The Lake Season (28 page)

Twenty-Nine

I
ris stood in front of the hallway mirror and took a deep breath, calmer now. It'd been a great day, even in spite of the fish incident. It didn't matter that her hair smelled of lake water or that a sheen of sunscreen still shone on her forehead. It was summer, her kids were here, and she had no place to be but in a chair on the patio with a cold beer.

Downstairs, Sadie had changed into a sundress and was settled on a lounge chair outside. “You look nice, honey,” Iris said.

“Why are we having guests for dinner?” Sadie asked.

Iris glanced across the patio, to where Bill and Cooper were opening beers and chatting.

“It's just Cooper. Grandpa wanted to thank him for the boat ride.”

“Then why can't he just say
thank you
?” She closed her eyes in exasperation and turned her face to the sun as if the conversation was over.

Iris regarded her sadly. “Huh. I was thinking that that's what you should say to him.”

She left Sadie to contemplate this and joined the men. “Wow, you cleaned the fish already?”

Bill headed for the kitchen slider. “Couldn't let it go to waste. Your mother has some fillets of sole in the fridge from the market, so there's plenty of fish for everyone.”

“I'm not eating that!” Sadie called over.

Iris took a deep breath. “I'll make pasta for you and Lily,” she offered. “You can help.”

At which Sadie flopped over on the lounge chair, directing her gaze toward the lake.

“She okay?” Cooper asked.

“She's a teenager. She'll be fine,” Iris whispered, reaching for his bottle of beer.

Cooper handed it to her. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“I'm trying,” Iris said, taking a deep sip.

“Isn't there some way we can get away? Just for a night?”

Iris glanced across the patio. “But how? The kids are here, and the wedding's in three days.”

“And so is the end of our summer.”

Iris's departure had always hovered somewhere around the wedding: a date that had once seemed so far off on the horizon. Too soon Cooper wouldn't be a part of her every day.

Cooper whispered. “I've got that cabin in Vermont.”

“Which I'm dying to see. But I worry leaving the kids. If anything happened, Vermont's not exactly around the corner.”

He thought a minute. “I've got a job over in Brewster on Friday morning. How about when I'm finished?”

“That's the night of the rehearsal dinner.”

“Right.” He ran his hand through his hair.

Iris groaned. How was it that there was already no time left?

“What if we just stay here?”

Iris looked around. “Here?”

“At my place. Tomorrow night. No one needs to know we're there. It's close enough that you can pop back home if you need to.”

It was close by and it was his. In other words, it was perfect. She'd come up with an excuse about her book to get away for a night. Trish would help. “Let's do it!” She raised her beer and took a sip.

The cold beer slid down her throat nicely, and she passed the bottle back to Cooper, squeezing his hand as she did.

She happened to look over at Sadie, who was studying them. Instant fury flashed across Sadie's face and she alighted from the lounge chair.

“What's wrong?” Cooper asked, glancing back and forth.

But Iris knew. What an idiot she was!

“Sadie, wait!” Iris went to her.

But Sadie was already plowing through the patio doors, almost knocking Bill aside as he returned with the platter of fish. “I'm going upstairs,” she said pointedly. “I've lost my appetite.”

Iris hurried after her.

She tried the handle, which to her surprise was not locked. Sadie turned, a look of contempt on her face. “What do you want?”

Iris drew her gently away from the window to the bed. “Come here.”

She balked.

“Sadie, I want to talk.”

“I'm not a baby,” Sadie said. “You act like I don't know things. Like the fact that you and Leah can't stand each other. Just like you and Daddy. And that you're cozying up with that guy down there.”

Iris swallowed. “You mean Cooper?”

Sadie glared back at her. “The handyman,” she said through her teeth. It was a blow she dealt matter-of-factly, in the same tone Leah had used when she accused Iris of taking up with the “hired help.” As if to further their unwitting alliances, Sadie's lips flushed, the same way her aunt's did when she was angry. For a moment Iris felt she was arguing with her teenage sister again.

