Lake Season

by Denise Hunter

  After that she’d helped Grace study for her algebra and English finals. Grace was smart, and she held herself to a high standard, which had only gotten worse with the passing of their parents. She’d nearly been in tears one night over a B on her midterms. Molly tried to help her keep things in perspective, but it didn’t seem to work.

  She’d hoped to see Adam when he returned, but he must’ve slipped in while she was helping Grace study. She’d heard the floor creaking in his room late last night, and his rental car was out front this morning,

  She wondered if he’d had time to look into their project yesterday. She didn’t want to bug him about it, but she was dying to know—no pun intended—if he’d found a death certificate for Lizzie or Benjamin.

  The familiar clomping of Grace’s steps sounded on the staircase, and Molly wondered anew that her slight frame could produce so much noise.

  “Shh,” she said when her sister neared the first floor. “We have guests now. You can’t go tromping around the inn anymore.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s my last day of school!” Grace gave a little squeal as she hitched her book bag higher on her shoulder. “I’ll officially be a senior. Summer vacation!”

  Molly couldn’t help but smile and refrained from reminding her that working at the inn would hardly be a vacation. “Good luck on your finals. I’m praying for you.”

  “Thanks. Have a good day.”

  “You too,” Molly said, then watched through the window as her sister bounced down the porch steps and along the walkway. She really ached for her mom at moments like this. Her parents had already missed so much.

  Molly heard movement overhead but couldn’t tell if it was coming from Adam’s room or the little family in the corner suite.

  Other noises came from the kitchen where Miss Della was getting breakfast ready. The smells of vanilla and cinnamon—homemade granola—made her stomach growl.

  The inn only served a continental breakfast, which had somehow made the licensing easier, according to Levi. They’d argued over this compromise since their parents had planned on offering a full-scale breakfast and a menu-based dinner, but Levi had been adamant. They’d start this way, he insisted, and shift toward a full-scale restaurant if the bottom line warranted it.

  She heard sounds on the stairwell and recognized Adam’s slow, deliberate steps. She moved her hair to the front of her shoulders, then rolled her eyes, remembering Grace’s assertion that she had a crush. Nonsense. She just wanted to make a good impression.

  He rounded the corner, laptop case in hand. Did his eyes brighten at the sight of her, or was that just a glare on his glasses?

  Molly gave him a bright smile. “Good morning, Adam.”

  “Good morning. You have other guests already.” He sounded pleased.

  “They called last night. We’ll have almost a full house this weekend.”

  “Good thing I got in on the ground floor then, so to speak.” His warm smile was growing on her.

  She wanted to ask about the research, but she checked her watch instead. “Would you like a table in the dining room? Miss Della’s making her famous orange spice muffins and homemade granola this morning. You don’t want to miss it.”

  “It smells delicious.”

  “Oh, it is. You won’t be sorry.” She led him into the dining room. “I didn’t hear you come in last night. I hope you had a productive day.”

  “To be honest, I got a little sidetracked by your project.”

  She wilted a little and tossed him a look over her shoulder. “Sorry. Please don’t feel you have to do me any favors. I’m sure I can figure out—”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was looking for an excuse to avoid work, and I’m very curious about the whole thing.”

  “If at any time you feel you need to bail, please don’t hesitate to do so.” They entered the dining room and she gestured widely. “Take your pick.”

  He chose a table by the window overlooking the lake and pulled out the chair but remained standing. “I stopped by the clerk’s office yesterday, but I wasn’t able find a death record for Lizzie.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

  “I checked with Benjamin’s county also, and there’s no death record for him there either. Of course, that only means they didn’t pass away in the counties where they were living in 1964.”

  She sighed. “Right.”

  “So I did some looking online. I found obituaries for people who could be Lizzie and Benjamin, but it’s hard to say for certain since we don’t have much information on them.”

  This was starting to look like a needle in a haystack situation. “Is it a dead end, then?”

  “Not quite.” He poked his glasses back into place. “I went to the library and did a little more research. I started looking through microfilm and found an ad for a general store—it was owned by Van Burens, so Lizzie was likely a resident.”

  “That must be the old mercantile. It burned down in the late sixties when the fire swept down the mountain.”

  “Maybe they left the area at that time. I also found mention of the family in an article. They attended St. John’s—Lizzie’s mother apparently did a lot of charity work for the church.”

  “Catholic. I wonder if there might be church records.”

  “I’ll check into that next. A middle name or even a birth date would be very helpful.”

  “What about Benjamin?”

  “I have a call in with the genealogical centers in Salt Lake and Fort Wayne. They’re two of the largest genealogy libraries in the country. They might have records we couldn’t find anywhere else. The librarians are supposed to call back today with anything they find.”

  “That’s amazing. How do you know all this stuff?”

  He ducked his head. “Research is my job. Look at you . . . I could never run an inn. You’re so good with people.”

  She chuckled. “Too good, according to my brother.”

  “Not at all. You’re very hospitable.”

