The Lake Season (35 page)

Thirty-Nine

T
he gravel crunched beneath her tires as she pulled away from the house and up onto the dirt driveway leading out of the farm. The red barn loomed before her, and Iris scanned the grassy hillside. There was no sign of him.

She left the engine running. The barn was empty, the sliding door swung wide open as if expecting her. Inside, the air was cool and dark. Dust motes floated lazily on the sun shafts that spilled through the paned windows. Iris stood on the threshold, letting her eyes roam across the barn's expanse, past the horse stalls in the rear. Over the dents she'd made with the shovel that first ­afternoon, still fresh on the old stall door. And above, to the beams that she'd helped restore during those long, hard early days. She studied the evenly spaced chestnut beams running across the ceiling, each so square and solid. It seemed years ago that Cooper had first passed her a hammer, joking that she'd best put that arm to use. And even longer ago that he'd held her, pressing his lips to her forehead, in this very spot as the whole summer stilled outside the windows.

When would she be back here? She could not imagine letting time pass, as she had before, without returning. No, the kids had had their first real taste of the farm and the lake. They'd be eager to return. And someday, so would she.

It had been a good summer. One that had shaped each of them in a way that would stay with them. Despite its pain, she wouldn't have changed any of it. Like the beams she'd supported in the barn ceiling that summer, it came down to sistering. “You've got to sister the beams, Iris,” Cooper had explained. “You don't need to tear down the old ones. It's part of the history. All it needs is to be sistered.”

“Good-bye, barn,” Iris said out loud. She walked to the center of the dirt floor and looked up at their work, craning her neck to take it all in. As if under a cathedral, she turned in a slow circle. Then another, a little faster until the beams spun lazily overhead. The same dizziness that had filled her limbs when Cooper kissed her began to alter her balance, and soon the whole barn flew past. The stalls, walls, and open door tumbled by as she spun, until suddenly a dark figure filled the doorway.

Iris halted, swaying on unsteady legs, and stumbled forward. “Cooper?”

The figure stepped forward and Iris blinked.

It was Ernesto. “Sorry, Iris. Didn't mean to scare you.”

She stood, trying to catch her balance. “You didn't.”

He pointed to a pile of wood stacked in the corner, left over from her barn project with Cooper. “Your mother asked me to clean up. That okay?”

Iris watched as Ernesto dragged the leftover plywood and timbers and carried them outside to his truck. He was cleaning up. Tossing out the debris of her summer project. Salvaging the good remnants. It was time to go.

Iris retrieved her tool belt from the corner, the weight of it heavy in her hands. She looked at the engraving:
Iris, Summer 2013

“Are you sure Cooper doesn't want any of this?” she asked.

Ernesto paused. “Mr. Cooper finished his work here. He is done.”

Iris shook her head. “But—the smokehouse. It's not complete.”

Ernesto shook his head. “He quit. Gave the job to me to finish. Mr. Cooper went to Vermont.”

Iris's voice caught. “Cooper quit? Do you know when?”

Ernesto shrugged. “This morning.”

•    •    •

Iris navigated the hilly roads of Hampstead carefully. The evergreen trees were dense along the lakefront outside her window, and the terrain rose and fell around her. But she scarcely noticed the views. Cooper had left before she did.

By the time she pulled onto Route 7, Iris's throat was tight. It didn't surprise her. She'd not slept well, and she was probably well on her way to catching a cold. As the signs for Interstate 91 began to dot the roadside, her nose began to run and she had to reach over and fumble in the glove box for a wadded-up tissue.

Suddenly Iris's phone chimed in her purse, and she plucked it out, her heart stopping. Was it him?

Instead,
Paul
flashed across her screen. “Yes? Hello?”

“Hi, Mommy.” It was Lily. “We're stopping for doughnuts. Do you want to meet us?”

Iris blinked, her vision suddenly blurred, and she realized her eyes were welling.

“You guys go ahead. I'll meet you at home, honey.”

