The Lake Season (16 page)

“Strike that one,” Trish decided. “Last question. Forget about Leah. What about Cooper?”

“What about him?”

“We both know you have feelings for him.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

Trish narrowed her eyes. “Tell you what, you don't even have to answer that last one. I already know.”

Iris ignored her friend's smug grin and slid the notebook roughly across the table. “Good for you. Moving on. Here are some notes I worked on last night. I think we should start with a table of contents, you know, to give ourselves some sort of outline for recipes.”

Trish flipped open the notebook, but her detectivelike gaze remained locked on Iris. It was going to be a long morning.

An hour later the lunch-shift kids arrived, bleary-eyed and in matching pink flip-flops. “Rise and shine!” Trish greeted them loudly, with a boisterous clap of her hands. “Shoot an espresso, ladies. Lunch starts in five.”

Iris watched as the college-aged girls shuffled past, frowning. “Looks like someone had a good Saturday night last night.”

“Every night's a good night when you're twenty-one,” Trish muttered. “Want another coffee?”

“No, thanks. I'll let you get back to work. I've got plenty here to get started on.”

“When do you want to meet again?” Trish asked. “I'm free tonight, after the boys' swim practice.”

Iris winced, thinking of Sadie and Lily, at their own practices miles away. “Maybe we can get together Friday?”

“Friday, it is.”

“Oh, wait.” Iris slapped her forehead. “Tell you what. Come by for dinner Friday night, and we can go over recipes afterward.”

Trish eyed her suspiciously. “What's going on Friday?”

Iris lifted one shoulder, trying to look casual. She needed Trish to agree to this. “It's just a little gathering. With Stephen's family.”

“
This
is the weekend they're flying in to meet your family?”

Iris didn't answer, but instead feigned focus on the notebooks she was stuffing into her bag.

“Oh no. Don't get me wrong, I love to hear about the family drama. But I'm not sure I need to witness it.”

“Come on,” Iris pleaded. “It's just one little dinner. And I really need someone in my corner. We can sit at the end of the table, away from the crazies.”

Trish shook her head.

“Near the bar!” Iris added, slipping toward the door. “It'll be like front-row seats.”

And with an audible sigh, Trish caved. “Oh, all right. But you owe me more information!”

“It's a running tab,” Iris shouted, hurrying out the door.

Sixteen

T
he farmhouse was quiet when she got home, the driveway by the barns empty. Iris strode through the kitchen, relieved. She grabbed a peach from the bowl on the kitchen table and headed upstairs to hole up in her room. She would not try to guess where Leah was right now. Or Cooper. She would not care.

Trish's notes were fanned out around her: fish-and-avocado tacos, cucumber chicken wraps, soba noodles. A culinary circling of the wagons, with Iris protected in its calorie-rich core. Relaxing into a rhythm, Iris began to put together a theme for different sections of the book, starting with a chapter of grab-­and-go family dinners. But first, she'd need a name. “Busy Moms On the Go”? Too dull. “Moms on Wheels”?
Sounded more like a Dr. Seuss book. Besides, wasn't this for fathers, too? Let the damn men fret over what to make and how to get the kids to practice, for a change. She had finally decided on “Carpool Creations”
when she heard the screen door slap shut below.

Gathering her knees to her chest, Iris listened. There were no voices. But a moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Iris held her breath. There was a knock on her door.

“Can I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Leah pushed the door ajar. She blushed. “Hi there.”

Iris opened her mouth, then shut it. She had no idea where to begin.

“I'm back.” Then, when Iris didn't answer, “I guess you heard what happened.”

Iris looked away. She would not look at Leah's innocent smile. Or her dangly turquoise earrings that swayed girlishly as she cocked her head and waited for Iris's reply. Briefly Iris wondered if she'd worn those purposely, knowing how green they made her eyes look. Or if she'd selected that particular pair of denim shorts to wear on the ride to Vermont, seated beside Cooper in the cab, her brown limbs stretched up on the dashboard. She'd gone too far this time. “Frankly, Leah, I don't want to talk about it.”

“Can you believe we were stranded overnight?”

Iris held up a hand. “Or hear about it. About you or Stephen or whatever happened in Vermont.” For the first time Iris looked her directly in the eye. “But don't worry, your wedding bookings are perfect. Just as they were
to begin with
.”

Leah blinked. “Thanks. I guess I overreacted . . .”

Iris cleared her throat loudly, turning back to her notes on the bed. “Is there anything else? Because I'm sort of busy here.”

Leah turned to go. “It wasn't anyone's fault, you know.”

So that was it: no apology; no honest explanation. Typical Leah. It was all Iris needed to let the floodgates open. “Really? Aren't you the one who dumped all her wedding crap on me? Who took my spot to Vermont? Who disappeared overnight, without even a phone call? And what about your poor fiancé, who showed up in the doorway with roses, and couldn't understand why none of us knew where the hell you were?” Iris realized her hands were shaking now.

