Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 (38 page)

She took a deep breath, tried to keep her voice from trembling. “You're twenty-nine, Noah, and you have every right to the life you want, including children of your own. The thing you want most of all is never going to happen, not with me.”

S
ophie moved away from the house on Lakeshore Road and there wasn't a damn thing Noah could do about it. He wouldn't beg her; that was just pathetic and would get him nowhere. Even his dog Rudy knew when you begged, people ignored you. Besides, what if she were right? What if he couldn't imagine a life without children? It was how he'd always seen himself, a guy with kids. Every choice of his adult life, from returning to Avalon to set up his practice, to buying the farmhouse, had been made with the idea that one day he'd have a family of his own. The dream was not going to go away overnight like a head cold, even if his heart was aching with love for Sophie.

He raced—and won—the winter triathlon, feeling no particular sense of triumph when he crossed the finish line. The victory felt hollow, because he was driven by a powerful frustration that desperately needed an outlet. He loved her, but if they stayed together, he couldn't have the things that mattered most to him. Children, a family, a house full of love.

He and the guys in the band performed for an appreciative—and probably too-forgiving—crowd. He attended the usual round of Winter Carnival activities, finding himself stupidly mesmerized by the sight of a guy dragging a load of kids on a toboggan, or a pregnant woman ordering hot chocolate at a concession stand.

“I'm just a fool for love, Clem,” he said to Clementine, a big orange cat whose asthma was acting up. It was the end of a long day at the clinic, but Noah was in no hurry to get home, and he lingered over the final chores, telling his assistant he'd close up. “Or maybe I'm just a fool,” he added. “Eddie would make a song out of that.”

The cat buried his front claws in the scratching post in his crate, and ripped them down the length of it.

“A song out of what?” asked a voice from the doorway.

Noah turned, fixing a smile on his face. “Hey, Tina. Paulette.”

“We brought you some cookies to cheer you up,” Tina said, holding out a platter wrapped in plastic.

“Thanks,” he said. “Those look good.”

“But will they cheer you up?” Paulette asked. “We're really sorry about you and Sophie.”

Hazard of living in a small town. It had only taken a few hours for the news about him and Sophie to reach his neighbors.

“Yeah, it sucks,” Noah said.

“Is there anything we can do?” Tina asked.

“Just whatever the hell you do, don't tell me things will get better and that I'll find a nice girl who wants to settle down and have babies.” He grimaced. Too many well-meaning people had told him that, and it was the same advice he'd been given after Daphne, and it flat out did not work that way.

“We wouldn't do that,” Tina said. “Paulette and I still want to have a baby together, and sometimes, you're right, it does suck.”

A part of him, perversely, had an insane urge to revisit Tina's proposal that he father a child for her. “If you found out it wasn't going to happen, what would that do to you?” he asked them.

The women shared a look. “We'll figure out a way to make it happen. It's one of my father's favorite expressions, from his hockey days—‘Failure is not an option.'”

“Nice, but a baby is kind of an all-or-nothing proposition.” He helped himself to one of the cookies.

“So is love,” Paulette said, “now that you mention it.”

Noah kept waiting for the crushing feeling around his heart to ease. But no amount of cookies, no well-meaning advice from friends seemed to help. Several times, he picked up the phone and dialed her number, intending to ask her…what? Are you having as hard a time with this as I am?

She seemed to be doing okay, as far as he could tell. The reporter, Brooks Fordham, paid her another visit. Noah remembered that he was working on a book about the African nation called Umoja. So Noah told himself Fordham went to see Sophie strictly for research purposes.

Yeah, right. Catching a glimpse of them together at the bookstore or coffee shop in town disabused him of that notion. Finally, Noah got it; he understood how deluded he'd been about his real chances with Sophie. The well-traveled Fordham was clearly a much better fit, a distinguished type in tailored suits and Italian shoes, with an air of smart sophistication Noah lacked even on his best day. Not to mention all that shared history with her.

As though to probe a painful wound, Noah researched the situation in Umoja. Sophie had hardly spoken of her former life at all. He was haunted by her confession about the event that had caused her to end her career in The Hague. Had he been sympathetic enough? Understanding enough? Said all the right things?

Probably not. How could he? Her situation was so far out of his comfort zone they might as well be on different planets. He had never been out of the U.S. except when he'd driven to Canada the night he turned eighteen, so he could have a beer. His knowledge of corruption in the diamond trade was limited to repeat viewings of
Blood Diamond,
and even then, he'd fast-forwarded through the politics to get to the action sequences. His command of the geography of Africa came from a lifelong subscription to
National Geographic,
and from some primate disease studies he'd done in vet school.

Noah became a student of international politics. He combed the library and media for information about the changing fortunes in the southern African state of Umoja. Again and again, the name Sophie Bellamy came up, and gradually, he came to understand just what it was she had walked away from. Her legal team had brought about a peaceful restoration of power in a land where violence had raged for generations. Noah had always known she was extraordinary, but only now did he understand the depth of her commitment and the extent of her skill. She'd dubbed him the “deer whisperer” and called him a hero, but that was a joke compared to her own accomplishments. And then, in the middle of her life, Sophie Bellamy had done a one-eighty, heading off in a different direction. Noah wondered if she ever had regrets, if she ever looked at the path not taken and wished she'd done something else.

All of which left him questioning everything he believed about himself. He'd always seen his life in a certain way. Now his unwavering conviction that he was destined to create a life here in the place where he'd grown up, caring for animals and raising a family, didn't seem so immutable. Suddenly the world he'd built for himself felt very small. Restrictive, almost. Why hadn't he traveled more? Seen foreign lands? Learned another language? Sophie had been to Africa, for Chrissakes. He found himself wishing he'd been more of a traveler. Now he had his practice set up and couldn't leave. Or could he? He had a reciprocal agreement with a vet in Maplecrest; they covered for each other when the need arose. But hell, he didn't even have a passport.

