The Winter Lodge (31 page)

“So, are you ready for our outing?” asked Jane.

“Absolutely. I’ve always wanted to see the St. Regis.” Jenny went and got her coat. Going to a legendary hotel for tea might be a common occurrence in Jane Bellamy’s life, but it was a first for Jenny.

“I usually have tea there once a month,” Jane explained. She had her own driver, a low-key man in a good suit, who murmured in a foreign language into his Bluetooth as he expertly navigated the car through traffic. “In the past, I nearly always took Olivia along. It was quite the tradition with us.”

Jenny and Gram had traditions, too, but they were much more humble. Jenny would go to the bakery after school each day. She would sit at one of the worktables with a glass of cold milk and a warm cookie, spinning around on a stool as she exuberantly told Gram about her day.

“Olivia and I started this when she was ten or eleven,” Jane went on. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my telling you that she took her parents’ divorce very hard.”

“She told me,” Jenny said.

“I can’t say taking her to high tea did much good, but I’m sure the extra attention didn’t hurt.” Jane reached over and patted Jenny’s hand. “Listen to me, rambling on and on.”

“I don’t mind.”

The car pulled alongside the curb in front of the hotel, a Beaux Arts landmark in midtown.

A doorman in formal livery hastened to open the car door for them, offering Jane a hand to help her out. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bellamy,” he said.

We’re not in Kansas anymore, Jenny thought, stepping into the opulent lobby.

The hostess also knew Jane Bellamy by name. She led them through an indoor palm court to their table in a bright, elegant tearoom. Murmured conversation and soothing harp music filled the air. Jane beamed at Jenny. “Are you impressed? I wanted to impress you.”

Jenny laughed. “Are you kidding? Definitely impressed. They treat you like a VIP.”

“It’s a privilege of old age.” Jane grew serious. “When Charles and I first moved to the city after we were married, I felt the same way you probably do—lost and confused. The only thing that saved me was knowing my summers would all be spent at Camp Kioga. I want you to know, Jenny, there’s no shame in feeling homesick.”

“I don’t feel homesick. I’d better not.” At Jane’s confused look, Jenny said, “I’d be disappointed in myself if I was homesick.”

“Dear, although we haven’t known each other long, I am your grandmother and I can smell a lie a mile off.”

“But—” Jenny stared down into her cup of tea, warm amber Earl Grey, redolent of bergamot. “All my life, I thought I wanted this. I’d feel like a failure if I didn’t think this was a dream come true.”

“Nonsense,” Jane said. “You can’t force your feelings to do your will.” She smiled wistfully. “I’ve been away from Avalon for fifty years and I still miss it.”

Jenny was stunned. “Why not move back?”

“My life is here because Charles is here. When you’re with the person you love, you’re home. Have you ever been in love, Jenny?”

She thought about Joey, the plans they’d made, and the way everything had shattered apart. “Not that way,” she admitted. “Not in a follow-you-to-the-ends-of-the-earth way.” She took a sip of her tea, faced Jane’s steady gaze. “I was engaged,” she said. “His name was Joey, and he was a soldier in the army.”

“I take it things didn’t work out.”

“He died.” Jane probably deserved a fuller explanation, but Jenny didn’t trust herself to say more without coming apart. She thought about Joey constantly, but all the memories and all her plans didn’t clarify anything for her. God, she thought, and she was supposed to write about this? She couldn’t even say it.

Jane’s eyes softened with shock and concern. “I’m sorry. He must have been so young. It must have been terrible for you.”

Jenny nodded. “I’m all right now. It’s been several years. Eventually, I dated a little.” She was embarrassed to admit how little. “My last boyfriend—Don—was a nice guy. We had fun together. He was an awful driver, though. He got more traffic tickets than anyone I’ve ever known. In fact, I think he eventually skipped town because he didn’t want to pay them. Come to think of it, another guy I dated used to get a lot of tickets, too.” She’d nearly forgotten about Tyler. He hadn’t left much of an impression.

“Oh, dear. Does this mean you’re attracted to reckless men?”

“I don’t think so. They were just unlucky. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Failing to signal, a taillight out…One of Don’s tickets was for not having mud flaps on his truck, can you imagine? Who even knew that was a rule?”

