The Lake Season (8 page)

Leah glanced at the barn floor, bending to scoop up a pile of shavings. She sifted them through her fingers, letting them fall like snowflakes. “You've been up here with Cooper the whole time?”

“What's the matter? Was I supposed to help out with dinner or something?”

Leah turned on her heel, not waiting for Iris to follow as she headed back to the house.

“Hang on.” The heavy door creaked, dragging on its rusty wheels, as Iris pulled it closed. She caught up to Leah halfway down the grassy hillside.

Leah halted. Her eyes flashed as she turned, and in them Iris saw the color of the lake. And something else. “What were you two doing out here?”

The question stretched between them. “Nothing. Just working. Why?”

Leah looked out on the water, her lips pursed as if there was more she had to say. But she didn't speak.

“Dinner's waiting,” she said finally.

Together they walked down the hill, but Iris felt a shift in the air around them. It was more than just the chill from the shadows. And it filled the recesses between them where moments earlier so much sunlight had spilled.

Nine

T
hey still hold the fireworks show at the lake?”

“Every summer, Iris.” Millie bustled about the kitchen, filling containers with summer favorites: kale-and-strawberry salad, barbecued chicken, and corn on the cob that she'd grilled earlier. “Grab the lemonade,” she said, pointing to the large blue thermos that Iris recognized from her childhood, scratched from too many summers at the beach.

Iris fingered the plastic cup affixed to the top. “I can't believe you still have this old thing.” If Iris closed her eyes, it might be any other Fourth of July she'd celebrated as a girl, and she could almost feel the pull of her pigtails that her mother used to tie tight with red, white, and blue bows.

“Don't forget this!” Leah leaned over and stuck a cold bottle of Grey Goose deep into the cooler.

There was no sign of her odd mood from the day before, Iris noted, as Leah swirled through the kitchen, helping their mother pack food. She sent Stephen out to the garage for folding chairs and returned with a checkered red-and-white blanket, her eyes lit with excitement.

“Iris, go find Dad! We're going to be late.”

•    •    •

The town beach parking lot was crowded with both locals and weekenders, and Bill had to circle several times before finding them a spot. They'd all squished into one car, and in the backseat Leah pinched Iris's knee. “This is going to be great. Just like when we were kids.”

They found a spot on a grassy slope above the sandy spit of beach, which was already crowded with kids tossing Frisbees and young mothers plucking toddlers from the water's edge. Iris smiled.

“Is this a family tradition?” Stephen asked.

Bill and Millie had settled into folding chairs, leaving the blanket for the rest of them to lounge on. Stephen passed Bill a beer.

“Every year,” Bill replied, with what Iris thought was a hint of nostalgia. “It marked the official start to summer.” He pointed out to the water, where a convoy of boats had anchored. “They set off the fireworks from a small barge on the lake. The same family has been doing it for years.”

“The Havens,” Iris said fondly, remembering their youngest daughter, who'd been a good school friend. It was funny how the mere fact of something staying the same could bring such deep-seated comfort.

“Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving.” Leah riffled through the picnic basket and arranged the containers of food in the middle of the blanket. When she passed Iris one of their mother's frayed stars-and-stripes cloth napkins, Iris gasped.

“Mom, you kept these all these years?”

Millie examined her own napkin. “They're pretty ratty now, aren't they?”

“No, they're perfect.” Iris had forgotten what summer at the lake felt like. Back at home, she and Paul usually took the kids downtown to the annual Fourth of July parade, which was overcrowded and smelled of hot pavement, or to a neighbor's backyard barbecue. Neither could compete with a picnic feast on the beach, homemade lemonade, and fireworks over the water. The kids would've loved this. “Dad, do you guys still come every year?” she asked hopefully.

Bill shook his head. “It's for the young people,” he said, chuckling. Though Iris was pretty sure from the look on his face that he would've liked to.

As they picnicked, old friends stopped by to visit: women from Millie's gardening club, neighbors, and a few of the regular summer people Iris recognized from years ago. Iris polished off a buttery cob of corn and reached for another. She felt almost giddy as dusk fell over the beach and the crowd hushed.

Beside her, Leah leaned contentedly against Stephen. “I wish you didn't have to fly back to Seattle tomorrow,” she said, reaching up to stroke his hair.

He kissed her hand.

Iris pulled her sweater around her shoulders, wishing she, too, had someone to curl up on the blanket with. But her thoughts were interrupted with the first crack and whistle of the show. A collective hush fell over the beach.