“Sadie,” Iris began carefully. “Cooper Woods is an old friend from high school, of both Aunty Leah's and mine. He works here, yes. But he's always been a friend.”

There was no need to get into specifics.

“Is he Daddy's friend, too?” Sadie asked now. Her eyes were narrow with accusation, and Iris steadied herself to tread carefully. Her job was to reassure, not dole out facts.

“They may have met before, I don't know.”

Sadie moved to the dresser, her fingers roaming restlessly over the objects: an old jewelry box, a bottle of perfume. They stopped at a small figurine of a horse that Iris's father had given her as a child. Sadie turned it over in her hand. “Well, he sure seems to like you.”

Iris nodded, staring at the floor. “Is this why you're so angry with me?” There was no point in denying it. Had she really been so naive as to think, or hope, that her daughter was not grown-up enough to see the signs? However careful they'd been, however distant, thirteen-year-olds were ripe with hormonal emotions of their own. They practically had radar for that kind of tension.

Sadie didn't answer.

“You're right,” Iris said. “Cooper is a good friend.” She would not lie. But she would also not burden Sadie with the unnecessary. “The point is . . .” She paused, suddenly out of words. What was the point? That it didn't matter, because Daddy and Mommy weren't together anymore? That Cooper Woods was a question mark, at best? She looked at Sadie, sadness rising up in her chest. Now was not the time to tell her. This was not how she wanted it to be done. Damn, Paul. He should've stuck around and talked to her about this. They should've had a plan before it got to this.

“What, then?” Sadie set the porcelain horse down and turned to her. “What is your point?” Her eyes were steely with suspicion, but behind them Iris saw trepidation. She knew. Somewhere, deep down, she knew things weren't okay with her family.

“The point is, this is what families do. They grow. They change. Sometimes they fight. Mommies and daddies. Aunts and uncles. No different from you and your sister and brother.”

“When is Daddy coming up here?”

Here it was. “I don't think he is, honey.” Iris waited, then added, “He's busy with work. And it's nice to have time with just us, right?”

Sadie dismissed this. “Do you guys hate each other?”

A plume of sadness rose in Iris's throat. “No, honey. Of course we don't.” She paused. “Does it seem like that?”

Sadie looked away. “Sometimes. I don't know. You guys don't laugh or hug each other like Emma's parents.”

Emma was Sadie's best friend. His parents were one of a handful of truly happily married couples she knew. Iris had to admit, comparing them to her and Paul—well, she might as well stamp the divorce papers right here and now.

“Honey, every family is different,” she began, then stopped. Sadie deserved more than that. “Listen, your dad and I have some things to figure out. You're right—things aren't the same as they used to be. And I'm so sorry for that.”

“Yeah, I've noticed.”

“But I don't want you to worry. Nothing has changed about the way Daddy and I love you kids. That will never, ever change. As soon as we get home, we're all going to sit down and talk about it. Together.”

Sadie looked over at her then. Gone was the certainty of her anger. Instead, an expression of worry clouded her young face.

“No matter what happens, we're a family. And we love you,” Iris said firmly. “Mommy and Daddy. Leah, Grammy, and Grandpa. We all mess up sometimes, but we love each other in and out. And no matter what, we'll always be a family.”

Sadie stared past her, to the window, where voices were floating up from the patio. Iris waited for the next question, the question about why her father wasn't here. It was bound to come. And she held her breath, for what seemed an eternity.

“Some family,” Sadie muttered finally.

“I know,” Iris cried. She parked herself on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. “Families are crazy. Fucking crazy.”

“Mom!” Sadie shot her a sideways look.

“I'm sorry. Forget I said that.”

There was the tiniest curve at the corner of Sadie's mouth.

Iris fell back onto the blankets. “God, I can't believe I said
fuck
.” Perfect. She'd said it twice now.

