The Lake Season (12 page)

Thirteen

C
ooper Woods's silver truck rolled up the farm's driveway by eight o'clock each day. And for the next few mornings, Iris's bed was empty well before it did.

After an early swim, she towel-dried her hair and dressed in worn jeans and a T-shirt, her new uniform. She applied mascara carefully, and a swipe of lip balm. But nothing more. She was working, after all.

She ignored the curious looks that Millie and Bill exchanged as she hurriedly buttered pieces of toast, heaping them with homemade jam. Sometimes she fried eggs, nestling them between warm slices of Millie's bread. She'd head out the door with a bagged breakfast for two, and a thermos of coffee in the crook of her arm.

“See you at lunch,” she'd call, and before anyone was able to question or comment, she was already heading up the grassy slope to the barn. And why not? She was doing exactly what Trish had suggested: giving time. Only now it was to herself.

The morning after she'd told Cooper everything was the only day she'd awakened late. The kitchen had been empty, Leah and Millie long since gone for the garden. With a copy of the
Boston Globe
in hand, she'd wandered out to the patio. Bill was down at the water's edge, retying the dinghy to the dock. She watched him climb the yard toward her with his fishing rod, a look of contentment on his face.

“So, look what the cat dragged in,” he'd said fondly, reaching the edge of the patio.

“Catch anything?”

He smiled. “Not a bite today, though I usually throw them back anyway. The bass are small this year.”

He joined her at the table, where they sat gazing at the water.

“You know, you can take the boat out anytime you want. You're a big girl now.”

She smiled. “I know, Dad. Thanks.”

“Have you spoken to the kids?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“Yes, last night. They're having fun at camp.”

He nodded, resting his chin in his hand. “That's good. Your mother and I can't wait to see them.”

Iris let the silence settle, but it wasn't with the usual ease. Questions, however wordless, pressed the humid space between them, and she closed her eyes, wondering where to begin. Or how.

“Daddy, I'm in trouble,” she whispered.

Bill Standish fixed his gaze on the dock. “I'm listening.”

Iris cleared her throat. “Paul and I, we're not doing so well.”

Bill Standish leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. “I'm sorry to hear that, honey. Is there anything I can do?”

Iris shook her head. “We've been in therapy for a while. A long time, actually.” She glanced at her father. “I think it's really over.”

“Is that what you want?”

Iris shrugged helplessly. “I don't know. We're not good together. But I don't want my kids to come from a broken home.” Her voice cracked, and Iris covered her face with her hand.

Bill stood. Just as he had when she was a child, he held her as the sobs racked her rib cage, until the stifled tears slowed.

“Maybe if you give it some time,” he said. “Marriage is no different than this farm.” He looked around them. “It's hard work.”

“You make it look easy.”

Bill shook his head and chuckled. “Your mother is a complicated woman. Sometimes I have to remember to duck my head. Fly low.”

“But what about you? Don't you mind that?”

Bill looked her evenly in the eyes. “I love your mother. You learn to adapt in ways that let you both get on with things. Besides, I'm a bit of an old bear myself.”

“Come on, Dad. You're always so patient. Sometimes I get mad at her, for being so, I don't know, strong. So pushy. It's like she can't see us for what we are sometimes, she's so focused on what she wants all of us to be.”

Bill nodded. “That's love, my dear. In just one of its mysterious forms.”

“But she's so hard on me. And you, too.” Iris glanced at her father, hoping she hadn't offended him. It wasn't her place to remind him of his marriage's shortcomings. Certainly not now.

But he shrugged good-naturedly. “It's the only way your mother knows how to love. I know how it can feel sometimes, but I've learned that I can't change that about her.” He laughed. “And I'd be taking my life into my own hands if I tried.” Which made Iris laugh, too. “You have to remember, her own mother was tough on her growing up, so it's not like your mom knew much else. And I think she's come a long way, considering.”

