during her college summers, except perhaps for more tourists in madras shorts. She made her way through the small dining area to the rear, where Trish waved from a corner table overlooking the lake.

“Sit that bottom down,” she ordered Iris, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “I already ordered you a drink.”

Iris took a deep sip of the icy lemon martini.

“So tell me everything,” Trish said, leaning in.

Iris laughed. Trish had known the ins and outs of the Standish family since childhood, and the recent reunion was, therefore, ripe for analysis. “Shall I just whet your appetite for the wedding, or sate it altogether?”

Trish didn't hesitate. “By all means, sate it!”

For the next hour, Iris did just that, filling in every tidbit from the weekend, from Leah's dress fitting to Stephen, who as far as she could tell was pretty damn near perfect. Go figure.

“Sounds like quite the guy,” Trish said.

“Which we should be happy about.” Iris paused. “Except for the fact that—”

“He's nothing like the other guys she accumulated over the years,” Trish said, finishing her best friend's thought.

“Exactly! And that should be a good thing, right?”

Trish shrugged. “I'm sure in Millie's book it is. Boy, she had some real winners back in college, didn't she? I used to be so jealous, listening to her stories when she came home during semester breaks.” Trish laughed, recalling some of the stories Iris had tried to forget. “Well, now that she's finally found ‘the one,' things are gonna be boring. No more dashing off to the Himalayas with . . . what was his name again? The guy from her senior year that she left school for?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Martin the mountain climber.”

“Right. And no more midnight rescue missions to Portland police to bail Leah out. She was dating some activist at the time. What protest group was she involved with?”

“PETA, I think?”

Trish threw up her hands. “My point exactly. This guy seems rooted. A necessary change, if you ask me.”