The Lake House (6 page)

“I will allow you one month to accompany your father on his business trip to California,” her mother said. “You will behave like a proper young lady and not socialize with the sailors home on leave or attend their raucous parties. When you return I will expect your help with my charity events until you begin college in the fall. You will not waste this summer in a movie theater.”

San Diego had been a sparkling new world: the bright sun against the blue ocean; the stucco buildings with red terra-cotta roofs; the glamorous businesswomen sporting suits and hats. When she and her father went to dinner, she’d watch the women drink martinis at the bar without escorts. She wanted to be like them.

Victoria became her father’s secretarial assistant as he sold plastics to large corporations. For the first time she had a job
that earned her money instead of an allowance controlled by her mother, and she dreamt of what it would be like to get a paycheck as a working actress.

Her father’s business took them for a week to Hollywood, where they stayed in a hotel with a pool on the roof. At night she’d look at the city lights and imagine her life as an actress. During that week, she spoke to the concierge, who was also trying to become an actor. He showed her the newspapers that announced casting calls and allowed her to tag along while he auditioned. The hunger grew, but Victoria didn’t know how to make her dreams come true.

One month in San Diego turned into two, and after three months of Victoria sweet-talking her daddy, her mother realized Victoria’s intentions.

The telegram read:
Return immediately. Stop. My daughter will not flaunt herself on a screen
.
Stop.

Her father put her on the first plane home.

Victoria placed the picture back on the shelf and sat on the hearth, remembering how she’d returned to Nagog from San Diego determined to break away, no matter the consequences.

After a few minutes lost in thought, she went into the kitchen. From under the sink she collected cleaning supplies and cloths. Back in the sitting room she dusted the mantel and the picture frames on the shelves. She removed the sheets that covered the tables and the other two chairs.

A Tale of Two Cities,
her mother’s favorite book, lay on the marble end table, and she picked it up. The hardbound cover had the smoothness of her mother’s ivory hands. She lifted the book to her face; the pages, tipped in gold, held a faint smell of Chanel perfume.

“Mother, I hope you and Father are watching over my girls in Heaven. I miss all of you.” She placed the book back on the table and adjusted it to the same angle as her mother had left it.

Victoria turned and left the room. She could hear Molly cleaning in the study. Victoria walked down the narrow hallway between the sitting room and the kitchen and entered her father’s study.

It was still raining and the gloom of the day made the room dark. Floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases lined the walls. Across the room was the window seat where, as a little girl, she would curl up and read by the window, her back against the bookcase.

She walked around the room, tracing her fingers along the gold-embossed titles of the books that filled the shelves. The room had a musty scent from being closed for five years, but it didn’t take away the smell of her father. Tobacco smoke from long ago was in the walls, and his spicy cologne in the leather-bound books. She could almost see him behind the big maple desk, his pipe touched to his lip as he read the
Littleton Town News
.

Molly was dusting the books and whistling a tune from
Mary Poppins,
and Victoria wrapped her arms around her friend from behind. “You don’t need to clean everything. I can handle it.”

Molly turned and put her hand on Victoria’s arm. “Like you would know how.”

Victoria leaned her cheek against Molly’s soft hair, and breathed in the scent of lavender shampoo and pine cleaner. Molly was her home. More than this house or the lake, no matter where Victoria had been in the world or what had happened in her life, Molly was the place where her heart could rest.

“I think we need a shopping trip to stock your cupboards. I’d do it myself, but I know you’ll want healthier food than I would buy. Plus, you need to get out for a bit.”

“The weather is horrible. Are you sure you want to drive in this mess?”

“
Channel Five News
said it would clear by this afternoon. We’ll just wait until it does.” Molly squeezed Victoria closer.

It would be good to get out,
Victoria thought. It was time to settle into life here in Massachusetts. As long as she had Molly, everything would be okay.

B
y noon the weather looked like it was going to clear, but then the sky turned a depressing gray and clouds moved in. White crystals hit against the windowpanes, and for three hours the wind whipped around the house. A large plow sent sparks along the road, blasting the street with sand. Three men jumped from the truck, shovels in hand. They spread out and attacked the walkways.

Then, as is typical of New England winter weather, the storm blew away just as quickly as it had come in.

Molly and Victoria decided to venture out, and Molly declared that a drive through the countryside of Littleton to see the fields and farms covered in snow was the perfect way to get to know Nagog all over again. The pavement was wet with packed snow. Worried that the back wheels of her car would skid and slide, Molly took her time. As they came over Nagog Hill, the fields around the McAffees’ red barn came into view, revealing miles of bare fruit orchards, which produced peaches, nectarines, pears, and apples in summer and fall. Molly drove to the barn and parked in the plowed gravel area out front. “I thought we’d get some fresh milk and eggs,” she said, stepping out of the car.

A man dressed in coveralls and a flannel down jacket greeted them with a smile. “Didn’t think anyone would be coming by today,” he said.

Molly did the introductions. “Shawn Patrick, this is my friend Victoria. She’s one of us originals down in Nagog, but she’s been living in California for some time. She moved back this past week.” Molly turned to Victoria. “Shawn bought the farm two years ago, and somehow he’s gotten the peach and apple orchards to produce the sweetest fruit I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well, when my fruit is going into one of your incredible pies, it has to be the best.” He smiled at Molly as he worked a wad of chewing tobacco.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Victoria said. “It’s nice to meet you, Shawn.”

“We need two quarts of milk and two dozen eggs,” Molly said.

