Lake Season

by Denise Hunter

  Nonnie continued through several photos, stopping to identify the people when she could remember. A white envelope surfaced next.

  The script on it looked familiar. Was that Lizzie’s handwriting? Molly leaned in.

  Nonnie quickly turned the envelope over with the other photos.

  Molly spotted another white envelope jutting out from the pile. Her fingers twitched.

  Nonnie pulled out the envelope and put it facedown with the other.

  It could’ve been anyone’s handwriting really. But it had sure looked like Lizzie’s. And if it was, why would Miss Nonnie keep the letters from them?

  Molly’s heart ticked away. She looked at Adam, who was gazing back at her, a question in his eyes. He’d noticed it too, then.

  “Oh my, just look at this one. It’s so romantic.” Nonnie held out a photo taken from behind Lizzie and Benjamin, who were kissing. They were sitting on a log facing Bluebell Lake. The sun had gone down behind the mountains, leaving swirls of pink and gold. Lizzie leaned into Benjamin, and he was cupping her face.

  Molly warmed inside at the tenderness the photo had captured.

  Nonnie sighed. “I remember taking this. It was quite late in the summer. They were so smitten with each other.”

  “If summer was drawing to a close,” Adam said, “were they making plans to be together?”

  “Oh, yes, they were talking about forever by the end of the summer.”

  “Well, something must’ve gone terribly wrong,” Molly said.

  Adam took a sip of tea. “I think we can infer from Lizzie’s letter that her folks didn’t approve of Benjamin—her father at least.”

  “Yes, that sounds about right,” Nonnie said.

  “Have you been able to remember where Benjamin worked?” he asked. “I haven’t been able to find much on him in Jasper, but maybe if his place of employment still exists, they might have record of him.”

  “Oh, honey, I think that detail is long gone.”

  “What about the military?” Molly asked, remembering the mention of it in the letter. “Do you remember him talking much about that?”

  “I think it was just for the GI Bill. He didn’t have much in the way of material wealth.”

  “Did he mention a particular branch of the military?” Adam asked.

  “Not that I recall.”

  “Did he mention what he might like to study at college?”

  Nonnie shook her head. “I’m sorry. If he mentioned it, I surely don’t remember. And in all honesty, we were far more likely to talk about a bunch of nothing than we were to talk of things of substance. It was all fun and games that summer . . .”

  Until it wasn’t.

  Molly heard the unspoken ending of the sentence, and a glance at Adam confirmed that he had too.

  thirty

  August 2, 1964

  Lizzie leaned into Benjamin’s warmth, feeling the brush of his lips on hers. His fingers skated across her jaw, raising gooseflesh on her arms, and her head swam with longing.

  She couldn’t believe it was already August. They’d grown so close over the past two months. She’d never felt so close to anyone. Had never cared so much what another person thought. She wanted to be with him every waking moment. She wanted to be privy to his every thought.

  She finally knew what all the songwriters were singing about. She was in love with Benjamin Schwartz. She believed he felt the same, though he had yet to say it.

  His hand fell to her shoulder, a delicious weight. Over the past couple weeks he’d touched her in places she’d never let a boy touch before. When she sat in Mass on Sunday mornings she was consumed by guilt. She told herself she’d draw a line and ask him to respect it. He would, if she only asked. But his kisses were like fuel on a raging fire. She lost her head when he touched her.

  She shifted on the log. She didn’t have to worry about that right now. Nonnie and Earl were somewhere behind them, enjoying the sunset. The muted sounds of their chatter and laughter carried to her on a breeze.

  Benjamin drew away from her, his eyelids weighted, his breath shallow. He undid her with that smoldering look of his.

  “I can’t believe we only have two more weeks of summer,” he whispered.

  “I know.” He was headed back to Tennessee, then two weeks later she was off to nursing school in Ohio. It was so far from Jasper. She didn’t want to go to college at all now. She only wanted to be with Benjamin.

