The Winter Lodge (19 page)

“Hey, thanks.” Greg flashed her a boyish grin. “I need all the luck I can get.”

Daisy and Max came thumping down the stairs, Max swinging around the newel post with a flourish. “Hey, Jenny,” he said. “Hey, Uncle Phil.”

Jenny was looking forward to getting to know her uncle and cousins. They had the trademark Bellamy looks—straight hair and straight teeth, good posture and natural charm.

A senior in high school, Daisy was understandably complicated. She was blond, beautiful and quiet, and her manners as she greeted Jenny and Philip were more than adequate. Max was in fifth grade. He was tall and lanky and filled with a marked exuberance, evident in his ready smile and restless enthusiasm.

Jenny gave them a container of bread starter and explained how to cultivate it and share with friends. “So in theory, you can send it on in an endless chain,” she concluded.

“What if you don’t feel like making bread every ten days?” Max asked. “Is there, like, a curse if you break the chain?”

“Yes, how did you know?” Jenny asked. “The youngest member of the household gets a rash on his scalp and has to shave his head.”

Max’s hand went to his thick, sandy-brown hair. “Very funny.”

“I suppose you could ignore it and find out,” Daisy said.

“Honestly,” Jenny said, “you can put the starter in the freezer and leave it there indefinitely.”

Connor and Olivia arrived in a swirl of snow blowing on an icy wind. As they greeted everyone, Jenny stood back and quietly observed the family dynamics. She was such a novice at this. Olivia effortlessly exuded affection for her uncle and cousins, and particularly for her father.

The two of them shared an easy bond that could only have come from a lifetime of intimacy.

Jenny felt a pang, not of envy or resentment, but of regret that she had missed out on this part of her family.

She felt someone watching her and looked up to see that it was Connor. He was a big, ruggedly handsome man who, Jenny knew, had endured a difficult childhood of his own, yet he seemed supremely content with Olivia, and comfortable in his own skin. “Don’t worry,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts, “you’ll get used to it.”

“Housewarming gift,” Olivia said to Greg, handing him a voluminous shopping bag.

“This is the third one since we moved here,” Greg protested. “You have to stop.”

“Not until this house is warm,” Olivia said with a teasing laugh. “It still looks like a transit station.”

Jenny could easily pick out Olivia’s other contributions around the house. There was a fringed blanket of warm, moss-colored cashmere, flung over the back of a chair. Next to it was a pillow covered in a rich brocade. Both items bore the stamp of Olivia’s exquisite taste. Her current gift was a small reading lamp with a shade of leaded glass, clearly intended to turn the plain brown armchair and end table into a reading nook.

“I have to admit,” Greg said, “you’re good at this. You ought to do it for a living.”

“Good plan.” Olivia surrendered her coat and muffler to Max.

It was more teasing, of course. Olivia did do this for a living. She was a real estate expert, or what was known in the business as a house fluffer, specializing in preparing property for sale.

She was so adept at decluttering, repurposing and remixing that she had founded her own firm in Manhattan, called Transformations.

The current decor of Greg’s house, if it could even be called a decor, was early frat house. In place of a dining table, there was a massive pub-style pool table in the middle of the room, with a piece of plywood over its surface. The light fixture featured a colored plastic shade with Enjoy Budweiser spelled out in the faux-leaded glass. On the wall was a dart board and in the fireplace was an electric barbecue grill.

“For fixing hot dogs,” Greg explained.

“And marshmallows,” Max chimed in. “We call it indoor camping.”

Jenny couldn’t decide which was stronger—the frat house theme or the camping theme.

Instead of regular bedding, they had down-filled sleeping bags. On bare mattresses.

“I am
so
taking you sheet shopping,” Olivia murmured to Daisy as they checked out the upstairs. Jenny lost count of the bedrooms, closets and bathrooms. Most were empty and unheated, the doors shut.

“Thank God,” Daisy said. “My dad forgot a few things. It’s kind of okay, though, starting over from scratch.”

“There’s plenty of room for you to come and stay with us, Jenny,” Greg said. “For as long as you need.”