The tears began to stream down her cheeks, a steady flow that caused her to let go of the wheel for a second to swipe them away.

“Mommy, are you there?” The final sign for Interstate 91 loomed before her, and for a moment Iris hesitated: which way was home, east or west? Her mind blanked in confusion. At the last second, Iris swerved left onto the western entrance, nearly sideswiping a car pulling up the entrance ramp beside her. The car blared its horn and she slowed, letting it pass. “I'm here!” She shook her head, willing clarity. What was the matter with her?

Iris checked her side mirror carefully this time and merged onto the highway. Forty-two miles to Boston, the big green sign read. She leaned back in her seat, breathing hard. “Honey, I better go. I love you. I'll see you at home.”

Home. Where her bedroom, with its antique canopy bed, probably unmade since she'd left it, awaited her. Where she'd unpack her bags and look around, wondering where to begin. All of it right back where she'd left it, nothing having changed. But
she
had changed.

The first few miles went by quickly enough, but the tears did not abate. If anything they fell faster, and before she knew it Iris was crying openly, her chest racking with each sob. What was happening?

She wondered what Leah was doing right now, even thought of calling her. But no, it was her first day at the rehab center. She was probably exhausted. Iris knew she had several grueling weeks of therapy to get through. But at least she had Stephen.

What did Iris have? As soon as she wrapped up that “cute little project” that was her book, what next? She shuddered. It was the end of summer, which suddenly felt like the end of
her.

Iris gripped the steering wheel and fought to catch her breath. “Boston 30 Miles,” the next sign said. But Iris did not think she'd make it another second. Up ahead, a rest stop loomed on her right and Iris flipped her signal on and swerved into the exit lane. “Gas. Food. Lodging.” Her vision blurred as she followed the signs. She had to get out of the car. To get air. But just as the exit ramp roared up on her right, her eyes rested on another sign.

“91 East to Vermont.”

She gasped. What was it her father said about roads leading home? Reflexively, Iris flicked off her turning signal. Sailing past the rest stop exit ramp, she leaned back into her seat and steered straight.

The tears stopped.

•    •    •

For the next twenty miles Iris did not think. She scarcely breathed. But somehow the car continued in its lane. She did not have a plan and she would not allow herself to try to think of one.

Iris knew Cooper's cabin was just off Route 7, in the village of Stowe. She did not know the exact address. Or whether it was listed under his name or his father's. But she did have an idea of where the little roadside café was. The café that he stopped at each time he made the trip. The very place he'd wanted to take her when he'd invited her to make the lumber run all those weeks ago. She checked the clock. It was already one thirty. Past lunch. Hell, Cooper had left Hampstead that morning, according to Ernesto. He would've beaten her to Vermont at least two hours ago, if he'd stopped by the café at all. But it was all she had to go on, and so she went.

Miles later, she entered Stowe village and slowed the car, craning her neck as she passed through downtown. A bookstore. A ski shop. An inn, and a hardware store. Once the village fell away, she pulled into the lot of a stately white New England church and rolled down her window. Up here the air was crisp, the sky an impossible blue. She could swear she almost smelled fall coming.

Cooper had said the café was just on the outskirts of town, but she didn't know which end, or its name. So far she hadn't passed anything, but she was well outside of the village center now. She picked up her phone, intending to Google Stowe eateries, but of course she had no service. Frustrated, she tossed the phone back on the passenger seat.

Ahead, a sharp curve took her around a large outcropping of rocky hillside. On the other side of the road a silver trail of river snaked through a gully. The road straightened, dotted with only a few clapboard houses and inns, and she followed it another mile. She was just about to give up when a small red house caught her attention up ahead. There was a sign in front covered in white lights. “Andy's Café.” This had to be it.

Cooper's truck was not parked in the small gravel lot. Iris's heart sank, but it was quickly followed by a surge of anger at herself. What had she been expecting? She had no idea if this was the right place. Or if Cooper was even in town, for sure. It dawned on her that this might be a big mistake.