“Avalon’s finest,” Jane said. “Good to know they’re so vigilant. Olivia tells me the chief of police has been especially good to you since the fire. I’m pleased to hear that.”

Uh-huh. And what else had Olivia said? The snitch. Maybe there was a downside to having a sister. “Rourke and I have known each other for a long time,” she said. “He was Joey’s best friend.”

“I see. And how did he come to settle in Avalon?”

The question startled Jenny. “He studied law enforcement in college and then he just…settled there.”

Jane lifted one delicate eyebrow. “And you and Rourke are…close?”

No one was close to Rourke. “Like I said, the two of us go way back, but it’

s…complicated.”

“Well. I won’t pry, much as I’d like to,” Jane said, beaming at her.

Jenny laughed, liking this woman more and more. “I don’t mind the prying,” she said, “but there’s nothing to find out. Rourke McKnight and I are…We found out a long time ago that we’

re better off staying out of each other’s range. Much better off. I have been conspicuously single for a while.”

Jane carefully blotted her lips with a linen napkin. “I lied,” she said. “I
am
going to pry. I can’t pretend I know anything at all about the situation, but you don’t get to be my age without learning a thing or two about love. Now, this Joey—I’ll bet he loved you very much.”

Jenny gave a cautious nod.

“He would have wanted you to move on. To fall in love again.”

Jenny stared at her lap. “We talked about it—about the possibility of him not coming back

—each time he was deployed. All soldiers do that. They have to. I hated those conversations.

And…yes. He always said if he was gone, I should fall in love again.”

“And yet, you haven’t.”

Jenny looked up. She wanted to be angry at her grandmother, to accuse her of meddling, but she saw only wisdom and compassion in Jane’s eyes. “I haven’t,” she admitted. “Taking care of Gram and running the bakery kept me busy.”

“Helen was lucky to have you,” Jane said. Mercifully, she seemed to sense Jenny’s desperation to change the subject.

“I was lucky to have her.”

Jane nodded. “I went to the Sky River Bakery on its opening day back in 1952.”

“You’re kidding.” She tried to picture Jane as a young woman in Avalon.

“Not at all. And I have to tell you, the minute I set foot in that place, I had a good feeling.

It was everything you want a family bakery to be.” She studied the tiered tray of petits fours and truffle butter canapés, but didn’t take one. “I had a jam kolache. And within a week, my parents had made a contract with your grandparents to supply Camp Kioga with baked goods in the summer.”

The memory filled Jenny with both warmth and sadness. She felt so distant from that world. She pictured Helen and Jane together, younger than Jenny herself was now. How strange that they had met, that Helen had created Jane’s wedding cake, and then unknowingly, they had both become grandmothers at the moment Jenny was born.

“Did you know my mother?” Jenny asked.

“Mariska? Oh, my, yes.” Her hands fluttered down into her lap.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“I’m not at all. I dearly wish I had known her better. I understand you haven’t seen her since you were very young.”

To this day, Jenny could still smell a whiff of perfume—Jean Naté—and hear her mother’s voice:
I’ll see you when I come back around again.
It was what she always said, never explaining where she was going or when she’d be back.

“Helen and Leo were extremely proud of her,” Jane said. “She was a beautiful girl—you look very much like her. She was smart and hardworking. And she liked going fishing with her father, which seemed curious to me. They used to come up to Willow Lake, year-round.”

“Why was that curious?”

“She just didn’t seem the type. She was lovely, and very feminine, and she was utterly determined to see the world. I believe she was what’s known as larger than life,” said Jane.

“Prettier, more fun-loving, more daring. No wonder Philip fell in love with her. I’m quite surprised they were able to keep it secret all summer long.”

The summer Jenny had been conceived.

“And all this time,” Jane said gently, “there’s been no word? Nothing?”

Jenny shook her head. “It’s as if she dropped off the face of the earth.” She helped herself to more tea. “If I decide to pursue this book, I’ll be writing about it.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes.” Even knowing the memories she’d have to explore, she wanted to do it.

“That’s very brave of you. When I was young, I used to dream about publishing my poems.”

“And did you?”

Jane smiled and shook her head. “They were extremely bad poems. Your father always wanted to write,” she added.

