by Susan Wiggs
“So you got your romantic farewell,” Sophie said.
Gail nodded. “He even explained about the old girlfriend. She’s a compounding pharmacist, which the doctor recommended. I didn’t hear that over the screaming baby, and Adam was too mad to tell me.”
“But you worked it out.”
“Yes. He’s just as gone, though. Gone is gone.”
Sophie recognized that hurt in her voice. It was one thing to find yourself single because your marriage failed. But to be forcibly separated from her husband in this way…“I’m sorry,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do…”
“There might be.” Gayle stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I need some advice. Noah said you’re a lawyer.”
Oh, dear. “I’m not practicing.”
“But could you?”
“I still have my license for this state, but—” You offered, Sophie reminded herself. “What is it that you need?”
“I’m—Lord, this is awful. I don’t want to bother Adam with it while he’s overseas. It’s just a minor thing having to do with our business license for the farm. I feel so clueless. Since he’s been gone, everything seems to matter more.”
A business license was nothing like the kind of law Sophie used to practice. Still, her heart went out to Gayle, so uncertain, her husband gone. “Absolutely. Tomorrow?”
“I’d love that.” She glanced out the window. “I should get back.”
“I’ll walk you home and you can tell me what’s up.” Sophie offered a fleeting smile. “I have a bit of cabin fever myself, and I’m still adjusting to the fact that I have downtime.”
Gayle’s place was about a hundred yards down the road. “Your kids are one, three and five, right?” asked Sophie. Dear God, had Gayle left them alone?
Gayle correctly interpreted Sophie’s alarm. “Don’t worry, they’re in good hands.”
They stepped inside just as a small, laughing child flew up in the air. A second later she was caught by a pair of strong hands. The hands belonged to Noah Shepherd.
Gayle saw the way Sophie was watching Noah; Sophie saw her watching and blushed.
“Don’t worry,” Gayle said, “he has that effect on everyone.”
Eighteen
Max felt totally out of place on the Lakeshore Road bus. He didn’t know any of the kids on this route. He didn’t have a usual seat. So once again, he was an outsider. A stranger, getting looks of suspicion as he approached the bus.
With his backpack and sports bag dragging at his shoulder like a load of granite, he climbed aboard, showing his permission slip to an indifferent driver, who simply nodded. The bus, like all buses that served Avalon Middle School, was crowded with kids who represented a cross-section of the school population—girls who spoke only in either squeals or whispers, library geeks who tried to make themselves disappear into the pages of a fantasy novel, loud jocks whose mission it was to use as many cuss words as possible every time they opened their mouths, and a smattering of regular kids. Max considered himself one of these. A kid who is neither smart nor dumb, cool nor dorky, just somewhere in between.
He hesitated in the middle of the aisle, scanning for an empty seat and trying not to look too frantic about it. Every seat was taken, so he’d need to plunk down next to some other kid. But which kid? The one staring mesmerized at a handheld game probably wouldn’t notice him at all. He headed for the empty spot.
“Taken,” the kid said tonelessly, without looking up. “Sorry.”
Max moved on. There were way too many girls on this bus. He found himself choosing between a space cadet named Kolby who was in his science class, and a fat girl with an angry look on her face.
Somebody shoved him from behind. “Sit down, will you?”
Max plopped down next to the fat girl. Maybe she wouldn’t try to talk to him.
“Did I say you could sit there?”
“Nope,” Max said. He pulled his backpack into his lap and shoved his sports bag under the seat. Then he pushed his knees against the back of the seat in front of him.
“Maybe I was saving it.”
“Maybe you weren’t.”
“That pisses me off.”
“Too bad.”
“I’m Chelsea,” the girl said.
So much for picking someone who didn’t want to talk. “Max,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“What are you doing on this bus?”
“Going to my mom’s.” He hated the sound of that. For most kids, going home and going to your mom’s were the same thing. Not for Max. At least he didn’t have to fly all night to see her, though, like he used to when she lived in Holland. So that was progress. Maybe.
