The Lake House (38 page)

It had been hard to turn down hundreds of thousands of dollars in design fees and the chance to create homes across the western seaboard, but Tom didn’t want his name associated with cookie-cutter homes stuffed together with only three feet of yard between them. Those kinds of communities didn’t leave room for family barbecues in the backyard, and they created emotional distance between neighbors.

He switched the radio station to heavy metal rock and drummed his hand against the steering wheel. Up ahead he saw the exit for Route 93. He could be home in half an hour. Then what? More work?

He needed to check on Grandpa. Tom had lied to himself, pretending work had kept him too busy to visit Nagog the last couple of weeks. He knew that he was avoiding Heather. His mind had wandered to her more often than he wanted to admit. At night, before sleep came, Heather’s laugh or her story about Africa replaced his memories of Annabelle. Though he hated to admit it, the thought of opening his heart again scared him.

When he pulled onto Nagog Drive, he saw a limo parked in Grandpa and Heather’s shared driveway. Tom assumed the fiancé had come to make amends or Heather had met someone new. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was better this way, but his disappointment surprised him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been hoping to see her tonight. The memory of her sitting on the deck with her legs angled toward him made him wish that there’d be more nights of flirting or possibly even dinner out, but it looked like he was too late. He backed up and parked his car on the other side of his grandfather’s house and walked around to the front door.

The house was dark. Tom unlocked the door and heard the sound of a saxophone coming from the stereo in the living room. Red roses had been placed in his grandmother’s crystal vase and he saw two plates with half-eaten dinners on the table. Tom walked into the living room, where Grandpa was dancing with a short woman in a purple dress, a flower tucked in her white hair. When the two smiled and leaned in to kiss, Tom cleared his throat.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

The couple broke apart like teenagers caught necking. Grandpa looked up. “Oh, Tommy. I thought you said you had meetings tonight.”

“I did.” He moved toward the woman and extended his hand. “I’m Tommy, the grandson.”

“Nice to meet you, dear. Your grandfather has told me so much about you. He’s very proud.”

“Grandpa, could I speak with you?” Tom led his grandfather into the kitchen. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Geraldine,” he said. “She’s eighty-two. Quite a hottie, don’t you think?”

“Where did you meet her? And how did she get here?” Tom asked.

“I sent the limo for her. Neither of us can drive, and I wanted to show my lady some class.” Grandpa winked at him. “Heather helped me sign up for an online dating site. We met on it about a month ago. And that camera let her know she was getting a hunk. I even ordered my suit on the computer.” He pulled the jacket’s lapels and puffed his chest in pride. “You’re not hanging around here tonight, are you?”

“I was thinking about sleeping over and doing some fishing tomorrow. Is that okay?” Tom teased.

“Sure, Molly and Bill would love to have you.” Grandpa pushed him toward the door. “You say hello for me.”

“Hey, you don’t have to shove. I was just kidding. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your hot date. Just make sure you use protection.”

“Yeah, yeah, you little wiseass,” he said. “And Tommy, I think it’s time to renovate. Give the house some sprucing. What do you think?”

“Will you be staying with me during construction?” Tom asked.

“Not if I’m lucky.” He poked Tom in the ribs. “Now get lost. Go visit that young hot thing next door. She’s had a rough week.”

Tom walked outside and looked to Heather’s house. Nerves held him back for a moment. Was he ready to pursue this?

As he stepped onto her deck, putrid fumes made his eyes water and dozens of toads jumped across the wood. He walked to the open front door and rapped on the doorframe.

“What?” Heather said without looking up from her book.

“Got some new pets?” he asked, as one of the toads hopped into her living room.

She looked up. “Oh, it’s you.” She studied his clothing and then turned back to the book. “Have you come to yell at me? Or maybe to read the Bible aloud? Because if you have, you’re too late. It’s been done.”

Heather wore pink pajamas with green M&M’s and a tank top, and her hair was in pigtails. He was surprised to see her in glasses, and through the tank top he could see that the cleavage she normally wore wasn’t her own. “Little early for bed. You sick?”

“Please, I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a crappy week,” she said without looking up.

He stifled a laugh. “Speaking of crap, is it garbage day?”

The book slammed. “Very funny. No, it’s not garbage day. For the last week, a horrendous stench has permeated my house.” She stood and paced, her arms flailing. “I can’t get rid of it. If I sit by the water to get some fresh air, the men blow cigar smoke at me.” She confronted him close up. “They seem to be following me—in the bookstore, the coffee shop, the goddamn grocery store. So I’m stuck working with the smell of sewage and listening to them reminisce about the war outside my window.”

“Are the toads some kind of old-man repellent?” He covered his mouth to hide his smirk.

She paced again. “No, they just showed up the day my screen went missing. If I close the door to keep the toads out, I choke on the nauseating smell. I’m tired of chasing the buggers out, so I’ve let them move in.”

They stared at one another.

“Boy, do you bring out the life in them.” He chuckled.

“I’m glad you’re finding entertainment in this.” She hurled the book at his head.

He caught the paperback before it hit his face. “
Memoir Writing for Dummies
. I thought you were a famous writer for the
Globe
.”

“Screw you! I’m having difficulty writing in this environment.”

Tom liked seeing her like this—frazzled, unraveled, and passionate as hell.

“Have you tried talking to Victoria or Molly?”

“No—” Heather stopped. “I see the way Sarah and Agatha treat Victoria. If I say something, it might start a fight, and I don’t want to cause her any problems. Plus, she’s been busy with Joseph this last week.”

“What about Molly?”

“No. She’s hasn’t been feeling well and I don’t want to bother her. Will you stop staring at me like I’m crazy?” She grabbed the book from him and sat on the couch.

