The Lake Season (32 page)

Thirty-Four

T
he plate of food beside Millie was untouched. She'd frowned at Bill, who'd eagerly finished off one of the sandwiches that Paul had delivered from Trish, along with fruit salad and fresh coffee. Millie had acknowledged them only once, turning to scowl as Bill wiped the crumbs from his button-down shirt. As if his appetite was some form of weakness. As though her refusal of nourishment and comfort was a purer vigil, her self-sacrifice evidence of the depth of her devotion to their daughter.

“She's so angry,” Iris whispered to Paul as they convened in the hallway, out of earshot.

“Wouldn't we be?” His question caught her off guard, both in the use of
we
and in its context. Thus far she'd viewed Leah's hospitalization from the lens of sister and daughter. It had not yet occurred to her to imagine what it would be like as a mother.

“You need to eat, too.” Paul held up the uneaten half of her sandwich, which he'd carried into the hall for her. He held it to her mouth, a gesture too intimate. But one that she accepted timidly. “Good girl. Have another bite.”

The egg salad on her tongue was so reminiscent of her childhood lunches that tears sprang to Iris's eyes.

“Oh, Paul. When is she going to wake up?”

He wrapped his arms around her, and without thought, Iris fell against him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed. There it was. His familiar smell. The way she fit, just so; a hug like an old glove stretched to her size. “I'm here,” he whispered. “We're going to get through this.”

This was not the Paul who'd served her divorce papers, not the same man she'd spent the last few weeks hating. It would be so easy to surrender, to let him take her home with the kids. Who would blame her? Given the confusion swirling around them in the harsh glare of the hospital corridor: The beeping of monitors in the room behind them. The anguish of her parents. And Leah, laid out before them like a portrait of all the grief and wonder they'd shared as a family all these years.

Iris did not know how long she cried in Paul's embrace. But suddenly she sensed him there. Her awareness of Cooper Woods was visceral, even with her eyes still closed. She recognized the purposeful strikes of his footsteps coming down the hall, louder even than the pounding of her heart. Then, a sudden pause. Her skin prickled. She looked up just in time to see Cooper standing at the nurses' station, a large bouquet of yellow flowers in his hand. And the way that hand fell to his side when he saw them together, like a soft exhale.

“Cooper.” Instantly Iris pulled away from Paul, a stab of guilt overcoming her. “You're here.”

“I don't want to disturb your family,” he said, approaching uncertainly. “I just wanted to bring these.”

He came closer, holding the flowers stiffly between them. “For Leah.”

“Thank you, they're beautiful.” Their hands brushed as Iris relieved him of the bouquet. “I'm glad you came.” He was like sunlight in the hospital hallway, a reminder of how long she'd been cramped inside. How desperately she wanted to touch him, to follow him back outside, into the green summer day.

“How is she?” His eyes were full of concern. And something else.

“We're still waiting for her to wake up.” Iris's voice cracked, telling him this, after their summer together. He'd been through so much with her family; he understood her fears better than anyone. Certainly better than Paul.

“Will you let me know when she does?” He glanced briefly over her shoulder at Paul, whom Iris could feel standing his ground behind them. But it was Cooper she wanted to reassure.

“Yes! Of course. Do you want to come in?”

Cooper nodded toward the nurses' station. “They said family only. Besides, I don't want to intrude.”

Iris shook her head. “Not at all. You're like family.” She meant it, and she wanted him to believe her. But Cooper turned to go.

“Please give your folks my best, okay?”

Iris had to fight herself to keep from reaching for him.

“Tell your dad I'll keep an eye on things at the farm. Whatever he needs, just let me know.”

Iris heard the implication. Whatever her
father
needed; not she.

“Cooper, wait.” There was so much she wanted to say. Oh, why was Paul still standing there?

Cooper turned back to look at her one last time, and his eyes, so like the shoals of the lake, filled her with sadness. She could follow him down the hallway. There were so many things she needed to tell him. But whether it was the pull of her family, in the room behind her, or Paul, still watching them, something held her back. As she stood facing Cooper under the fluorescent glow of the hospital lights, Iris could feel their summer seeping away as surely as if a rainstorm had opened up overhead and was washing them clean. Clean of their lust and their happiness and all that they'd shared, which suddenly, given the context, seemed very small and selfish. Maybe Millie was right; family was all that mattered.

