They all looked at me, their faces indulgent, and I saw an opportunity. “You know what, Dad? I wanted to introduce you to Sam, and I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet. I’m going to run over to his place to find out what’s happening, and you can talk to your heart’s delight.”
“That sounds like a plan,” said my father, who had grown rather loud with his champagne. “Bring him back in half an hour or so.”
“Sure. See you then,” I said, ducking out of the room with a smile, but also a sense of relief. Why had I not realized how draining family visits could be? And surely it was even more exhausting for Tabitha and my father, who had made a journey and now had to meet strangers in a new place.
I left the house and breathed in the May air. The drizzle had still not returned, but now some humidity had replaced it. Behind me Heathcliff and Rochester snuffled at the door; I informed them, with an apologetic tone, that this time I wouldn’t bring them along. “Later today, okay, guys?” I thought I saw a bit of reproach in their eyes.
I jogged down the driveway and onto the dirt road that led down the bluff. Then I walked a bit more sedately to Sam’s drive. I turned in with a feeling of bemusement—so many things had happened right here under the large pines that flanked Sam’s driveway, starting with our first meeting—and I walked up to Sam’s door. I tried the handle and found it unlocked; Sam often left it this way for me during the day, but I frowned at it now. While this hooded ninja was on the loose, he needed to lock his door.
I went inside, down Sam’s handsome, masculine entry hall, and to the back of the house, where his gorgeous kitchen provided a view of the woods on the bluff. At the end of the hallway I turned right, into the big space of his kitchen, and saw Victoria West in Sam’s arms.
She was crying, and her lovely titian hair flowed down her back in some disarray while she sobbed against his chest. Sam looked at me with a helpless expression; he knew in an instant how I felt about seeing his ex-wife in his embrace.
“Oh,” I said. “I’m interrupting. I’ll come back.”
Victoria looked up, surprised, and I was annoyed to find that, even with tear-smudged makeup, she looked attractive. She wiped at her eyes. “Oh, hello, Lena. I’m just pouring out my troubles on poor Sam.”
Victoria and I hadn’t met very many times; the most memorable of our meetings had occurred on the day her baby was stolen, when she found me standing in Sam’s front yard, looking dumbly after the retreating car. She had claimed to be grateful, because I supplied the license number that had allowed the police to find the vehicle and formulate a theory about who had paid off the driver. Now I wondered if she didn’t resent me for not somehow warning them, or preventing the theft that I hadn’t realized was happening. It had looked normal, initially, as though she had merely told her driver to put the baby in the car. It was only later that I realized Victoria never would have entrusted her baby to someone else . . . .
“It must be very hard, waiting to hear news of Athena.”
She sighed. “Yes, it is. I know the police are doing the best they can, but it’s just so frustrating, wanting to hold my little girl again, worrying that she misses me, that she’s lonely.”
She looked directly at me, and her genuine love caused tears of empathy to form in my eyes. “I wish I had done something differently that day,” I said. “I wish I had known. In my memory it all seems to happen in slow motion, and it’s so very cold . . .”
“No, none of that,” she said, waving my concerns away with an elegant hand. “If you had intervened that man might have hurt you, or Athena. And as you said, you didn’t know.”
One of her arms was still wrapped around Sam, who stood in silence, looking uncomfortable. How strange for him to be in a room with his former wife and his current lover and to have to pretend it wasn’t awkward.
“Well, I have to run,” I said. “I just stopped in to say hello, but I’m interrupting. I need to check on Allison.” I was talking rapidly and backing away.
Sam looked miserable now. “Lena, you don’t have to go—”
“Yes, I actually do. I promised I’d look in on her today. I’ll see you later, Sam. Victoria, I hope you hear some good news soon.”