Iris did not know how long she sat outside Andy's. She stared numbly at the twinkly white lights that adorned the hand-painted sign. Even in her haze of confusion, its charm was not lost on her. The little café was barely larger than one of Millie's potting sheds, and yet it had old barn siding and transom windows with teeming flower boxes. A copper gooseneck lantern hung over the front door. Lily would've thought the place magical, the stuff of fairies.

When her stomach began to rumble, Iris realized she'd been stewing in the car for over thirty minutes. At the very least she needed to eat something. Stiffly, Iris got out of the car and stretched. The chalkboard sign by the front listed crème fraîche pancakes as today's breakfast special. Mouth watering, she hoped they'd still serve them.

They did. When she'd dragged the last forkful of fluffy pancake through the puddle of maple syrup on her plate, Iris was stuffed. It was time to go home. Paul and the kids would be wondering. Paul would probably be impatient; what reason did she have for delaying her return? She'd suddenly decided to go antiquing in Vermont? Iris closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“Is that all, ma'am?” The waitress was about Millie's age, though soft around the edges and quick with a smile. Iris was half tempted to ask her to drive her home. She was suddenly exhausted.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Why don't I get you another cup of coffee, hon. Would you like that?”

Iris nodded, her eyes still closed. Yes, she should ask this nice lady to drive her home. She'd probably stay below the speed limit and keep the radio turned to something soft, so Iris could sleep. She might even come in and make them all dinner when they arrived home.

The bell above the door jingled again.

“Would you like cream in that coffee, honey?”

“Better make that a decaf, Mary.”

Iris's eyes flew open at the sound of his voice. Cooper Woods stood across from her.

His eyes were glassy with emotion, but his voice was steady. “Caffeine makes her talk too fast,” he said. “Though I love the sound of her voice.” He sat down across from her and ran a hand over his eyes. “But then again, she talks so much it's hard to get a word in, anyway.”

“Decaf it is.” Mary disappeared, leaving Iris floundering for words.

“What are you doing here?” Iris sputtered.

“Me?” Cooper laughed.

Iris flushed deeply, the reality of what she'd done rushing at her. He was here. And so was she.

“Iris, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she sputtered. “Now it is.” She composed herself and looked him in the eye. “I want to have lunch here with you next week.”

Cooper's brow furrowed. “Next week?”

“Yes.” She was grinning—it was all making sense now.

“I don't understand. I thought you were going home.”

“I am going home. I have to. But I want to have lunch with you next week. And the week after that. And the next one, too.”

Cooper studied her carefully, his head cocked to one side. The corner of his mouth lifted in the beginning of a smile. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

Iris couldn't help it. She laughed, with joy and nervousness and relief. “This can work. My marriage is over; I know that for sure now. Hell, I knew it before you and I even began.” She paused, looking at him in earnest. “So, I have to go home and get through that. But as I do, I want you in my life, Cooper.”

The look on his face wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping for. The smile disappeared, and Cooper glanced to the door, and back at her. “Iris, you don't owe me any promises. I'm so glad you're here, but after everything you said at my cabin . . .”

She reached across the table, knocking the saltshaker over, and grabbed his hand. “I'm not making you a promise. I'm making a lunch date. Every week, until I figure things out. However long it takes.”

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was soft, uncertain.

Iris squeezed his hand. “Cooper, this summer I came home. Not just home to my parents' farm or to my crazy family. But home to myself. And I'm not leaving that ever again.”

“What about Paul? And the kids?”

“It's going to be hard. But it's not fair to the kids, or even to Paul, to pretend. I don't want to raise a family in a house full of sadness.”

Iris looked out the window at the maple trees across the main road. Already, the edges of the leaves were hued in the yellow of fall. “If anything, Leah made me realize life is too short.” She paused and took a deep breath. “My kids will always come first, but that doesn't have to mean I come last.”

Cooper listened intently, his eyes moving over her face as she spoke. When she finished he blinked and sat back in his chair. He was still holding her hand.