The Lake Season (20 page)

“That's not that unusual for her,” she said flatly. “Her moods change with the wind.”

“This was different,” Cooper said. “Until, suddenly, she popped up again one weekend, as if nothing happened. A bunch of us went out on the boat that night, and she had too much to drink. She just started getting really silly, dancing around, like she was that night in the bar. And out of the blue she began sobbing, and lay down on the floor of the boat.”

“Why?”

“I didn't know. Naomi was there, too. We tried to calm her down. Then before I knew what was happening she jumped off the boat and tried to swim back to shore.”

“Jesus.”

Cooper winced. “It was so dark that night. We couldn't see her, but we could hear the splashing.”

“Then what?”

“I went in after her. When I caught up, I tried to convince her to swim back to the boat, but she fought me. She kept screaming to just let her go. The second I loosened my grip, she went under. It was like she didn't want help.”

Iris wrapped the blanket more tightly around her. “What are you saying? She was trying to drown herself?”

Cooper shook his head wearily. “I don't know, Iris. It was scary as hell; I've never seen someone so distraught. I pulled her out and we all got her back in the boat as fast as we could.”

“Was she conscious?”

“Yeah, but she was out of it. Naomi and I rushed her home, to your folks' place, and woke them up. Your mom took one look at her and called the ambulance.”

“My God.” Iris raked her hand through her damp hair. The awful images swirled through her head; her parents, Leah. And, of all people, Cooper Woods.

Cooper recounted the rest of the details gently. How he followed the ambulance to the hospital with Bill, and how erect her father had sat in the front of the truck, saying nothing. How Millie had paced the waiting room of the ER, refusing to speak until the doctors gave them word.

He paused. “I waited a little while with your folks, but it was pretty clear I was in the way. I was just leaving when one of the doctors came out to talk to your parents. I overheard him say that they'd restrained her.”

Iris closed her eyes, trying to imagine her mother's face. She already knew intuitively what it had shown. The pain of a mother for her child.

“And yet they told me none of this. Not even to this day, a year later.” Iris stared into the small flames, trying to make sense of it. Leah's mood swings and medications. The secrecy of it all. And the unavoidable feeling of being an outsider in her own family. “Instead we're cheerfully planning a wedding, the event of the season, as if nothing ever happened.”

Cooper picked up a rock and tossed it into the fire. “After that night, Leah disappeared for a while. I tried calling, but nobody ever answered. Finally, I just drove to the farm stand. Your mom acted like everything was perfectly normal. Thanked me for my concern. Said Leah was fine, just getting over a bad flu. I got the message pretty quick.”

“A bad flu? Was she delusional?” Iris rested her head in her hands. Typical Millie. Family matters were private. She recalled her mother's tight smile as she handed over the bag of vegetables to Cooper that first day she came home. As if he hadn't been the one to deliver her soaked, distraught daughter safely home that night.

Cooper shook his head. “A few weeks later I was down at the boat launch, and Leah came to see me. She looked pretty thin and worn-out. She thanked me for helping her that night. Said she was sorry to drag me into it, that things had been hard for her, and she'd had to make some rough choices.”

“Choices?”

Cooper shrugged. “I still don't know what she meant by that. Maybe that she'd tried to work things out by herself. Maybe she was too embarrassed to tell you.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Well, let's be honest, Iris. Look at you.”

Iris turned to him, the fire crackling loudly in the stillness. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're the one who made something of herself. You're married. With the family and the house and the picket fence. Christ, Iris. That's everything to most people.”

Iris laughed bitterly. Cooper didn't know what the hell he was talking about. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“It's true. You had it all. And Leah was kind of floundering around in your wake.”

Whether it was the way Cooper was defending Leah or the way in which he portrayed Iris's life that angered her, Iris wasn't sure. But something inside her snapped.

“Leah could've had any of that if she wanted it. She chose herself.”

The fire hissed and spit between them, and Cooper held her eyes in the orange glow before turning away. She'd done it again. She'd alienated the only person she'd wanted to keep close.

After a moment, she went to him. “I'm sorry,” she said. “This is about my family. You're just an innocent bystander. Who acted pretty heroically, given the circumstances.”