I rounded the corner and moved swiftly back down Sam’s hall and out the door, where I saw a large man, dressed in blue jeans and a dark shirt, leaning against a nearby tree. Had I seen him before I went in, I would have guessed that Victoria was inside, since she went everywhere with a bodyguard these days. I looked away from him—I couldn’t help but feel that he was smirking at me—and moved back down Sam’s driveway. I wasn’t able to pinpoint one feeling in the strange cocktail of emotions that I would have to sort out later. Instead I turned on the path and walked all the way down to Wentworth Street, where the potted flowers glistened with the recent rain and the road glimmered in the humid air. I turned right and made my way past several residences with brightly painted doors (a Blue Lake custom) until I came to one with a lavender door and the number 180.
The door was wide open, and I could hear Allison’s laughter inside, so I knocked once and then entered, saying, “Allie? I’m here to check up on you.” I moved down a main hallway of the unfamiliar house, with bright white walls that reflected the sun, and found Allison leaning on her kitchen island while John kissed her neck.
She looked past him and, as was always the case, her face brightened when she saw me. “Lena!” she cried, her smile wide.
“Oh gosh. This is my day of interrupting embraces.”
“What does that mean? Is something wrong?” She moved away from John and said, “John just came home to keep me company at lunchtime.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” I said.
John held up a hand. “No, fun as it was, I have to get back to work. You two talk and I’ll continue kissing my wife at a later time.”
Allison laughed and kissed his cheek, and he picked up a briefcase from the floor. “See you, Lena.”
I waved, and he walked swiftly down the hall and out the door. “I really know how to kill the romance in a room,” I joked.
Allison pushed me into a chair. The kitchen was also bright white and festooned with various hanging baskets. A large vase of flowers sat in the center of the table and provided a beautiful tribute to spring. “What’s going on? You seem blue,” she said, sitting across from me.
“I’m not, really. My dad and Tabitha just arrived—”
“That’s great!”
“But they kicked me out so they could plan my birthday. So I went to Sam’s, and Victoria was there, kind of throwing herself into his arms.”
Allison’s lip curled with displeasure. “I know she’s been through a lot, blah blah et cetera, but that lady is up to something.”
“I don’t know. She was very polite and gracious—”
“While hugging your boyfriend. He’s yours, Lena. She needs to back off.”
“I don’t think it was like that. She was crying, and they were real tears. She misses her baby, of course. I would feel terrible in her place.”
Allison still looked suspicious, and she was generally the least suspicious person in the world.
“Anyway. Enough about me. How are you doing in your resort house here?”
She spun around, waving at the airy kitchen. “It’s a lovely house, and John and I are really enjoying being right in the center of town. We’re treating it like a little spring break.”
“When can you go back?”
Her face grew a shade paler. “Doug actually said we can go back now. They’ve cleaned everything up and taken down the crime tape. But I’m just not ready yet. Aside from the disturbing memories, and the fear that they will make me feel different about my own house, well—I’m afraid to face my neighbors.”
“Why? You didn’t do anything.”
“No. But you saw how they were looking at us o
n the day you were there. And it’s not just Eddie’s death. I swear they just don’t like us. Way back at Christmas, John and I noticed that everyone’s decorations seemed to be thematically linked, as though they had gotten together to talk about it. But somehow we were left out of that conversation.” Her face was suddenly vulnerable, childlike. “And then there were the renovations. One family started, with a new deck, and then they followed like dominoes: the screened porch, the new siding, the brick patio, the renovated basement. It was as if everyone was adhering to some sort of unspoken block-improvement plan. Except that John and I can’t afford any renovations.”
I stared at her for a minute. “Allison, your house doesn’t need any renovations. These issues are in your mind. Haven’t you ever had a nice conversation with one of these people?”
“Yeah, I suppose. But some of them seem judgmental. And I just can’t face them right now.”
“You did nothing wrong. You are the victim here! And all they should offer you is their compassion.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I checked the message, which was from my father: We didn’t mean to scare you off! Come home and give us the grand tour!
I smiled. “My dad is asking for a tour of Blue Lake. Would you like to help?”
