The Lake House

by Marci Nault

  With that he laughed and she squeezed his hand. She hoped he’d be okay, that they both would.

  Tom tried to focus on his work after Victoria left, but memories plagued him. He picked up the picture of Annabelle from his desk, one he’d taken during a walk in Hyde Park in the springtime. In the photo she laughed as the wind whipped her dress. She never strolled; she bounced—a springy skip as she looked at the world in wonder. She loved to spin with her arms out to the side feeling the cool air on her skin.

  He placed the photo on his desk. It was his fault that Annabelle wasn’t with him. The day he took the picture he’d known something was wrong. He’d tried to keep her inside, bribing her with movies so she’d rest. She’d performed in three shows the days before, but sitting still wasn’t her strength. It was a sunny day, and she’d felt the urge to explore.

  When she suddenly stopped, mid-bounce, and covered her eyes with her palms while shaking her head, he reached out to hold her steady. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a head rush.” She took a deep breath. “I think it passed. I’m fine.”

  Her skin looked as pale as her hair. “Why don’t we go home and relax?”

  “But you promised we’d go to the National Gallery.” She wrapped her hands around his arm and smiled. “And I have a craving for a cupcake from Covent Garden. I feel fine.”

  He lived for her smile and he couldn’t deny her what she desired. He’d been so busy trying to give her the perfect life and make her happy that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him.

  But Victoria wanted him to move on. Everyone did.

  He looked at the work on his desk and the exhaustion grew. The thought of sitting on the beach in Nagog stargazing made him think of Heather.

  He opened his browser, searched for the Globe’s website, and clicked on “Solo Female Traveler.” A picture of Heather in a black dress appeared at the top of the page. He scrolled down and began to read.

  While visiting Africa I learned a little about the mating customs of monkeys. One day while sitting by the pool reading a book at Mfuwe Lodge in Zambia, a monkey came down from the tree and sat in the chair next to me. I was frightened by the close proximity, but he looked at me with gentleness and stared as he rubbed his hands. I tried to ignore his presence, assuming he’d return to his tree, but instead he settled on the chair, crossed his legs mimicking my posture, and pretended to read a book. As I turned pages, he copied my actions.

  Another monkey jumped onto the chair and tried to usurp my first suitor’s territory. The two battled, screaming at one another until the second monkey retreated.

  My suitor turned his attention to me and puffed up his chest in pride. I guess he decided that he’d won my love because he moved toward my chair. I backed away, my muscles tightening as I put my arms up in defense.

  In the end, I’d hurt his feelings and he turned away. From up in the tree I heard the sad sounds of rejection coming from my sweet monkey.

  Tom laughed as he read the column. He could picture Heather sunning in her little shorts as the monkey tried to woo her. He continued to read back copies of her column, getting caught up in her adventures. Her childlike wonder at the places she described reminded him of Annabelle in a small way. He’d been avoiding Nagog and Heather, but now he wanted to hear her stories in person. Maybe Victoria was right: it was time to move on, if only to make a new friend.

  CHAPTER 15

  The gears on Heather’s small car screamed as she tried to downshift and missed the notch. The road to Nagog was dark and she clicked on the high beams, wiping tears from her cheeks. It had been a grueling day. First, Charlie had been at her meeting with George at the Globe, where the two men had discussed her career as if she weren’t even in the room. It had been the first encounter with Charlie since their blowout at the party.

  George had left early that night and hadn’t been privy to their fight, but Heather was certain he’d heard about it from coworkers. The office was thick with tension as Charlie told George that it would be at least another year before anything on the Travel Channel would even start to be in motion. Then he discussed a book deal that he was working on with a publisher in New York, which was news to Heather. Last, George turned to Heather and told her he wanted the four columns about vacationing close to home at a lake by the end of next week—a nearly impossible request.

  As they left the office, Charlie told her that he needed the first one hundred pages of her new book ready and edited in twenty-one days, a book that, so far, had only a sample chapter written. Then he walked away without an apology for humiliating her the night of the party, or further comments on her career. She’d wanted to fire him on the spot, but the chance of a book deal meant she was stuck with him.

  Feeling overloaded emotionally and mentally, Heather called Gina to meet for drinks. As soon as Heather walked into the bar in the North End, she knew it was going to be a bad night. Gina was with Michard, and the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other as they nuzzled. Heather felt like the third wheel while she suffered through a glass of wine and finally excused herself.

  As she pulled into her driveway, her shoulders ached with stress. She needed a good, cleansing breakdown to lift the tension, but it wouldn’t come. Afraid of waking Thomas, she gently opened and closed her car door, then walked onto her lit deck.

  “Hi,” Tom said.

  Heather jumped and held her heart.

  He sat at the far end of her deck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was enjoying your new furniture and stargazing.”

  “Glad you like it.” With her head down, she walked into the house.

  Heather changed out of her black dress and into shorts and T-shirt, then sat on her window seat and brushed her hair. Tom wore his usual jeans and T-shirt. He reclined on her deck chair, his muscular arms around his head as he stared at the sky.

