The Lake Season (5 page)

Leah's dark hair fell across her shoulders, and her skin was warm and brown against Iris's bare arm.

“What are you doing?” Iris whispered, feeling the sudden rise of girlhood laughter in her throat.

Leah grinned and raised the empty glass. Her engagement ring flashed between them. “Same as you, my dear. Now, go and get us another.”

Six

T
he early morning was Iris's favorite time on the lake. The dew lay dense across the grass blades as she strode barefoot from the porch to the shoreline, savoring the spongy carpet beneath her.

She'd found one of her old swim tanks in the mudroom closet tucked in a faded L.L.Bean bag where Millie stored all the beach towels and forgotten swimsuits from previous seasons, along with a few errant pairs of goggles. The suit, once bright red, had been sun bleached to an orangey hue, which Iris preferred, and she pressed it to her nose, intoxicated by the heady scent of lake water, sunscreen, and sand.

Iris paused at the shore, peering over her shoulder at the shadowy house. The curtains to her room were still drawn, and she imagined Leah and Stephen asleep behind them, their legs entwined, safely ensconced in darkness.

Iris stuck her big toe in the water and resisted the urge to tug it back out. The water was penetratingly cold this early in the season, not reaching its warmest temperatures until mid-­September, which any lakeside resident knew was the best time to swim. Nevertheless, the invigoration she felt surprised her, and she welcomed it as she waded in. She began a slow paddle toward the center of the lake, but quickly realized that she hadn't the stamina. So she turned onto her back to float. The night before had been fun. But despite the easy candor, Iris had been unable to concentrate on the content, distracted instead by her sister's fiancé, Stephen.

Stephen had ignored her outstretched hand when Leah introduced them, opting instead to pull Iris into a firm hug. Which had made her blush; the guy was ridiculously good-looking—dark haired and strong jawed. But what had she expected? Look at Leah.

Iris marveled at the couple's shared ease, something she and Paul had never mastered in all their years. Paul just never seemed invested in forging relationships beyond casual banter, business talk, and the polite consumption of beverages. While her parents had always gotten along with Paul, she couldn't say for sure if they'd ever actually
liked
him. But Stephen was different. Immediately he'd slid open his coat pocket and pulled a Cuban cigar out for her father, then offered one playfully to Millie. Iris had been rendered speechless when Millie shooed him with a dainty hand and laughed, a completely uncharacteristic gesture of “Oh, go ahead” acquiescence. Iris was impressed; Stephen knew not only what Bill Standish liked but also how to navigate Millie Standish to make it happen, something the man himself had been unable to do in all the years of his marriage.

But despite the abundant flow of chatter and wine on the patio, Iris found herself stealing curious glances at her sister throughout the long evening, remembering Naomi's words that morning.
She's better now.
It made her wonder again about Leah's cryptic postcard. But on the surface, she detected nothing. Leah shone in her pale blue crepe dress, and Iris couldn't help but note the enviable flush of her cheeks, dewy with both her youth and excitement. She'd never been more radiant.

By dessert, Naomi and Ernesto joined them, along with a few of the neighbors Millie had called and invited to stop by to welcome the soon-to-be-wedded couple.

“It's you!” Naomi squealed, darting across the patio. Iris couldn't help but notice that it was the kind of hug reserved for old friends.

“In the flesh.” Leah laughed. “Didn't think you could get rid of me that fast, did you?” Leah gave Ernesto a hearty high five, and Iris could've sworn the shy man blushed.

By ten o'clock they were all heady with celebration, and Bill set up his phonograph by the open window in his library, so that the music flowed onto the patio and across the sloping green lawns. It lent an old-fashioned elegance of an era gone by, like something out of
T
he Great Gatsby
. The stars were out, and Iris found herself slumped on the stone wall of the patio watching as her parents took a spin. When Bill whispered something in her mother's ear, Millie laughed, and for a moment Iris was sure her heart would break. At the song's end Stephen dipped Leah dramatically, and the others clapped.

“You must be so glad to see your sister,” Naomi said, sitting beside Iris on the wall. “This place just isn't the same without her.”

