The Lake House (7 page)

“I’m good,” she said, “but I need to get back to work. Why don’t you take a seat together, and I’ll bring you something decadent.” Stacy ran behind the counter and began putting together the orders for customers.

“Hello, Sarah,” Victoria said. “Carl, it’s nice to see you.”

Carl went to give Victoria a hug, but his wife cleared her throat and instead he stepped back and nodded. “Nice to see you too. I bet the house is full of bugs and spiders after you’ve been gone so long. Maybe even some frogs.” He winked at her.

“No, it seems I’m pest free. You and your henchmen must have left me out of your usual pranks,” Victoria said with a smile. “I sincerely thank you for that.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Frog Face. I would never do any such thing,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Molly smiled and let out a long breath. Carl and Bill had always been known for their pranks as children. More than once houses became infested with garden snakes, ants, or frogs as a practical joke.

“Better watch out or I’ll sock you in the stomach the way I did when we were kids.” Victoria raised her fist in pretend fight. “Would the two of you like to join us? We could catch up.”

She’s trying,
Molly thought. Another good sign.

“I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood to hear stories of your life in California or your travels.” Sarah looked to the counter and caught Stacy’s attention. “We’ll just get two decaf coffees to go, please.”

“Sarah, please,” Molly said. She wanted to grab both her friends and force them to hug. These were the women who spent every night of their school days braiding each other’s hair and reading books under the covers with flashlights after lights-out was called. They’d been like sisters and now they couldn’t look at one another.

Sarah turned to Carl. “I’m going to wait in the car. I’ll talk to you later, Molly.” She walked away and grabbed her coat.

Carl shrugged his shoulders. “Women. I swear, if you just fought it out in a boxing match it would be less painful than what you do to each other. And quicker too.” He kissed Molly on the cheek and patted Victoria on the arm. “Give it time.” Then he moved to the counter and paid for the two coffees.

Victoria wrapped her arms around her chest in a protective stance. “Let’s get some coffee and dessert. The aroma in here is making me crave something decadent.” Victoria walked to the end of the line and refused to look outside where Carl and Sarah were getting into their car.

Molly sighed. How was she going to bring them back together? A rushing noise came from behind her eardrums. Her eyes squeezed shut as blue lights swam behind her eyelids.
She felt her knees go weak and she grabbed the back of a chair to steady her. As soon as the feeling came, it was gone. Molly looked to Victoria and saw that she was focused on the specials written on the chalkboard. She hadn’t noticed.
It was nothing,
Molly thought.
Just a silly head rush
. But a sense of panic fluttered through her.

T
hrough the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Bay Towers’ penthouse restaurant, Heather could see the moonlight reflect off Boston Harbor. Large party boats, with lights strung across their railings, glided across the water. She leaned close to the windowpane to see the street thirty floors below, where a Clydesdale horse pulled a white carriage back to Quincy Market.

Crystal glasses clinking together brought Heather’s attention back to the party. The elegant room buzzed with the chatter of hundreds of people dressed in formal wear as businessmen networked over after-dinner drinks. A few couples waltzed in the center of the room.

No matter how many events Heather attended on Charlie’s arm, or how beautiful and expensive the clothing she wore, she never felt comfortable or that she belonged.

Heather had grown up fifty miles from Boston, but as a child she never saw the city. When her sixth-grade class went on field trips to the aquarium and the Museum of Science, she sat alone reading in the library. Ten dollars for a field trip had been too much for her mother’s budget.

Boston became her Emerald City. Saturday afternoons she scanned magazines for pictures: cobblestone streets, brick ornate
row houses, Harvard University. She cut perfect squares around the images and taped them, like wallpaper, to the smoke-stained wall behind her bed. Under her pillow she kept two pictures: Quincy Market’s illuminated tree-lined walkway and a harbor view of the Boston skyline.

The day after graduation, she left her mother’s dirty two-bedroom apartment with five hundred dollars in her savings account, a new credit card, and an envelope filled with the magazine clippings. In her backpack, she carried a toothbrush and five clothing changes. Her mother dropped Heather at the train station, hugged her good-bye and said, “Good luck.” Then she lit a cigarette, got in her car, and drove away without looking back.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Heather looked out the scratched window. The liquor store and pizza shop disappeared behind the abandoned factories. Streets lined with apartment houses, rented by slumlords, flew past. The trees thickened and then gave way to affluent towns with boutique shops and colonial architecture.

Her every nerve felt frayed as she stepped from the train at North Station. The boardinghouse address, folded in a pocket, was her only plan. Without a map, she followed the throng of people through Haymarket Square, where the smell of fish, meat, and produce assaulted her senses. Around the corner she came to Quincy Market, where bubbled lampposts lined the cobbled path between buildings. Heather pretended to tie her sneaker as her hand brushed the smooth stones. It was real. She was here.

That first summer, she spent her afternoons in the Boston Public Garden. She’d sit under the giant weeping willow, next to the pond, the
Globe
open to the “Arts and Leisure” section. Begonias and roses scented the breeze that swayed the tree’s umbrella
of branches. Children played on the bronze ducks, their diaper-covered bums bouncing on the statues. Heather stretched across her blanket and watched the swan boats glide under the bridge.

Those first months were like Disney World to a five-year-old—innocent and exciting. She didn’t care that she lived in a basement studio apartment that smelled like wet concrete or that she worked as a waitress. She had a real life for the first time.

Now, ten years later, she was a successful columnist for the
Globe
who traveled the world. But at events like this, a part of her still couldn’t help feeling like an outsider looking in.

