The Lake House (43 page)

“Yeah, sure.”

The wind continued to grow stronger as she waited for Molly, wondering if she should walk to her house. Branches creaked and the electricity in the air raised the hair on her arms. Molly waved from the Jacobses’ driveway. Her long sundress swished as she waddled across the road with three Tupperware containers in hand.
Oh, please let those be brownies
. Molly had done so much for her this summer—it was the first time Heather had been mothered—and she realized how much she’d come to love this woman.

Molly stopped in the middle of the street. The wind blew her white curls as she placed a hand to her eyes. Suddenly, the world went into slow motion. Molly’s knees gave way. Her body crumpled. The Tupperware crashed to the road as her face hit the black pavement.

“Molly!” Only twenty feet away, Molly lay limp, a bright red puddle seeping from under her white hair. Heather sprinted toward her, but like the dreams where running felt like slogging through quicksand, her legs were leaden, and it seemed to take forever to reach Molly.

“Tommy! Victoria! Someone!” Heather dropped to her knees; the stones scraped bare skin. She felt for Molly’s pulse. “Come on. Where are you?”

The rosy coloring of her cheeks turned white as she continued to bleed. Heather pressed against Molly’s neck and found a faint pulse. The rock she’d struck her head on lay next to her face.

“Tommy!” The wind took her voice and sent it over the trees. “Tommy!”

The screen door slammed and Tom came running.

“She collapsed. I need to call 911. Stay with her.” Heather ran toward the community center. Her pulse and breath quickened. With every stride she willed her heartbeat into Molly’s chest. She stormed into the room. “Victoria, come quick!”

Everyone turned and watched her as she grabbed the phone on the wall and dialed the emergency number. “I need an ambulance. My friend collapsed.”

A female voice came through the receiver. “I need you to stay calm so I can get some information. Are you in a residential home?”

“I’m at Nagog Drive in Littleton. She’s in the street bleeding. I need you to hurry.”

Victoria rushed to her. “Heather?”

“Molly collapsed and this operator wants to know if I’m in a residence.”

Victoria turned and hit a button against the wall.

“Strong Security. What’s your emergency?” a voice said through the intercom.

“I need an ambulance. An elderly woman has collapsed,” Victoria said.

“I’m contacting EMS now and sending them to your address.”

Victoria grabbed Heather. “Where is she?”

“The street. She fell. Her head’s bleeding.”

“Grab ice,” Victoria yelled as she and the others ran outside. Police sirens and the wail of an ambulance could be heard in the distance. Heather grabbed a towel and filled it with ice.

The community had gathered in a circle around Molly. The ambulance made its way down the road and the crowd parted. Bill sat on the ground, Molly’s hand in his, as he petted her hair. His huge body looked crumpled.

“You’re okay. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen.” He kissed her forehead.

Carl knelt beside him and Joseph kept his hand on Bill’s back. Two men jumped from the ambulance. A stretcher came from the back of the vehicle. Policemen moved the crowd toward Heather’s yard.

Bill refused to release Molly’s hand. Victoria lifted him and held his bearlike body to her chest. Heather watched his shoulders shake as he sobbed. “I can’t lose her. Not yet.”

“Stop this talk right now. Molly knows we can’t take care of ourselves. She won’t leave us,” Victoria said.

As thunder rolled overhead, windows rattled. Darkness fell like a shadow over the scene.

Sarah fell to her knees and grasped her cross. With bowed head and closed eyes, she rocked and prayed.

The EMTs lifted Molly onto the gurney and loaded her into the ambulance. Bill tried to follow, but the man stopped him. “Sorry, sir. There’s no room. You’ll need to meet us at Emerson Hospital.”

“Bill, my keys are in the truck. Get in,” Tom said.

The truck pulled away. Everyone moved to their cars. One by one they left, a parade of teary-eyed family members following their kin. Heather walked up to the bloodstain and closed her eyes. Then the tears came, matching the storm as the lake rose and puddles collected on the beach.

T
he emergency waiting room reminded Heather of Logan Airport: dull blue walls, flecked floors, and the ambiance of an asylum. A young man held an ice pack to his head, his face bruised
and swollen. A teenage boy hugged a crying girl. Bright red, blue, and green children’s toys had been scattered across the floor.

Heather walked to the reception desk, her wet clothing leaving a trail of water along the floor. “I need to find Molly Jacobs. She came in an ambulance. An elderly group followed.”

“Miss, you’re soaked to the bone.” The woman had a round face and black unruly hair showing the first signs of gray. She wore a pink scrub top with a Scooby-Doo pin above a name tag that read
Millie
. Heather looked into the woman’s brown eyes and wondered if the nurse came to work every day so she could put food on the table or because, like Molly, she lived to help others.

“I need to know about my friend,” Heather said.

Millie walked away. She came back with a wool blanket and a towel, and handed them to Heather. Her fingers clicked across the keyboard and she picked up a chart. “She’s on the third floor. There’s a waiting room for family and friends up there. The elevators are around the corner.”