Iris had already had too much to drink, but she helped herself to another glass of champagne from the table. “Nothing ever is,” she mused. And then she excused herself abruptly. Iris hadn't meant to be rude, but it was suddenly too much. The music, the star-strewn sky, the couples moving in harmony before her. And herself: forever the forgettable older sister.

She'd stumbled up the narrow back stairs to her room—Leah's room—and fumbled through her purse for her phone.
No messages
. It was twelve thirty. If she called home now, she'd wake the kids. And she didn't want to talk to Paul, she really did not. But she was suddenly sick with the excess of the night: the wine and whipped cream, the rich lobster that turned in her stomach, and the deafening loneliness that filled the empty room.

At some point she'd passed out on the bed, only to wake hours later in the predawn light, heady with nausea and exhaustion. And anger. Why had Leah asked her here? It was the worst kind of escape.

Now, safely stretched across the surface of the lake, she floated, concentrating on the cool water that supplanted the rocking in her stomach, blinking at the cloudless sky.

“Is this spot taken?”

Iris lifted her head from the water, startled. On the shore, Stephen stood grinning in a pair of Hawaiian swim trunks. The dark hair on his chest was curly, and Iris looked quickly away from his taut physique, embarrassed. Why did he have to be so nice?

“It's all yours,” she said, slipping through the water to the shore.

Stephen nodded toward the house. “Though, I think we have dangerous company.”

Leah sat on the steps, dangling her legs like a child. She waved vigorously.

Up on the porch Leah planted a kiss on Iris's damp cheek. “You smell like a lake rat,” she teased, pressing a warm cup of coffee into Iris's wet hands.

And before Iris could respond, Leah was racing down the porch steps, streaking away from her.

Stephen had already swum back to shore. Iris watched as Leah met him on the sand. Arms outstretched, she leaped, wrapping her legs gracefully around Stephen's wet waist, and he staggered backward into the water, laughing.

Stephen carried her all the way up the yard, the two giggling and carousing, as Iris stood awkwardly on the porch, unsure if she should turn away from their rush of affection.

“Your sister's a wild one,” Stephen puffed as he mounted the stairs. He deposited Leah at the top step and smacked her playfully on her bottom.

Iris suppressed a twinge of envy. “Always has been,” she mused.

He shook his head playfully, like a wet dog, and trotted through the patio door.

“Watch it! Millie will have your tail if you track sand on her hardwood floors,” Leah called after him.

Reclaiming her coffee from Iris, she sighed girlishly. “Isn't he a catch?”

Iris winced. “Sure. Though I might have been able to figure that out for myself if you'd told me about him earlier. You know, before the wedding announcements went out.”

Leah just grinned over the rim of her cup. “Oh, come on, Iris. It's not like Mom didn't invite you up here.”

She handed her back the empty mug. The tables' sudden turn stung.

“Leah, what am I doing up here? Why did you even ask me?”

Leah frowned. “I didn't ask you.”

“The postcard? ‘Please come.' It sounded urgent.”

“Oh, that.” She lifted one tanned shoulder casually.

“Yeah, that. I took off and left everything at home, thinking something was wrong. That maybe you needed me. But everything's fine.
You're
fine. Perfect, in fact.”

Leah's lips pursed. “What made you think something was wrong?”

Iris stood. “Oh, I don't know. Outside of a Christmas phone call, I don't hear from you for years. You're in Yellowstone, then suddenly you're back home, farming with Mom. Then,
whoosh
, you're in Seattle with a new guy.
Engaged.
”

Leah rose from the porch step. “Don't the phone lines work in Massachusetts?”

“It's not like I can just drop everything and take off every time you start a new project. Come on, Leah, the farm wasn't exactly your first whim.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can't hold my breath every time you turn left instead of right. That while you hop in and out of our lives, the rest of us have been raising families, paying bills. You know, growing up.” The words tingled on her lips, but it was a relief to finally air them. And one more thing. “We're in different chapters, Leah.” She held her breath, awaiting the response, and then a small noise escaped Leah.

Iris reached out. “Please don't cry . . .”

And then she realized Leah wasn't crying at all. No, her sister was in fact bent over, her hand covering her mouth in a fit of laughter.