“Where does she live?” Chelsea asked.
“Lakeshore Road.”
“I live on that road, too,” she said.
Ooh, let’s be best friends.
“It’s the last stop,” she informed him. “End of the line. I’m always last to get home. That pisses me off.”
Max took out his mobile phone. He didn’t really need to get in touch with anyone, but he figured if he looked busy, maybe fat, pissed-off Chelsea would quit talking. For want of something better to do, he texted Dubois: u on 4 practice 2day? He kept his hand cupped around the screen so Chelsea wouldn’t see. He already knew Dubois was going to hockey practice. So was his other friend, Altshuler. Their parents took turns. Today, Max’s mom would be driving the car pool for the first time. She’d just leased an all-wheel-drive minivan, a real soccer-mom car, she called it.
Max shut his phone and stuck it in his pocket. His dad placed restrictions on his use of it and studied the bill each month to make sure Max was complying. If Dad had his way, Max wouldn’t even have a phone. Its main purpose, Max knew, was for his mom to have a way to call him, and only him. She hated when she called the house and dad or Nina picked up. So Max got his own phone and Mom got her own ring tone—“I Go to Sleep” by the Pretenders.
The bus lurched and lumbered along its prescribed route, rumbling to a halt at each stop. Its brakes gnashed and hissed as it pulled over every few minutes to disgorge passengers. As soon as the geeky girl across the aisle vacated her seat, Max made a dive for it, dragging along his sports bag and backpack. He smashed himself against the window and gazed out, his breath fanning across the glass.
Unfortunately, being ditched didn’t stop Chelsea from talking. Even though he gave the most minimal response he could without being completely rude, she kept yakking away. The list of things that pissed her off grew at every bend in the road—the fact that most of the snow days had been used up for the school year and it was only February. The fact that you couldn’t get cable TV out on Lakeshore Road. The show “High School Musical,” which she had to watch at a friends’ house because she didn’t get cable. The price of a lift ticket at Saddle Mountain, where she and her grandpa went skiing every weekend.
“Do you ski?” she asked Max, finally ending the litany.
“Snowboard,” he said.
“That’s awesome. I’ve been wanting to learn, but my grandparents don’t want to get me new equipment. That pisses me off.”
Of course it did. There were things that pissed Max off, too, although he didn’t go around reciting them for anyone to hear. Flunking a test and then having to get it signed by his dad—that pissed him off. Having a bunch of new stepcousins he didn’t know—that sucked, too. Not knowing what your mom’s house looked like. Feeling torn between his mom and his dad. Knowing he had a totally boring weekend ahead of him. Now that he thought about it, there were a lot of things that pissed him off.
The route was starting to feel endless. At least the scenery was good. Willow Lake was pretty much Max’s favorite thing about living in Avalon. His dad’s property even had a dock, which in the summer was perfect for fishing off of, or getting a running start and diving into the lake. Even though the water was so cold it made your balls shrivel and your scalp scream, it was totally worth it to plunge in on a hot summer day.
In the winter, the whole lake froze. The city had an inspector who tested the ice on a regular basis to make sure it was at least four inches thick. Max’s dad and stepmom didn’t allow skating at the Inn at Willow Lake because they didn’t want any of their guests getting hurt. He wondered if there was any skating to be done at his mom’s house.
His mom now had a house in Avalon. He’d never expected her to move here.
“So where’s your house again?” Chelsea asked, as if he’d already told her, which he hadn’t.
“Across from the Shepherd Dairy,” he said. His mom had told him to watch for a big barn—the only barn visible from the road. It had the dairy logo of a cow painted on the side. According to his mom, the place didn’t operate as a dairy anymore. The guy they’d met in the restaurant that night had turned it into an animal hospital.
“That’s my stop, too,” Chelsea declared. “I work part time at Dr. Shepherd’s, helping him take care of the animals.”