“Mom. Stop.” Sadie was smiling now, giggling behind her hand.

“Sorry.” Iris watched as her daughter struggled to compose herself. Her daughter, the almost-adult. “Sades, are you okay? Because whatever happens, I love you. Your whole crazy family loves you. That will never change.”

Sadie turned back to the window and rested her forehead against the pane. Her profile was strong and lovely, so much that Iris had to resist the urge to go to her and stroke the hair off her forehead, as she had so many times when Sadie was younger. “I'm hungry,” Sadie said finally, steering them unexpectedly to safety.

“You are?” Tears of relief sprang to Iris's eyes and she stood. For a second she restrained herself. But then she surrendered and went to her, pulling Sadie against her and planting a kiss atop her head, which was almost level with her own. “Me too. Let's go eat.”

In the hall Iris almost bumped into Leah. Iris could tell she'd heard. She let Sadie go downstairs ahead of them.

“So, I guess you got an earful.”

Leah looked at her sympathetically. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was in my room getting changed.”

Iris sighed and leaned against the wall. She'd not discussed any of her feelings about Cooper or Paul, or the kids, with her sister. But Leah had seen plenty.

“For what it's worth, she's a strong girl,” Leah began.

Iris tipped her head back against the wall and let out a small laugh. “That's for sure.”

“She's going to get through this. You're not the kind of mother who would let her fall through the cracks.”

“I know.” The late-afternoon light spilled into the hall through the bedroom doorways, illuminating Leah's face with gold. Her concern was palpable. “It's just that there's so much for kids to deal with these days as it is. You know? And here Paul and I are, throwing more crap their way. They're so innocent in all of this. It's just not fair.”

“None of it's fair,” Leah agreed. “The whole thing really sucks. But you can't change the fact that Paul asked for a divorce. All you can do is be there for them, really be there for them, as it all unfolds.” She reached for Iris's upper arm and squeezed it gently. “Those kids are strong and smart.”

Iris ducked her head. This sudden show of sisterlyness from Leah was something she was so unused to, and yet something she realized she'd yearned for for so long that Iris feared she'd fall apart if she looked up and met her gaze. She couldn't go downstairs a slobbering mess. Not in front of her kids. Not in front of Cooper. “Thank you.”

Leah squeezed her arm one last time and let go. “And in case you didn't already know, your kids have one hell of a head start in surviving this.”

Iris looked up. “What's that?”

“You.”

Thirty

I
ris's heart fluttered in her rib cage as she stood outside ­Cooper's door holding a box of Trish's cake. Chocolate Sin Cake, Trish had said, winking. Before she could slink out of the bakery with it, Trish had pulled her aside at the counter.

“You're positively glowing,” she said.

Iris redened. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, you shut up. And you deserve it.”

Iris had never been here before. Cooper's place was a traditional A-frame that sat atop a wooded hill, at the end of a long private gravel drive—the perfect getaway cottage. A porch wrapped around the front and sides of the house, overlooking the lake. There were two Adirondack chairs set at the edge of the lawn before it sloped down into a canopy of cedar and weeping willow. It was as if some corner had been turned. Things were calm with Sadie and Leah. Her kids were home with her parents. And here she was.

With the cake in hand and lump in her throat, Iris knocked.

“Come in!” Cooper called from somewhere inside.

The second she stepped into Cooper's house she felt at home. The rustic space was flooded in late-day sun. She kicked off her flip-flops and followed his voice across the honey-hued pine floors of the living room. The furniture was masculine: ­craftsman-style. A fieldstone fireplace was flanked by floor-to-ceiling built-ins, which housed more books than even Iris probably owned.

“Back here,” Cooper called. She found him in the kitchen, where she was welcomed with the scent of melting butter and garlic.

“No way, are you cooking?”

Cooper turned from the stove and kissed her firmly on the mouth. “Of course I am. Someone important is coming to ­dinner.”