He turned to face her, his expression uncertain.

“There's a lot of personal stuff getting unearthed. At a time when my plate is already full, you know?” She looked up at him hopefully.

He nodded. “I understand. Let me bring you home.”

Iris stood nearby as Cooper kicked at the remnants of the fire, smothering the last of it with sand. This night was supposed to be theirs; a chance to confide in Cooper about the divorce, the jagged news she'd held close and was finally ready to release. And instead, once more, the night had become Leah's. Her breathy voice wafting across the lake surface, finding them on the beach. Intrusive, suffocating. But, always, alluring.

On the drive home Iris rested her head against the truck window, her temple knocking against the pane with every jostle of the lake road. It was a relief to be feeling something.

Twenty

M
onday morning Iris found herself practically sprinting down Main Street to keep up with her mother and sister. Adele was waiting already for them on the sidewalk of Patty's Boutique as they hurried toward her.

“We're here!” Millie announced, as if the woman couldn't see for herself the three harried figures huffing toward her.

Iris had kept silent in the backseat of the car on the drive into town that morning, still smarting from Cooper's revelations.

Now, surrounded by racks of gauzy white dresses, amid all the trappings of happy endings, Iris sat sandwiched between Adele and Millie as Leah stepped out of the dressing room for her last fitting.

“Oh!” Adele gasped in approval as Leah stood before them. “It's lovely, darling. Stephen will be dumbstruck.”

And despite the fact that Iris had seen Leah in the dress before, it still gave her pause. Looking rosy and healthy, she showed no sign of the thin or tormented soul from the last summer.

•    •    •

When they were done, the older women went to the front display cases to try to find a new handbag to match Adele's wedding suit, leaving Iris alone with Leah in the dressing room.

“Help me out of this thing?” Leah asked.

Iris rose from the couch slowly. She did not feel like helping her sister with anything.

She fumbled with the buttons, which were impossibly small. “Careful,” Leah warned. “They're hand-stitched.”

“Of course they are,” Iris muttered. She was almost done when she felt Leah's skin pinch between her fingernails.

“Ow!” Leah spun around.

“Sorry,” Iris snapped. She worked more slowly, ignoring ­Leah's impatient sighs, and avoiding her gaze in the mirror in front of them.

“What's with you today?”

“Nothing,” Iris said. This was not the time to bring things up, though, honestly, she couldn't imagine when that time might be.

“If anyone should be edgy, I'd think it'd be me.”

Iris looked at her sister for the first time all day. Before she could change her mind, she said it. “I could have helped you, you know.”

Leah stepped out of her gown carefully, and placed it on the hanger. “With what?” she asked distractedly.

“With everything. Anything.”

“Is this about Vermont again?”

Iris waited as Leah tugged on her seersucker shorts and snatched her flip-flops off the floor.

“I'm talking about last summer.”

Leah froze, staring at the pink flip-flop in her hand.

“Why didn't you tell me, Leah?”

Leah rose from the chair, her voice paper-thin. “What do you mean?”

And suddenly Iris saw it, behind the glossy hair and freckled complexion. The sadness that shimmered, faintly, in her sister's gray-green eyes.

Iris lowered her voice. “I know about last summer. About your . . .” She struggled to find the word. “About your breakdown.”

Before Leah could answer, Iris grabbed her hands. “Why didn't you come to me?”

“Iris,” Leah whispered. “Please. Don't.” Tears spilled from her eyes, as if some small dam had broken inside her. “Not now. There're things you don't understand.”

“Make me understand. I want to help you.”

Leah's eyes darted around the dressing room. “I wanted to tell you.” She paused. “When the time was right.”

“Then tell me.”

Leah shook her head. “Iris. I can't.”

It stung, but she wasn't going to walk away this time. “Because you don't trust me?”

“It's not that. It's complicated.”

Iris forced a smile. “Leah, if anyone knows anything about complicated . . .” She searched her sister's gaze hopefully. “Look, we're both at a crossroads here. Right? This is what sisters are for.”

When Leah didn't object, Iris felt herself gaining ground. “How about one day this week the two of us escape the family and grab lunch? We can talk. Really talk, like we should've a long time ago.”