To Max, that sounded semi-interesting, though he wasn’t about to let on to this girl that he was curious.
“I’ll show you where to get off,” she said.
“Great.” Like he couldn’t find a barn on his own.
The bus swayed, causing his sports bag to slide. He grabbed it and stared out the window. Just for a moment, the sight shocked him. There was a high snowbank next to the road, then a sheer drop-off. Max’s stomach clenched. He wasn’t really afraid. It was just a reaction to looking out the window and seeing nothing but thin air. They wouldn’t let a school bus go along a road that was unsafe. Plus, the driver was only crawling along, going probably twice as slow as necessary.
“There’s an old story,” Chelsea said, “that like, fifty years ago, a car went off the road right here and killed a man and woman who were headed to the Inn at Willow Lake for their honeymoon.”
“Is it true?”
“My grandpa says yes, but I don’t think he knows for sure. According to the story, the car and the bodies were never found because the lake’s too deep here.” She started gathering up her things. “Almost there.”
The barn came into view just as his mom had described it. Finally.
Max could see about five houses crouched along the lakeshore. A thread of smoke came from the chimney of one cottage. Mom had said to find the mailbox colored in bright yellow smiley faces. He wondered if she was watching out the window, if she could see the bus coming around the bend in the road.
“Here we are,” Chelsea announced.
Three other kids headed for the exit. Max murmured a thank-you to the driver and jumped down, taking care not to slip on the frozen ground.
The three other kids—two boys and a girl—hiked up the lane that branched off the main road. They paused in a tight cluster and lit up cigarettes.
“Eighth-graders,” Chelsea said, her tone conveying clear disapproval. “I can’t stand smoking. Pisses me off. Well. Guess I’ll see you around.”
Not if I see you first, Max thought. Eager to get away, he headed across the road and found the designated landmark, the smiley-face mailbox. Someone had carefully dug the snow around it so that it was clearly visible. His mom had probably done that. She often acted as though he were an idiot. She had offered to hike up the driveway and meet the bus, but Max had declined. Mothers did that for kindergartners, not that his mom would know about that. As far as Max knew, she’d never met a school bus in her life.
From the moment she’d watched the bus round the bend in the road, Sophie had been holding her breath, catching herself and then holding it again. She wondered if there would ever be a time when she could look at something like this without tensing up and feeling assaulted by memories of that snowy night.
Was it warm enough in here? She checked the thermostat. Added a log to the fire. She was getting good at making fires in the wood-burning stove. Even though this was a borrowed house, it was her world and she desperately wanted Max to like it.
At the stomping sound of his footsteps on the porch, she opened the door. “There you are,” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Hey.”
He offered her a brief hug that held more tolerance than affection.
Sophie found herself babbling—“You can put your coat on a hook right there. Let me show you your room. How about a snack? Tell me about your day…
“Sorry,” she concluded. “I don’t mean to go on and on. I’m just excited to have you here.”
“It’s a nice place,” he remarked, looking around at the vintage Adirondack-style furniture, the tattersall blankets, the crackling fire in the window of the stove.
She nodded. “I really love it, even if it’s a bit out of the way. The Wilsons were so nice to lend it to me.”
“Since they lent it to you, when do you have to give it back?”
Ah, she thought. A test. “Once I get my own place,” she said. “In Avalon. I’m here to stay, Max.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I know you don’t. But you will, eventually. Are you ready for a snack? The neighbor brought over some muffins. And I’ll make us some hot chocolate. You like hot chocolate, don’t you?”
“Actually, I’m a coffee drinker myself.”
It took her a moment to realize he was pulling her leg. “Coffee stunts your growth.”
“Right.”
While she put on a pan of milk, he explored the place. He was drawn to the sprawling view of the lake out the window, of course. That view was the whole point of the cottage, after all, the main window a frame for the wild beauty of the landscape. He seemed to like the Niagara Falls souvenir lamp with the animated shade. Like all kids—like Sophie herself—he stood on tiptoe to look down inside the shade to see how the waterfall worked.