Each burner on the gas range was in use: A skillet of summer corn and red peppers sautéed on one. Pasta boiled in a stainless steel pot. A medley of squash sizzled in butter. And in the corner, a pan of garlic, shallots, and wine reduced. Iris peered into the sink, where a bowl of mussels soaked.

“What are you making? It's divine!”

“Seafood linguine; you said you like mussels, right?”

“They're my favorite.” When had she told Cooper that? Touched, Iris wrapped her arm around his waist. “I can't believe you're doing all this for me.”

Together they prepared the rest of dinner, passing each other spoons to take tastes from each pan and bumping comfortably against each other in the cozy confines of the kitchen.

Out on the deck, Cooper lit candles and poured wine. Forgetting herself, Iris inhaled the sweet and briny mussels over pasta, slowing only to savor the final bites.

“Leave those,” Cooper insisted when she stood to clear the plates. “There's somewhere I want to take you.”

Iris followed him down the porch stairs and across the lawn. He took her hand, guiding her toward the woods.

“Where are we going?” Iris was so stuffed she could barely keep up, but the golden end-of-day sun dappled the water ahead of them through the canopy of tree branches, and she felt drawn. She followed Cooper down a rocky path until the tree line met the shore.

Two red kayaks were propped upside down on the rocks. “This one's for you,” Cooper said, rolling one over.

They dragged the noses of their kayaks into the water and waded to their knees. Iris positioned hers parallel to the shore and climbed in. It wobbled slightly beneath her. Cooper handed her a paddle. She pushed off from the shallow area and pointed her nose out into the lake. Cooper caught up, and together they headed out into the water. Iris moved into a comfortable rhythm and she relished the pull of the water against her muscles with each stroke. They hugged the rocky shore, paddling past a small family of ducks.

Cooper glided up beside her. “Look. It's you!” He pointed to a clump of marsh grass. There stood a lone egret, preening itself in the fading sun. It flicked its head in their direction as they approached.

She laughed.

When they arrived at the cove, Iris was pleased to find that no one else was there. Cooper paddled into the rocky shoals ahead of her. Hopping out, he grabbed the nose of her kayak and pulled her in where the water wasn't as deep. The plastic sides of the kayak bumped against the rocks, and she climbed out and helped drag them securely onto a spit of sand.

It was then she noticed Cooper's backpack. “What're you up to?” she asked.

“Just a little something to enjoy at the top.”

As they had done what seemed like ages ago, they ascended the rocks, zigzagging their way across the steep slope. Once or twice Cooper looked back at her, but Iris didn't need his hand when he reached out. After a summer on the farm, she was stronger and surer.

By the time they reached the top the sun had set, but still stretched its pink fingers over the horizon in a final salute to the day.

“God, I'm going to miss this.” Iris settled herself and Cooper kneeled beside her, rummaging through his backpack.

“For you.” He handed her two champagne flutes and produced a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

“Are you kidding? And here I just showed up with one of Trish's cakes and my overnight bag.”

Cooper popped the cork. “All you needed was to show up.”

They toasted, and even though a late-season breeze had kicked in across the water, Iris was not cold. The champagne sent a warm tingle up her spine, and Cooper pulled her close against him.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to jump this time,” he teased, bumping jovially against her.

Iris stood up, and Cooper's arm fell away. “What are you doing?”

“Something I should've done a long time ago.”

“Iris. I was joking around.”

“I know.” Maybe it was the champagne. Or the crazy pink of the sky. Or the way she felt with Cooper. But before Iris could think of a reason not to, she pulled her T-shirt over her head.

“Whoa, come back here.” Cooper hopped to his feet.

Iris didn't answer. She was too busy fumbling with the button of her shorts. She shimmied out of them, spun to face Cooper, and kicked them in his direction. He caught them with his free hand. “Iris. You're crazy.”

A gust of wind blew over the rock, and she shrieked.

“Yes, I am!”

