The Lake Season (24 page)

Cooper nodded in the growing darkness. “Of course we will.”

Iris tried to breathe. The big issues were finally out in the open, at least for the most part. And as grateful as she was to have tied some of the loose ends, she couldn't help but feel the strands were hovering near, swirling in a disconcerting state, fluttering between them. How desperately she wanted to circle back with her nimble hands and tie up each and every one.

Twenty-Five

L
ily Bean!” Iris was overcome as her younger daughter streaked across the lawn toward her. “Let me look at you,” she cried, holding Lily at arm's length before pulling her in tight again. Lily's nose was densely freckled by summer, her face a tawny peach. Her braids were frayed and blonder than Iris recalled. “Oh, I've missed you.”

“And you!” Iris exclaimed, releasing Lily and pulling Jack in. Jack wrapped his arms tightly around Iris's waist and held on. “My beautiful boy,” she breathed, kissing his head.

“Okay, okay, Mom.” He laughed.

Sadie strode calmly toward her, lips pressed together, but unmistakably pleased.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, allowing Iris to pull her in for a hug.

“What did you do to your hair?” Iris asked, instantly regretting the words as soon as they'd popped out. Oh, why did she have to ruin the moment with her big mouth?

“What?” Sadie touched her head, as if trying to remember. “Oh, my haircut. But that was, like, forever ago.”
Forever ago.
A time that suddenly presented itself in the form of freckled noses and strange haircuts.

“Well, I love it. It's super cute.” It was a sophisticated cut, one she'd expect to see on a teenager. Which, she realized with suddenness, Sadie was, of course. Oh, this was harder than she'd thought.

Behind them the porch screen door slapped shut, followed by a chorus of greetings on the other side. She was glad her family had allowed her to keep the greeting to herself, if only for a moment. “Everyone's inside, waiting for you.

Iris let Sadie go ahead, watching the way she adjusted her messenger bag over her shoulder, tucking her hair carefully behind her ear as she always did, a ritual Iris had watched her perform whenever she dropped her off at the middle school door or at cheer practice. Iris smiled: she would never tire of looking at her children. Their simplest gestures, so familiar and comforting. It was only then she remembered Paul, who was now coming up the walkway.

Don't cross your arms,
she reminded herself as he approached with the kids' bags. But her mind blanked. “You made good time,” she said inanely.

“Hello, Iris.” He stopped just short of her, Lily's pink Hello Kitty duffel dangling precariously from one shoulder. Iris took him in quickly, making mental note of his tan face. But his brow was furrowed. And were those circles under his eyes? She smiled tightly. Not her concern anymore.

“Let me help you with those.” She reached forward awkwardly, but Paul shook his head.

“Thanks, I've got it. I'll just leave them on the porch, if that's okay.”

They glanced simultaneously up at the porch in question, listening to the flow of laughter through the windows, and suddenly Iris understood. Paul would not be coming inside. “Well, sure. If that makes you more comfortable.”

Iris stepped aside, allowing Paul a wide berth. She trailed him up the steps, useless and tentative. Why did she always feel this way in his presence? At the top of the stairs Paul dumped the bags like he was unloading a great burden, then turned, mopping his brow.

“Okay, then.”

“Would you like a glass of water? Or maybe to freshen up before the long drive back?” Iris certainly didn't want Paul lingering any longer than necessary. But now here he was, and this was something they were going to have to figure out sooner or later. She supposed he should at least be able to relieve himself without animosity.

“No, thanks. I've got an iced latte in the car.”

Iris frowned. Since when had Paul started drinking lattes? He hated coffee.
Not your concern
, she reminded herself. Again.

“Well, I think this is everything,” he said, scanning the fallen luggage briskly. He turned to the stairs, pivoting away from her with a rush so intent, it drew her ire.

“Aren't you going to say good-bye?”

Paul paused on the top step, frowning.

“To the kids?” Iris clarified, with emphasis.

“I already did.”

Just then the screen door creaked. Millie's voice was unusually neutral, as was her expression. “Hello, Paul.”

“Hello, Millie,” he said, caught in midescape. He reached to shake her hand with awkward formality. Millie accepted, hesitantly.

Iris winced. It was all so weird.