She felt a surge of warmth and gratitude. This was what a family did. They pulled together, helped each other out. Still, she couldn’t quite put her faith in the process. Without a shared history, it was hard to buy into the idea of family.

“That’s incredibly nice of you,” she said. “Everything is crazy right now.” She suspected there could be problems with such an arrangement, however. Greg was her uncle by birth, but they were still virtual strangers. He was newly divorced and his ex was a lawyer. Too many complications, she thought. “I’m all right for the time being,” she said.

“True,” Olivia agreed. “Who wouldn’t be all right with the chief of police?”

Jenny’s cheeks instantly stung with color. “It’s only temporary. Very temporary.”

“We know,” Olivia said.

Jenny was surprised when Laura Tuttle showed up. Apparently, Philip had invited her. “I brought a pie,” Laura said, moving easily into the kitchen. And just like that, everyone pitched in to get dinner on the table. It was strange and wonderful for Jenny to feel the rhythm of a family once again. Dinner was spaghetti, bag salad and bread from the bakery, nothing fancy but served with great generosity. The camping theme continued with paper plates and plastic flatware, though Greg had actual wineglasses for the adults.

Afterward, there was more wine, along with coffee and dessert—a chess pie from Sky River. The kids were excused to go watch TV, and the others discussed Jenny’s situation again.

Everyone wanted to help out, and none more sincerely than her father.

“I don’t want to rush you or push, but I know this is a crucial time for you,” he said.

Understatement, she thought.

“Maybe you’d like to give more time to your writing,” Philip said. “You’re an excellent writer.”

“You’ve been reading my column?” she asked.

He nodded. “I ordered a subscription to the
Avalon Troubadour
to be mailed to me in New York so I could read ‘Food for Thought’ every Wednesday.” He smiled at her stunned expression and helped himself to another slice of pie. “Anyway, in the city, you could meet people in publishing, determine whether or not you want to pursue writing as a career.”

Lost in wonder, Jenny wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “It’s a weekly column, not a full-time job.”

“At the moment,” Philip pointed out. “I always wanted to be a writer. Didn’t seem practical for me, though.”

“And it seems practical for me?”

“You’re still young enough to take a risk,” he said.

She felt flustered as she looked at her sister and father. “Thank you. I’m flattered that you’

ve been reading my column.” She smiled, determined to conquer the panic knocking in her chest.

“I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be a full-time writer, maybe gather my recipes and essays into a book.” There. She’d said it. She’d told these people her dream. The idea of being a writer had always seemed so fragile and unlikely, a secret best kept to herself. Yet maybe Rourke was right. When she shared her dream, it took on shape and substance, grew sturdier.

And she would need to work full-time if she was going to rebuild all the writing that had been lost in the fire. Although the paper had archived her columns, everything else—the things she hadn’t published because they were too raw or too personal or too new—were gone now, and she didn’t know if she could ever get them back.

“Then you should go for it,” Olivia said.

“Your writing is delightful to read,” Philip added. “I love the glimpses into the life of the bakery. I feel as if I know your grandparents, the regular customers and the people who worked there over the years. And I’m proud of you. I’ve never read a food column before, but lately I’ve been bragging to everyone about my daughter’s writing.”

It felt shockingly good to hear those words. Never in her life had she thought she would experience this—a father’s pride in something she had done. Sure, her grandparents had recognized her accomplishments, but neither had been a big reader of English. Now here was this intellectual man—Philip Bellamy—proud enough to tell his friends about her.

“How do you feel about spending some time in the city?” he asked in all sincerity.

“I…” Jenny took a gulp of wine. The city? New York City? Was he kidding? All right, she thought. Be cool. “I’m not quite sure…I haven’t considered it.”

“Maybe you should.”

“But the bakery—”

“You could take a sabbatical from the bakery.”

The Bellamys, Jenny had realized some time ago, did not always understand the way the real world worked. “It isn’t that simple. You don’t just take a sabbatical from the bakery. It’s open seven days a week.”

“It could be done,” said Laura. “I can look after the place while you take some time for yourself.”