  He grabbed a beer from his cooler and looked up to her window. “Want to join me?”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Come down and have a drink with me,” he said.

  She didn’t need more drama tonight, but the loneliness she’d felt at the bar stirred in her heart. She gave in and went downstairs. The night air felt warm and thick as she stepped outside. Mosquitoes flew around a bug lamp in Sarah and Carl’s yard.

  “You looked fantastic in that dress. Party tonight?” He handed her an opened beer.

  She took it without question, sat and took a sip, shocked at the sweetness in the bottle. “This is root beer.”

  His grin deepened the cleft in his chin. From the cooler, he grabbed two frosty mugs filled with vanilla ice cream. “I had a craving.” He placed a straw in the pink cup and pushed it across the table.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Sucking up for forgiveness. I took something out on you, and I don’t play the jerk well,” he said.

  “So you thought you’d wait for me on my deck, not knowing when I might be home or who I’d be with?”

  “Your deck has the best view of the stars besides the beach.” He pulled his hand through his hair. “If you walked in with someone then I would’ve looked the fool . . . the way I know I made you feel the night I helped you move boxes. If you were alone I’d get a chance to apologize. Either way, my conscience might leave me alone.”

  The lake looked like glass, and an owl hooted in the woods. She took a deep breath filled with the scent of roses and let the serenity of the scene seep into her frayed nerves.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you the day after your party,” Tommy went on. “I can be protective when it comes to my family.”

  “Thanks, I really am sorry for what happened. I didn’t mean to disrupt anyone’s night.”

  “Good to know,” he said. “Do you mind turning off the lights? It’ll give us a better view. I can’t see the stars in Providence.”

  Heather flipped the switch. The Milky Way’s river of light illuminated the black sky. She plopped into the ch
air and leaned her bare feet against the deck railing. “My root beer float is at the perfect marker.”

  “I didn’t know there was a perfect marker.”

  “When there’s still enough ice cream to eat with the spoon, but some has melted, making the soda creamy. That’s the perfect marker.”

  “I wasn’t certain you’d be a root beer float kind of girl. I was thinking martinis, but that’s not my style,” he said.

  “You know, for someone who doesn’t know anything about me, you seem to have formed a lot of opinions.”

  “I guess you’re right. Sorry.”

  The silence stretched over them while Heather sucked at her float. “One summer my mother dated this guy who always brought us root beer floats on Wednesday nights. The three of us would watch the sunset from the front stoop, and I could have as much as I wanted.” She shrugged. “It’s a good memory.”

  Tom looked to the lake. “I have lots of memories like that. Fishing with Grandpa and Bill. Roasting marshmallows. Eating Molly’s brownie sundaes.”

  “Oh, those brownies smothered in chocolate sauce and ice cream. Thanks for ruining any chance I have of saying no to her baking this week.”

  He pulled his chair next to her and rested his legs on the railing.

  Heather licked the ice cream off the straw. “So let me ask you something. The first day we met . . . why didn’t you tell me what I was getting into?”

  “I didn’t like you,” he said.

  “You didn’t know me.”

  “You looked at me like I was a piece of meat.”

  “Well, aren’t we stuck on ourselves?”

  He sucked at his float. “Maryland was like a mother to me. I didn’t want you in her home.”

  “So, I’m a martini-style girl who doesn’t know how to be a good neighbor and you wished I’d never moved in. Oh, and let’s not forget that I’m a flirt who only wants you for your body. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Slam dunk on being an ass.” He fidgeted in his seat and then looked at her. “Sorry, my attitude has nothing to do with you.”

  “Why didn’t you get rid of me by telling the truth about who lives here? You know, this is your fault,” she said.

  “Interesting perspective. One that I’ve wondered about.”

  “And your grandfather’s a dirty old man.”

  Tom’s laugh echoed across the lake.

  “Every time I stretch on my front lawn or sit on the beach, he makes an excuse to come talk to me, and when I helped him with his computer, he pinched my butt. There are way too many horny old people around here.”

  Tom turned to her. “You might not want to wear those shorts in front of him. He’s a Casanova.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “In his mind.”

  “His last girlfriend passed away two years ago. He’s prowling for another. But I warn you. There hasn’t been a woman who’s been able to keep up. No matter how young she was. And thank you for helping him with his computer. It means a lot to me. Of course, he might have been using that as excuse to hit on you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s why he wanted my help.” Heather smiled as she wondered how Thomas was doing with his online dating adventures. He hadn’t needed her help lately.

  “What’s that grin for?” Tom asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “None of your business.” She giggled and sucked at her drink. Tom shook his head and stared at the sky, a deep, contented grin on his face. He looked peaceful, like the world was this safe place filled with love and happiness. His large muscles made him look solid. Secure. Sparks of energy fired along her nerves as she stared. He was certainly pretty, but “ass” was also a good description.

  “So, since you’re being brutally honest, are you gay? I never see you with a woman, and you don’t like it when someone flirts with you.”

