The Lake Season (17 page)

Iris heaved against it. The images washed through her like a poisonous wave: Paul's mouse-brown hair, going a handsome gray just above his ears. The small cleft in his chin that disappeared when he smiled. How long had it been since she'd witnessed that? The particular way he folded his newspaper each morning, at the kitchen counter, the ends tucked neatly behind the headlines of the article he was reading. Oh, if only she could tuck this suffering away like that. When Iris's cries finally softened and her breathing returned to its normal cadence, Leah rolled the blankets back.

“Come,” she said gently.

Iris did not resist as Leah pulled her wrist, lightly at first, then more firmly. She allowed her sister to lead her away from the bed. Silently, she followed her into the bathroom, where Leah rolled up her sleeves and leaned into the shower to turn on the faucet. When Leah tugged Iris's wrinkled nightgown over her head, Iris did not resist. Instead she stood, naked and obedient, under the steady stream of hot water, and allowed herself to be soaped. As Leah massaged her scalp with shampoo Iris opened her eyes. Outside the bathroom window, the tree leaves stirred. A bird took flight from a branch.

Seventeen

F
or the next few days, Iris escaped to the Hampstead library, where she secured a quiet table in a dark corner, a cave of sorts, where she could lick her wounds. The library was a historic brick building that had been added onto over the years, and she relished its dark, air-conditioned recesses. Coming out of her bedroom was just a first step, she knew. Though she had purged some of the initial grief, the gut-wrenching shock of it all remained stubbornly, like a dull ache in her head. And there were moments she welled up, unexpectedly. Picturing Lily's pink room at home: Would she keep the house? Or Jack's patient expression: How would they ever deliver the news to the kids? She could not imagine she had the capacity for the grief that would follow. She'd wake up at night, remembering the cardboard boxes of baby clothes she'd carefully tucked into the attic, wondering who would get them. As if the divorce was finally forcing her to riffle through all their shared past, both the sentiments and the belongings. But one question haunted her most. Who owned the memories—that sacred ground of a shared past? If the family split, how would she uphold them for the kids at holidays, at weddings, at the births of their own children, without the bleak surge of guilt corrupting them?

To block it out, Iris tried to focus on the next moment, the next hour, the next meal. It was inevitable now, this course she could not alter. And finally, one that she found she did not entirely care to.

On Tuesday, a carrier had delivered a flat manila package to the farm, addressed to Iris. She'd left it unopened on the kitchen table. Her family observed the offering of her once-secret wound in quiet reverence. It remained there until breakfast the next morning, when Bill stood suddenly from his chair and removed it to his office. “When you're ready,” he told Iris, returning to the table. And gratefully, she had nodded.

Trish had checked in several times since Iris told her the news over the phone. She'd been furious and worried and pressed Iris to come by. But Iris wasn't ready to see anyone. Finally Trish had relented, as long as Iris answered her hourly texts, which Iris found both madly irritating and deeply comforting.

Millie was the one who kept a grave distance, instead watching Iris with worried eyes, placing small offerings in front of her, a cup of coffee, a warm muffin, a worn scrapbook of old family photos. All tidings of comfort, yet tendered at arm's length, as if she might break apart, or say something regrettable, should she make actual contact. It did not surprise Iris; she was used to such restrained demonstrations. But she was thankful that her mother had not yet intruded with her own concerns and advice, which she knew would come later. Probably regarding the kids. Or counseling. Millie was not a religious person, but vows were vows. And family—well, it was everything.

Iris had allowed herself one brief call to Paul since that afternoon. He hadn't answered, for which she was relieved. There was just one thing she had to say. She waited, heart in her throat, as his voice mail picked up. “Paul,” she said, straining to keep her voice even. “Whatever you do, don't you dare tell the kids. One word to them before I get home, and I'll tear you to shreds. I swear to God I will.” That was one matter she would not surrender; she would make him break the news, but she would control the way it was broken. And she would be there, to pick up the pieces.

By four o'clock on Friday, Iris was slumped over the library desk. She'd long ago finished the chapter on “Carpool Creations” and was now almost done with a section on family breakfasts, which quite frankly made her sick.

