The Lake Season (23 page)

Bill pulled a worn cotton button-down from his closet, as close as Bill got to lounge wear. “I assume Cooper has taught you a lot, then.” It wasn't a question. But in his statement, Iris heard all of her father's curiosities. As well as his concerns.

“It wasn't about Cooper, Dad. I needed a job. Outside of being a wife and a mom.”

“You have your work,” he reminded her gently.

“Outside of that, too. I needed to tackle something new, something physical. Everything I do requires thinking. And worrying. I just needed to build something.” She paused. “And yes, Cooper taught me how.”

Her father finished buttoning his shirt, and for the first time looked her directly in the eye.

“You're a big girl. But I guess I'll always see you as my little one.”

Iris felt her eyes water. “I know, Dad.”

Bill tucked in his shirt and shut the closet door gently, as if the matter were closed. “Arthur's reviewed the papers that Paul sent.”

A breath escaped Iris's chest. “Oh. What did he say?”

Bill shrugged. “They're pretty standard; I'll go over it with you later. You'll need to think about property divisions, that sort of thing. The house.” He paused. “And of course, the kids. Paul's proposed an equal split.”

Iris wrapped her arms around herself. “I see.” She had not wanted to read the divorce papers, had not wanted to speak of them even. But she was grateful her father had opened the matter, along with the envelope, for her. Now it was her turn to take over. “That sounds okay. I want the kids to see both of us, to keep things as normal for them as possible.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Iris said quietly. “I'll take a look at them. Are the papers in your study?”

“Another time,” Bill said, sparing them both. He went to where Iris stood in the door and rested his hands on her shoulders. “It's been a long day.”

Twenty-Three

D
one.
Finito
. Finis!” Trish slapped a thick packet of typed pages onto the café counter with gusto.

“Really? You finished the soup chapter?” Iris fingered the packet and then held it up, impressed.

“Two chapters,” Trish corrected her. She placed a cup of coffee before Iris. “I added another on Crock-Pot dinners. Crock-Pots are a busy family's saviors.”

“Brilliant!” Iris began to flip through the pages, pausing to ooh over a recipe for slow-cooked beef bourguignon. “I wish all my clients kept your pace. How'd you get all this done so fast?”

“Well, it was smooth sailing—once I got past my little nervous breakdown.” She winked at Iris.

“What? Trish, I had no idea this was getting to be too much. Why didn't you tell me?”

Trish waved her hand dismissively. “Please. It was a good excuse to send Wayne and the kids out of my hair for a bit. Besides, it's not like you haven't got enough on your own plate.”

Iris studied her carefully. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“Are you kidding? This has been one of the best things I've ever done. If you hadn't pushed me into this . . .”

“Pushed? Now you're giving me a complex.”

Trish smiled. “Okay—let's say twisted my arm.”

“Trish!”

“No, really. I've been meaning to apologize to you.”

The sudden serious look on her friend's face caught Iris off guard. “What do you need to apologize for?”

“I've been an ass. Preaching to you all summer, trying to tell you how to get on with things. Maybe I should broaden my own horizons a bit, instead of hassling you so much about broadening yours. It never occurred to me until we started this book.”

“Trish, you did not hassle me. You've been the best friend a girl could ask for. Steadfast. Honest.”

“Oh, please, I can barely stand the sound of my own voice. Telling you to take better care of yourself. To chase your own dreams . . . I sound like a Disney commercial.”

It was true: Trish had stayed on top of Iris about doing all of those things. But in the best of ways. Iris was confused.

“What's this really about?”

Trish paused. “I have to confess something. When you came home all busted up and hurting, my heart went out to you. It really did. But there was a small part of me—deep, deep down—that was sort of relieved. For once, you needed me.” She winced as she said it.

“Trish, I've always needed you. We already talked about this. I'm the one who let the friendship slide these past years.”

“Yeah, but I'm the one who sort of held a grudge. I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Because you were the one who got out of here. You went off to college in New York while I stayed home and went to UNH.”

“So? You loved that school.”

“Yeah, as much as I loved my high school sweetheart. Who I then married and raced home to have kids with. In the very same neighborhood I grew up in!” It was the closest thing to shamefaced Iris had ever seen her friend look. “Ech, I've turned into my mother.”

Iris laughed. “Have not.”

“But you couldn't be further from Millie. You lived in the city. Had a big, fat career. And still had a family. All while I was here pounding dough back at the homestead.”

Now it was Iris's turn to make a face. “Are you kidding? From where I'm standing, you're the one who has it all. A great marriage. A family. Your own business.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I wonder. What if I'd been more imaginative? Taken more risks?” She looked at Iris. “Like you did.”