“Why are you so upset?”

“I'm upset, because you never take responsibility for anything. Somehow it never occurs to you that maybe you've made a mistake. Or that maybe you hurt someone's feelings, or taken something away from them.”

Leah scoffed. “What did I ever take from you?”

Furious, Iris began shoving her notes into her bag, a list of ready-to-air grievances flashing through her head. Childhood Barbies, favorite jeans, boyfriends. “I've got work to do. I'm not playing this game with you anymore.”

Iris pushed past her in the doorway and stormed down the hall. She needed air.

“Iris, wait, I just want to explain something . . .”

Iris held up her hand. “Save it.”

But Leah was not giving up. She shouted down to Iris from the top of the stairs. “Is this about Cooper? Because
nothing
happened.”

Iris froze on the last step. “Who said anything about ­Cooper?”

“Oh, come on. Since when are you interested in construction, Iris? It's pretty transparent what's been going on.” She paused, backpedaling. “Look, I didn't mean it like that.”

But it was too late. Iris turned to look back at her. “No, of course you didn't. Just like you don't mean to drink too much, or drop out of college, or wander off to Europe for a few years.”

“What has any of that got to do with you?”

“Everything! I'm the one who cleans up your messes, Leah. I drive you home when you're too tanked. I make calls to get you jobs that you quit without a second thought. I'm the one who remembers Dad's birthday every year. And yet you just keep taking!”

Leah stuck her chin out, indignant. “Name one thing I've taken from you.”

Iris's eyes flashed. It was all flooding back. “Jake Tanner. The
day
before senior prom!”

“The kid from the fro-yo shop? That was high school, Iris. Grow up!”

“Exactly! So why are you still pulling this crap now? You didn't want Jake Tanner back then. I don't think you want Cooper now. But you have to remind the rest of us that you can have them. You're worse than Templeton, pissing on everything like a dog just to mark your territory!”

Leah coughed back a laugh. “That's pathetic.”

“You want to know what's pathetic? You're about to marry this great guy, and you're going to blow it. You're going to lose
everything
.”

Leah raced down the steps toward Iris, her cheeks burning. “Me, lose everything? What about you? Remember Paul? Besides, it's not like Cooper would . . .” She stopped and put a hand to her mouth.

Iris sucked in her breath. “Go on. I dare you to say it.”

Leah shook her head.

But Iris was not letting this one go. “Let me guess. It's not like Cooper would be interested in someone like me?”

“That's not what I said!”

Iris leaned in, her voice low and trembling. “But it's what you meant, isn't it?” She spun away from Leah.

“Iris, please . . .”

Iris waved her away, a sob catching in her throat. At the patio doors, she fumbled with the handle, jiggling it once, then twice, but the door wouldn't budge.

Leah trailed close behind. “Let me help.”

“Leave me alone!” Iris roared. She popped the lock on the patio doors and threw them open. The doors flung back on their hinges as she burst through, gulping at the humid air. She collapsed onto a lounge chair.

For an hour she sat, the sun on her face drying her tears into salty trails. But Iris did not wipe them. Her thoughts were fixed on the lake, the birds, the sun's heat on her raw cheeks. Surrounded by them, she willed the numbness to dissipate. Just feel, she told herself. Just feel, and hear, and breathe.

•    •    •

She must have fallen asleep, because the ringtone on her phone startled her. Iris opened her eyes to see the sun lower on the horizon, and the shade shifted over the patio. She scanned her phone's screen.
Home.
Relief flooded her. She needed to hear the kids' voices.

“Sadie? Is that you, honey?”

“It's me,” Paul said.

Immediately Iris stood up. Paul hadn't called once since she'd arrived, and her stomach flip-flopped. “Are the kids okay?”

“The kids are fine,” he said. “They're outside playing.”

Relieved, Iris glanced back at the house, which remained dark and quiet. “That's good.” She hesitated, waiting for Paul to continue.

“So, how are things up there?”

The question irritated her. Paul didn't care one iota how things were up there. There was something else. “Fine. What's going on, Paul?”

He hesitated. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I'm sending some papers up for you to review. I wanted to let you know in advance.”

Iris stiffened. “What kind of papers?”

“Just some papers from the office. We need to start thinking about things.”

“Your law office?” Iris moved off the patio and onto the grass. She strode across the lawn, the phone crackling in her ear.

“You still there?” Paul asked, his voice fading.

“What are you talking about, Paul? Tell me what you're ­sending.”

Paul paused.

Across the lake the jagged shore rose up and away from the water, a jumble of craggy rock and wild spruce. Sunlight slipped in and out among the trees, and Iris longed to duck among the cover.

“Paul, are you asking for a divorce?” The words were acrid in her mouth.