Leah shook her head. “Look, I appreciate it. But I can't.”

Iris could see her sister's walls going back up. Leah wasn't going to let her in.

“Fine.” Iris swept the curtains aside and stepped from the dressing room, tears pressing at her own eyes. But there was no place to escape.

From a display case at the front of the store, Millie motioned to her. It took every ounce of strength Iris had to compose herself and join them.

“Iris, what do you think about these purses?”

Millie held up two small clutches against Adele's green silk jacket. Both women were studying them intently, and Iris realized it was the first time she'd seen them aligned on anything. “Do you like the gold or the black better?”

“Remember,” Adele chimed in. “The wedding colors are green and ivory.”

“Celadon,” Millie corrected.

Iris put a hand to her temple and stepped into the small space between the two matriarchs, trying to feign interest. As if all that mattered at that moment was selecting an overpriced jeweled handbag, when in the background, the past and present swirled dangerously together behind a flimsy dressing room curtain.

“The gold,” she said softly. “Definitely the gold.”

•    •    •

“It's a slippery slope,” Trish said, stabbing a piece of butter lettuce with her fork. She didn't seem at all surprised. Which left Iris feeling somewhat offended.

“You mean you saw this coming?”

“Well, didn't you?”

She'd ditched the other women after the fitting and called Trish, insisting that she meet her at the Village Diner for lunch. “Gotta run—it's a book thing,” she'd lied to Millie. Iris needed a moment for herself, even if it meant stealing it.

Now, at the diner counter, they were discussing the kiss with Cooper. Something so seemingly superficial given the circumstances. There were plenty more truly important things to discuss with her best friend. But before Trish arrived, Iris had decided against telling her about Leah's breakdown. The news was still too raw to touch. And it wasn't her news to share.

What was hers to share was plentiful enough. Sitting at the diner counter over a salad, she welcomed Trish's interrogation. If Trish wanted to know about her kiss with Cooper, this time Iris was happy to spill. Hell, she'd reenact it with her lunch plate if Trish asked her to, though it was becoming less enjoyable with every question Trish fired at her.

“So, what's your game plan?”

Iris set down her fork. “I need a game plan? I didn't even know I was in the game.”

Trish made a smug noise. “Suit up, sister. You're on the field, whether you like it or not.”

Iris pushed the Niçoise salad around her plate. “I don't know what to do about Cooper,” she admitted. “Everything just sort of happened this summer.”

“Oh, no you don't.” Trish wagged her finger. “This sort of thing doesn't
just happen
, Iris. You walked into the path of oncoming traffic.”

Iris feigned affront. “Cut me some slack.” But Trish was right. She'd put herself on this road. Christ, she'd even hailed the car and jumped in the front seat.

“Here's the thing you have to decide,” Trish said, talking around a large bite of tuna fish. Iris listened, wondering how her friend could eat such a thing at a time like this. “What do you want to happen?”

Iris shrugged. “If I knew what I wanted I don't think I'd be in this predicament.”

“Look at it this way—if there were no repercussions or hurt feelings to deal with, what would
you
want to happen next?”

“You mean if my kids and my family didn't exist? How can you even ask me that?”

“Because, in the end, it's what you have to ask yourself.”

It was an awful question, but it was also
the question
, Iris realized. Forgetting Paul and their failed marriage (could she even do that?), setting aside her fear of familial reactions and the implications her choices might have on others (the kids!), what would
she
want? “This is about much more than just me,” Iris reminded Trish. “I may be in the throes of divorce proceedings, but I'm still part of a family.”

“Hang on, hang on. I'm not suggesting you toss the kids. But I've watched you make every move of your life around what was best for everyone else. It's time you put yourself back into the equation. What does Iris want?”

The waitress appeared at the booth and refilled their waters. Iris stared at her own untouched plate. “I don't know,” she said finally. “I'm sorry, but I really don't.” Iris couldn't think. She'd run away to Hampstead to escape her family problems in the first place. To clear her head. And now here she was, more confused and in a far deeper mess than before.

“Then you have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

Trish gave her a level look. “Until you figure out what you want, you have to put a stop to all of this with Cooper. No more hanging out, no more stolen kisses. And no more working in the barn, or whatever it is you're doing up there. Seriously, Iris. It's too dangerous. This isn't some little fling.”