Iris was almost too touched to speak. “You know this book never would've happened without you.”

“Well, that's true, of course. Seriously, though. I love Wayne and the kids, but sometimes I'd wake up at night and wonder if this was it. If this was as good as it'd ever get. And now, with this crazy book . . .” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Trish.”

“You're okay, Iris. You're doing great on your own. I've got no business telling you what to do. Or
who
to do it with.”

Iris wiped her own eyes. Here
she'd
been feeling like the loser who'd rolled home empty-handed, in need of Trish's ear and heart, as much as her key lime pie. “Thank you.”

Iris reached over and pulled her in for a hug.

“But I'll be honest,” Trish said. “Between this job and the kids . . . I don't know how real writers do it. I swear, I need one of those retreats where you escape, alone, to some mountainside cabin for three months where no member of your family is ­allowed.”

Iris laughed. “That's just in the movies. But look at you. You did it anyway.”

Trish shrugged humbly. “No big deal. The kids just haven't eaten in two weeks.”

“Well, feed them well tonight, because I have some news.” Iris tried to temper her own excitement. She was supposed to be the seasoned agent, after all. “I called Joan last night. The culinary publisher I told you about.”

Trish raised her eyebrows. “And?”

It was no use. Iris dropped her agent guise like an ugly sweater. “She likes our concept. She's agreed to read it!”

“Holy crap!” Trish squealed, jumping up from her chair.

“But it doesn't mean anything yet,” Iris cautioned, pulling her agent hat back on. “There are conditions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, she needs a proposal.” Iris winced. “By Friday.”

“This Friday?” Trish sputtered. “That's three days away. You never mentioned anything about a proposal!”

“Relax,” Iris said. “I'll handle the proposal. It's just a write-up of our concept, with a little marketing insight about our intended audience. No biggie.” Though it was a biggie, and the realization of their sudden deadline filled her with her own sense of panic.

Trish tightened her apron strings and took a deep breath. “Okay, Agent Standish. We can do this proposal thing. Or, at least, you can.” She looked at Iris firmly. “Right?”

Iris nodded quickly. “Yes. Done it many times.”

Trish paused, then leaned in to whisper, “I love this crazy book that you talked me into. And I love you.” She leaned closer. “But if you screw up this proposal, don't even think about coming back here for your key lime fix.”

“Understood.”

Twenty-Four

I
ris was driving back to the farm when her phone vibrated in her lap. She looked down and smiled.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Cooper's voice filled the spaces in her mind, pushing away the cookbook, the wedding, and all the other clutter.

Iris glanced at the historic houses as she drove out of the village center, trying to picture the two of them coming into town, like a regular couple on a regular date. “That'd be nice.”

“How's seven? I'll come by the house.”

Iris flinched. The house. Her mother and father's house. The image of a fresh-scrubbed Cooper knocking on Millie's door to ask permission to take her forty-year-old daughter out for a night on the town flashed in her mind.

“No!” she said. “I mean, why don't I meet you there?” Iris could see it now: Cooper knocks and the whole family flings the door open. Bill in his plaid nightshirt, blinking through his smudged glasses. Leah, scowling over his shoulder. But it was Millie's face that sealed the deal, with its guilt-inspiring force field that only her mother could engulf them in. No, Cooper Woods could not come pick her up at her parents' house. She wouldn't let him anywhere near that door.

“It's no big deal,” Cooper said amicably.

Iris would have to spare him. Even if it meant bringing up the almost-as-awful subject of where they stood. “The thing is, I don't how my family would feel if they thought we were going out,” Iris explained sheepishly. “I haven't exactly told them anything about us yet.” She blushed deeply, realizing she was showing her cards. “That is, if there even is an ‘us.' Not that we're officially together. But, you know . . .” Well, the whole deck of cards had fallen on the floor now.

“Well, then we definitely need to have dinner,” Cooper said, his voice reassuring. “Seven o'clock at the Inn?”

Iris breathed a sigh of relief. “Seven o'clock, it is.”

She was just pulling up to the house when the phone vibrated again. She swept it to her ear. “Let me guess, did you change your mind?” she joked.

“Mommy?”

For a second Iris was thrown. “Lily? Is that you, honey?”

“Of course it's me.” Lily laughed. “Who else would it be?”

Iris didn't dare say. “No one I'd rather talk to,” she allowed truthfully.

“I've got big news,” Lily announced.

Iris went along, smiling at Lily's conspiratorial giggle. “You do? What is it?”

“Daddy said we can come up to the farm early! We're coming tomorrow!”

Iris squealed. “That's wonderful, honey. I can't wait!” It was the best kind of surprise.

