Snowfall at Willow Lake

by Susan Wiggs

  “You take care now,” he said. “I’ll drop off some firewood in the morning.”

  He was an exceedingly nice man, she thought, watching from the doorway as he got in his truck. Some kind of crazy luck had been with her when she’d driven into the ditch in front of his house.

  A chill wind blew across the surface of the lake, gusting drifts of snow up against the house. She shivered and turned on the heat, then went to familiarize herself with the place and unpack her things.

  The stick-built house had a simple layout, with every room oriented toward the lake. There were two bedrooms and two baths, and a main room that incorporated the kitchen, dining and living areas. The furnishings were simple, too. Rustic tables, overstuffed chairs, lamps with painted shades. There was a closet with a selection of snowshoes and ice skates. At one time, the inhabitant of the house must have had a dog or cat. There was a padded mat on the floor near the stove, and in the pantry, she’d noticed a set of feeding bowls.

  She spent some time setting up her laptop and synchronizing it with her mobile device so she would have an Internet connection. She sent a quick e-mail to a few friends, including Bertie, to let them know she’d arrived and all was well. No need to mention the car versus deer incident.

  Then she unpacked her suitcases, shaking her head at the inappropriateness of her wardrobe. The tailored suits, with their creased slacks and skirts, the designer shoes and silk stockings were not going to work in this environment.

  Good, thought Sophie. This would give her an excuse to invite Daisy to go shopping, help her find some clothes for the snow. Assuming Daisy wanted to do anything at all with her.

  That was completely the wrong attitude, Sophie told herself. Almost defiantly, she grabbed her phone, scrolled to Daisy’s number and hit Send.

  This time, Daisy picked up right away. “Mom,” she said. “Hi. I saw you’d called earlier, but I didn’t have my phone with me.” As always, she sounded cautious. Pleasant, but cautious. That tone, Sophie realized, was her own doing. She had trained Daisy to be cautious around her, to expect to hear that, once again, Sophie was going to be delayed or not show up at all, to miss a field hockey game or swim meet, an art show or teacher conference. To miss her entire childhood. Sophie’s children had learned to expect nothing of their mother. She’d told herself that with the proper nannies and household help, the kids would not even miss her. It had taken many years, a painful divorce and finally an international incident for Sophie to realize just how much she had truly missed.

  “Hi, honey,” Sophie said. “I just got into town. I’m in Avalon.”

  “I didn’t realize you were coming so soon, Mom,” Daisy said. “I figured you’d stay in the city until the storm is over.”

  “I didn’t feel like waiting. I’d come see you right this minute if the roads were better.”

  “Don’t go out. It’s not safe. Are you staying at the Apple Tree?”

  Sophie visited Avalon frequently and usually stayed at the Apple Tree Inn, a luxury B and B near the historic center of town. “Actually, I have news. I’m at the Wilsons’ cabin, up on Lakeshore Road.”

  A pause. “I don’t get it, Mom.”

  “I have so much to tell you, Daisy. And I can’t wait to see the baby.” Charlie had been born last summer. Sophie had been present for the birth, thank God. To see her child give birth had been overwhelming, to hold her grandchild even more so. Since then, she had visited four times, but it wasn’t enough. She’d found out that night in The Hague that it was not enough.

  With the phone pressed to her ear, Sophie went to the window. She looked out across the lake, a picture of cold white magnificence. It was a scene out of a fairy tale, of ice palaces and frozen estates, a separate world of glittering splendor, as inhospitable as it was beautiful.

  “I actually arrived last night,” she said. “I drove up from JFK.”

  “That’s nuts, Mom. You could’ve been killed.”

  Sophie’s lips twitched at the irony. “I’m fine. But I would have waited if I’d known I was going to be snowed in.”

  “Are you all right?” Daisy asked. “Do you have food? Heat?”

  “I have everything I need here, but I’m dying to see you. The roads on this side of the water are terrible, though.”

  “That’s the lake effect.”

  “Right,” Sophie said. “As soon as the roads are clear, I’ll come see you.”

  “It’s a date.”

