The Lake House

by Marci Nault

  Annabelle changed that summer in a way Victoria hadn’t expected. Away from the drama of Southern California, the teenager spent her days on the beach with the other Nagog grandchildren. For once, her life was about roasting marshmallows around the bonfire, parties on the patio, swimming in the lake, and shopping trips with Victoria in Boston. They visited museums and went to the theater. A childish innocence pinked in Annabelle’s cheeks.

  A flock of geese flew over her bringing Victoria back to the present. She turned and swam hard toward the opposite side of the lake. She arrived and climbed up the rickety ladder on the poorly built dock and sat on the rotting wood. A white crane stood on a log off to her right, its graceful neck curved. It reminded her of a ballerina, of Annabelle. It was as if Victoria’s mind was a record player on skip and she couldn’t move the needle out of the groove. No part of her wanted to forget, but in order to move forward, she knew she had to find a way to listen to the rest of the album.

  Joseph walked along the stained wooden dock; its rails creaking under his weight. He came to the end and noticed the large purple towel. The fog had lifted and he saw the smooth ripples of movement in the water. He turned to walk away, but then changed his mind and placed his tackle box on the dock. The fishing pole in hand, he readied the hook as he watched Victoria swim, her arms moving like a graceful dancer.

  Victoria had stayed away from Nagog for eight years after Melissa’s death. From then on, Victoria’s visits became more frequent. At least three times per year, they’d grace the community with their presence on their way to Europe or on trips to prospective colleges and drama schools. When Annabelle moved to London after attending Juilliard, Victoria floated in and out of the community between visits to see Annabelle in London and trips home to Malibu. Whenever Annabelle came to Nagog to spend time with Tommy, Victoria also returned. Five years passed as Joseph’s heart felt tortured, never knowing when she would show up or how long she would stay.

  But then Tommy and Annabelle announced their engagement and Victoria decided to renovate the Rose home and take up permanent residence in Nagog. Maybe she’d been oblivious to her friends’ resentment as she danced around the community talking about Annabelle’s success as an actress and the wedding plans, but if she noticed she gave no heed to her neighbors’ emotions.

  At that time, Joseph decided it was in his best interest to let his feelings go. Victoria forced a friendship holding him in lengthy conversations when they bumped into each other on walks. Whenever he fished in the morning, she’d swim up to the dock and her laughter filled the air as she teased him about not actually catching any fish. As the year passed, he felt he’d finally let go of his attraction to her.

  Then one night, at the annual Memorial Day party, two months before Annabelle and Tommy’s wedding, he realized he’d been a fool to think his feelings had changed. He’d set up a studio to take pictures of the grandchildren, and Victoria had watched as he’d taken Annabelle’s portrait. Joseph didn’t need to direct her poses as she flashed her big baby blues and tossed her hair.

  “I’m going to grab Tommy,” Annabelle said, jumped off the stool, and ran outside.

  “I can’t imagine where she gets all that flair,” Joseph teased Victoria. They laughed, and memories of when they’d been teenagers danced between them.

  In the small studio space he found he couldn’t breathe with her so close. He turned his back to her and organized his camera equipment. A soft touch against his arm made him look up. Memories moved between them like electrical currents jumping from metal: he could hear her laughter as he threw her in the lake the summer before he’d left for the war, the closeness of their lips at the dance when they hadn’t noticed the music had stopped.

  Joseph looked away, shame flushing his skin. Barbara stood in the doorway, hurt apparent on her face. Victoria walked past her, head hung low to avoid her gaze.

  That night he went to the beach where he’d proposed. Victoria was already sitting on the log, throwing stones. He listened to the plunk each rock made as it hit the water. He loved his wife and cherished his children. He was wrong to be here.

  “I can’t leave her,” he said when she looked up and saw him standing behind her. “She’s the mother of my children and the woman I built my life around. But why can’t I let you go?”

  Victoria walked to him. She tried to apologize, but he stopped her. Their heads bowed together. Shock waves of teenage love singed his nerves.

  Victoria took his hand and placed it on her heart. No outsider would’ve considered it infidelity, but Joseph knew better. After that, they avoided each other again.

  Two months later, Annabelle died. After the funeral, he found Victoria at their private beach. The emptiness in her eyes as she stared at the water broke his heart. All the light, the exuberance that was Victoria had left. Without hesitation, he wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, hoping she’d cry and release the pain. Not even a whimper came from her lips.

  For the next week, about the time of day Annabelle had collapsed on the beach, Joseph would see Victoria walk across his backyard and knew where she was headed. He followed, not wanting her to face her grief alone.

  One day, as he walked back with Victoria’s hand in his, Barbara stood on the path. Victoria let go of his fingers and moved past Barbara without a word.

  “You’re in love with her,” Barbara said. She’d stood, her white hair pulled back in a barrette, a yellow Kodak envelope shaking in her grasp.

  “No. She’s an old friend in pain, and I’m just trying to comfort her.”