And Cooper Woods was not family.

Cooper broke her silence. “Take care, okay?” And then he turned and headed down the hall, taking the light and the breath out of her chest.

Helplessly, she watched him go, her eyes fixed on the back of his checkered shirt. Looking past the young nurse who was rushing toward her. Then the other. Followed by an orderly, pushing some kind of cart. Iris moved to the side as they brushed past, her eyes still locked on Cooper's retreating figure.

There was a scuffle in the doorway behind her. Then she realized.

“Iris.” It was Paul.

Then Millie, whose voice reached her, rising over the sudden din in the hallway. “Where's the doctor? We need him now!”

Sprinting to Leah's door, Iris froze on the threshold. Her parents had been pushed aside. And through the group of nurses and orderlies who swept efficiently around the bed, Iris saw Leah.

Sitting up. Blinking. Holding out her hands, as if to shield herself from all the commotion.

Thirty-Five

L
ily galloped down the corridor, a pink homemade card flapping in her hand. Sadie, Jack, and Paul followed quickly behind.

“Aunty Leah's awake!” Lily sang, hopping from one foot to the other. Iris swept her into a hug, breathing her in, feeling the life rolling back into her limbs.

It had been two days since Leah had regained consciousness. Remarkably, she was doing well, the doctors insisted. Though to Iris, it seemed they were being generous. Mostly, Leah had slept. Each time filled Iris with fear that she would not awaken again. But she did, for longer periods each time. And she'd begun to speak, though her speech was somewhat garbled and inconsistent. What was most relieving to Iris was that she seemed to understand everything they said to her. She followed commands, could identify everyone in her family, and knew the date. What she did not seem to remember was the night of her “accident,” as Millie insisted they call it. It was as though she'd awakened unsure of how she'd gotten there, but had accepted it. She was even beginning to eat and drink on her own. The “accident” was something she would recover from in time. Though time was exactly what they were looking at.

“Yes, baby, Leah's awake,” Iris told Lily happily. “Though she's still pretty tired.”

They approached Leah's bed hand in hand. Leah was resting on her side, eyes closed.

“Is she sleeping again?” Lily wondered loudly.

Leah's eyelids fluttered. She looked around, her gaze finding them. “Kids,” she whispered. Her voice was rough and unused, and Lily leaned hard against Iris.

“It's okay. Leah, the kids are here to see you. They wanted to say hi.”

Leah smiled slowly, her lips cracked at the edges.

“Hi,” Lily said in a small voice.

Leah mouthed “hi” back to her.

Jack only stared. Sadie took a step closer. “How do you feel?” she asked shyly.

Leah looked dreamily at all three of them, as if wondering herself. “Tired,” she whispered. She tried sitting up, and Iris reached to help her, adjusting the pillows behind her head.

“That's better, now you can see everyone.” Iris turned to the kids expectantly. “Want to show Aunty Leah the special picture you made?”

They stared back, unsure. Sadie elbowed Lily. “Show her.”

“Here. This is for you.” Lily dropped the card lightly on Leah's chest, taking a quick step back.

Leah blinked at it before reaching gingerly to pick it up. Her movements were cumbersome and slow, and Iris could see her tiring already.

“Oh,” she said as Iris held it up before her. “Beautiful.”

“How about I hang this up for you?” Iris offered cheerfully. Her voice sounded false and loud in the small room, and she realized she was making too much effort for all of them. “I'll get some tape from the nurses' station.”

She left the kids for a moment, nodding encouragingly at them.

When she came back with the tape, they were in the same position, shoulder to shoulder, staring at Leah. Who had already fallen back into a quiet slumber, her face relaxed on the pillow.

“She's sleeping again!” Lily said worriedly.

“It's okay, honey.” Iris handed her the picture and helped her tape it to Leah's bedside table, where she'd see it when she awoke. Hopeful she'd remember the kids' visit when she did. “She's probably going to rest a lot the next few days. She'll get better, though.”

Lily glanced back at the doorway. “Can we go home now?”

•    •    •

“How'd they do?” Paul asked as they followed the kids to the elevator.

“Good, considering. But it's scary for them. She's not the Leah they're used to.”