Shawn went into the barn and came back with a box. They paid him, and Molly promised to bring him homemade bread the following week.

They made their way along the narrow road on the opposite side of the lake from Nagog. Houses had never been built on this side of the water. Nagog owners had bought the land after the war to ensure that the view across the lake from their homes would always be a thick wooded area that turned bright red, yellow, and orange during the fall. When Molly and her friends took over the residences, they donated the land to conservation. Now hiking paths led to a dock where teenagers sometimes congregated on hot days, but because the trees couldn’t be cleared to create a road down to the lake, it remained mostly unused.

Molly glanced at Victoria. Her friend was quiet as she watched the scenery pass. She could tell from Victoria’s face that
her thoughts were buried in the past. Molly wished she could reach in and pull Victoria to the present. She wanted her friend to be filled with everything this little town still had to offer.

Molly had never wanted to live anywhere but Nagog and was one of the few who’d never resided outside the community; her parents had given her their home as a wedding gift and then moved to a winter place down South. Molly enjoyed traveling with her husband, Bill, every few years to Europe, and family trips to Disney World and the Grand Canyon had given her special memories. But for Molly, nothing was sweeter than baking in her kitchen and being surrounded by family and friends. The community had given her everything she needed: a safe place to grow up, close friends, and the prettiest neighborhood she could imagine, just outside her window.

As a little girl, love embraced her like a down comforter fluffed over her body. Her life had been a cradle of hugs, kisses, and bedtime stories. Even when she got chicken pox, her parents told her she was beautiful. Her brothers and sisters, who had either passed on in the last few years or had moved south, had given her security. There had always been someone who looked out for her.

But most of all, Nagog had given her Bill. Molly never had to wait for her prince to come. She knew him from birth.

When Bill had gone to war, her mother held her in her arms and said, “Don’t pray for God to make your life perfect. Instead, ask for the humor and courage to get you through.” Molly had lived by those words.

As they drove through the commercial area of Littleton, Molly noticed how much had changed over the last fifty years. As a girl, she’d ride her bike the four miles along a dirt road to the candy store in Littleton town center. Now busy streets, apartment
complexes, strip malls, and gas stations had replaced the large, green yards of yesterday.

“Before we get groceries, I want to make one stop,” Molly said as she pulled into a lot in front of a small blue building. She smiled as she looked at the bay windows of the coffee shop. A hand-painted sign read
Daisy Dots.
The windows were decorated with painted purple, blue, pink, and green daisies.

“What a surprise, you want to get a coffee and some dessert,” Victoria said as she climbed out of the car.

“You and I haven’t been able to do such mundane things in a long time. I thought it would be nice,” Molly said as she opened the glass door and a bell rang. The smell of coffee and chocolate greeted her along with the sound of milk being steamed and the buzz of conversation. Each table had a yellow linen cloth and a blue vase that looked like something out of Dr. Seuss, filled with yellow daisies.

People sat in overstuffed purple chairs and on couches near the fireplace. A long line of people stood waiting at the case of colorful baked goods glazed with fruits and chocolates.

“Grandma,” Molly’s granddaughter, Stacy, called out as she bounded from behind the counter. At twenty-seven, Stacy was the spitting image of Molly at that age: all feminine curves on a short frame. She wrapped her arms around her grandmother. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Well, I had to show Victoria what incredible entrepreneurs my daughter and granddaughter have become.” Molly turned to Victoria. “You remember my granddaughter Stacy?”

Victoria smiled and nodded. “Of course.” She embraced the girl. “This place is adorable. When did you and your mother open it?”

“A year ago,” Stacy said, as she beamed with pride. “All the baked goods are Grandma’s recipes.”

Molly watched Victoria force a smile. What had she done? How could she have been so inconsiderate? Victoria had just come home to the place where Annabelle had died and here Molly was showing off her very alive granddaughter. She should’ve waited.

Before she could rectify her mistake, Molly turned and saw her neighbors Sarah and Carl Dragone walking through the front door. Molly folded her hands together and squeezed. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer, asking that this first encounter between Victoria and Sarah be served with love.

Sarah and Carl made their way to a table near the fireplace. Carl stood behind Sarah and helped her to remove her wool coat. Sarah was almost three inches taller than Carl and he had to reach up to help her. Carl wore a navy baseball cap with the embroidered red
B
on the front. No one but Sarah had seen Carl without a cap since 1977, when the last of his black hair had fallen out. When Sarah complained that a hat wasn’t appropriate in church, he quit attending.

They walked toward the line of customers. In a white cardigan, black turtleneck, and dark green pants, Sarah carried herself like a schoolmarm. A large golden crucifix hung between her small breasts. Carl, dressed in jeans and a Patriots sweatshirt, looked and moved like a bowling ball. They’d always been opposites. Sarah believed in proper etiquette. Carl spent years perfecting armpit farts. When Sarah miscarried for the third time, she left the Episcopalian church and converted to Catholicism, saying it was a stricter faith. Carl spent his Sundays yelling obscenities at sports teams.

Sarah Dragone’s lips pinched together when she saw Molly and Victoria. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun that accentuated the anger in her hazel eyes.

Please God, let this go well,
Molly prayed again.

“Sarah, Carl, I didn’t expect you would be out today,” Molly said. “Victoria and I are doing a little shopping to get her place habitable.”

“Why bother? I’m certain she won’t be staying long,” Sarah said, extending her arms to Molly’s granddaughter while refusing to look at Victoria. “How’s my beautiful girl?” she asked as she enveloped the young woman in a hug.