The old Allison bounced predictably back into place. “I would love it! This is my second day off, did I tell you? They felt sorry for me at work, I guess. So I’m just rambling around in this big house. Let me grab my sweater, in case it gets cold later. You know this town and its weird weather. Text your dad that I’ll join you.”
“I can’t. My battery just died. We’ll have to tell him in person.” I frowned at my phone for a moment.
She ran out of the room and I contemplated her last words. I had arrived in Blue Lake during a monumental thunderstorm, after which I had experienced the chill of fall, then the dreadful cold and plentiful snow of winter. This was my first spring, and I was happily anticipating summer in my sleepy little town; but Allison was right—the weather was always changing. It was best to give my father the tour while it still looked good outside.
Allison returned, her expression bright, and her good mood transferred itself to me. We walked back to Graham House and picked up my father and Tabitha, after which we explored Blue Lake: we brought them to the Bluebell Bakery to munch on their samples (Tabitha bought a coffee cake for Camilla). We let them peek into Blue Lake Coffee and enjoy its aroma. We showed them the eccentric wonderland that was Bick’s Hardware, although we did not go in (I would wait to introduce Marge Bick, who was an acquired taste). We pointed out the various restaurants on Wentworth Street, in case my father and Tabitha ever wanted to wander alone; we showed them the second-run theater, where one could get popcorn and a drink for three dollars; we showed them the Laundromat and the florist (my romantic father bought each of us a rose), and then, roses in hand, we found the path that led to the pier, and then to the sandy beach of Blue Lake.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” Tabitha cried. “And Camilla’s house is just up there? Why, you’re right on the lake! What a view you have!”
“It’s amazing. I am incredibly spoiled,” I admitted.
“She really is,” Allison said. “John and I love our house, but we’re farther out in the suburbs. We could never have afforded lakefront property, and Lena got to town and moved into a house at the top of the bluff, with this view.”
“We can see the lake from the room Camilla gave us. Just wonderful. Your dad and I live by the ocean, but we have to drive a few minutes to see it. This is just serene,” Tabitha said.
My father nodded. “It’s just the way you described it, Lee.”
“She is a writer, after all,” Allison piped, sniffing her yellow rose.
Tabitha was finding colorful stones on the sand and slipping them into her pocket. I had done the same thing on one of my first days in town. “These will make a lovely centerpiece,” she said. “Or I can put them at the bottom of a vase, and they’ll stay bright inside the water.”
“Tabitha’s very crafty,” my father said. “She’s got homemade wreaths and wall hangings and things all over our house, and they’re all beautiful.” My father said this earnestly, and I realized why Tabitha loved him, and why I did. He was sweet and loyal.
“Ahhh. I could stay here all day,” Allison said, gazing at the lake. “I always like to find the spot where the lake meets the sky, but I can’t quite do it.”
“It’s a little hazy today,” I said.
We had reached the foot of the steep red staircase that went up the bluff all the way to Camilla’s backyard. I had finally grown used to it, but I feared it might be strenuous for my father and his wife. “These stairs are kind of tough. There’s a bench halfway up; how about if you and Tabitha just take it at your own pace, then enjoy the view from the bench? I want to run up and make a quick phone call, see if Sam can join us.”
“I thought he was going to stop by this morning,” my father said, looking at his feet.
“He wanted to. He had an unexpected visitor.”
“You go call; we’ll savor the scenery,” he said.
“Yes, you go up, sweetheart! Your dad and I have a different pace,” Tabitha joked.
Her words chilled me, and for a moment I froze in place, hearing the word like a taunt in my head. Hello, Sweetheart. Such was the extent of my paranoia that for a wild instant I wondered if Tabitha could have been behind the note. Then I looked at her kind face, flushed with the exertion of our long walk, and shook off my ludicrous imaginings.
Allison and I moved up the stairs at a rapid pace; even now, after all this time in Blue Lake, my heart was racing at the top.