“How about this? You stay here and I’ll get rid of the smell. I think I know what’s causing it.”

“How? I don’t even know what the problem is. I called a repairman and he said a bad septic system wouldn’t smell like rotten eggs and dog poop.”

“Do you have a flashlight?” Tom asked.

She shot him an incredulous look. He put his hands up and backed away. “I’ll get one out of my car.”

For Tom’s tenth birthday, Carl had bought him a chemistry set and taught him to make stink bombs. Tom went to his car, took off his dress shirt and grabbed the flashlight. In Grandpa’s garage he found a rake and garbage pail. He searched the yard and listened for buzzing flies. He removed the grating under the back porch and found the smelly culprits. Using the rake, he fished out yellow boxes and brown bags of dog feces. The smell made his eyes burn. Flies swarmed his face as he sealed the offensive items in the trash.

As he dug out clothes from his car and changed, he had to laugh. God, he loved these old men. The dog poop was a nice touch. He wondered where they’d gotten it, since no one in the neighborhood had a pet. Still, this latest prank was exceptionally cruel. He’d need to talk to them.

He went inside and walked past Heather on his way to the kitchen. She kept her eyes on her book. After washing his hands, he stood in the doorway to the living room and watched her. Heather’s ponytails reminded him of his first love, Stacy Sisilack, whose short brown pigtails were always tied in ribbons that coordinated
with her dress. One afternoon, he’d found a robin’s egg that matched the light blue of Stacy’s ribbons. When he gave her the gift, she agreed to join their desks together during art time. It had been the best afternoon of his first grade year.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“I went for Thai food. Daniel and Carl joined me, uninvited. They talked about the Depression, World War II, concentration camps, and how our generation is a bunch of spoiled brats who don’t know the meaning of hard work,” she said.

“Go throw on some clothes. And you might want to grab a sweatshirt.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, you have two choices: stay in here and deal with the smell or come with me. I’ll be your shield against the elderly. But only if you keep the pigtails. They’re cute.”

She stormed up the stairs. “I’m not going out in pigtails. I haven’t lost that much dignity.”

“Okay,” he yelled after her, “but I don’t think the trees care about your dignity. I thought we’d sit on the beach and have a glass of wine.”

T
om walked to the fire pit and threw another log on the flames. He poked the embers with a large stick and then laid it in the sand.

“So, were you able to fix the problem?” Heather asked.

“Let’s just say that in a few hours, the smell should be gone. Keeping it away might be another story.” He sat down next to her in the sand with his back against a large log.

“Do I need to call some kind of repairman?”

Tom smirked. “More like a garbage man.”

Heather shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Your neighbors are putting stink bombs under your house.”

“What?” The wine splashed onto her jeans and the sand. “Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know. Did something happen between you and them?”

Heather looked down at her wine and pulled her hands around the glass. “I guess you don’t know that I had a few people over again last week, and the music was loud. I figured you had showed up to yell at me again.”

“They didn’t call me. I guess they decided to take matters into their own hands.” He stood. “I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” She waved him away as she thought about all the mysterious things that had happened in her house: the ants, the missing pipe, the lack of hot water, the horrendous smell . . .

Tommy walked toward the Jacobses’ home, and Heather groaned, worried he was going to ask Molly to join them. Still embarrassed by her drunken behavior, she’d found ways to avoid her, Victoria, and Joseph with the excuse that she was overloaded with work, which hadn’t been a lie. Charlie had called every day with suggestions for her writing and the upcoming travel she needed to arrange. Between him and her neighbors, she was on the verge of a breakdown. So much for lakeside tranquility.

Tom returned with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. He sat next to her and placed a white candy puff each on two long sticks with carved points. “You can’t have a fire without s’mores.” He handed her a stick. Heather watched him place his marshmallow near the fire, careful not to get too close to the flames, expertly rotating his stick.

“I’ve never done this before.”

“You’re kidding. Not as a Girl Scout or at camp?” he asked.

Heather avoided his eyes and dug her feet in the sand. “I never did those things.”

“Well, the trick is to find good black coals on the fringe of the fire. You need to rotate your hand until the marshmallow begins to smoke and turns brown. Or you can catch the sugar on fire and pick off the black crust when the flame goes out.” He pulled the cooked marshmallow from the embers. It melted off the stick and fell into the sand. “I’m out of practice. It takes time to perfect the roasting technique. Give it a try. I’ll get the crackers and chocolate ready.”

Heather moved closer to the flames, the heat reddening her cheeks until she felt the blood vessels would burst. She kept her eyes on the end of the stick, watching for the smoke. “Where did you get this stuff?”

“Cabinet in the Jacobses’ garage.” He ripped open the cellophane packaging of the graham crackers.

“Are Molly and Bill awake?” she asked.

“No.” He squatted next to her, put his hand over hers and rotated her wrist. “Go a little slower and you’ll start to get the browning.”

The closeness made her skin flush. “So you walked in, took the food, and didn’t ask?”

“Didn’t need to. Everyone does it. It’s been that way for a hundred years. In the last twenty years they’ve started locking the doors at night, but we all have keys.”

”What do you mean everyone has keys?”

“You should have a set in your garage, or maybe someone took them before you moved in.”

“So everyone in this neighborhood has a key to my house.” She smacked her forehead. “Well, now it all makes sense. They’ve been sabotaging my home since I moved in.”

“Yeah, I’ve been kind of wondering about that since you mentioned the ants and the water heater,” he said as he pulled his hand away from hers.

“Those little brats,” she said through clenched teeth. “Why would they do this?”

Tom turned to her with a concerned look. “I should’ve done something about it sooner.”