“She will be,” Paul said, punching the down button. Instead of finding his take-charge attitude reassuring, Iris found herself prickling.

“Well, yes. We hope. But you heard the doctor last night. She's going to need rehabilitation. The specialists have to come in and do their assessments—there's still so much we don't know.”

“Iris.” Paul put his hands on her shoulders, as if he were trying to calm a small child. “We know. But try to be positive, okay?”

He punched the button impatiently again, and Iris felt herself deflating in the old way she used to. She
was
positive. She was just realistic, too. This was her sister. Who could blame her?

The doors opened. While they waited for the elevator to empty, it was not lost on Iris that this was the same elevator Cooper had entered alone days before. And here they were, crowding into it now. The five of them, looking like the perfect family again.

•    •    •

Back at the farm, Iris awoke from a nap on the couch to find Paul standing in front of her, holding out a plate of spaghetti. “Why don't you go to bed, after you eat something?” he said. “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, you know what I mean. You need sleep.”

She'd slept little to none in the last couple of days. Right now her bed sounded so good. She wrapped the afghan blanket more tightly around herself and sat up. “Okay. I think I will.” She accepted the plate gratefully. “But what about the kids?”

“I'll put them to bed before I head back to the B and B. I called work and told them I'd be staying a few more days. If that's okay with you.”

Was it? Sure, things were crazy right now, and Iris could use help. The kids needed their father, too. But what did it mean if she let him stay longer, if she let him continue to take care of them all? “I don't know what's going to happen next with Leah, or how long it'll take.”

“I know. Which is why I'll stay. And when things settle, I figured I'd bring the kids home. You can stay up here as long as you feel you need to.” He looked at her meaningfully. “And come home whenever you're ready.”

At the mention of home, her insides fluttered. What was home, for any of them, anymore? She looked around her childhood family room now, wondering when Leah would be able to return to the farm. No matter how hard Iris tried, she couldn't picture Leah staying here through fall, alone on the farm. Trying to recover, sitting on this couch where Iris now sat. Looking out at the lake, waiting for her life to start again.

Just as she couldn't picture herself staying here, either. Struggling to start over with the kids. The mere thought of trying to move them away from their friends and their school back in Massachusetts seemed an impossibility. Not to mention moving them away from their father. But the alternative no longer felt right either. She put the half-eaten bowl of spaghetti on the coffee table.

“You're right, I need sleep.” Iris stood, the afghan dragging on the floor behind her. When Paul lifted it and draped it around her shoulders, Iris stiffened.

“I'll clean up the kitchen and get the kids organized for the night. Why don't you head up to bed?”

“Okay.” Iris started up the stairs, her eyes trained on each step. What was she doing? Paul was only trying to make things work, something she'd found comfort in earlier. Maybe if she tried harder, too. She looked down at him from the steps. “Thanks, again, for dinner. And for taking care of the kids. I don't know what I'd do right now if you weren't here for them.”

Upstairs she did not climb into bed so much as fall. She was too tired to contemplate tomorrow; today was already so full. Leah was awake. Paul had the children. And here, thank God, was her pillow. Check, check, check.

•    •    •

Iris stopped at the nurses' station to sign in.

“Going to see our favorite girl?” the young male nurse asked.

He was handsome, no older than his early twenties, and Iris had to laugh at the fact that even in her weakened state Leah had apparently charmed him. “Yes,” she said. “How's she doing today?”

“She's been busy with her fan club. Physical therapy, then speech therapy. The counselor. Though I think they're all done by now.” He glanced down at a schedule. “Yep, looks like you're her first ‘fun' visitor today. Aside from her husband, of course.”

Iris blinked. “Excuse me?”

The orderly looked up from his paperwork. “Mr. Willets. Your sister's husband.”

“Fiancé. I mean . . . ex-fiancé.” Iris shook her head. What Stephen was, at this point, didn't really matter. “Where did you say he was?”

After the first night in the ER, Millie had barred the hospital from allowing the Willetses access to Leah. Demanded that only family be allowed into Leah's room. Given the fact that Leah was on suicide watch, the psychiatrist on call had agreed that it was best. An assigned social worker had enforced the request. Even though Iris had heard how angry the Willetses were with this measure, she'd had to agree with Millie on this one.