  Sophie detected an edge in her daughter’s voice. “Is this a bad time?”

  “Um, no. But…I’ve got company.”

  “Oh! I’ll let you go, then. Call me later. I want to hear all about Charlie and your new place…” In the background, she heard a murmur of male laughter followed by a baby’s squeals.

  All right, thought Sophie. I get it. I’ve got company was code for my boyfriend’s here. “Is that…?”

  “Logan’s here,” Daisy said.

  Logan O’Donnell. Sophie wasn’t sure if he was the boyfriend or not, though she definitely had a preference for not. Spoiled, rich, an alumnus of an expensive rehab school. Not her favorite person.

  “Call me later,” she said.

  “I will, Mom. Promise.”

  Well, thought Sophie. How about that?

  She checked the time and tried Max’s number. He had his own mobile phone, which seemed a bit much for a twelve-year-old, except Sophie insisted on it. Once again he didn’t answer, so she left a brief voice mail and said she’d call him later. For good measure, she also sent him a text message. Today’s phones and gadgets allowed a person to keep in touch with everyone. You could download your kid’s schedule. You could run your whole family. You could be in touch and out of reach. She wasn’t sure this was such a good thing.

  Sophie knew she could always call Greg’s house and ask for her son, but the idea didn’t appeal to her in the least. There were few things she despised more than calling Greg. It wasn’t that she hated her ex-husband. Not at all. In fact, there was a small, pathetic part of her that loved him still, would always love him. Theirs had not been a bitter divorce. It had simply been inevitable and sad, and they both understood that.

  Still, she hated having to call him, hated it more than anything.

  Except, perhaps, talking to his wife, Nina. She hated that most of all.

  She didn’t hate Nina, either.

  But she sure as heck didn’t like talking to her.

  Sophie spent her first night in the lake house alone, almost wishing she still had that warm puppy in bed with her. When she awakened, she flashed on haunting memories of The Hague, but they instantly dissolved in a flood of white light. She got up to see that more snow had fallen. A lot more snow. On the lake side of the cabin, it had drifted up to the windowpanes.

  To her surprise, it was midmorning. Never had jet lag affected her like this. She attributed it to being snowed in. She’d quit keeping track of time—why bother, when she couldn’t go anywhere? She checked for messages. Max had IMed her that there would be a half day of school today and he had hockey practice this afternoon. She digested the information, feeling her nerves burn with apprehension. Her son had his own life, his own schedule—and she wasn’t a part of it.

  Yet, she reminded herself. She wasn’t a part of it yet. She wanted—needed—to matter to her kids. Not just for her, but for them. Max surely had the usual kid problems, and not having his mother around couldn’t make life any easier. Now that she was here, would he be glad? Resentful? Indifferent? He would be glad to have her back, surely. Even though she’d been busy with work all of Max’s life, she still remembered the funny little boy he’d been, the way his face would light up when she got home from the office, the stolen time they’d spent together on weekends. She prayed he remembered those times, too. She wanted to know both her children better, wanted to see who they were becoming as they grew up and hoped it wasn’t too late to do that.

  She took a bath, awkwardly keeping her stitches dry, and found a t
hick terry robe to put on as she dried her hair. Standing at the window, she gazed out at the lake, an endless, windswept field of white. A flicker of color in the distance caught her eye. One of the neighbors a few houses over was clearing an area on the ice, she assumed for skating.

  She lived on a lake you could skate on. If she told Tariq, he would never believe her. Sophie’s closest friends knew her as a sophisticate, a city dweller. A rustic cabin on a skating lake—they’d think she had lost her marbles.

  Which, depending on how you looked at it, she had.

  A bubbling agitation always accompanied memories of The Incident. She needed to get out. This might be a good time to introduce herself to the guy clearing off the ice.

  She tried to dress for the weather, layering wool trousers over panty hose and topping it with a cashmere twin set. She donned the borrowed snowmobile boots, found a Sherpa-style wool hat on a hall tree by the door and pulled it on, then headed outside. As soon as she stepped into the yard, she sank to her thighs in the soft snow.