Jenny felt a jolt at the words
your father.
Discovering a whole new world of relatives was like finding a hidden door in a house she’d lived in her entire life, and learning that it led to new places she never knew existed. “I haven’t made any progress, though. Here in the city, I feel…distracted,” Jenny said, unable to be anything but honest. “Philip introduced me to Martin Greer, a literary agent who thinks I might actually have a book in me. Unless he was just saying so out of respect for his friend.”

Jane shook her head. “I know Martin. He would never be so disingenuous. He understands a book has to stand on its own merits.”

“That’s good to know.” Jenny hesitated, then confided, “The truth is, I’m having trouble with the project.”

“What sort of trouble? Perhaps I can be of some help.”

Jenny took a deep breath. “Being here in the city is not quite…what I’d expected. I mean, I knew it would be noisy and full of life, but I’m letting myself get distracted.”

“Perhaps you’re a peace-and-quiet sort of writer.”

Jenny recalled the endless silent hours in Avalon. She would become so absorbed in what she was doing that hours would pass, unnoticed. She used to work late into the night, when the only sound was the wind sighing in the leaves, or in springtime, the chirping of frogs. Here, there was no silent time of the night. She acknowledged, though, that it wasn’t just the noise distracting her.

“I’d like to offer a suggestion,” Jane said. “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you today. The winter lodge, up at Camp Kioga, is vacant. I’d like to offer it to you, for as long as you like.”

Jenny set down her teacup with a clatter. Camp Kioga? That would mean leaving the city, going back to Avalon. Was she ready to call it quits after just a few weeks in the city? “I don’t know what to say. It’s very generous of you. In fact, it’s too much.”

“Nonsense. The lodge is perfect for a winter guest. It’s simple but quite lovely and comfortable.”

Jenny was aware of this. She hadn’t seen the place in years, but she remembered sneaking in one Fourth of July. It was the place where Rourke had kissed her for the first time. She remembered the kiss far better than she did the lodge, though.

“Last fall, we lent the place to a woman recovering from cancer and her family,” Jane went on. “They needed some time away to get over the ordeal of her illness. It’s been vacant since then. The road up the mountain is impassable after a big snow unless it’s plowed. Both your grandfathers used to go up there by snowmobile, for ice fishing on Willow Lake.” Jane pushed a copper key across the table to Jenny. “Think about it. You could get a lot of writing done, without distraction.”

Twenty-Three

B
y the time she went for her appointment at the clinic in Kingston, Daisy felt as if her head was going to explode from all the counseling she’d sat through, hours and hours of it. The doctor had pronounced her healthy in every respect, nine weeks into her pregnancy. She’d gone over every option and urged Daisy to explore each one deeply, to live with the decision, imagining her life seven months from now, and in a year, and five years and beyond.

That was a scary exercise, pregnant or not. Daisy didn’t know what the future held for her. She didn’t know what she wanted or who she wanted to be.

She glanced over at her mother, who was driving. Within twelve hours of Daisy’s call, her mom had dropped everything, walking out of the international court with its white-wigged justices. Because of Daisy, Sophie Bellamy had turned her back on the case she had been working on half of her professional life.

“I’m really sorry, Mom,” Daisy said. Boy, understatement of the year.

“Sweetie, don’t be sorry.”

The words were kind enough, but Daisy couldn’t escape the thought that her mother was struggling with disappointment and fear. And really, Daisy didn’t blame her. She’d probably feel the same way if their roles were reversed. “You had to walk out of the World Court.”

“And I can walk back in. People have family emergencies. It happens.”

Daisy lapsed into silence and thought back over the options. She had seriously considered adoption, had even watched videotapes of prospective couples who all seemed so needy and earnest. But try as she might, she could not picture herself handing over her newborn baby forever. As to having the baby, she had already done that reality check. The counselor had given her a virtual baby, which was a little device like a pager that forced her to live through twenty-four hours with a real newborn that cried at all hours, wet and pooped and spit up and, according to national statistics, cost an average of $240 a week for eighteen years. And finally, there was abortion—a safe and legal procedure.

Daisy gazed out the window at the gray winter world floating by. Having a baby was the kind of thing she’d dreamed about doing someday. Not seven months from now. In seven months, she would be a high-school graduate. In a year, maybe she’d figure out what she wanted to do with her life. Five years from now, she probably wouldn’t even remember this day.