  Barbara’s lip quivered. “I can’t do this anymore. All these years I felt plain and ugly whenever she was near. When she came home that first time, I couldn’t believe that I was going to meet Victoria Rose, the model and actress. When you didn’t introduce us, I thought you were ashamed of me, and that’s why you looked so sullen.”

  “Barbara . . .”

  She put her hand up. “No, I’ve waited too long to say these things. Whenever she came around, you retreated. I would look at you across the dinner table and you’d be lost in a daydream. You don’t think I knew where your mind took you? I couldn’t compete with a movie star, but she was more than that to you.”

  “I love you and our family. I didn’t know you felt this way,” Joseph said.

  Barbara held up the envelope. “Fifteen years ago I found a canister of film you’d hidden. I knew what it might be, but I never developed it. But now . . . after Victoria renovated her home and took up residence to be closer to Annabelle and Tommy . . . after she danced around this community singing the wonders of their wedding plans, and now that her pain has taken over this community like she’s the only person that has ever suffered loss . . .” She drew a shaky breath.

  “I’ve watched you sneak off to be with her, pretending that you’re going for a walk. I tell myself I shouldn’t be jealous of a woman who’s lost so much . . . but something snapped in me. So I developed the film.”

  From the envelope she grabbed the images of Victoria and Annabelle in the tree house and threw them at his feet.

  “I was following a hummingbird when I came upon them,” Joseph said. “It was a moment, that’s all.”

  “And what about Memorial Day?” Barbara asked.

  He shook his head. “Old friends remembering.”

  “No. Those are the lies I told myself. You were ashamed to develop those pictures and we both know why.”

  He placed his hand on Barbara’s arm.

  “Please, don’t.” She moved away, her hands creating a wall between them. “Times were different when we married. People didn’t get divorced. We’ve had a decent life, and I’ve loved you more than my words can express. You gave me my children and you were a good father. But I won’t spend my last years being a burden to someone.”

  The next day, his children had come to gather their mother’s things.

  At the time, Joseph knew he should’ve stopped Barbara, but he turned his focus to Victoria i
nstead, hoping his love could break through her grief. Days later she left without saying goodbye.

  He pulled in his fishing line as Victoria swam toward him. The ripples in the water came closer and his heart beat faster. With a trained hand, he cast his line off to the side of the dock away from Victoria. The bobber plunked into the lake and then there was nothing to do but wait.

  She emerged in a bright yellow suit, her shoulders strong and firm, her legs dripping with water. “Morning,” she said as she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her body.

  “Morning. Good swim?” The bobber floated toward him and he reeled in the line and recast.

  “It was refreshing. Made me feel alive again. Like you said last winter, at this age, if we don’t keep moving we might not be able to start again.”

  “It was a brutal winter.” He tried to keep his back to her as she toweled off, but the bobber kept floating toward shore, and he needed to cast the line into the deep of the lake. With the line reeled in again, he turned and saw her leaning over to pull on her sweatpants. The long lines of her body still made him feel like that young man who’d watched her his entire childhood.

  “In March I thought I’d die of hypothermia without ever feeling sunlight again.” She laughed and then looked up and caught him staring.

  “That’s your California blood,” he said as he focused on his fishing pole and line. “You’re going to need to toughen up if you plan to stay this time.” The air between them thickened. He hadn’t meant his words to be harsh. He knew the talk that went through the community—that she wasn’t here to stay—and now he’d told her that he had the same opinion. He changed the subject. “It’s going to be interesting having a young woman living here. I have to admit, the way they danced shocked me. In our day, I was happy if my hand slid to your waist for a second.”

  Victoria nodded. “It started when the movie Dirty Dancing came out. I believe they call it grinding or grooving now . . . something like that. Hollywood has changed. I think it’s trying to convince young women to act like strippers.”

  Joseph smiled. “I remember a time when the press said your Coca-Cola advertisements were immoral.”

  Victoria laughed and covered her face. “If only they knew that just a few decades later the thong would be invented.”

  The fishing line was finally where he wanted it. He knelt onto the dock and sat, his bare feet dangling over the edge. He expected her to leave so she could change into dry clothing, but instead she sat next to him.

  “Do you mind?” she asked. “It’s such a beautiful morning.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” he said.

  The lake returned to stillness and he could hear the sound of her breathing. He looked to the trees next to his home. The sun illuminated the last of the mist evaporating from the ground and created a mystical glow.

  “Joseph,” Victoria said. “I’m here to stay this time. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but I sold my home in Malibu. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Victoria, we both know that your spirit has always been too big for this place. It’s okay if you need to leave again.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye after Annabelle’s death.”

  “Victoria, it’s water under the bridge.”

  Victoria looked to the Dragone home. “Not according to Sarah.”

  “When did you start caring about what other people think?”

  “You tried to take care of me. I don’t know if you’ll ever understand how much that meant.” A tear moved down her cheek. Instinctively, his hand came up and brushed it away. “You’ve been the one to wipe away so many of my tears, and for that I’m truly grateful . . . I’ll let you fish in peace. Thank you for listening.” She stood and walked away.