  All right, she thought. Maybe not such a good idea. She struggled to lever herself up, unable to get a purchase in the fresh snow. By the time she reached the edge of the lake, she was dusted in white and breathing heavily. There was no pain in her knee but a pulling sensation warned her to take it easy. She carefully made her way to the neighbor’s.

  He wore a black-and-red plaid hunting jacket, thick gloves and enormous boots, and he didn’t notice her as she approached, so focused was he on working back and forth on the ice.

  “Hello!” Sophie called, waving her arm.

  The neighbor looked over, stuck the big orange-bladed shovel in a snowbank and came to greet her. “Hello yourself.” The voice was melodic and decidedly feminine.

  Taken aback, Sophie regrouped. “My name’s Sophie Bellamy,” she said. “I’m going to be staying at the Wilsons’, so I thought I’d stop and introduce myself.”

  The woman—it was most definitely a woman—smiled. Cold air and exertion had whipped high color into her cheeks, adding cheer to her smile. “Tina Calloway,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Sophie couldn’t quite tell if Tina thought it was nice or not. She gestured at the ice. “So is this for skating?”

  Tina nodded. “It’s perfectly safe. I grew up here, skating on the lake every winter.”

  “It looks just beautiful, like something out of a picture book.”

  “Do you skate?”

  “A bit. I can manage to get around without falling. Or at least I used to.” Although she had been living in the land of Hans Brinker, Sophie had never done much for fun in Holland, as Tariq was so fond of pointing out. She worked, and she worked some more. She worked at home every night, and the next morning she went to work. This was one reason she’d advanced so quickly in the ICC. She had no life. She was a machine.

  “So you’re a friend of the Wilsons?” Tina said.

  “I am. Bertie Wilson and I were pretty much inseparable in law school. We’re still close.”

  “You’re a lawyer, then.”

  “That’s right. I’m…well, for the time being, I’m on hiatus. I was working overseas.” She paused, and thankfully, Tina didn’t push for further details.

  “I’m a women’s hockey coach at SUNY New Paltz,” Tina said. “My folks own this place.”

  “My daughter is just about to start there,” Sophie said.

  “You sure don’t look old enough to have a daughter in college.” She unzipped her jacket and fanned herself. “Sorry, I worked up a sweat, shoveling this.” Underneath the hunting jacket, she was dressed like a snowboarder, in cargo pants with Ride Or Die in flaming letters on the pocket.

  The chainsaw snarl of a motor filled the air, growing louder. A snowmobile burst into view and, without warning, Sophie’s heart sped up.

  “Hey, Noah.” Brushing back her hood, Tina bloomed like a flower in the snow. He’s a little old for you, Sophie thought, although she didn’t actually know how old Noah Shepherd was.

  He turned off the motor. “I brought some wood,” he said, pointing at the pole-handled sled behind the snowmobile. “Wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Are you kidding? I live for this.” Tina gestured at the endless white snowscape.

  “So the two of you have met,” he said.

  Sophie nodded. “I wanted to let the neighbors know I’m not a squatter.”

  “How’s your knee?”

  “It’s fine.” She became acutely conscious of the warm but aggressively ugly hat, the earflaps crushing whatever was left of her hairstyle. Noah Shepherd, she noticed, had on a simple heather-green hat that had probably been knitted by a woman’s loving hands. He just had that air about him, the look of a man for whom women made things.

  He and Tina busied themselves, stacking the firewood on the porch. Sophie tried to pitch in, but he shooed her away. “You’ve got a bad knee,” he reminded her. “She cut her knee,” he explained to Tina, “and I stitched it up.”

  “Get out of town.”

  “Swear to God, I did.”

  “He did,” Sophie verified.

  “Way to go, Doc.” Tina gave him a high five, and they went back to work. Sophie caught herself watching Noah’s movements, his easy strength and the way he seemed so sure of himself. Good heavens, he was wonderful to watch. She couldn’t recall the last time simply looking at a man had inspired such a flood of lust.

  “I really appreciate this,” Tina said as they finished up with the wood. “You want to come in for a cup of hot chocolate?” She glanced over at Sophie. “You, too, of course.”