Iris recalled Grandmama Whitmore—never to be referred to as “Grandma”—only in snapshots. There were her gloved hands, crossed chastely in her lap. They were not hands that dug in sandboxes or wiped tears. Not even hands that held her own, at any time that she could remember. Her grandmother had died when Iris was just five, and the few memories she had were of her face from across a hemstitched tablecloth, probably at a holiday dinner, their interactions formal and distant.

Bill shifted in his chair, drawing her back to the patio. “Honey, I wish there was something I could say to you. I hope you two are able to work through this.” He took her hand tightly in his own, and Iris looked down at his large knuckles, gnarled with age. “But even if you don't, you will be all right.”

She looked away, pressing the fingers of her free hand to her eyes.

“That's one thing about you kids,” Bill added. “You were the one I always knew would be all right.”

•    •    •

After that morning on the patio, there'd been no need to say more.

But Iris had a sudden, restless urge to
do
. So she'd climbed the hill to the barn. If he'd been surprised to see her return, Cooper didn't say so. Instead, he accepted the thermos of coffee with a grin, and her presence without question. He instructed her ­matter-of-factly:
Hold the board at this angle, aim the nail gun like this, watch
your fingers
. Surprisingly, it wasn't as backbreaking as the garden work had been, much to Iris's relief. But it was hard work nonetheless, and it required her concentration and her strength, two things that batted away her worries that bobbed like moths, incessant against the light.

At first, Iris had felt in the way, stepping gingerly around equipment that terrified her; nail guns, circular saws, and the like. More important, she wondered if Cooper thought she was in the way. Like the morning she grabbed a two-by-four, catching her finger on a jagged edge.

“Shit!”

“Let me see.” Cooper came over to where she stood holding her index finger.

Iris groaned. “I'm an idiot. I shouldn't be here to begin with.”

“Nonsense.” He took her hand, turning her finger over toward the light.

Iris looked away. “Is it bad?”

“It's still attached,” he said, chuckling. “It's a sliver.”

“A sliver?” Iris withdrew her hand and examined it herself. “That's all?”

“Yup, it's a good one. Let me get it out for you.”

Without thinking, Iris tucked her hand behind her back.

“Don't worry,” he teased. “I promise, I'll be gentle.”

And he was. She cringed as he squeezed her fingertip, but within seconds the sliver was withdrawn. He held it to the light for her to see. “Brave girl,” he said, still holding her hand. “You should probably wash it.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks,” she said, withdrawing her hand slowly.

“The first injury on a site is sort of like a badge,” Cooper told her.

“Of what, stupidity?” Iris lifted the handle of the pump in the corner, letting the cold water rush over both hands.

“Of hard work,” Cooper said. “Don't be so hard on yourself. You're learning.”

Iris pushed the pump handle back down and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Be honest. Am I completely in your way out here?”

“Are you kidding? I like the company. Besides, nobody's brought me breakfast in years.”

Iris laughed. “Well, I guess I'm good for something.” And so she returned to the barn the next morning, and the morning after that. By the third day she'd figured out how to use the table saw and rip a board. She actually felt useful.

Besides, Cooper was so easy to be around. And patient: like the time he drove into town to the hardware store and returned to find her stranded straddling a high beam, white in the face, having attempted to finish some buttressing work in the hope of proving herself. But her embarrassment did not last, and he'd merely shaken his head as he helped her down.

And it wasn't just the barn roof she was learning to repair. If Cooper Woods was quiet, it also made him a good listener. Suddenly Iris was letting a few of her worries trickle out. Worries about raising well-rounded kids. And mending her relationships. And staying true to herself, whoever that was.

“What about Paul?” Cooper surprised her with the outright question one morning. “Is he a pretty handy guy?”

The hammer in her hand stilled as Iris struggled to put words together. “Not really,” she said carefully. Then, “He's more of a hands-off kind of guy.”

“Ah.” And that was all.

Cooper asked more about the kids, and what sorts of things they were interested in. Delighted, she'd gushed about them, finally catching herself when she looked up breathlessly and saw him staring back at her, wordless. “Oh, God. I'm doing it again, aren't I?” She made a mouth with her hand. “Talk, talk, talk.”