“The kids want a farm tour,” Millie said, turning to Iris. “Would you like us to wait for you?”

Iris wasn't sure if this interruption was a rescue offering or a quest to sate Millie's own curiosity about her son-in-law's presence, but she accepted it nonetheless. “Sure. I'll be right in. Would you send the kids out to say good-bye to their father?”
Their father
. Words so heavy on her tongue. Had she ever referred to him as anything but “Daddy” before? She certainly couldn't bring herself to use that term now.

“Have a safe drive, Paul,” Millie said coolly. No offer to come inside, no offer of lemonade. At least her mother had made the decision for both of them.

Once more Iris and Paul were left alone, and it occurred to Iris that this was the first official “drop-off.” The first baton in the passing-of-the-kids relay. It was suddenly too hot on the porch. But there was one more thing.

“Listen, Paul,” she said. She crossed her arms, but hell, she'd allow herself that. There was no easy way to do this. “We need to figure this out.”

And there it was again. The weary look, the rolling of the eyes. “Iris, Jesus. Can we just part peaceably?”

A small fire erupted in her chest, but she exhaled deeply. “Hang on. All I'm saying is we need to be able to talk to each other.” She gestured inside. “
They
need us to work together. We're still their parents.”

Paul sighed. “Of course we are, Iris. What is it you want from me?”

And the fire roared a little hotter. “Damn it, Paul,” Iris hissed, stepping down the stairs past him. She indicated for him to follow. There was no way she was going to get into it in front of the family. “I just want to touch base about the kids. Why can't you do that without all this tension?”

Paul threw up his hands. “Because there is no talking to you about anything without tension.”

She halted at their car. Correction: his car. “You know what, just forget it. I'm simply hoping for a little exchange here; you know, how the kids are. What they know. How we're planning on working this. Because summer ends in two weeks, Paul. And I'll be coming home.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“Did you forget that small fact? It's my house, too. Until we decide what to do next.”

Paul stared at the pavement, which suddenly felt unstable beneath Iris's flip-flops, as though it might open up and swallow them both.

“I sent you the papers, Iris.”

“Fuck the papers!” She was yelling now. Score one for Paul. At least he'd had the sense to leave the crazy woman who yelled and cursed in her parents' driveway on a perfectly good summer day.

“At some point we have to talk, Paul. Really talk.” Desperate, Iris grabbed his hand in her own, which only made Paul flinch. But she didn't let go. “You have to be able to look at me. Don't you think you owe me at least that much?”

Paul's gaze was flat. He'd shut down, she could see it already. Well, what had she expected? She dropped his hand and it swung loosely to his side. Like a puppet's. A hard, wooden-hearted puppet's. “Forget it. I thought maybe we could work this out, for the kids' sake. But if you can't even speak to me, then we are dead in the water. I'll make some calls and find a mediator.”

At that Paul looked up. She was speaking his language now. “Iris,” he said, pulling the car door open. “We are not getting back together. You have to accept that.”

It was a slap in the face. The smug, sweaty bastard actually thought she was trying to get him to take her back.

“Are you kidding?” she sputtered. Now it was her turn to throw up her hands. “Oh, believe me, that is the last thing I want. We are over. So over. And I am fine with that now. In fact, I insist on it. Because you don't deserve me, Paul Whiting. You never have. But I got the best part of you.” She jabbed her finger toward the house. “And those three kids are waiting for me inside.”

With that, Iris spun on her heels. Toward her mother and father. Toward Leah, and her kids. To where all their misplaced regrets and good intentions awaited her, bound and imperfect, a family album made of glass. But a gift nonetheless.

•    •    •

The kids provided needed entertainment. Lily zealously reconstructed her swim meets, acting out the final strokes of her triumphant races in the confines of the kitchen, bringing tears of laughter to Bill's eyes and a new smoothness to Millie's usually creased brow. Never one to sit out, Leah also jumped in, as if the youthful influx of energy in the house restored some integral part of her. Jack kept bringing in specimens from outdoors: frogs, grasshoppers, once even a mouse, which they all exclaimed over and made elaborate habitats for.