She checked her watch. Surely Stephen's parents had landed and would have driven in from the airport by now? Their anticipated arrival was something that had occupied the family since Paul's phone call, a nerve-racking if not welcome distraction for all, allowing Iris to disappear with her cookbook pages, and propelling Millie and Leah from one room of the house to the next, as they fussed over the welcome dinner and readied the guest room. Stephen and Bill made regular escapes to the golf course, when allowed, but more often were dispatched on errands or to the farm stand, to fill in, while the women contended with menus and table charts. The Willetses's arrival was a sort of mini-wedding in itself, bringing together the two families for the first time, and it left the Standishes fluttering about their own farm like nervous fowl.

Iris collected her things and hurried down the library steps toward her car. Though she still had strong doubts about Leah's impending wedding, there was a dinner tonight to worry about. Millie would be wondering where she was. Iris dreaded the evening ahead. At least she'd had the sense to invite Trish along.

Back at home Iris showered quickly and changed into a pale pink blouse and creamy linen pants. Shaking her head as she strapped on the black sandals that Leah had “borrowed,” she tried to smooth the scuffs from the heels. Below, the gentle vibrations of music were making their way up from the patio. Peering outside, she caught a glimpse of Leah in a smart little black A-line. Stephen stood beside her, pressed and fresh as always, his hand resting protectively on her lower back. Iris had been so caught up in her own sufferings, she hadn't given any real thought to his surprise arrival days earlier. But somehow, as usual, Leah had seemingly wiggled her way out of the Vermont debacle. Honestly, Iris couldn't imagine what on earth Leah had told Stephen, but apparently no ill will had been suffered. It figured.

Downstairs, Millie had outdone herself, and as she walked through the house Iris felt a momentary pang of guilt for not having stayed home that afternoon to help her mother. Everything was understated yet elegant, just the way Millie Standish liked things. Huge bouquets of lilies and hydrangea adorned the antique tables in the living room in stately silver pitchers. Simple white platters lined the kitchen island, taped with Post-it notes that assigned each to a menu of her summer favorites: lavender chicken fillets, roasted garden vegetables, and colorful mesclun salads. For the first time in days, Iris's mouth watered.

She was about to head outside when she heard the clink of glassware in the butler's pantry. Leah was bent over the bar counter. Iris watched as she poured herself a shot of amber ­liquid—their father's whiskey?—and threw back a shot. Unaware that Iris was there, Leah pressed a wadded tissue to her eyes.

“Are you crying?” Iris asked.

Leah spun and forced a smile. “Oh, you made it down. Are you sure you're up for this tonight?”

“I'm fine,” Iris said hesitantly. “Are you?”

“Yes, of course. Just a little tired.”

“Listen, I wanted to thank you for the last few days. You were really there for me.”

Before she could go on, Leah pulled her into a quick hug. “Oh, stop, you're going to make us both cry. Of course I was there for you.”

“About that,” Iris began. She pulled away and looked at Leah sincerely. “I just want you to know that I want to be there for you, too.”

Leah cocked her head. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that sometimes you seem a bit overwhelmed.”

Leah's expression shifted uncomfortably.

But Iris was determined to get it out. “When Paul said he wanted a divorce I thought it would undo me. But it won't. I have you and Mom and Dad. And the kids. I don't need to rely on Paul. Or any other man.”

“That's good, Iris. I'm glad to hear you say that.” She glanced over her shoulder at the guests outside the French doors.

“And you don't need to rely on anyone else either.”

Leah blinked. “What are you saying?”

Iris indicated the twinkling lights outside, the guests, the flowers. “All of this. It's great. Stephen's great. And I'm happy for you. But . . . I'm not convinced you are.”

“I'm
very
happy, Iris.”

“Okay, maybe you are happy. But it doesn't mean you need to jump into this marriage and walk away from everything here that you've worked so hard for. I know that's not what you want. I can see you struggling with that.”

Leah shook her head. “Are you kidding? Are you really saying this to me now?”

“Look, I know the timing sucks, but just hear me out. Rushing into this marriage doesn't have to be the answer. I've got your back, whatever you decide.”

“Decide? What are you talking about, Iris? How dare you say these things to me, tonight of all nights.”

Iris reached for her hand. “Leah, these past few weeks I've been watching you. The pill popping, the mood swings. I know what I'm seeing.”

Leah yanked her hand away. “You don't know anything.” And with that she tugged open the patio doors, leaving Iris alone in the living room.