The thought made him laugh at himself. Some problems, he conceded, flipping to the government pages of the phone book, were smaller than others.

Sophie failed to buy a house in Avalon after all, despite what she'd promised her kids. She was in too much of a hurry to move, and simply refused to wait for the right property to become available. She couldn't bear to live so close to Noah, seeing the places he'd shown her, remembering, with every beat of her heart, their time together.

She lived in a rental two blocks from Daisy's, and in good weather, it was walking distance from the law office. She rationalized that she hadn't found the perfect house to buy, and the rental was simply a stop-gap measure meant to end her reliance on the Wilsons' hospitality.

This was the story she told herself, anyway. God forbid she should admit to the real reason—that Noah Shepherd had broken through every barrier she'd surrounded herself with. That he had moved too close to her heart and, true to form, she had fled.

For good reason, she insisted. There was no point in lingering at the house on Lakeshore Road, where the time she'd spent with Noah seemed embedded into the very landscape. She couldn't stand to pass by the spot where they'd first met, bonding amid the worst snowfall on record. Now that roadside was a gully filled with filthy slush, the detritus of a long winter, insistently hanging on long past its prime. She didn't like looking out at the lake where they'd ice-skated together, lacking in form but more than making up for it in sheer romantic enthusiasm. She couldn't bear sleeping in the bed she'd once shared with him, or lingering in a place where she'd learned more about herself than she had in a lifetime. She simply couldn't bear anything that reminded her of Noah.

Which was, unfortunately, everything, down to each breath she took.

The house came furnished, and everything was bright and untouched. The rental agent admitted the house was a casualty in a sudden divorce. It had been built as a second home, but the couple split up before they ever had a chance to use it. Sophie claimed she didn't care, but sometimes, looking around at the carefully chosen fixtures and color schemes, she felt a melancholy lurch in her gut. Building a new house was such a hopeful exercise, yet this place was a reminder that things didn't always work out despite the best of intentions.

Most of the time, she managed to put aside such thoughts and focus instead on staying busy. This was not hard to do. Mel had her baby—an adorable little girl—and Sophie picked up more of the slack at the law office. Days with Charlie were filled with moments of hazy peace or silly joy or sometimes, tried patience, yet she loved it all. She continued to be an active hockey mom despite her differences with Mrs. Altshuler and the rest. By far, the moments of greatest happiness were those she spent with her family—Max, Daisy and Charlie. In those moments, she truly believed the life she had was enough.

And then spring break arrived, and she found herself all alone. Max went with his father and Nina to a Romano family reunion in Miramar. His
other
family. In his absence, his friend Chelsea was keeping Opal, and Sophie was surprised at how empty the house seemed without the dog. Daisy took Charlie to meet his paternal grandparents—the O'Donnells—on Long Island. They had finally asked to see their grandson. He, too, had another family. Better late than never, Sophie thought.

She had only been fooling herself that she was needed here. She wasn't needed, not in the way she'd expected. She wasn't the heart of a family; she'd given away that role years ago. It was tempting—oh, so tempting—to flee again, return to a world where she fit in and a life she knew. She wouldn't, though. She was determined to keep the promises she had made. She still had a vital role to play and could still make a difference in the lives of her family.

Her children's needs changed as they grew—it was such a simple concept. They didn't consume all of her time, her talent, her capacity for love. She'd made many unexpected discoveries, coming here in the dead of winter. She now realized that she could give everything to her children and grandson, yet instead of being diminished, her capacity for love expanded. It was, of course, a mixed blessing. She felt things in the deepest, most tender places of her heart—the bittersweet ache of knowing Daisy and Charlie were, at this very moment, opening themselves to a brand-new family, the O'Donnells. And pride in Max, who was already pulling away in anticipation of adolescence, and happily exploring his dozens of stepfamily members in the Florida sunshine.

And then there was the searing swath of hurt left by Noah Shepherd. If ever she needed proof that letting go of control was a perilous thing, she had it. With Noah, she had surrendered to impulse and desire. Now her heart was paying the price.

She sat looking out the window of her nondescript house. The weather report had been delivering rumors of spring, but here in Avalon, the only evidence was that the mounds of snow lining the streets had sunk into dirt-crusted piles, and the ice on the lake was now a floe of shifting slush. There was probably a name for the color of the sky, but it was too depressing to think of.

Awash in memories, she checked the scar on her knee, a fading crescent shape. It was still visible but it didn't hurt. That was the important thing.

So, she thought. So. She had survived everything life had thrown her way. She would survive this.

Picking up the phone, she dialed Brooks's number. He had made no secret of his interest in her, and they talked often. She tried to appreciate his attention, but the moments between them fell flat, though they were both too polite to point out the obvious. Still, they'd become friends, and she'd found she could talk to him.

“I need a diversion,” she told Brooks when he picked up.

“I can be very diverting,” he suggested.

There was no mistaking his tone. “You'll do nothing of the sort. Just…keep me company. I've hit a rough patch. Not that I'm complaining. I never expected this to be easy all the time.”

“Maybe you're in the wrong place,” he suggested. “Move to the city. You can work at the UN and live among civilization, in a world you already know, the international courts where just the right strategy can save a child's life. Yet you'd still be close enough to your family to be part of their lives.”

“I've tried that, Brooks. It's not the same. I made a promise and I mean to keep it.”

“Fine, but do your kids want a martyr or a mother?”