“Iris. Please. Just read through them, and call me later.”

“Jesus Christ. You are.”

“Iris, you had to see this coming.”

“Who is she?” Iris screamed into the phone.

Paul did not answer right away. Then, “Does it really matter who she was?”

The ground seemed to rise up beneath her feet, and Iris kneeled to meet it. He had cheated. Even before the separation she'd tried to shake the sinking feeling that he might have. She'd wondered, asked questions, even resorted to snooping, which in the end had only served to make
her
feel guilty. Through all of it Paul had denied it, his denials so firm they'd left Iris wondering if she was crazy, if perhaps she really was making all of it up in her head. And in the end she'd ignored her gut.

“Iris?” She could hear Paul's voice on the phone, which had dropped somewhere nearby, but she did not retrieve it. The lawn began to spin.

And then there was the vibrating rush of footsteps.

“I'm here.” It was Leah. She pulled Iris's hair away from her face as she heaved twice, and then vomited in the grass.

Between them, Paul's voice rose from the ground. “Hello? Are you there?”

Leah kicked the phone aside with her bare foot, and Iris watched from the corner of her eye as it tumbled away from her. She pressed her face into the grass, willing herself to feel the dampness. The prickly blades. Anything but the desolate pressure rising in her chest.

Leah's hands moved gently around her middle.

“Please. Don't.” But the sobs rose up in her throat anyway.

“I've got you,” Leah whispered.

Paul was divorcing her. He'd lied to her. It was really happening, and there was nothing Iris could do to stop it. No time to examine the cracks or mend the fissures.

“Paul told me . . .” Iris sobbed.

“It's okay. I've got you.”

Like a small child, Iris went limp.

In the middle of the sprawling lawn they rocked. Leah did not let go. Back and forth, back and forth, until no tears remained, and the lake and the sky stopped spiraling inside Iris's head.

•    •    •

On Monday, Iris stayed in bed. She did not know what excuses her sister made, or what words she'd chosen to explain Iris's sudden retreat to the cushioned depths her mattress allowed. Only that Millie knocked lightly on her door midmorning to let her know she'd be at the farm, in case Iris needed her. And that, sometime later, someone left a tray with toast and tea beside her bed. After that, there was silence and darkness. And Iris slept.

When she awoke much later the sky was dark, and she struggled to read the hands of the clock on the bedside table. Ten thirty-­five. She reached for the small lamp beside the bed. The tray of toast had been taken away, and in its place was a bowl of fresh fruit, more tea, and a sandwich. Iris drained the teacup, which had gone cold. But the sudden sweetness on her dry tongue surprised her, and without warning she began to sob uncontrollably into her pillow. When she'd cried herself out once more, she took a bite of melon, which also made her cry. The fruit caught in her throat as she struggled to swallow, but the deep pitted nausea in her stomach subsided, and she forced herself to eat some more. She tried a bite of the sandwich, then lay back down and fell into a deep and uninterrupted sleep. The next time she awoke it was Tuesday.

“Iris?” Leah lingered in the doorway. “Are you up?”

Iris rolled onto her back, staring at the white ceiling. The wrenching colorlessness of it echoed her sadness, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“You need to get up and eat something,” Leah said, lowering herself gently onto the bed. She settled a plate onto the nightstand, and the smell of fresh eggs caused Iris's stomach to turn. She shook her head.

“Really,” Leah said, placing a hand on her wrist. “You'll feel better.”

Iris pulled herself up on her elbows and surveyed the room. The brightness of the scrambled eggs was too much, Leah's touch too strong. She protested as her sister moved to the window and parted the curtains.

“I'm sorry, but this is for your own good,” Leah insisted.

Sunlight flooded the room, and Iris imagined her corneas bursting into flames. After twenty-four hours of uninterrupted tears and darkness, her eyes felt papery, her lids swollen shut. She did not care that she couldn't see. It was better that way.

Leah pressed her cool palm to Iris's forehead. “Mom is starting to worry,” she said.

Iris's voice was rough and unused in her throat. She swallowed. “What did you tell her?”

“Just that Paul had called.” Leah looked at her gently. “They know.”

“He cheated.”

Leah pressed her cool palm to Iris's cheek. “I'm sorry. He never deserved you.”

Iris turned away, pulling the sheet tight under her chin. All summer she'd focused on surviving the separation. But that was nothing compared to the wrenching finality she was feeling now. Separation was a mere shove; divorce, a caving blow.

“How can I help?” Leah asked. “Do you want me to run the shower?”

Iris shook her head, tears springing to her eyes once more. The salt stung her swollen lids. “I want my kids,” she cried, covering her face with her hands.

“They'll be here soon. But I think it's better you have this time to yourself, don't you?” When Iris didn't answer, Leah reached over and began to rub her back in slow circles, the way Iris had with each of her babies.