  He cupped her face, his eyes searching hers. “I don’t want that to be the end of us, Lizzie.”

  Her relief seeped out in a sigh that seemed to come from her toes. “I don’t either.”

  He wetted his lips, looking adorably unsure. “I know it’s only been two months but . . . I love you, angel. I’ve never told another woman that, other than my mother.”

  She couldn’t stop the smile that stretched her lips. “I love you too, Benjamin. So much.”

  He kissed her again, this time slow and gentle. Reverent. She was buoyed by his declaration. Her heart sang with joy. But thoughts of the quickly ending summer began crowding out her bliss. How could they possibly make this work? Their lives would be in two different states.

  And then there were her parents. She didn’t even want to think about that obstacle.

  She drew away, her mind spinning with worry.

  He smoothed her brow, giving her a gentle smile. “What’s bothering you?”

  “You’re going back to Jasper, Ben. And then I’m going off to college.”

  “I guess we need to talk about all that. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking . . . What if I moved to Ohio to be near you?”

  Her heart felt full to bursting. She could hardly believe what he was offering. “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do anything for you, angel. Don’t you know that?” When he said it like that, when he looked at her like this, yes, she believed him.

  “I don’t even know if I want to go to college anymore.”

  “You got a scholarship. You can’t just pass up an opportunity like that.” She heard the censure in his voice. Sometimes, when she was with him, she felt a little spoiled.

  “But what if you can’t find another job in Ohio?”

  “Have a little faith.” He took her hand and held it gently. “And just so you know . . . My plans involve a future for us—a wedding and a family. I want all that with you, Lizzie. Does that sound like something you’d like?”

  Her heart gave a heavy sigh. “It sounds wonderful. Oh, Benjamin.”

  He chuckled and ducked his head. “I’ve gotten way ahead of myself. You make me lose my head. I still need to ask your dad for his blessing.”

  A jolt of fear went through her. “That’s not necessary, Ben. It’s not the Dark Ages anymore.”

  “He’s your father, Lizzie. I want his respect.”

  “It’s too early for that; he hardly knows you. And it’s my future, not his.”

  He gave her a placating smile. “Nonetheless, having his blessing is important to me. I want to start things off right.”

  The fear that jolted through her before multiplied into a million shocks. He didn’t know how deeply rooted her dad’s prejudices were. He would never accept Ben. Would never find him good enough for his baby girl. She had to get that through to Benjamin without scaring him off.

  “You don’t know him,” she said. “Daddy won’t be so easily won over.” He won’t be won over at all.

  He patted her hand. “You worry too much. Just leave it to me.”

  “Let’s talk about it later, okay?” Like after they’d moved to Ohio. And after they’d said their vows. They’d get married, and then her dad would have no choice but to accept Benjamin into their family. Right?

  thirty-one

  Present Day

  Molly put the finishing touches on the cake and carried it into the dining room where her siblings waited. It was a slow Thursday evening. They’d talked about going to the cemetery, but since they couldn’t leave the inn unattende
d had decided to mark the occasion right here.

  Someone had pulled the dining room door shut, giving them privacy. Grace shredded a napkin beside the stack of clean plates, her eyes a little bloodshot. Levi reclined in a chair, legs sprawled, looking about as excited for this as Molly felt.

  She set the cake down on the table. Swirls were the only adornment on the vanilla buttercream frosting.

  “Is it chocolate?” Grace asked.

  “Mama’s favorite recipe,” Molly said.

  “It looks good, Mol,” Levi said. “Thanks for making it.”

  She hadn’t bothered with candles since their mom wasn’t here to blow them out. Molly blinked against the sting of tears. She needed to be strong for her siblings. Especially Grace. This was going to be a celebration, doggonit. Not a pity party. But it just seemed so unreal that their mother hadn’t made it to her fiftieth birthday.