“This is funny?” Iris sputtered.

“Just sit down,” Leah said, wiping her eyes. She looked at Iris. “Chapters? Seriously?”

Iris was too offended. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, you're right.” Leah leaned in closer. “We both dropped the ball in the communication department. Maybe we have been in different
chapters
. But now I'm about to be joining yours.”

“Joining mine?” Iris couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“You know, marriage. The old ball and chain.”

But Iris didn't laugh.

“Look, I've made some mistakes,” Leah said softly, “but so have you.” She grabbed Iris's hand and squeezed it in her own. “
I'm getting married
. And I need my big sister.” Her voice trembled a little when she said it, and Iris felt herself bending.

“Fine,” Iris said reluctantly. “You've lured me up here after all.”

“Good! Then, let's catch up. Ask me anything,” Leah said, eyes flashing. “Anything at all.”

Iris stared back at Leah's childish optimism. And just like that the pendulum swung back, reminding Iris of the globe-spinning game they used to play in Bill's den.
Where in the world are you going to live?
But she went along with it. “Fine. Where'd you two meet?”

“Here, at the farm. Didn't you know?”

Iris withdrew her hands and wrapped her towel more tightly across her waist, piqued again. “Nope. No one tells me anything.”

“It happened last summer. He'd come up with some friends from New York. They rented the Thayer place.”

The Thayer place was a formidable summerhouse, one of the oldest and handsomest in Hampstead. The Thayer family spent most of the season residing in it themselves, but on occasion they loaned it to close friends from the city.

“Stephen knows the Thayers?”

“His parents do. Anyway, he came by the stand one day when I was working. He bought a pound of strawberries. Then he came back the next day, and the day after that. By the end of the week, I told him that I didn't have a strawberry left on the farm. And he laughed and asked me out.” Leah's eyes sparkled as she related the story. “It was funny. There I was, in a crumpled sun hat, covered in dirt and sweat. And he just kept coming back. Said he'd never seen anything like me.”

Coming from anybody else, the comment would sound smug. But Leah was simply relating a fact, still as perplexed by her charm as she'd been since they were kids. “Amazing, huh?”

“Amazing.” Iris hoped she sounded sincere. She was, mostly.

“So what does he do?” From the Breitling on his wrist to the Brooks Brothers shirt he'd worn at dinner, Iris knew Stephen was successful. But she was more interested in what he did.

“He's a CPA. Used to work for a firm in New York.”

Iris contemplated this; Stephen seemed a far cry from the outdoorsy, ponytailed national parks guys Leah used to hang out with.

“But he left all that recently to manage his family's foundation. His grandmother started it thirty years ago, for the Special Olympics.”

This seemed more in line with the Leah Iris knew. “So, what do you do out in Seattle?”

Leah frowned. “Do? Well, I've been decorating our new apartment. It's right by the Needle, you must come visit! And I handle the schedule. That sort of thing.”

“The schedule?”

“You know, planning charity events, trips . . .”

Iris blinked. It was the exact sort of thing she could not picture her sister doing. Leah was a doer, not a planner. The girl had never worn a watch, let alone followed a schedule. And certainly not someone else's.

Leah jumped up. “Speaking of schedules! You're coming to the dress fitting today, right?”

Iris ran a hand through her hair, which was now mostly dried, and sufficiently tangled. No one had mentioned anything about a fitting. Truthfully, Iris had looked forward to a day alone in the hammock. Especially before she sat her family down for the Paul Talk. The other reason she was here.

But the look on her sister's face left no room for begging off. “Can't wait to meet the dress.”

Leah pointed a finger at Iris. “Don't forget about yours,” she said coyly. “The bridesmaid dresses won't be in for another week, so it'll be a surprise. But it's to die for!”

Iris winced. She had forgotten about the bridesmaid dress. Back at home, in her attic, at least twelve bridesmaid dresses rested in various states of disuse, each tucked away into weepy cardboard boxes, no matter the fact that many had been chosen by some of her dearest friends, bestowed with the grave promise that
this dress
could be worn again. But Iris knew the cold, hard truth. No such dress existed.