  Della appeared at the table with a carafe of coffee, and Molly introduced the two. Della poured him a cup; then, tossing Molly a wink over her shoulder, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Molly’s face warmed. She hoped Adam hadn’t noticed the wink. “I’ll let you get on with your breakfast. Can I get you a newspaper or anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m all set.”

  “If you need directions or anything else, I’ll be at the front desk most of the day.”

  ten

  Adam had just arrived at St. John’s rectory when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He turned off the engine and pulled out the phone, and saw Mom on the screen. He hesitated only a moment before accepting the call.

  “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “Hi, honey. Just fine and dandy. Thought I’d call and see how you’re doing. I missed you over the holiday weekend.”

  Memorial Day at the Bradford house consisted of grilled burgers and a highly competitive game of flag football with an army of cousins. He could do without that particular humiliation.

  “I missed you too. What’s everyone up to?”

  “Well, your uncles are already gearing up for football season, of course. Always strategizing, you know how it is. They were huddled up in a corner most of Monday, when they weren’t playing football in the backyard. There’s a transfer student coming in this year—a junior quarterback—they’re all excited about.”

  His uncles and his father, now deceased, had coached his high school’s football team in Austin, Texas. Last fall the uncles had finally led the Broncos to state, although they’d just missed earning the coveted state title.

  “I’m sure they’ll have a great year. How’s Brody doing? I haven’t talked to him in a while.” His cousin was impossible to dislike, despite the fact that Adam’s father had treated him more like a son than he had Adam. Partly, Adam knew, because Brody didn’t have a dad—but also because Brody had inherited the Bradford athletic genes. He�
�d played quarterback under Adam’s father.

  “His job is going well. He just got his Class A driver’s license, and he’s got a job offer to work as an owner-operator.”

  “That’s great.”

  “He’ll be able to drive locally, so his mama likes that. He and Jessica are getting close to an engagement, I think. She’s just a doll. You’ll have to come for the Fourth so you can meet her.”

  “I’d love to, Mom, but I’m on a tight deadline right now.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re always on a deadline. You have to make time for family. We miss you.”

  He had no doubt it was true. He missed them all, especially his mom, but distance was his friend when it came to getting along with most of his cousins. In a family from the Friday Night Lights state, Adam was as athletic as a penguin.

  “I miss you too, Mom,” he said, meaning it with all his heart. She had quietly supported his academic pursuits, his writing. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m all right, honey. I mean, it’s a little lonely around here sometimes, but I’m getting by just fine.”

  He worried about her since his dad passed away several years ago.

  “I miss your dad, of course, but I guess we always will.”

  Adam was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that his life was actually easier without all that disappointment hanging over his head. Not that he hadn’t grieved his father’s death—but it was hard to miss someone who made you feel bad about yourself.

  Adam had often wondered how someone like himself had been born into the Bradford family. They must wonder the same thing. But there was no disputing his genealogy. He looked very much like a younger, slighter version of his father.

  His mom sighed. “Honey, this thing between you and your dad . . .”

  “There wasn’t a thing, Mom.”

  “Now you sound just like he did.”

  That rankled. “Well, at least I’m like him in some way. Hopefully he was proud of that.”

  “Honey, he was a flawed man. He placed far too much emphasis on athletics.”

  That was the thing. His dad hadn’t just been disappointed in what Adam could or couldn’t do on the field. He’d been disappointed in who his son was. Adam wasn’t sure how to recover from that.

  “Sometimes his love of sports blinded him from seeing all your finer qualities. You’re one of the kindest people I know, Adam. You’re compassionate and intelligent, and I’ve always been so proud of you.”

  “We both know Dad held little value for such things.”

  “I hate that his flaws damaged your self-worth. I know his relationship with Brody didn’t help matters. I tried to warn him about that.”

  “Brody was the son Dad wished he’d had.”

  “Oh, honey . . . I wish you could be as proud of yourself as I am.”

  “I am proud, Mom. I just prefer to live a quiet life.” That was his mantra, though it only told a small part of the story.

  “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for that. Dora’s daughter Ella is creating quite the stir in Hollywood, but she can hardly go anywhere without those photographers snapping shots of her. It’s such an invasion of privacy.”

  Dora was one of her mother’s friends from the auxiliary. He didn’t bother telling her that authors—even bestselling ones—didn’t draw the paparazzi.

  “So what do you think of Bluebell?” his mom continued when he didn’t respond. “Isn’t it just the perfect setting for a love story?”

  “You were right. It’s beautiful. And perfect for this story.”

  His mom had come here in her twenties after trying to track down her birth mother. She found, unfortunately, that the woman had already passed away, but it was all her family research that had eventually led to her current occupation—helping people research their family trees.

  “How’s the outline going?” she asked.

  “A little slow, to be honest, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.” At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

  “It’ll be great. I can’t wait to read the finished product.”