“There you are!” Behind her, Millie's voice was high and practiced, and Iris recognized it instantly as her formal-company tone. “Come out with me to the patio, dear. Everyone's here!”

Indeed they were. No sooner had Iris stepped warily outside than Bill handed her a gin and tonic. “Take a long, hard sip. I'm about to toast,” he warned her with a wink. A handful of close friends had joined the two families for the evening. The patio was resplendent in bridal tones. Pink and white hydrangea arched gracefully from glass urns down the center of the table, which was dressed in creamy linens, allowing the greenery to pop. Tiny votive candles were interspersed among fluted glasses, and the whole picture conjured the gauzy ­romance of something right out of
A
Midsummer Night's Dream
set.

“Iris, I'd like to introduce you to my family.” Stephen came forward, his arm looped boyishly through his mother's. “This is my mother, Adele. And my father, Lance.”

Stephen's mother had the same impossibly white smile as her son. “We've heard so much about all of you and this wonderful farm,” she said. Iris smiled, sneaking a glance at Leah, who stood waifishly to the side, avoiding eye contact.

“Is this your first time to the farm?” Iris asked politely.

“Yes. And our first time meeting your family,” Adele added pointedly. “We were beginning to wonder.” Everyone laughed uncomfortably.

Iris took a deep swig of her gin. No posturing here, she thought. Despite her tiny frame, Adele Willets emanated strength.

“Last month we were finally able to lure these two lovebirds west to our little cottage on the peninsula. At least it gave us the chance to get to know Leah a little better.”

Iris wondered just how “little” their cottage on Grose Point was, knowing full well from Leah's descriptions of their Washington peninsula that it was an exclusive spot, dotted by sprawling estates.

“We're so excited to have your sister join our family,” Lance said. “We have big plans for adding her charisma to our foundation.”

“Unless, of course, a grandbaby arrives sooner than we expected.” Adele tittered coyly.

Leah smiled back at her future in-laws, but it was the tight, false smile Iris knew too well.

“Speaking of that,” Leah began, her voice wobbling a little. “I was hoping to talk to you a little more about some ideas I had for the foundation. Since I've been back home, I've been thinking about how I might combine my expertise on the farm with the educational work you do.” She looked at them hopefully.

Adele cocked her head. “I'm not sure I follow you, dear.”

But Lance was nodding. “Let's hear her out.”

Leah took a deep breath. “My mother and I have been toying with the idea of turning our farm into a CSA. You know, a community supported agriculture venture?” She paused. “There are plenty of CSAs outside of the Seattle area. It's a great opportunity to get some of the kids from your foundation some hands-on experience in the community. I was thinking we could look into a work-study program on a farm out there?”

The two exchanged a glance. “But our foundation is the Special Olympics.”

Iris knew what Leah was getting at. Despite their confrontation, she silently cheered her sister on.

“I understand. But given my own area of expertise, I was thinking we could start a program for some of the special needs kids. That involves educating them about the local food business, and fosters life skills. Something that goes beyond just the sports aspect of it.”

“Interesting,” Adele allowed, looking quizzically at her husband.

“I like that you're thinking outside the box,” Lance added.

“Though, right now our focus is on fund-raising,” Adele said. “As we've already discussed, fund-raising is critical to the programs we offer. And it'd be a good way to get your feet wet.”

Stephen, who'd been listening thoughtfully to both sides, finally weighed in. “Leah has many talents as well as some fresh ideas that I think would really benefit the foundation.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Let's pick a better time to sit down and discuss them.”

But Leah wasn't quite through. “I'm in awe of the work you do,” she told Stephen's parents. “And I'm honored to be included in it. But I'm more of a people person than an office person.”

Good idea, Iris thought to herself. She wanted to get out of there. Lance shook his empty drink glass gently. Iris could sense any interest they may have had in her sister's ideas melting along with the ice in his glass.

“Have you had a chance to tour the farm yet?” Iris interjected, in an attempt to lend a little support. “It's hard to believe that Leah and my mother launched the business just two years ago.”

“Huh.” Adele, seeming not to have heard, reached past her and touched Leah's hair. “Darling, are you sure you want to wear this flower? It's looking a little wilted around the edges.”

Leah put a shaky hand to the lily.

“She looks
beautiful
, Mom,” Stephen interjected, stepping forward and drawing Leah's hand away from the lily in question. Iris loved the man for it.