The Lake Season (22 page)

Twenty-Two

I
ris held her last days alone on the farm close. Each morning, she rose before the rest of the house and stepped directly into the swimsuit she'd left on the bedside rug the night before, wrapping her bathrobe tightly about her as she stole downstairs and across the dewy lawn. No longer did she wade in carefully but strode into deeper water, relishing the brisk shock against her skin. Only after she was waterlogged, her limbs heavy with exertion, did she paddle back to shore and return to the kitchen, where she sat in her damp bathrobe at the table and sipped her coffee in peace. Reflecting on the new strength she felt. Counting the days until the kids arrived. And the days she had left alone with Cooper.

Only that particular morning, she was not alone. When she stepped back inside, her feet leaving the faintest of wet prints on the wide plank floors, she spied Millie leaning against the kitchen sink, a teacup clutched in hand. Her expression was neutral, still fogged by the early hour, but she was dressed crisply and her hair was already done.

“Good morning,” Millie said as Iris closed the patio door behind her. For once she did not comment on the watery footprints.

“Morning, Mom.” With the influx of guests and planners, the two had not found themselves alone together since Paul's divorce papers or Cooper's revelations about Leah. And it wasn't as if either had sought the other out. There was too much to say, and yet, it all seemed somewhat pointless to Iris now, a conversation too far past due.

Iris helped herself to a mug in the cupboard and took her usual seat at the table. Millie joined her.

“So, the wedding plans are all set?” It was a feeble attempt at small talk, but one Iris felt she owed her mother. Besides, if she didn't pick the topic, Millie would. And there were plenty of those that she'd rather not discuss.

“I think so,” Millie said. “I can't believe it's next weekend.” Her voice was as loose as her expression, a rare thing. Iris regarded her closely.

“You all right?”

Millie sighed lightly. “Of course. Just busy. The wedding, the Willetses—thank goodness they went to Maine for a few days. And, well . . .” She did not add Iris and her many pressing troubles, those unwelcome guests she could practically see seated alongside them at the table, each chair filled with an ominous disappointment: Iris's failed marriage to her right. The about-to-be-from-a-broken-home grandchildren to her left.

“I know. I'll be glad when it's all over.” Iris looked apologetically at her mother. “Of course, it's been great to be here. And great of you and Dad, to help me through all this.”

Millie frowned, expression returning vividly to her face. “Don't be ridiculous, Iris. Of course we're here for you.” She regarded Iris more closely. “But since you mention it, what are your plans? You know, when summer ends . . .”

Iris glanced out the window. “I don't know, exactly.” It was an honest response, if a less-than-revealing one. “When the wedding's over, I'll go home of course. Paul and I will have to tell the kids.” Her voice cracked, just a little. “And we'll figure out the next move from there.”

Millie blinked several times, as if this was the wrong answer. “Don't you think . . .” she began, selecting her words cautiously. “Well, what I mean to say is, are you sure about all this? It seems so—I don't know—final.” She paused, allowing Iris a chance to fill in the gaps, which she did not, could not, she was so taken aback.

“Mom. Paul sent divorce papers. You saw them. Dad's been working on them with Arthur. I don't think there's any going back.”

“Oh, Iris.” Millie set her cup down impatiently. “None of this is irretrievable. You are not a sitting duck in the matter. Have you considered that? And the kids, what about those poor kids . . . ?”

Iris put her hands to her eyes. She was tired of feeling so hollow in her mother's presence. “Mom, I know we haven't sat down to really talk about this yet. But I am not a sitting duck. Yes, I was taken aback by all of this in the beginning. But since I've been back here, things have become clearer to me.” She braved a look at her mother. “As much as I hated him for doing this, Paul's right. We are not a healthy couple. And we sure aren't a happy couple. In fact, we haven't been for a really long time. You must have known that.”

“But you made your choice,” Millie interjected, laying her cards and her expectations clearly on the table.
You made your bed, Iris. Now lie in it for all eternity.

“Is that what you want, Mom? Do you want me to just keep this going, even if it makes us all miserable? Because I used to think I could do that. In fact, that's exactly what I've been doing all these years. But I don't think it's turned out so well. Do you?”