  “Carl’s trying to start that rumor to razz me, but I think you know I’m not gay.” He looked at the sexy way she’d angled her legs.

  Heather uncrossed the leg she’d pointed at him and curled her feet under her thighs.

  “Just a guess,” he said.

  Silence, strained and uncomfortable, followed.

  “Point three on being a jerk.” He put his root beer on the arm of the chair. “I should probably leave before you completely hate me.”

  She stabbed her straw into the slush. “Don’t worry, I already do. So you might as well stay.”

  “At least I brought you ice cream to enjoy,” he said.

  “Yes, that makes up for you treating me like an unworthy vixen after your hot body.” She sucked on her straw. “Nope, doesn’t taste that good.”

  “So you do think I’m hot.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows, making her laugh.

  “I think I’ll just start calling you Conceited Ass instead of Tommy.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They were silent as they looked at the stars and listened to the lake lap against the shore.

  “Do you see the Big Dipper?” Tommy asked.

  Heather looked up at the constellation while she sipped her float. “Have you ever been to Africa?”

  “No,” Tommy said.

  “I was there in March. My guide took me to the middle of the field one night. We sat in the Land Rover drinking hot chocolate and listening to the lions call to one another from either side of the delta. The sky had more stars than blackness. I wanted to make that moment last forever.”

  “It sounds incredible.” He leaned his head against the back of the chair.

  “It was amazing. I saw a lioness with two baby cubs. They looked like stuffed animals you could cuddle, but they strutted as if to say, ‘I know I’m the king.’ Actually, they acted kind of like you,” she teased.

  He looked at her and laughed. “Touché.” They smiled at one another for a moment and then he looked back to the stars. “Tell me more about Africa.”

  “I slept in a tree house that overlooked a watering hole. Every day, Frank, the resident elephant, would hang out in the early evening and eat leaves from the tree. I could see his eyelashes.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No. He was so close that he would take his trunk and reach it over my railing and sniff me like a dog.”

  “I’d love to go to Africa someday.”

  “It was great, but everyone around me had someone to share it with. Wherever I looked, there were families—the people, the animals. I felt pathetic. They assigned guides to eat dinner with me. I love to travel, but I hate being alone all the time.”

  “I can understand how that could be tough.”

  She looked at him. “Please, you have this big family, and I’m sure you have plenty of women to take on vacation.”

  He shrugged. “Except for Grandpa, I don’t have anyone to take to Africa.” He looked down at his empty mug. “So how do you like your new home? Are you settling in?”

  “The house is beautiful. I still can’t believe I own it. There’s something about waking up every morning and smelling the lake air, watching the geese land on the water . . . and I’ve probably taken too many days on the beach reading books than I should have. I’m rather swamped with work right now.”

  “It sounds like the Nagog life suits you.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s not exactly what I expected. Instead of barbecues and parties every night, I listen to the frogs. And home ownership is more work than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I should’ve expected there’d be problems with a home this old, but between the ants under my sink and plumbing issues, it’s been a little stressful.”

  “Is there anything you want me to take a look at?”

  She turned and smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s sweet, but not right now. Molly has had Bill fix everything.”

  “That’s good. Well, I should get going. I have an early day tomorrow.” He stood and gathered the cooler and went to his truck. Heather walked to the edge of the deck as he
returned and handed her a piece of paper with his number. “Just in case anything else goes wrong in your house.”

  Their hands touched, and when she looked at his aqua eyes, she felt the same electricity that had been there the night they’d moved her boxes. “Thank you. It’s rather neighborly of you.”

  “It’s the least this conceited ass can do.” He smiled and then turned. The engine in the old truck revved to life and he drove away.

  Heather went back to the deck and sipped the last of her float as she stared at the stars. The empty seat next to her made her feel even lonelier. She listened to the night sounds: crickets chirped, a loose screen door banged against the neighbor’s house, and the wind started to blow.

  Heather saw a light on in Victoria’s sunroom. Three times she turned back before finally making her way to Victoria’s stoop and ringing the doorbell.

  Victoria had been in the sunroom in a red silk robe and pajamas, perusing her drawer of movies, when she heard the bell ring. Concerned, she ran and whipped the door open and was surprised to see the girl on her front porch.

  “Heather? Is something wrong?”

  “I know it’s late, but since you’re up, I was wondering if you wanted company?”

  She looked uncomfortable asking and Victoria opened the door wider. She wrapped her arm around Heather’s shoulder and ushered her into the house. “Of course. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just . . .”

  Victoria smiled and pulled her into the kitchen. “Is it the strange sounds in your house? It takes time to acclimate to your home’s song, especially one as old as yours: the squeaks and the creaks. My guest room is always open. I was about to watch a movie, would you like to join me?”

  Heather took a deep breath. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  Victoria led her into the sunroom. “Is the fire too warm?” Victoria asked. “My California blood is a little cold tonight, but the fresh air is nice so I have the windows open.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Heather looked at the large portrait that hung above the mantel. “Is this your granddaughter?”

  Victoria touched the frame. “Yes, that’s Annabelle.”