Heather glanced at her reflection in the window of the Bay Towers. Everyone saw glamour and sophistication. In her purple silk dress, the curve of Heather’s collarbone accentuated her graceful neck. Her stomach had a soft bump of femininity, and her hip bone curved into long legs, but years ago Heather had lost the ability to see her beauty. It seemed every other woman wore her body with ease. In her eyes, her breasts were too small, so she wore padded bras to hide the perceived flaw. She caught the reflection of her rear end as she turned away from the window. The muscles never perked, no matter how many squats she did. Though Charlie never specifically said her backside disappointed him, she saw how he tilted his head and widened his eyes to catch a better look whenever a woman with a great ass walked by.

Heather looked toward the bar, where Charlie had gone to get her a drink. Three perfect women sat on the stools, oozing confidence as they laughed together. They were younger, prettier, and thinner than Heather. One showcased her augmented chest and disdain for a bra in a low-cut, backless dress. For the last fifteen minutes, Charlie had laughed and joked with them, sometimes touching them on the arm or the back.

She’d confronted him about his flirting and the way he looked at other women. He responded that every guy looked and at least he didn’t hide it from her. As for the flirting, it was part of his business to network.

She looked at the woman with breast implants. More than once Charlie had suggested that Heather have augmentation to help her land a television show. Even her body was a product he could rearrange to better suit his marketing plan. For the past week he’d continued to ignore her insistence that they take a break. Time apart wasn’t part of his plan, so it didn’t exist.

Charlie turned and smiled. In the past, butterflies had danced in her belly when Charlie looked at her in that special way; his smile had made her feel she was the only woman in the room, and she couldn’t believe that this handsome man loved her. But that feeling had left long ago.

A blond man joined Charlie and they walked toward her. “This is Heather Bregman, the one and only Solo Female Traveler,” Charlie said. “Heather, this is Steven Radley. He works for the Travel Channel.”

Heather extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Steven.”

Steven kissed both her cheeks in greeting and held her chin in his hands. “You’re gorgeous. Why isn’t your face across billboards and magazine covers? You should be on television.”

“I think Solo Female Traveler is exactly what your network needs,” Charlie said.

Steven stepped back and let his eyes roam her body. Heather shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He looked like a golden boy who’d done everything right in life. He had a way to him, like one who had never had to work for his achievements, a slickness
covered with flirtation that she found sexually attractive and unnerving at the same time.

“So do you live in Los Angeles?” Heather asked.

“No, I’m here in Boston. Most of our shows are shot on location, so I get to live in my favorite city and travel the globe. I guess you and I have that in common.”

“Yes,” Heather said, “we’re very lucky people.”

“Why don’t we set up a meeting next week to discuss my idea for a
Solo Female Traveler
show?” Charlie suggested.

“Only if you let me dance with this beautiful woman first,” Steven said as he took Heather’s hand and moved her onto the dance floor.

He pulled her close and led her in a waltz, lifting her arm with fluid movements and twirling her in circles, then brought her back to his chest and pulled her tight around her waist.

“Impressive dancing skills,” she said as she leaned back to create distance between them.

“I took lessons for four years,” he said. “A man who can lead always gets the woman.”

Heather tilted her head back and laughed. “And I’m certain you’ve had terrible troubles in that department.”

“I think you’re reading me wrong, Ms. Bregman,” he said with a flirtatious smile. “I’m actually quite shy and reserved.”

She laughed again as he twirled her around the floor, making her feel as if her feet floated above the ground.

“Now, as for you,” he said, “I sense intense shyness.”

Heather blushed and let her hair fall over her face.

“Exactly,” he said. “It’s incredibly charming to men, but for the camera you would need to overcome it. Could you?”

The honest answer would be that she didn’t know. It terrified her to think of cameras picking up her every flaw and people across America watching her on television. As a writer, she could hide behind her computer screen and speak from her heart.

But the key to long-term success was taking the next step. The
Globe
executives were pushing her to broaden her brand. They wanted a star, as Charlie had promised them six years ago, not just a local woman who traveled. She summoned her confidence and looked directly at Steven. “I’ve traveled the world solo. I’ve met people from every culture and experienced things most only dream about. I can show your viewers adventures that will make them salivate and inspire them to get off their couches and sign up for trips that your advertisers promote. Give me a chance, and I’ll make you money.”

The song ended and he led her off the dance floor. He handed her his card. “Maybe you do have what it takes. Give me a call, Heather Bregman, and we’ll talk.”

She took the card and slipped it into her clutch. “Thank you for the dance. I look forward to discussing the possibility of working together.”

Charlie was back at the bar, flirting. After tonight she might need to take her career into her own hands. Snapping her purse closed, she decided not to share with him that she had Steven’s information.

On the cab ride home, Heather gazed at Charlie and once again questioned her decision. Was asking him to take a break the right thing to do?

On their first date, Charlie had taken her to Café Bella Vita on Charles Street in Boston. They sat by the window at a small
table with candles flickering in the centerpiece. They indulged in lobster ravioli, drank expensive red wine, lingered over soft layers of tiramisu while she stared into Charlie’s dark, Italian eyes.

He held her hand, caressed her thumb, and said, “Right now I’m at the bottom, an agent’s assistant. But my plan is to take the average Joe, like a personal trainer or a financial adviser, and make them into a household name. I would move that person into a column, a book, a self-help video, and his own television series. I just have to find the right client to develop.”