“Oh, and I finished second place in the swim meet,” Lily gushed. “I even got a trophy. It's not as big as Carly Watson's, she placed first. But it's gold.”

Iris swiped at her eyes. “Oh, I'm so proud of you! Bring the trophy with you. Your grandparents will love to see it, too.”

Sadie was more reserved than her sister when she came on the line next, but Iris was sure she detected a level of excitement in her voice, which was more than she'd heard all summer. “So, what are we going to do up there?” she wanted to know.

“Anything you want,” Iris promised her. “We can swim and take Grandpa's canoe out. I can't wait to show you Aunty Leah's gardens. Oh, and your junior bridesmaid gowns will be in!”

“Cool,” Sadie said, and Iris was suddenly so grateful for this one-worded allowance.

There was no mistaking, however, the chilled reserve of Paul's communication.

“So, I guess you know the kids are coming up a few days early,” he said. “Is this a good time?”

“Yes, I can't wait.” Iris waited for him to continue, wondering suddenly at the changed date. The sooner the better. But was there another reason Paul was sending them up sooner than they'd planned? Like a reason with a name and a face?

Iris pushed the thought away in disgust and tried to focus on the logistics. After all, the kids couldn't exactly deliver themselves to New Hampshire. “And you?” she asked cautiously. “What's the plan?”

Paul's response was abrupt, like a Band-Aid being ripped off. “No plans. As soon as I drop them off, I'm coming back home.”

“Of course.” It was a stinging reminder, but Iris realized for the first time that she did not want it any other way. The terrain between them had changed. All she needed right now were the kids. She wouldn't wonder what he was doing back at home, alone. Or not.

“Did you receive the papers?” he asked.

Iris thought she heard the smallest tremor in his voice, but his directness left no room for empathy.

“I did, but I haven't looked them over yet. Dad wanted his attorney to review them first.”

Paul chuckled. “You mean Arthur Bowen? That guy with the stutter from the golf club?”

Arthur, an old friend of Bill's who led a long-standing and well-respected firm in town, had assisted the family in their legal matters over the years just as happily as he had been to join them for dinner and drinks on any given weekend. Paul would remember him in the unkindest light, of course. Which made Iris's response easier. “I have to protect myself,” she replied curtly, reminding Paul that he was the enemy in all of this. “And the kids, too. We'll get to it when we have a chance.”

“Whatever you say, Iris. See you tomorrow.” And the line disconnected.

•    •    •

The Inn at Hampstead was on the national historic registry, and it was one of Iris's favorite places. As kids, she and Leah had referred to it as the “wedding cake house,” because of its expansive white facade and sweeping porches. The old Victorian rested on a hill at the northern end of town, overlooking one of the smaller lakes. Just beyond the Inn, a family-owned vineyard swept out behind it, like a lush green cape. As a child Iris had always imagined herself being married there outdoors among the gardens, instead of in the formal ballroom of the Copley Plaza in Boston, insisted upon by Paul's family, and as she walked up the flagstone path she couldn't help but feel significance in the fact that Cooper had chosen it as the site for their first real date.

The outdoor patio was open for summer dining, and she crossed her fingers, hoping he'd reserved a table for them there.

Iris found Cooper standing by one of the large white columns, just outside the main inn door. But she almost missed him. Dressed in a navy sports coat and crisp khaki pants, Cooper was beyond handsome. Seeing her, he stepped forward and took her arm. “You look beautiful.”

As they took their seats Iris tried to focus on the shimmering water views. To her surprise her hands trembled a little as she settled her napkin across her lap. Why was she suddenly feeling nervous? She had not hesitated when he leaned her against the truck and kissed her adamantly; she knew intimately the flat plain of his stomach, the curve of his neck where she rested her head when they held each other. But those were private moments, stolen in secret places around the farm. Where she didn't care that her hair was windblown or her fingernails had dirt beneath them. Here, sitting among other crisply dressed couples at the restaurant, she felt suddenly exposed.

When the waiter finished telling them the specials, she glanced shyly over her menu at Cooper.

“What's wrong?” he whispered.

Iris lifted one shoulder. “Nothing. This is perfect. It's just so . . .”

“Official? Like we're on a first date or something?” Cooper asked, as if reading her mind.

“Yes. But in a good way,” she added quickly. “It feels like we're ‘coming out' or something.”

Cooper smiled. “I know. We should've gotten this out of the way a long time ago. Shall we order some wine?”

“Please!” Iris said with a laugh.

Two glasses later, they'd placed their orders, each for the lobster risotto. Iris settled back into her chair as the wine worked its magic.

“It's been quite a summer,” she said, studying Cooper across the table. His normally tousled hair was styled close to his head, giving him an even more crisp appearance in the candlelight.