Still laughing, Iris scurried to the edge of Chicken Rock. But one look down and her stomach lurched. It was so far down. And so . . . dark.

“Iris, get your tail back here,” Cooper called. It would be easy to turn around. To sit back down beside him and finish the bottle of champagne.

But this was summer. Her summer. She flexed her knees. And before she could change her mind, she stepped off.

The wind roared in her ears. It rushed past her, and over her. Weightless, she hurtled down toward the water, the glassy dark surface almost opaque beneath her. And then she broke it.

The force of the entry caused her breath to tear from her lungs. When her descent halted, Iris opened her eyes to the green darkness, her chest about to explode. For a second the underwater world held her, but above there was light. And sky. Iris burst to the surface.

•    •    •

Back at his cabin, Cooper lit the logs in the fieldstone fireplace. The night had grown chilly and Iris relished the crackle and spit of the flames after their long paddle home.

“I'm going to dry off,” she said. Despite the coziness of his house and the intoxicant of Cooper's nearness, Iris felt a sudden moment of hesitation. They had already been together that summer; in the fields, by the lake, in Cooper's truck. They were passionate moments, but often rushed ones. Suddenly, the knowledge that they had a whole night together, without threat of interruption or discovery, made it feel like the first time. Iris needed a moment to pull herself together. She grabbed her bag from the couch. “I'll just be a minute.”

But Cooper stood up from the fireplace and shook his head. He took the bag from her hand.

Iris smiled shyly. “But I'm still wet,” she whispered as he pulled her in close.

Cooper shushed her.

“And I smell like the lake.”

“You're perfect.”

Before Iris could protest further, Cooper placed a finger to her mouth, silencing her. He traced her upper lip slowly, then her bottom. She could feel her mouth flush at his touch.

“Cooper.”

And then he pressed his own lips against hers, gently at first, then more hungrily.

Iris stood, helpless. The fire crackled behind her as he slid her shirt up over her head and drew her closer to the flames. Cooper began at her neck, moving slowly down to her collarbone. Iris went limp, sighing with each press of his lips against her bare skin. He took his time, and desire rose up inside her like a plume of smoke. It was her turn. She tugged at his shirt, lifting it up and away, moving her own mouth across his ear, his lips, and down his chest. The heat of the fireplace warmed her bare skin as they reached for each other. They kicked off their shorts, hands moving across each other's bodies with growing urgency. Iris shuddered.

Cooper pulled away gently, studying her expression. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head.
Please, don't stop.

He reached over for a blanket on the couch and draped it across Iris's shoulders with care. “Better?”

She nodded, reaching for him.

“Wait. I want to look at you.”

Iris met his gaze impatiently. She loved how careful Cooper was, but right now she was strung out with desire. Her muscles taut, her breath short.

For a moment they sat facing each other in the firelight, chest to chest beneath the blanket.

“Iris.”

Before he could say anything else, Iris wrapped her arms around his neck and slid herself onto his lap. Cooper surrendered. She encircled his waist with her legs, leaning back over the blanket in front of the fire. Cooper followed, moving over her. Iris felt herself letting go, her body flexing and releasing just as it had earlier on the rock. Like the rush of water she'd felt hours earlier, the fall was like no other she'd had before.

•    •    •

In the morning light, Cooper's hair took on a golden hue. Iris had awakened first, and not wanting daylight to signal the end of their night together, she'd pulled the sheet up over her and pressed herself into the curve of Cooper's back. A moment later, he reached for her and turned over. They lay nose to nose.

Her voice was husky with sleeplessness. “Good morning.”

“It is indeed.”

He stretched out, and she moved into the space beneath his arm. Now that she'd tasted what it was like to have Cooper belong to her, she felt more vulnerable than before. It was a pull she no longer felt strong enough to turn from. “Why can't we wake up to each other every day?”

He didn't even pause. “I keep thinking, we will. Someday.”

Iris closed her eyes. It was all she needed to hear.