  Molly began slicing the cake, Grace helping out with the plates. If their parents were here they’d be at the restaurant of their mother’s choosing. Unlike the rest of the family, she picked someplace different each year, depending on her mood. One year when Molly was in elementary school they’d had sundaes at the Dairy Bar for supper and capped it off with the traditional chocolate cake when they got home.

  Molly had loved that her mom would occasionally throw all the rules out the window. Once a year she’d allowed her kids to play hooky from school. They never knew which day she’d choose, but it always seemed to be when they’d needed it most. Mama would spend the whole day with them doing whatever they wanted.

  The last piece of cake served, Molly sank into her seat, looking at her somber-faced siblings. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go. She only knew the lump at the back of her throat was aching more with each passing moment.

  Levi raised his milk glass. “To the best mother any kid could ask for.”

  “Hear, hear,” Molly said.

  “We miss you, Mama,” Grace squeaked out, blinking hard.

  They touched glasses and started in on the cake. Molly’s appetite had evaporated, but she forced a smile to her face when Grace and Levi raved over the cake.

  They reminisced about birthdays past and about Mama in general. The mood lightened as they recounted happy memories, but there was a heaviness inside Molly that belied the smile on her face. Why had God taken them? Why weren’t they here, right now, celebrating with their kids?

  Levi was recalling the infamous mouse-in-the-house incident when their mother’s screech had brought their dad and them from their hidey-holes. They’d converged in the living room to find her standing atop the end table, her face as white as a swan, screaming, “There’s a mouse in the house! There’s a mouse in the house!”

  Molly laughed at all the right places in the story—Levi was so good at telling it. She kept filling her face with cake, sorry she’d given herself such a large slice.

  Grace recounted the time in seventh grade when she complained of a stomachache but Mom, knowing a big English test was on the day’s docket, made her go to school anyway. Grace vomited all over her desk in first period science and was promptly sent home where their mother, awash in parental guilt, had waited on her hand and foot the rest of the day.

  “You should’ve asked for a pony,” Levi said.

  “Darn it, you’re right.” Grace’s smile wobbled at the corners. “Missed my chance.”

  “You couldn’t even keep a fish alive,” Molly said, trying to keep the mood light. “Remember Bubbles? How long did she last—two weeks?”

  “I was only five. I forgot to feed her.”

  Levi pushed his empty plate back. “You didn’t do much better with that bird of yours, Mol.”

  “He was already wounded.” The robin had hit the front windowpane and lay stunned until Molly decided he needed her help. She put him in a shoe box on the porch, but he went to birdie heaven that afternoon. She’d written a poem about him, and she and her dad gave him a proper burial in the backyard.

  A silence settled over the room, the three seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Forks scraped against the white plates. The air conditioner kicked on.

  “I know it’s been tough,” Levi said a few minutes later. “But we’re going to be all right. They’d be proud of us for pulling together.”

  It was true. They’d always enjoyed a close relationship, but this inn had brought them even closer.

  Molly forced a smile. “You’re right, they would.”

  A tear trickled down Grace’s cheek, and Molly’s heart squeezed tight. She pulled her sister into her side, swallowing against the lump in her own throat.

  Levi, dry-eyed, wrapped an arm around Grace too.

  Molly met his gaze, and they shared a look. This was the way it had been all these months. Levi being strong for both of them, and Molly trying to be strong for Grace. How was Levi coping with this weight? Because Molly wasn’t sure she was holding up all that well.

  “Thanks, you guys,” Grace said as she dried her eyes. “I know I’m a pain sometimes, but I realize you gave up stuff to stay here, and I appreciate it.”

  “No regrets here,” Molly said.

  “Me neither,” Levi said. “Even though you could do a better job sweeping off the porch sometimes.”

  “And remembering to take out the garbage,” Molly added.

  “Sheesh,” Grace said. “Forget I mentioned it.”

  The lump in Molly’s throat had grown to epic proportions. Her eyes burned. “Well. I’ve got some things to do upstairs.”