Overhead, red-and-gold pyrotechnics popped and sizzled against the sky, sending a lazy blue cloud of smoke out over the water. Faces glowed in the surrounding light, and children shrieked and pointed. Iris lay back on the blanket, gazing up at the sky. She felt a twinge of loneliness. As a giant pink bloom exploded overhead, she felt a hand encircle her own.

“It's just like when we were little.” Leah had scooted beside her, and her breath was warm and close in Iris's ear. They lay together, shoulder to shoulder, watching.

When the fireworks ended, people lingered. Some of the children ran down to the water's edge as the adults stood to stretch their legs, savoring the last moments of the annual celebration.

Iris scanned the crowd for Trish's family, knowing they'd be there somewhere. “I'll be right back,” she said.

At the shore Iris stuck her toe in. The lake felt warm against the cooler air of evening, and she swirled her foot around. It was harder to see by the water and she realized the crowd was beginning to disperse.

“Glad you made it.”

Iris turned around, squinting in the darkness.

“Up here.”

She recognized the voice. Cooper Woods sat atop the wooden lifeguard chair, just yards away in the sand. Surprised, she smiled and raised a hand in greeting. “I didn't see you up there.”

He leaned down and extended his hand.

Iris hoisted herself up and sat beside him. She hadn't remembered the seat being so snug. “Did you watch the show from up here?”

He chuckled. “Best seat in the house. But no. It was full of teenagers well before I got here.”

She nodded, remembering fondly. “I'll bet.”

He glanced over their shoulders, at the thinning crowd behind them. “You here with your family?”

“Just like old times.” She, too, looked across the beach toward the grassy hill. “They're over there somewhere.”

And as if on cue, Iris spotted Stephen and Leah. They were gathering up the picnic blanket. Meaning they were all probably planning to go. Which she realized she suddenly did not want to do.

“Are you here alone?” she asked.

Cooper shifted and the wooden seat creaked beneath them. A group of children ran past, and in the glow of their sparklers she saw his white smile. “Not anymore.”

•    •    •

Monday morning found them in the driveway, exchanging good-bye hugs. Stephen had to catch a flight back to Seattle for work. Leah was staying behind to work on the wedding.

“Just like the old days!” Bill declared wistfully. “Both my girls back home.”

Millie eyed Iris evenly, her expression more strategic than emotional. “It will give you kids a chance to finally catch up.”

Iris wasn't so sure. This was her time to sort through her own issues, not flower arrangements.

But it was Stephen who had finally cajoled her. “Keep an eye on this one for me, will you? She's a troublemaker,” he said, pulling Iris into a firm hug. His hair was still damp from his shower, his polo shirt crisp. Iris breathed in. How lucky Leah was.

As Bill's BMW pulled away, Leah was the last one standing in the driveway, waving tearfully. Just as she had when they were little and their parents left them home with a babysitter.

“Does she always get this upset when he travels?” Iris asked. She and Millie stood watching from the porch.

“They're in love, Iris.”

But it was more than that. Leah's heightened responses to all things had always confused Iris: the boundless hysteria when Leah found out she got her favorite teacher for an upcoming school year, followed by her bedridden week of uninterrupted weeping the time Bill found a dead baby bird along the driveway. Responses that initially left the family exchanging loaded glances, but soon after swept them along unwittingly, each mimicking Leah's brand of reply: finding Millie, herself, foolishly dancing around the kitchen as Leah brandished the back-to-school letter. Or Bill hovering outside her bedroom door, with a little stuffed toy bird in his palm. Had it been Iris languishing in bed, she was pretty sure her mother would have pulled her out, brushed her teeth, and marched her right down to the bus stop, telling her to get on with things.

Now Millie fingered her pearl necklace, watching her younger daughter uneasily. “Which is why we'll need to keep her busy. With the wedding, the farm, that sort of stuff.”

“Or else, what?” Iris wondered aloud.

“She's sensitive, Iris,” Millie said. “You know that.”

Iris stiffened. Then, with an impending divorce, what did that make her? Leah was approaching them now. Millie rearranged her expression and called to her cheerfully, “I'm sure he'll call you from the airport, dear. Why don't we have some tea on the patio and go over the seating charts?”

Leah nodded glumly, looking more crushed than she should have for a bride who'd be seeing her groom in another week. Stephen traveled all the time, after all. And besides, they were about to be
married.