Even Sadie seemed to shed her teenage angst on the farm. Gone, for the moment, were the usual tensions between them. True, Sadie still sequestered herself to moments of solitude, retiring to Leah's hammock, where she rested all but her thumbs as she furiously texted friends back home. But even that was an increasing rarity.

At night, Iris tucked them all in as if they were small children. Jack had the pull-out sofa in the den, while the girls shared the antique four-poster bed in the guest room. It was an old ritual Iris was grateful they allowed her to perform. Perhaps it was the long farm days that tired them, their limbs and minds weary from sun and lake. Or maybe it was the fact that they'd missed their mother in their weeks apart, something Iris herself felt acutely. But there was a profound sweetness to this new evening routine that reminded Iris of their days as babies, and the physical closeness she'd then taken for granted. The way they used to sink against her, already limp with slumber, and how she was free to caress and marvel at them up close. It had been years since Sadie had allowed Iris any kind of proximity like that. Even Lily preferred a quick good night kiss at home, asking her mother to please leave her alone so she could finish her picture book, before turning out her own light. Now, after the sun set each night, she lay beside Jack on the pull-out couch, recounting the day's adventures. Then up the stairs she went, where Iris settled herself between her girls. Sadie to one side of her, with a book. Lily to the other, with her tattered yellow giraffe tucked under her chin. The bed creaked beneath the weight of the three of them, and Iris relished the sound. Sometimes they'd talk about the day; sometimes Iris read aloud to Lily, and Sadie, propped against the pillows beside them, set down her own book obligingly and listened along. It was these final hours that brought her the greatest peace. Just another reason Iris wished this summer would never end.

•    •    •

“When can we go out on the boat?” Lily wanted to know one afternoon shortly after they'd arrived. Millie had driven the truck over to the farm stand, and Jack and Lily were busy stacking vegetable crates into the back, having just finished a day of sales.

“Yeah. I want to water-ski,” Jack said.

“Well, Grandpa only has the dinghy. But you'd love that, too. How about it, Sadie?” Iris asked.

Sadie hesitated in midcount at the till, furrowing her brow as she wrote down the current dollar amount in hand. “Um, sure.” She glanced up at them. “Unless you mean fishing.”

“Why else would we take the boat out?” Lily asked.

Sadie rolled her eyes, resuming her count. “Gross. Rain check.”

“More fish for me, then,” Lily said.

Unlike Jack, who seemed to maintain Swiss neutrality by virtue of both being the sole boy and the middle child, the girls had a more complicated relationship. Sadie was often impatient, perceiving Lily's curiosity and wish to be included as intrusive. Lily was left feeling resentful, especially in the past year, as Iris watched helplessly, ducking in and out in her own attempt to mend their fences.

“It's so good to see the girls working together like this,” she told Millie now, as they stood at the tailgate of the truck, watching the kids pack up the stand.

“Of course it is. Hard work is great for kids. It's what I've been trying to tell you for years.” Millie was right, of course, and it filled Iris with guilt for staying away. And for inadvertently keeping the kids away from their grandparents and this place, which seemed so right for them all.

“Who's hungry?” Leah strode toward the truck, a bin full of fresh-picked eggplant in her arms. “I vote for eggplant Parmesan tonight.”

“With extra cheese!” Jack chimed in. The four of them clambered into the bed of the truck, and Iris noticed the cash bin securely tucked against Sadie's side.

“Want me to take that in the cab for you?” Iris offered.

Sadie shook her head, all business. “I've got it. I still have to input today's profits in the books when we get back.”

“When did you learn how to do that?”

“Mom. Please. Grandma showed me this morning.”

“You learned all that in one day at the stand?”

Millie raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Iris as they climbed into the cab.

“I know, I know,” Iris said. “Spare me the ‘I told you so.' ”

•    •    •

Only one thing had been missing from her life these past few days. As they approached the smokehouse, and the kids' laughter rose up from the truck bed, Iris's tummy fluttered. Cooper was back. His truck was parked out front, though there was no sign of him. Since the kids arrived, Iris had not spoken to him. He'd told her he was taking a few days off on the farm to work on another project across town, and though she appreciated the uninterrupted reunion time, she couldn't help but wonder if it was purposeful on his part. And if so, what it meant for the two of them.