“That is a workout!” Allison said, laughing. “Ah. I’m glad my rose survived. It was a little windy down there.”
“Do you want to stay for dinner? Or a late lunch? What time is it, anyway?”
She looked at her watch. “It’s four o’clock!” We entered Camilla’s kitchen and Allison set down her rose to adjust her windblown hair.
“Wow. Time flies. Let me find a vase. Do you want me to wrap yours in a damp cloth?”
“Yes, thank you. And then I’m going to go. As you saw, John is feeling romantic, so I want to dream up a nice little dinner for him.”
“You do that. Have fun. And Allison—when it’s time to go back home, you’ll be ready. You don’t have to think about your neighbors or the mailman or anything. Just go live in your home and remember the good times.”
She handed me her rose and I took it to the sink. “Okay, that’s good advice. Now I have some for you. Don’t be mad at Sam, but do tell him that he doesn’t have to give in to everything that woman wants. She’s not his responsibility. She’s got family, and she’s got bodyguards and stuff.”
“I know—I saw one when I left Sam’s. Hey—does one of her bodyguards have a beard? A guy about forty-five or fifty, with brown facial hair?”
“Why?”
“I—happened to see someone like that in town.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know she has bodyguards, or at least one bodyguard. John saw him once, skulking around behind her while she waited for coffee.”
“Oh well.” I wrapped her rose at its base in a damp paper towel, then wrapped it again in tinfoil. “This will keep it moist until you get home.”
“Great! It will be the centerpiece for my spaghetti dinner.”
“Like in Lady and the Tramp.”
We laughed, and Allison gave me a hug. Then she waved and exited out the front door.
I put my own rose, a lovely peach color, into a bud vase that usually sat on Camilla’s windowsill, and set it on the dining room table. My father and Tabitha appeared at the door, looking winded. “That’s quite a climb,” my dad said. “You weren’t kidding.”
“You two sit down and I’ll make you some tea. I have to work for a litt
le while with Camilla, but then I’m going to whisk you away for dinner. Does that sound good?”
“It does,” my father said. “But I think Tabby and I are going to take a quick nap. Travel, and all that lake air, have got us feeling pretty sleepy.”
“And then I’ll want to change,” Tabitha said. “I want to look nice for dinner.”
“Okay—I’ll check in with you in a couple of hours. Tabitha, if you want, I’ll put your rose in this vase with mine.”
“Oh yes!” She handed me her rose, a deep red shade—Eric London, you romantic devil—and they moved into the hallway and up the stairs. I tucked Tabitha’s rose in the water with mine and retrieved my dead phone from my pocket, seeking out a charger from a kitchen drawer and plugging it into the outlet near the sink. Once the battery light went on, I picked it up and checked the messages, which I had not been able to do earlier. There were ten: one from Doug, one from Belinda, and eight from Sam.
I read Doug’s first, which was a response to my Belinda update: Thanks a million. I’m on it. I smiled, then read Belinda’s: Don’t forget I have some new things in the London File. And I’ll put some Sam items in there, too.
Finally I read Sam’s messages. The first said, Don’t be mad at me. Can I come over and meet your dad?
When I didn’t respond, his tone grew more urgent. Now he probably feared I was one of those girlfriends who pouted and gave the silent treatment—which I was not. I dialed his number and he picked up on the second ring. “Lena?”
“I’m sorry. My phone died while Allison and I gave the grand tour to Dad and Tabitha. I’m not mad at you.”
“Thank God. I really didn’t know Vic was coming.”
“Can you come to dinner?”
“I’d like to take you out, the whole London clan. Is that acceptable? We can drive over to Stafford and eat at Bonaventura.”
“Oooh. That sounds lovely. I’ve only been there once, on a date with you.”
“They’ve already seen Blue Lake and I’m sure they’ll eat their share of meals at Wheat Grass, so this would be a nice change of pace.”
A Dark and Twisting Path Page 8