“That’s interesting, isn’t it?” she remarked. “I mean, it’s just a color wheel going around and around, but it looks so realistic on the outside.”
“Uh-huh.” He acted noncommittal. “So I hear you don’t get cable out here.”
“The TV seems to get perhaps three or four stations. I haven’t been watching much.” She measured a scoop of Dutch cocoa into the pan. It was one of the few items she had brought back from Holland. It made the best hot chocolate by far. “What do you like to watch on TV?” she asked. “Do you have a favorite show?”
“I watch stuff on cable,” he said bluntly.
Oh, boy.
When she’d visited him prior to this, each day together had been deemed “special” and TV-watching wasn’t an issue. Now that she actually lived here, the visits would become more routine. Things like TV might start to matter. She hadn’t thought about that.
“There’s a DVD player,” she said, “and I noticed a nice selection of movies in that cabinet. Some of my favorites.”
“You have a favorite movie?”
“Harold and Maude,” she said, without even thinking. Of course that was her favorite movie. She couldn’t believe it wasn’t everyone’s favorite movie.
“Never seen it.” He opened the cabinet and perused the selection. His expressive face clearly indicated that he didn’t share the Wilsons’ taste for imports and art films.
“We’ll watch it together,” Sophie suggested.
“What’s it about?”
“A kid whose domineering mother drives him crazy.”
“Sounds like a laugh a minute,” Max said.
It was a strained afternoon, during which Max consumed four muffins, finished his homework, declined a game of cribbage and lasted through exactly seven minutes of Judge Judy. Sophie made things worse by insisting on leaving extra early to pick up his two friends for hockey practice, just in case the roads were bad. As a result, the friends weren’t ready when they showed up and she had to sit there with the car idling while they threw together their gear. She’d hoped the boys’ mothers might come out to the car to meet her, or even invite her in, but they didn’t. She wanted to make friends here in Avalon, but perhaps car-pool pickup wa
sn’t the best time to socialize.
The boys didn’t have a lot to say during the drive to the hockey rink—not to her, anyway. Among themselves, they appeared to communicate in some private, incomprehensible language that involved elbowing and snickering.
At the rink, she introduced herself to the coach, who didn’t look much older than Max himself, an apple-cheeked, eager man with a somewhat high-pitched voice. Once on the ice, though, the boys seemed to respect him as they went through warm-ups and drills.
Sophie joined a group of mothers who sat in the ringside bleachers behind a Plexiglas barrier, and felt the other women scrutinizing her. This, she knew, was going to be the hard part. She suddenly felt self-conscious about her bag from Italy, her designer belt and gloves. She was overdressed and clearly hadn’t mastered the soccer-mom look. She wanted to. She wanted to look relaxed in sweats; she wanted to be comfortable in her own skin. She had a long way to go.
“I’m Max’s mom, Sophie Bellamy,” she said to the women, and then memorized their names as they introduced themselves. “Do you mind if I join you?”
The line of mothers shifted to make room for her.
“Ellie,” said one woman. She was knitting something, a string of brightly colored yarn coming out of her bag.
“Max’s mother.” A woman named Gretchen lifted her eyebrows. She exchanged a look with the one beside her, who had pretty, olive-toned skin, glossy dark hair and unfriendly eyes. “Maria, it’s Max’s mother.”
Maria folded her arms across her middle. “You don’t say.”
“It’s nice to meet you at last,” said the woman who had introduced herself as Gina. Either consciously or unconsciously, she emphasized the at last.
“You still go by the name Bellamy,” Maria observed. “Wasn’t that your married name?”
Sophie nodded, assimilating the reality that here in a small town, people knew each other’s business. “In my profession—all my licenses and certifications are in that name. Everything I’ve published, too.” As she explained, she watched their faces and realized she should have given them a simple, politically correct explanation—I wanted to keep the same name as my children. Too late. If she said that now, it would sound as though she had just thought of it.