Trish had her. If Iris was going to give this thing with Cooper a real shot, she needed to figure out the rest first. Besides, no matter how awful things got, she was not the kind of person who could shove her kids and family aside and just give in to temptation. No, Iris was not that person.

“You're right,” Iris said, setting down her fork. “No more Cooper.” But even as she said the words and Trish reached for the dessert menu as if the matter was solved, Iris couldn't ignore the other fact of the matter: none of this would've happened in the first place if Paul hadn't put her in this position. This was his fault, too.

Trish placed a double order for chocolate malts. “My treat.”

“So you think chocolate is going to do it for me?” The joke lightened the mood, but still . . . How could Trish expect her to just walk away from Cooper at this stage?

“Look at it this way,” Trish said, more gently this time. “It's not fair to you or to Cooper. You don't want to poison a second chance, do you?”

Iris wagged her head.

“Exactly. If this thing with Cooper is real, then he'll still be there in the end. When you've got your head on straight.”

Iris sat back on her stool, feeling both deflated and grateful. She'd asked for direction, and now she had it. “I guess you're right. I owe that much to the kids. And to my family, too.”

“Iris.”

“What?”

“You owe it to yourself.”

•    •    •

But staying away from Cooper Woods wasn't that easy. Iris needed this little friendship they'd fostered. And a thousand chocolate malts with your best friend were no substitute for the cravings she had.

By the time she drove home, it was almost dinner. She'd missed another day in the barn, but what did that matter now? Hopefully Cooper would've gone home for the day.

Avoidance, as Trish had instructed. It was a necessary operation. She tried to think of it in clinical terms as she pulled into the farm driveway. Her separation from Paul was a questionable growth. A growth that needed treatment and removal. And as ugly as it was probably going to be, until she'd recovered from that operation she couldn't allow herself any distractions.

By the time she neared home, Iris had talked herself into this new role she'd have to adopt. Polite, but at a distance. Friendly, but not flirty. For extra backup, she summoned visions of her parents: Millie's disapproving scowl, Bill's pained expression. That's what she needed, an unforgiving audience looking over her shoulder. She couldn't kiss Cooper Woods with Millie watching. And as for Bill, oh, it'd probably throw the poor man into tachycardia. Iris gripped the steering wheel tightly. She could do this. Even if it meant that she had to wrap the dreaded weight of parental guilt around her shoulders.

But no sooner had she pulled up to the barn than she noticed Cooper's truck. Okay, she told herself calmly: the first test. What would her parents say about this?

Millie pursed her lips.

Iris drove on.

But then Cooper stepped outside. Okay, plan B. She'd allow herself an innocent wave. What was the harm in that? It wasn't like she could go from kissing to cutting off all connection. Especially not after the conversation they'd had last night. In her mind Millie shook her head violently, but Bill shrugged forgivingly. All right, then; she'd wave.

Cooper approached the car, and her heart began to race as she raised one hand. It was a flat-handed wave, like something a pageant girl on a float might give, and so she tried a more enthusiastic one, but her nerves took over and her hand began to flap uncontrollably.

Cooper stared as she approached, a funny look on his face.

Great. He probably thought she was having a seizure. Now she'd have to stop the darn car. Which Iris did, but then she proceeded to sit there, windows rolled up, the engine still running as she argued with herself about what to do next.

Cooper came over and peered in the window. “You okay?” he mouthed.

Well, this wasn't working. Reluctantly, Iris rolled down the window, thought better of it, then rolled it up again. Almost pinching Cooper's hand. Jesus.

“Iris?”

“Hi!” Iris shouted through the glass. There, greeting complete. Now, if she could just get the hell out of there. Because if she stayed, it would only lead to something else. Like a conversation. Which might lead to dinner. And then, of course she'd have to kiss him again. Oh, God.

At that thought, Iris hit the gas pedal. But much harder than she'd intended, and the car rocketed forward.

Cooper leaped to the side. “What the hell?”

She stamped the brake. “Shit!” Iris jumped out of the car. “I'm sorry. Are you all right?”