When Bill returned from the airport, Leah's mood hadn't improved. She'd taken a tearful call from Stephen in the locked den and emerged with red eyes. She even refused Millie's offer to go check on the farm stand, something she'd claimed to be looking forward to all weekend. Instead, for the remainder of the cloudless summer day, Leah took to her room.

“She's probably just tired,” Millie sympathized. But still, the family hovered, wandering the farmhouse like some misguided fleet who'd fallen off course, circling from room to room, the energy not unlike that of a coming summer storm. Iris felt aimless, too. Cooper had mentioned the evening before that he'd be working on another project across town. As she eyed the barn outside, she wondered if she was craving more the work in the barn or the company. Even her mother was fidgety, riffling through kitchen cabinets in search of a zucchini bread recipe she could not find, leaving a wake of ingredients strewn across the kitchen island that she never bothered to put away.

After an uncomfortably quiet dinner, for which Leah did not join them, Iris gave in to her concern and went upstairs to check on her sister. She was halfway down the hall when she heard the weeping, muffled at first.

“Leah?” Iris knocked on her door. “Are you all right?”

After a heavy pause, there was movement on the other side of the door.

“Just taking a nap,” she replied hoarsely.

Iris pressed her forehead against the door. “You've been napping all day. Come down and eat something.”

When there was no reply, Iris tried the door handle. It was locked.

“Can I come in?”

“No!” Leah answered firmly. Then, “Wait.”

Iris heard the scrape of furniture. Finally, the lock clicked and Leah filled the doorway.

“What are you doing up here?” Iris asked. “The day's over.”

The shades were drawn, casting the room in shadows. Iris took in Leah's swollen eyes.

“You're crying?”

“No, just tired.” She did not move aside to let Iris in.

It was then Iris saw the pill bottles, a cluster of orange plastic, on the bedside table behind her.

“What is all that?”

Leah followed Iris's gaze and quickly stepped back, blocking her view of the nightstand.

“They're Stephen's. He has allergies. And trouble sleeping sometimes.” Before Iris could ask anything else, she turned away, tugged open the table drawer, and swept the bottles into its depths.

“Well, Mom has a plate for you in the fridge,” Iris said, her eyes fixed on the drawer.

“I'm not hungry,” Leah whispered, shutting the door between them.

•    •    •

Downstairs Iris found Millie reclining on the couch with a book. She plucked the book from Millie's hands, standing over her. “Is she sick?”

Millie rose up, her jaw flexed. “What are you talking about?” Then, “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Mom, she's practically running her own damn pharmacy up there. Did you know that?”

“Watch your language,” Millie said, as if any of that mattered. Her mother glanced out at the kitchen, where Bill was now puttering around, looking for dinner leftovers. She lowered her voice. “Your sister has trouble sleeping. It's no big deal.”

“Then why'd she say it was for Stephen? Come on, Mom. There are enough bottles on her nightstand to put an elephant under.”

Millie shook her head. “Iris. Leah is under a lot of stress right now. And Stephen just left.”

“At least
he's
coming back.” She tossed the book on the couch.

“Iris, I didn't mean . . .”

Iris spun around to face her mother. “Things are not exactly easy for me right now, either.”

Millie stood. “Iris. I don't know exactly what is going on with you, but I'm sorry.”

Her words caught Iris off guard. There was no tender gesture, no hug, but it was at least an acknowledgment. And that was more than she'd gotten in the past.

“And just the same, there are some things you don't understand around here,” Millie added quietly.

“Meaning what?”

Millie wagged her head, as if shaking the thought away. Having said too much already, she turned for the stairs. “I'll try to get her to eat something.”

“Mom. I'm sorry.” She threw up her hands and sat on the couch. “Make me understand. Tell me what's going on with Leah.”

But Millie was already halfway up the stairs. “She just needs our patience, Iris. It's nothing to worry about.”

“Mom.”

But Millie did not answer.

Iris watched her move away from her. For sixty-five, her mother maintainted a lean and strong physique, equal to her zest. Unlike other women her age, Millie wasn't fading into the recesses of a floral couch or settling into the earth like an old farm relic. Iris should have been more proud of that fact, she knew. But as Millie reached Leah's door at the top of the landing, she stopped. Iris couldn't help but notice the sag of her posture, the way she shrank as her hand touched the door handle. As if sensing Iris's concern, Millie glanced sharply over her shoulder and down at Iris, as though she were summoning a measure of help across the carpeted expanse between them.