Millie leaned in. “It's not just about you, Iris. It's about the kids.”

Which made the tears start. “Of course it is! Which is why I've stayed so long. And fought so hard. You knew Paul and I were in counseling. But do you know for how many years? Do you?” Her voice was high and defensive now.

Millie shrugged sadly, as if it were beside the point.

“Years!” Iris sputtered. “For ten years we've been in and out of therapy. First for our difficulty trying to get pregnant. Then for the difficulties that come with being a functional family. And now? He cheated, Mom. Paul cheated on me.”

Millie clasped her hands together, twisting her wedding ring. “Iris, men are not as strong as us. Sometimes they make mistakes—stupid ones. Selfish ones. But we have the power to forgive. Forgiveness doesn't make you the weaker sex.”

It was the most profound thing Millie had ever said to her.

“Children shouldn't have to suffer from their parents' mistakes.”

Iris flinched. “But they are suffering, Mom. Do I want them to grow up thinking it's okay to be with someone who belittles you all the time? Who walks right past you in your own house, like you are invisible? Is that what you want Sadie, Jack, and Lily to think marriage is? Because as awful as I feel about leaving this marriage, I feel far worse imagining them entering one just like it themselves. It's not good. For any of us.”

Millie stood abruptly. Either she'd heard too much or there was nothing left to say. But Iris wasn't about to let her scurry away, shaking her head as if something awful were stuck in her ear. “Mom.”

Millie set her teacup in the sink with deliberate care. With the same precision, she took a kitchen towel from the cupboard and unfolded it slowly, one corner at a time. Her calmness infuriated Iris.

“Mom, I need you to support me. I'm not asking for you to understand, but I need your support. Dad does,” Iris said, her anger rising in her throat. “He may not like what I'm going through, but he doesn't judge me.”

“You think I judge you?” Millie cried suddenly.

“No,” Iris said, wishing she could take it back. She'd never heard her mother respond so shrilly. “I didn't mean it like that. It's just that you put this pressure on me, like you disapprove of everything I do. Like I'm not good enough or something.”

“What's wrong with wanting your children to be their best? You're a mother now. Don't you want that for your own kids?”

“But I don't push them, Mom. I don't hold them at arm's length and inspect everything they do as if I'm looking for cracks or holes. And I don't pick favorites.”

Millie stared back at Iris, her mouth slack. “You think I favored your sister?”

Iris took a small breath. “Whether it was Leah or the farm, I always felt like second best.”

Millie stepped back. “I don't believe what I'm hearing.”

“Well, what do you expect? It's like I'm not really a part of this family. Take last summer. You didn't tell me about what happened last summer. I had to hear it from Cooper Woods. How do you think that made me feel?”

Millie's voice softened. “Then you know about Leah.”

“I do now. But why didn't I hear it from you?”

Millie lowered her eyes, whether in regret or sorrow, Iris couldn't tell. “Iris, I'm sorry. It wasn't something I meant to keep from you.”

“But you did!”

Her mother did not answer, but turned on the faucet and stood, waiting for the water to warm. She picked up a cereal bowl and began rinsing it.

“You should have told me.”

“I tried. Every time I asked you to come home, there was always an excuse. And things with you and your sister have always been so complicated, I don't know why.”

“Because no matter what she does, you always protect her. You always choose Leah!”

With that the bowl slipped from Millie's grip. There was a splintering crash, and she spun around to face Iris. “I had no choice. Leah is not strong like you, Iris. Leah needs more from me. I protect her because I have to. Because I have to protect her from herself!”

Iris recoiled at her mother's expression, as shattered as the broken shard of pottery she still clasped.

It was then Iris noticed her mother's hand, streaked in red.

“Mom, your fingers. You're bleeding.”

But Millie was too outraged to hear. Her voice stopped Iris dead in the middle of the kitchen. “Everything I've done is for both of you.” Millie swept her arm toward the window, and the greenery beyond it, spots of blood dripping across the counter. “I built all of this for you kids.”

“Mom,” Iris pleaded, pointing toward her mother's hand.