But he'd just grinned. “I already told you, I like that about you. Besides, you're a great mom.” Which had been an instant balm to a bruise within that she'd thus far been unable to soothe.

By the end of their first week working together she was feeling braver. They were working at different ends of the barn, backs to each other, which allowed her to voice the questions she'd been keeping.

“So, how about you? Did you ever marry?” She squeezed the handful of nails she held in her palm the second the words were out.

“Yeah, actually. I was married for about five years.”

Iris braved a quick look over her shoulder. Cooper was measuring another board, his eyes trained on his work. “It ended badly,” he admitted.

So.
Iris's thoughts raced, teetering between the pressing desire for more information and the fear that that very information could alter the careful image she had constructed of him. And something else . . . hope?
He's just like you
, she reminded herself firmly. Just a person, with bones and blood, and flaws. And, good God, those blue eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. Then, “I didn't mean to pry.”

Cooper shrugged. “It was my fault I didn't see it sooner. Sherry wasn't happy. Wanted things I couldn't give her.”

Which made Iris's thoughts race faster. What sort of things? A beach house? Kids?

Instead she asked, “Is she still in Colorado?”

“Last I heard.” He looked at Iris. “But I'm here.”

Iris was getting to know Cooper Woods. The real, grown-up Cooper Woods, who was not just an older or more experienced version of the boy in the yearbook. Which frightened her.

And in return for his divulgences, she did something spontaneous. She invited Cooper to the house. “My mother had a loaf of homemade bread in the oven this morning,” Iris said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “Why don't you join us for lunch?”

Cooper eyed his cooler in the corner.

“I think she's making BLTs,” Iris added, pushing any warning thoughts aside. Her parents loved his work, and he seemed genuinely fond of Millie, which Iris found both perplexing and admirable. Besides, what man could say no to a slab of bacon on homemade bread?

Confirming her suspicions, he tossed his hammer in the tool kit. “Done.”

•    •    •

Millie welcomed Cooper politely, though Iris could feel the weight of her curiosity.

Leah was no better. “Oh, hi, Cooper,” she stammered, looking a little rattled.

Millie broke the silence at the table first. “Leah, Tika called this morning. She wants to know the final head count for the caterer.”

“Oh, she did?” Leah glanced quickly over at Cooper, then back at Millie.

“You'd better call her back. We've only got a couple of weeks until the wedding.”

“I will,” Leah replied, her voice barely a whisper.

In the beat of silence that followed, Cooper looked from Millie to Leah. “Is someone getting married?”

Millie beamed. “Didn't you know? Leah's engaged!”

Iris watched Leah duck her head.

“Congratulations. When's the big day?”

Leah smiled uncertainly, crossing her brown arms delicately in front of her. “August tenth,” she said in a hushed voice.

“It'll be the event of the summer,” Millie said, raising her chin proudly. But Iris's attention was focused on Cooper, trying to read his expression as he learned the news. He seemed surprised. But she couldn't tell if this mattered to him or not.

“Who's the lucky guy?” Cooper asked.

Was it her imagination, or did Leah look sheepish? “He's not from around here,” she said. Then added, “His name's Stephen.”

“Stephen Willets the third,” Millie said, filling in the gaps. “He was just here, but he had to return to Seattle for business. The city they will call home after the wedding,” she added meaningfully.

What was going on? Iris wondered. The wedding was all Leah talked about to anyone who'd listen. And the fact that Cooper hadn't known about any of it? All of it left Iris feeling suddenly not so hungry anymore.

But then Bill joined the table, seeming quite pleased to find Cooper sitting across from him. “So, how are you doing up there?” he asked, gesturing up the hill toward the barns.

“It's coming along faster than I thought,” Cooper said. “Now that I've got help.” He nodded toward Iris, and Millie and Leah both glanced her way, as if surprised to see her still there. She smiled back at them tightly.