The Sixth Idea (27 page)

M
agozzi was sitting on the bench at the end of the dock, beer in one hand, fishing pole in the other, just like he'd imagined on a cold December day five months ago. The lake reflected the deep blue of a perfect May sky and some purple flowers he couldn't identify perfumed the air from their terra-cotta pots on the shoreline terrace. It was a nice touch—something he never would have thought of, something he never would have done himself. Women were amazing creatures, creative in all sorts of ways most men would never be.

He smelled garlic and herbs wafting down from the open windows of his house. He heard the clink of glasses, the muted din of music, the rattle of the refrigerator's ice maker. And then the crackle of twigs and soft footsteps on the mossy path that led down to the lake.

“Catching anything?”

Magozzi turned and held up his beer. “Bottle bass.”

Grace smiled and handed him a glass of iced tea flourished with a lemon wedge and a sprig of mint. “I'm here to save you from that swill.”

“Well, thank the Lord. Without your civilizing influence, I'd turn into a full-on barbarian out here, drinking cheap beer and trying to kill innocent fish.”

Grace was in a sundress and sandals, as slender as she'd always been except for the growing swell of her belly. She'd been spending most of her time here with him, which made him happy; and she seemed happy here, too. For the entirety of their relationship, Magozzi had clung to tiny glimmers of hope that made him believe their lives might finally come together in an unexpected way. And now they were.

“Where's Charlie?”

“I think he's turned into a barbarian, too. Last time I saw him he was terrorizing squirrels in the woods.”

“No better job for a dog.”

“Harley just called. They're almost here.”

“So are Gino and Angela and the kids.”

Grace smiled. “Harley bought some toys for the lake.”

“Oh yeah? Some floating loungers with cup holders in the arms, I hope.”

Grace gave him a mysterious smile. “Actually, I think it's a little more dramatic than that.”

They sat in comfortable silence, sipping iced tea while they watched the sunlight break into shards on the water. It was quiet here, but full of life—fish jumped, turtles popped their heads out of
the water, a pair of bald eagles soared overhead. Somewhere in the distance a horse neighed. It was a perfect day. Every day here was perfect. He'd stopped thinking of this as Lydia's house months ago.

Charlie started barking abruptly from somewhere in the woods, and they heard the honk of a horn, then car doors slamming.

“That's Harley,” Grace said, taking his hand. “Let's go see the toys.”

They walked up to the house hand in hand, which seemed like the most natural thing in the world to Magozzi. When they crested the hill, he saw Roadrunner, Annie, and Harley waiting for them at the edge of the lawn with big smiles and even bigger coolers, blocking the view to the driveway.

“We're going to tear up the seas today, Leo,” Harley called down, then stepped aside to reveal a trailer with four WaveRunners. “Pontoon is getting delivered later this week, along with a boat lift and everything else you need. Sorry, bud, but when you bought a lake house, you and Grace kind of gave up your privacy for the summer.”

Magozzi couldn't stop smiling, because Harley had used inclusive language. He hadn't said you gave up your privacy, he'd said you and Grace had.

You and Grace. And in a few months, someone else.

To Donald Hepler, a wonderful father and grandfather, who carried a heavy burden for many years; and to “Chuck Spencer.” Although this is a work of fiction, portions of this story are based on actual events, both past and present, and are a part of our family history.

The flight from Los Angeles to Minneapolis as depicted in the second chapter, where Chuck Spencer meets Lydia Ascher, is written almost exactly as it happened to Traci a few years ago. In the book it seems like a freak encounter between two people who share an unusual family background, but in real life it was even more astounding than that—the real “Chuck” was never supposed to be on my flight. It was only a last-minute cancellation and rebooking on a different airline departing from an entirely different airport that brought him to the last remaining spot on my flight—sitting next to me.

Also, very special thanks to Phillip Lambrecht and Michael Ebsen. Both made valuable contributions to the
story.

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