Without access to Leah, as far as Iris knew, Stephen had flown back to Seattle with his parents. Since then, the only concern she had for Stephen Willets was what she would say if Leah asked after him. Which, by some miracle, she had not yet done. Now Iris's heart skipped a beat.

The nurse frowned and looked at his notes more carefully. “I'm sorry. I assumed Mr. Willets was your sister's husband. Since he's been staying with her.”

•    •    •

Iris raced down the hall and halted in the doorway. “I thought you went back to Seattle.”

Stephen spun around, his eyes wide but unapologetic. “Iris.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I couldn't leave her. Not like this.” He motioned to Leah, who was sleeping. But Iris couldn't take her eyes off Stephen. He looked haggard, his shirt rumpled and his hair askew.

“Oh, I see. But you could leave her at the altar.”

Stephen winced. “Iris, please. Now is not the time.”

“You're right. I think I'll come back later. With the social worker.” She tugged her purse firmly over her shoulder.

“Don't!” Stephen's voice was firm, but his expression crumpled with worry. “Please, don't. She needs me, Iris.”

She paused, her hands shaking.

“She needs all of us, Iris.”

Iris had never been able to conjure the same rage that Millie held to so tightly, but she'd not exactly held Stephen blameless. You could hardly assign all the responsibility to a bride at the bottom of a pool.

“Please,” Stephen begged. “I know you hate me. But you have to listen.”

Iris turned, her eyes on the linoleum floor. “I don't hate you,” she whispered. “I hate what's happened to her. That she could just try to leave us like that,” she choked. And there it was. The admission that, despite all the other antagonists in her story, it came down to Leah's choice to try to end her life. To decide to leave them all.

“I know. It's all I think about, every minute.” Stephen stood wearily and pulled an adjacent chair over. “Come sit.”

Reluctantly, Iris joined him.

Stephen let out a long breath and took Leah's hand in his own. She stirred, but slept on. “I heard you and Leah talking before the rehearsal dinner.”

Iris closed her eyes. It was a talk they had to have.

“Stephen, I tried to get her to tell you. But it wasn't my news to share.”

Stephen shook his head, silencing her. “I'd known that she was keeping something from me all summer. Suddenly she didn't want to go home to Seattle. And then she changed her mind about working for the foundation, something my parents worked so hard to include her in. She just wasn't herself.”

“She had a change of heart about those things, Stephen. But she still loved you.”

“I know. And I could accept those changes. But starting a family was everything. She and I talked about it all the time.” He turned to look at Iris. “You need to know something: it wasn't that Leah couldn't have children. It was that she lied to me, again and again, whenever I tried to ask her what was bothering her this summer. It was that I had to find out, by accident, by overhearing the two of you.”

Iris leaned forward, listening. “I'm so sorry you had to learn about it like that.”

“She should've told me about the baby and about what she went through last summer. Because I could've helped her somehow. I wanted to help her. But Leah didn't feel she could trust me with the truth. And in keeping those secrets, she kept a part of herself from me. That was the betrayal I couldn't get past.”

Iris nodded. Here was the only other person, beside herself, who truly understood how complicated Leah was. “I'm sorry she lied to you about something so important. But still—I just don't see how you could leave her at the altar.”

Stephen stood. “I didn't leave her at the altar!”

“You were going to!” Iris cried. “You were standing there with a microphone in your hand and your grim-faced parents behind you. I know what you were planning to say. The only reason you didn't is because Leah beat you to it—she threw herself into that pool before you had to make your announcement.” Now she was crying.

“No, Iris. Even to this day I don't know what I was going to say,” Stephen said, his own eyes filling with tears now. “I wasn't in my right mind. I felt like she'd already left me. I'd felt it all summer long. And that was the final blow.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Leah doesn't let people in. And I couldn't stand up before all the people who love us and pretend that I was going to spend the rest of my life with someone who doesn't love me enough to let me in.”

Iris put her hand on Stephen's arm. She knew. She'd spent her whole life trying to get Leah to let her in.

“She loves you, Stephen. She may not know how to let people in, but she loves you.”

Stephen nodded, covering his face with his hands. He took a few ragged breaths.

“She looks better today, don't you think?” Iris asked. Leah's cheeks were rosy, a more vibrant color than the ashen hue they'd been. Briefly, Iris wondered if it was something about Stephen's presence.