  “No, thanks,” said Noah.

  “You want to go skating?”

  “Maybe later,” he said. “After chores.”

  She shrugged. “Whatev.”

  “I’d better be going,” Sophie said. “Tina, it was nice to meet you.”

  Noah turned to Sophie. “I’ll give you a ride back to your place.” It wasn’t a question.

  Right, she thought, eyeing the snowmobile. Still, she didn’t want him to think she was a spoiled city slicker, ill prepared for living in a rustic winter cabin.

  “See you around, Tina,” he said.

  “Bye, Noah.” The young woman sent him a worshipful look.

  “You’ll have to tell me what to do,” said Sophie, following him to the snowmobile.

  “Just have a seat on the back, and hold on.”

  She awkwardly straddled the long black saddle of the snowmobile, putting her feet on the narrow running boards. He mounted in front of her and fired up the engine. “Hang on,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  She put her hands on the edge of the seat, trying to find a purchase.

  “To me,” he said, “hang on to me.”

  She clutched the sides of his parka.

  “Hold on harder,” he said.

  She hesitated, then tightened her fists.

  “Like this.” He disengaged her hands and pulled her arms clear around his middle, linking her hands together. He felt like a tree to her. She was a tree hugger. Then he laid into the throttle and the snowmobile jerked forward.

  Sophie was glad he’d made her hold on hard. She turned her head, pressing her cheek to his back. And it struck her that she had not embraced a man in a hundred years, not like this. Never had physical closeness felt this way to her.

  The snowmobile was fast and loud. Despite the bone-drilling cold of the wind rushing over her, she loved the feeling of freedom and speed. The thought crossed her mind that if Max could see her now, he would be impressed. Maybe when Max came to see her, Noah would—

  She put aside the thought. It was too soon to make any sort of presumption, about her son and most certainly about her neighbor.

  During the few minutes of the wild ride, she didn’t have to do anything but hold on and enjoy the rush of speed. A feeling rose in her chest, along with a sound she hadn’t heard in a long time—her own laughter. The wind snatched it away so that it trailed in their wake, a
n invisible ribbon of sound. For these few minutes, life was pure, uncomplicated fun. After the hell she’d been through, it was a huge relief to simply fly across the churning snow.

  She felt slightly let down when they came to a stop at her place. At the same time, she felt completely exhilarated.

  “My face is frozen,” she said to Noah when they pulled up in front of her house and he killed the engine.

  “At least you’re smiling.”

  “Am I?” She put her hands to her cheeks. “I can’t feel it.”

  “Well, you’re showing it. And smiling looks good on you.”

  “Would you like to come in?”

  She expected him to turn her down for the same reason he had turned down Tina earlier. He surprised her by saying, “Great. Thanks.”

  As they stomped the snow from their boots and headed inside, she mentioned it. “She’s sweet on you.”

  “She?”

  “Tina. Don’t say you haven’t noticed.” She led the way inside and pointed to the boot tray.

  “I like to think I don’t miss these things. She’s not my type, though.”

  Sophie felt stupidly gratified to hear it. “I barely remember what I was like at her age, you know?”

  “Her old man’s Sockeye Calloway,” Noah said. “He played on the 1980 U.S. hockey team in Lake Placid.”

  The gold medal team. The miracle team. “I wish you hadn’t called him an old man,” Sophie said. “I vividly remember being on the edge of my seat, watching the Olympics that year. Tina must be a very good skater.”

  “Yeah. Your fire’s low,” he said, clearly done with the topic of Tina. “I’ll stoke it up for you.”

  She stood back and watched him work, and was amazed to realize the feelings she’d had earlier still lingered and had, in fact, intensified. There was no mistaking it. She was turned-on.

  Okay, Sophie, she told herself. Deep breath.

  She held herself very still and quiet, waiting for the feeling to pass, like a wave of nausea or dizziness. Instead, as she watched Noah her fascination with him grew. Everything felt warm already, even before he added a seasoned log to the fire and gently blew upon the coals beneath it to coax a row of tiny flames licking along its underside.