  Though he tried to focus his attention on the bobber, he turned and watched her leave. It was something he’d done before, and no matter what she promised, he was almost certain she’d leave again.

  Victoria stood in the lobby of Tommy’s office and marveled at the beautiful mixture of polished woods that fanned out in a circle on the floor. Through a glass wall she could see a dozen architects on stools as they worked at drafting tables and on computers. The pretty young receptionist picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Mr. Woodward, I’m sorry to bother you, but Victoria Rose is here to see you.”

  The door to the left of the receptionist burst open. Panicked, Tommy raced forward. “What’s wrong?”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders to calm him. “Everyone’s okay. I should’ve called. Thomas is fine.”

  A sigh of relief came from his lips as he hugged her into his large frame. She leaned back and placed her hand on his face. For the first time since she’d returned to Nagog, she took a close look at him. There were fine lines of pain around his eyes that hadn’t been there when she left five years ago. The last few months, she’d hidden in her home when she saw his truck, justifying it by thinking that a visit would intrude on Tommy’s time with his grandfather. It had taken her too long to make this trip.

  “Come into my office. Cynthia, could you get us some coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  Victoria looked around Tommy’s office. Fine woodwork curled around the room like delicate art. “This craftsmanship belongs in a museum.”

  “Thank you. Let me take your jacket.”

  “I’m fine.” Victoria walked around the room, touching the carved wood. Large glossy prints of the homes Tommy had designed lined the walls. To anyone else’s eye, the bright images would have detracted from the small frames on the shelves, but Annabelle’s smile had a magnetic power over Victoria’s heart.

  She held a picture. Tom couldn’t have been more than ten. He stood at his workbench with hammer in hand, tongue stuck out in concentration. Six-year-old Annabelle wore a tiara and boa as she watched him work. Victoria petted the frame. “I remember how she drove you crazy.”

  “In more ways than one.” Tommy sat on the couch, his arms spread across the back of the furniture, his legs crossed.

  Victoria looked at him, so handsome and successful. He had the kindest heart of anyone she knew. “How have you been?”

  “I’m good,” he said. “Work is crazy, but it’s better than the alternative.”

  “You eat, and take care of yourself?” she asked.

  Cynthia walked in carrying a tray with coffee mugs and cream and sugar. She placed it on the table and moved away. “There are muffins, but would you like me to run out for something else?”

  Tommy looked to Victoria to answer. “No, thank you, but it’s very sweet of you to offer.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” she said as she walked to the door. “Mr. Woodward, would you like me to hold your calls?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “She’s very young,” Victoria said.

  “And I’d be lost without her,” he said as he poured her coffee and added a splash of milk remembering how she took it. “Most days she’s the reason I remember to eat.”

  Victoria took the cup. “I know your grandfather is very proud of you, but also worried.”

  “I’m fine,” he said as he sipped at his black coffee.

  “You work too hard, kind of like someone I once knew,” Victoria said.

  “I guess we had that in common,” he said.

  “Or is it because you fell in love with her and wanted to give her everything her heart desired? I know part of the reason you bought this building was to give her a good life.” He was silent and she took his large hand in both of hers. Annabelle had said the scars on his fingers from years of woodwork were like splashes of paint on an artist’s skin. “How are you really?”

  “I miss her,” he said.

  “She’d want you to be happy and to move on.”

  “Are we talking about the same Annabelle?” he laughed.

  Victoria smiled. “Okay, maybe she was selfish, she spent most of your relationship in another state or across th
e ocean, but she loved you. And though she might find a way to throw arrows from the other side at the women you date, I know she wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

  “And what about you, Victoria?” he asked as he looked into her eyes. “Can you move on?”

  “This isn’t about me.” She patted his hand. “I’m old and I’ve lived my life. I have time to lick my wounds, but you’ve done that long enough. Molly tells me that Thomas says you don’t date and all you do is work.”

  “I have a company to run. There isn’t much time for a social life.”

  “Well, I just happen to know a lovely young woman who lives right next door to your grandfather.”

  “So this is a setup?”

  “Don’t think of it like that. I’m just saying that Heather’s talented, beautiful, and a travel writer for the Globe. Right now she’s single and, from what I can tell, a little lonely.” Victoria was surprised at the boldness of her words. Who was she to speak of moving on, when she herself had such a hard time facing the future without Annabelle?

  “From what I see, Heather has a great life with lots of friends and parties. She doesn’t need me.”

  “You’re wrong. Most nights she sits alone working in her office.” She looked at him as if to say, Like you. “I’m just asking you to check in on her when you visit Thomas.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Victoria sipped her coffee to allow her time to form her next words. “I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye five years ago. I was a coward.”

  “Victoria, I understood. You were hurting.”

  “As were you,” she said. “I miss seeing you.”

  “I’ve wanted to visit, but I didn’t know—”

  “—if it would be too painful when we both miss her so deeply. I know.” She smiled. “You’re always welcome in my home. I hope you know that. I promise I’ll have Molly cook so you don’t have to endure my food.”