“Your father and I spent the last forty years cultivating lives for you. And yet you two were so busy fighting, you couldn't look past yourselves to appreciate any of it. Even as adults, you fled the first chance you got. Keeping my grandchildren away from me. Like some kind of punishment.” She pointed her bloody finger at Iris. “At least your sister came back. She may be troubled, but she trusted me enough to come home.” And then her voice fell, along with her stare, as she noticed her hand. “I'm bleeding.” Millie fell back against the sink in disbelief.

“It's okay, Mom.” Iris moved quickly, grabbing the towel from the countertop. She took her mother's trembling hand, which still gripped the broken piece of china, in her own. “Let go of the bowl. I need to wrap your finger.”

“I'm bleeding,” her mother said again, her eyes wide and fearful.

Iris examined the cut, which was long and jagged, but not deep. She ran the faucet, holding her mother's shaking palm beneath the cold flow, watching the stream of pink liquid spill into the basin between them. “It's okay.”

But Millie did not answer. She stood back, her arm rigid as Iris wrapped it tightly in a dishcloth and applied pressure.

Iris made herself look up at her mother, whose jaw trembled with effort.

“Make it stop,” Millie whispered.

“I'm trying,” Iris said softly. “I'm trying to, Mom.”

•    •    •

Her mother held the bandaged appendage protectively between them as she made her way about the house and farm stand, working one-handed throughout the day. Her adaptability and refusal to complain only added to Iris's guilt. But that was Iris's own affliction; Millie had not said any more to her on the matter, and instead had pressed forward, determined to dismiss the whole thing. Leah had fussed over their mother, asking Iris repeatedly, “What happened?” To which Millie curtly interjected, “It's nothing. I just dropped a bowl.”

Bill had insisted Millie see the doctor. He'd driven the two of them into town, where they stayed for dinner afterward, returning to the house as the peepers were just beginning their evening interlude. Millie retired immediately to the sunroom.

“The doctor said it was just a nasty graze,” Bill reassured Iris as she leaned against his bedroom door frame watching his end-of-day ritual, something she took deep comfort from. He took off his watch and set it on the dresser, then emptied the contents of his trouser pockets. A monogrammed handkerchief, which Iris found both old-fashioned and endearing; his wallet; a handful of change. “Your mother needs to slow down with this wedding stuff,” he added, shaking his head wearily. “She's taking on too much.”

Which made Iris stiffen; was it not her own “stuff” that had caused her mother's injury?

“Your sister is almost settled, at least,” he said, bending stiffly to unlace his shoes. “I know your mother worries about her.”

It was an opening, and Iris took it.

“Leah's not in great shape, Dad.”

He did not reply, but moved his shoes neatly to the side of the dresser. If only he could arrange his children so easily. “I know, honey. We're trying.” He, too, was weary from the effort, Iris realized. “Stephen will give her a good life, a stable life,” he added. “She's a fortunate girl.”

As we all are, Iris thought to herself. And she realized what Stephen represented—a rescuer of sorts, after a long labor of worry.

“What about you?” Bill asked, turning to her in the doorway.

“Me?”

“Yes. I haven't really had a chance to ask after you. Things have been somewhat . . .”

“Crazy,” Iris said, finishing the thought for both of them. “I'm fine, Daddy.”

Bill regarded her carefully. “You've been spending some time working on the barns, I've noticed. Quite a bit of time, in fact.”

Iris's cheeks flushed deeply. It did not matter that she was a grown woman. Under her father's curious gaze, she was forever that knobby-kneed teenager who still found her father's approval essential.

“Yes, I have been spending time up there. I know it must seem strange, considering I've never swung a hammer or really built anything before.” She smiled self-consciously.

“Well, there was that birdhouse.”

She grinned gratefully. “Yes. The pink birdhouse.” It was a Scout project the two had done, for a father-daughter badge. She doubted the Scouts even offered those these days, with the changing structure of modern families. But she remembered it well—she'd banged up most of her fingers with the hammer, and several of her dad's. He'd never complained, though. It had taken them a whole day to complete. She'd set her heart on painting it pink, and her father had driven thirty miles outside of town to find a hardware store that could mix an all-season pastel oil paint.