  Neither could he. Because that would mean it was done. But then he’d have to wring his hands, waiting for the professional reviews and readers’ reactions. If they hated it he’d be devastated. And if they loved it he’d worry, because then he’d have to write another, and what if the well was dry again, or what if the story was awful?

  That was just the writer’s block talking. He loved writing. He did. It was just this stupid dry spell. The pressure congealed in his temples until the beginnings of a headache pulsed there. At least he had his heroine fleshed out.

  “What’s this one about? It’s a love story, I assume.”

  “My outline isn’t very far along, but it’s going to be about a famous singer whose career is in a free fall. She heads to a lake resort to recalibrate and meets a boat builder who has a link to her past.”

  At least that’s what he thought it was going to be about.

  “I can’t wait to read it. Where are you working from up there? Did you rent a lake house?”

  “Actually, I’m staying at an inn on the lake. It’s just opened, but the owners are very hospitable, and the food’s good.”

  “An inn—that’s different for you. But you’ll get your room cleaned and have towel service, so you can devote your time to writing. Very smart.”

  Adam glanced at St. John’s rectory. Today’s work had nothing to do with his book. Yesterday’s hadn’t either for that matter.

  They chatted awhile longer about a committee she was chairing and the difficult personalities on the board. He commiserated with her. If these people couldn’t get along with his easygoing mom, the problem was obviously theirs.

  “Well, Mom, I should probably get off here and get some research done.” And after that he’d go to the library and start his story. No excuses.

  “Of course, honey. Send me some pictures when you get a chance.”

  “Will do. Tell the family I said hello.”

  “Love you, Adam.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Adam hung up the phone, somehow feeling more lost and disconnected than he’d felt before the call.

  eleven

  Molly headed upstairs to see if Grace needed help with the rooms. The washing machine was already sloshing a load around, and the door to Adam’s room was open, the cleaning cart parked in front of it.

  “Grace,” Molly called into the room. “You need any help in here?”

  “I’m almost finished. You could fold the towels in the dryer, though, if you’re just dying for something to do.”

  “All right.” Molly was heading toward the laundry room when her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She checked the screen. Adam. Her heart gave a little flutter, which she quickly attributed to excitement about their little project.

  New development in Project Lost Letter. I found Lizzie’s birth date at the church. Heading to the library to see what else I can find.

  It didn’t seem like much of a find, but if he thought so, it must be significant.

  She opened the dryer door and began folding the fluffy white towels. Could the new detail lead to a current place of residence?

  She continued folding, and by the time she had the towels stacked in the linen closet, she’d made a decision. She pulled out her phone and tapped on Adam’s number.

  The phone rang twice before he answered in a hushed tone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Adam, it’s Molly.”

  “Why are you whispering?” His voice held a note of amusement.

  “Because you are.”

  When she laughed at herself he joined in.

  “So you found Lizzie’s birth date?” she asked.

  “It was in the church’s records. That’s a very helpful detail.”

  She sensed hesitancy in his tone but pushed it aside. “Listen, Adam, will you be working on this for a while today?”

  “Ah, yes, until lunch at least.”

  “Reason
I ask is because it’s my day off. I was wondering if you’d mind some company?”

  There was a pause, and Molly winced. She’d just barreled across another line, hadn’t she? She should start paying mind to Levi’s warnings. “Listen, I shouldn’t have—”

  “I’d love that, actually,” he blurted.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose. It’s so nice of you to look into this for me, and I know you have your own work to do. I can be a real pain in the butt, according to my brother.”

  “Not at all.” She heard a smile in his voice. “I’d love the help.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch. But I’ll bring my laptop and maybe you can show me what to do. Or I can hunt down books or microfilm in the library—that I’m good at.”

  “Come down whenever you want. I’m at the little table behind the fiction section.”

  Molly smiled. “I know just the spot.”

  * * *

  Adam couldn’t focus at all once he got off the phone. Molly didn’t really say when she’d be coming, so every time he heard the muted sound of footsteps on the carpet he looked up, expecting her.

  He was excited at the thought of seeing her, of spending a little time together away from the inn. But he was going to have to tell her what he’d found after their phone call, and he dreaded that.

  He drew in a breath, loving the musty smell of old books, the sound of hushed voices, and the quiet flutter of turning pages.

  He went back to his search, using his laptop, but he was coming up empty. He’d hit a wall, and he wasn’t sure where to go next.

  At the sound of a nearby shuffle he looked up and spied Molly walking down the aisle toward him, her smile widening when she spotted him.

  “Hi,” she whispered, seating herself across from him at the study table. She dumped her purse and laptop bag in front of her.

  “Hello yourself.”

  She looked so pretty with the daylight from the nearby window washing over her creamy skin. Her shiny hair was down around her shoulders, falling from a side part, obscuring the corner of an eye. She wore a breezy white shirt with shoestring lacing at the top.

  “How’s it going?” she asked quietly as she settled her purse on the back of the chair and began removing her laptop. “Find anything new? I’m really good at library research, so if you need any help finding books or articles, I’m your—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”