  Levi pushed to his feet. “And I’ve got the front desk.”

  “I need to update the website,” Grace said. “But I’ll get the dishes first.”

  “Thanks,” Molly said. “Love you guys.”

  “You too,” they said as they scattered.

  Molly made a beeline for the French doors leading to the lobby, trying not to seem rushed. But the dark thing inside was swelling exponentially. She’d made it all day without breaking down, but now it seemed unavoidable—and imminent.

  She took the steps quickly, swallowing down the emotion that threatened to surface. Not yet. Not yet.

  At the top of the stairs she passed her room, where Grace would no doubt be working on the website soon. She went to the far end of the hall, to her parents’ room, and slipped inside.

  Tears escaped the moment the door snicked closed behind her. And there were some squeaky noises, maybe coming from her. Her chest was tight, the weight inside like a boulder. Tears flowing, she covered her mouth as she headed toward the antique burgundy chaise in the corner.

  How many times had Molly snuggled up with Mama here? Her mother read to her sometimes, long after she could read for herself. Her father was the more avid reader, but it was her mother who always took the time to read her a book whenever the mood struck Molly.

  She curled up on the chaise and let it all out, the sobs wracking her body. She’d already shed so many tears, it seemed unconceivable that she still had so much grief stuffed inside. It was a physical ache in her chest.

  She pressed her palm against the ache.

  God, I miss them so much. I know they’re happy in heaven right now, and I wouldn’t call them back even if I could because that would be selfish. But I miss them so much. Her body shook with silent sobs, and the velvet material absorbed her tears.

  Where are you, God?

  * * *

  Adam finished an email to his editor, reread it, then hit send. There were other miscellaneous business tasks that needed his attention. Rosewood Press needed a blurb for his current story—the one he hadn’t actually started writing yet. They also wanted title suggestions. And he’d just received the galleys for the last book he’d written that would release next year.

  But his rumbling stomach reminded him it was well after dinnertime. He’d walk into town and grab something quick, then come back and work a little more. It would take two full days to read the finished pages of The Last Dance, checking for errors. But that woul
d be a breeze after struggling with his current work-in-progress.

  He checked his hair in the mirror, smoothed it down, then slid his feet into his boat shoes. When he opened his door a delicious scent filled his nose. Something chocolate. Miss Della must be baking muffins for tomorrow. Maybe he’d slip into the kitchen and talk her out of one. Or two.

  As he closed the door behind him, a sound caught his attention. His room was at the end of an unoccupied hall—unless they’d checked in a guest tonight. But he hadn’t heard any luggage rolling down the hall.

  He paused, listening. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of the air conditioning unit in his room. He took a step, and then he heard it again. A sniffle. Coming from the room across from his. He stopped.

  There were more hushed sounds then. Someone was crying, a woman. It had to be either Molly or Grace.

  He scratched the back of his neck. He should do something, but he didn’t know what. He’d never been good with women, much less crying women. He tended to get tongue-tied or, worse, say the wrong thing.

  A choked sob propelled him into action. Heart thudding, he lifted his hand and tapped lightly on the door.

  The sound of weeping stopped. A moment passed. A sheen of sweat broke out on the back of his neck, but he rapped on the door again.

  A voice cleared. “Yes?”

  Molly.

  “Um . . . it’s Adam. Is—is everything all right?”

  “Oh. Yeah. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  She was not fine. She’d been bawling her eyes out. He’d never seen her like that. Molly walked around the place like a beaming ray of sunshine.

  Maybe he shouldn’t intrude upon a private moment. But his worry for her outweighed his uncertainty. He turned the doorknob and stepped into the room.

  She straightened on a lounge chair in the corner of the room. Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks damp.

  Everything inside him softened with the need to comfort her. To soothe her wounded spirit. As soon as those thoughts surfaced something else rose inside him. Something unfamiliar—a shift from Molly’s tears to the cause of her pain.