There had never been a time in her life when Jenny wasn’t involved in the bakery. Even as a child, she had spent a portion of every day there, sweeping floors, stacking trays or sometimes just keeping her grandmother company. They used to sing old songs together in Polish.

As if it were yesterday, she could feel the caress of her grandmother’s hand, smoothing over her head. “You have the most important job of all,” Gram used to say to her when she was tiny. “You make me remember why I bake.”

A lovely memory, yes. And Jenny admitted that she was blessed with an abundance of them. She reminded herself that she had a lot of blessings—including the entire town of Avalon.

She loved this town and she loved the bakery, yet there was something, some unfulfilled yearning that haunted her. She had gone from school to the bakery to sole ownership and, all right, it wasn

’t a bad life, but maybe, just maybe she should grab this chance to walk away, to live a different life.

Now? The question nagged at her. Since the fire, she was finally feeling a connection with Rourke. Maybe that was the biggest reason of all to turn tail and run. She took another sip of wine, hoping the others wouldn’t notice the emotion that seemed to emanate from her. And then she felt it—a familiar panic, chugging toward her like a locomotive gathering steam. God, not now, she thought. Please, not now.

Okay, she told herself. Okay. She could simply excuse herself, go to the restroom and take a pill. No problem. As she sat there, expressionless, struggling to hide her distress, a curious thought pushed up through the quagmire of anxiety. She had not suffered a panic attack while staying with Rourke.

Coincidence? Would this have happened anyway, or did it have something to do with the way she felt when she was with Rourke McKnight?

Greg, Olivia and Connor cleared the table and went to do the dishes, leaving Jenny with Philip and Laura.

“Talk to me about Mariska,” Philip said suddenly to Laura. “I want to understand.”

Jenny leaned forward, intrigued. He seemed to be making a point of asking with Jenny present. Laura seemed to take the blunt question in stride. “She spent a lot of time away,” she said, glancing from Philip to Jenny. “And then after she moved back here with Jenny, she still went out a lot. Her parents were more than happy to look after the baby.” Laura beamed at Jenny. “You were everybody’s angel.”

Jenny tried to read between the lines. Going out a lot meant partying, probably. She knew from things her grandparents had said that her mother didn’t always come home at night. A weekend trip was likely to stretch out to a week, sometimes two. That was why no one raised an alarm when she failed to come home one night. Of course, no one could know that first night was the start of forever.

“The Majeskys were wonderful,” Laura said. “They gave Jenny all the love in the world.

A happy child is a powerful thing. It’s impossible to be sad when you have a laughing little girl in your lap.”

Jenny tried to hold a smile in place. Yes, she’d been a happy child, but she was also a girl who, by the age of four, was accustomed to the fact that her mother had a habit of taking off.

“When did people realize she wasn’t coming back?” Philip asked.

“I couldn’t say exactly. Might have been a month, six weeks. I remember Leo telling a sheriff’s deputy who stopped in for coffee and pastry every morning that she usually called but that the calls had stopped. Eventually, the concern became a formal report, which in turn grew into an investigation. However, we were told from the very start that when a grown woman with a history of lengthy, unexplained absences took off, chances were she wanted it that way.”

Clearly, Jenny’s mother hadn’t wanted to be found and brought back to the small town where she’d never been happy.

The anxiety thrummed in her chest, and she excused herself to go to the bathroom. She swallowed half a pill, dry. When she returned to the dining room, she paused in the hallway outside the door. Laura and Philip were leaning across the table, talking intently and unaware of her. She sensed an intensity in their voices that made her pause, loath to intrude.

“…didn’t know if I’d see you again after that summer,” Laura was saying. “You visited Camp Kioga with your new wife and, a few years after that, your little daughter.”

“But you knew, Laura.” He drained his wineglass. “My God, you knew.”

“There were things we didn’t talk about, ever. You were one of them.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t my place to say anything.”

“You were the only one who could have spoken up for Jenny, and you didn’t say a word.”

“I was protecting that child,” she snapped.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it, Philip. She was a supremely happy little girl who was being raised in a world of love and security. I couldn’t imagine what might happen if some strange man suddenly came into her life and started calling himself daddy. For all I knew, you had enough Bellamy money and power to take her away from us.”