Heather hesitated.

Millie pulled the towel from Heather’s arms and wrapped it around her shoulders. The blanket went around Heather’s body, and Millie rubbed her arms. “It’s hard when someone we love is sick. But I’m sure Molly will feel better knowing you are here.”

Heather hadn’t realized how cold she’d been. How long had she been in the rain? “Thanks, Millie.”

“If you need a cup of coffee or some food, the cafeteria is on the second floor,” Millie said.

Heather stood outside the waiting room and peeked through the window. Molly’s friends sat on leather couches and chairs. Evelyn, in her party clothing, looked lost as she listened to Agatha and Sarah talk. The two women kept their hands busy
with knitting needles. The women never seemed to be without their yarn.

Tom’s hand touched her shoulder. “Stalking?”

Fireflies danced along her skin. “I needed . . . worried . . . I don’t want to be in the way.”

“She’s having an MRI. They think it’s an aneurysm.” He handed her a coffee from the tray he carried. The black liquid smelled stale. “Come in. It’s going to be a long night.” He opened the door.

Bill walked over to Heather and pulled her into a hug. She sank into his flesh. The scent of Molly’s cookies was in his shirt.

“Thank you for acting as quickly as you did. Molly will be happy to know you’re here,” Bill said.

Tom pulled a folding chair from a closet and placed it behind Heather.

“Where’s Victoria?” she asked.

“She went home,” Tom said.

Joseph looked up. “I thought she was in the cafeteria.”

Tom looked at his coffee. “She decided Molly would want her own robe and nightgown.”

Joseph looked at Bill and then at the door. Deep creases appeared on his forehead.

“Why don’t I check on Victoria?” Heather turned to Tom. “If you hear anything, you’ll call?”

Tom nodded. Heather dropped the towel and blanket on the chair. As she walked toward the door, he grabbed her hand. “Stay with her, okay?”

Heather noticed the look of fear in Tom’s eyes. “Of course. I promise.”

T
he rain had stopped. Mist lifted off the ground in ghostly swirls and a faint rainbow, more pastel than primary, faded behind puffy white clouds as Victoria walked along Nagog Drive. Directors hunger for this scene, Victoria thought, as she stopped and looked at the lake.

As an actress, she’d spent hours in full makeup and wardrobe, fans blowing against her face to keep her look fresh, while the director waited to see what the sunset would bring. More often than not, darkness came without one line spoken for the camera. All those hours wasted when she could’ve been here in Nagog with Molly.

Victoria walked across the sand and onto the grass by Molly’s house. At the tree house she climbed the ladder. Dirt and moss covered the wet wood. The low doorframe made her duck her head as she went inside the fort. Leaves had taken up residence in the rooms, and birds had left white marks on the windowsills. The kitchen table her father bought had scratches on its face and had lost its luster. The chair’s vinyl had ripped, but the small metal legs still held Victoria’s weight.

Dust covered the teacups and saucers that had been left on the table. Victoria lifted a cup and pretended she was eight again,
playing house with Molly. “Yes, dear, I’d love more of your delectable tea. And would you pass me a scone?” Victoria grabbed a stick from the floor. She held it between her pointer and middle finger, brought it to her lips, and breathed in the imaginary smoke. “I think we should spend the day shopping in the city and then go for dinner.” She would’ve been wearing her mother’s cape and hat, both too big for her little body.

Molly, in her mother’s flowered housecoat and high heels, would’ve said, “That would be delightful. And then we’ll ride the carriage through the park and eat warm chestnuts.”

Victoria placed the cup on the table. Her finger traced the once golden rim.

Two sleeping bags had been stored on the small bunks in the next room. Victoria grabbed the musty-smelling blankets and headed to the porch. The shiny blue material covered the wet planks protecting her as she sat with her feet dangling over the edge.

“On the good ship, Lollipop. It’s a sweet trip to a candy shop. Where bonbons play . . . on the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay.”

Victoria rubbed the pink pearl ring. Tears dripped down her cheeks as the memories from five years ago returned.

T
he temperature outside had topped 100 that day and the humidity drenched the leaves until they dripped tears of sweat. The sunlight streamed through the windows of the sunroom and illuminated Annabelle’s golden locks. She sat on the couch wearing Tommy’s Harvard T-shirt, looking as if angels had lit a halo around her face. The wedding binder, filled with order slips,
menus, seating charts, flower arrangements, and color swatches, sat open on the ottoman.

Armed with yellow, pink, and green sticky notes, Annabelle chose a different color for each category: yellow for details she worried still needed to be attended to; pink for notes to the wedding planner; green for the things that were too hideous—now that she’d really thought about them—to be part of her special day.

Victoria placed a tray on the end table and handed a glass of iced tea to Annabelle, who guzzled the drink and then placed the glass on the tray next to the turkey sandwich. She took a bite of the food and then put it down.

“Is the sandwich okay? I can make you something different,” Victoria said.

“No, it’s fine. Just the heat has taken my appetite,” Annabelle said as she stuck another note in the binder.