“It has,” he agreed. “The best summer I can recall in a long time.” He met Iris's gaze. “It's not over yet.”

Even in the growing twilight, Iris was sure her blush was apparent. She turned to the water as relief filled her chest, knowing that Cooper felt the same way. And that he didn't want the summer to end either. But there were certain things they couldn't avoid any longer.

“My kids are coming up,” Iris said. “Tomorrow.”

“Really? That's great. I didn't realize they'd be here so soon.”

“Neither did I,” Iris admitted. “But I'm excited. Other than their time at camp, I've never been away from them for more than a night or two before. It's been strange.” She looked him in the eye. “That first week of July, I didn't know what to do with myself. I'm not used to being alone, doing whatever I want, whenever I feel like it. As nice as it was,” she added meaningfully.

“You must've felt like you were missing a limb without them.” Which Iris couldn't have described better herself. She smiled, grateful that, despite the fact that he had no children of his own, somehow Cooper seemed to understand.

“But it must've been good for you to have that time, too. To get a handle on things a little,” he went on. He adjusted the napkin on his lap. “Splitting up with my ex was the hardest thing I went through. I don't know how people do it with kids.” Cooper was treading carefully, but he wasn't shying away from the obvious. It was her chance to be honest with him.

“It's been awful,” Iris admitted. “But I haven't exactly been home dealing with it, either. Being up here let me get back to myself in a way I would never have been able to do had I stayed at home.” She paused, placing her hands on the table. “But I still have to go back and face the music at some point.”

Cooper placed a hand on top of one of hers. “Iris, you do whatever you have to. What you're going through can chew a person up and spit them back out. Give yourself time.”

“I know. I just want you to know that I'm really grateful to you.” She hoped she was getting through; she didn't want to end what they had. In fact, she couldn't bear the thought of that. Did he understand?

Cooper pulled his hand away gently. “Look, it goes both ways. When Sherry and I divorced I thought I was done with all of this.” He opened his arms, gesturing in a motion that circled the two of them. “I didn't think I'd ever feel something like this again.”

Iris nodded eagerly.

“But I can't be selfish about it,” Cooper continued. “I know what you're about to go through, probably better than you do. And I want you to know that if this is all we have, I'm okay with that.”

Iris sat back, sifting through his words. They were not unkind. But she felt the sharp twist of disappointment.

“Besides,” he added. “We come from really different places.”

Iris laughed. “What are you saying? We both grew up here.”

“You know what I mean.” He looked out at the lake. “Your family is great. But I don't think your mother would approve of me.”

Iris shook her head. “My mother doesn't approve of anyone. But she does like you, Cooper. You've done such great work for them.”

“Exactly. I work for them.”

“So? You're talented. You preserve history. You should take pride in that.”

“I do. I lived differently in Colorado—I had the six-thousand-­square-foot mountain house with the view, the cars, the ski condo. And the sixty-hour workweeks that kept me from enjoying any of it. I forgot what was real, living like that.”

Iris had known Cooper had worked somehow in finance, but he'd never shared much about it. She hadn't realized that the sort of life he'd left behind was much like the life she lived now, in Boston.

Cooper leaned forward. “I like living simply now, Iris. I like waking up to the lake and working with my hands. And being my own boss. It's a rich life, by my definition. But there aren't any Mercedes parked in my driveway. And while I enjoy a round of golf, I don't plan on joining the club.” He looked at her earnestly.

Iris flushed. She'd never felt that way about Cooper, and was flabbergasted that he was made to think she might because of the family she came from. “You can't honestly think that those things are important to me after spending the summer together?”

Cooper looked at her softly. “No, I don't think that. But you live a certain way and raise your family in a certain way in Boston, and while I can appreciate it, it's not something I can offer you. Whatever happens, we need to be realistic.”

Iris sat back in her chair, touched. She loved this man for who he was, and for how openly he was offering himself to her. It didn't matter to her what kind of house he lived in, or what kind of car he drove. But he was right. It was a different life. Just as Millie had been hinting.

The waiter arrived with their lobster, which they ate over amicable small talk amid the other diners on the porch. But with each delicate bite of her dinner, Iris realized she could not be realistic. She couldn't help wanting to hang on to this. As she pretended to listen to Cooper talk about a restoration project he was bidding on in town, her mind wandered restlessly. Maybe they were too different. Maybe to him this was never more than a summer romance that he'd think back on fondly over the long winter months. Maybe she was completely delusional.

Dessert came, along with the growing darkness, and afterward they lingered on the porch sipping nightcaps. Cooper pulled his chair around near hers and settled his arm across her shoulders. “So, I guess this is our last night alone,” he said.

“There'll be more,” Iris replied, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder. “We'll make time.”