by Marci Nault
Molly leaned over Victoria and wrapped her arms around her friend.
Victoria whimpered. “She has everything: opportunity, beauty, and success. Why isn’t that enough?”
“I know, honey. I know.” Molly swayed and almost fell. Victoria stood and grabbed her friend. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Just a little dizzy spell is all,” Molly said. “It’s from being woken so abruptly and then running across the beach. A little too much excitement.”
“Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll stay with her.”
“No. I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
The breeze fluttered the curtains around Heather’s bed as she curled into a fetal position. A sour taste covered her swollen tongue. It should’ve been raining: a big, dark storm with ominous clouds that bent the trees and stirred the lake. Weather to match her life. She wore her M&M’s pajamas, but couldn’t remember changing her clothes. Her mind reached for memories from the night before.
The evening had started out wonderfully. Gina had invited over a few friends, and they’d sat on the deck drinking wine and eating Michard’s tortellini primavera with heirloom tomatoes. The conversation turned to travel and Heather took the spotlight as she gave out tips and told stories from her adventures. For a few hours, she felt normal, young, and part of a crowd. Then worries about her conversation with Charlie had crept in and she drank her wine a little faster than usual. She recalled swimming and a bonfire . . . and Carl, then Daniel, yelling at her to be quiet.
The rest of the night was a blur. When everyone left, she wanted the carefree feeling to continue and poured another glass of wine. The last thing she remembered was walking toward the beach thinking that she should take a dip in the lake.
How could I have been so stupid?
Heather roused herself and stood. The room swirled and the migraine felt like a bomb exploding in her head, with the pain radiating up her neck and mushrooming into her skull. Her stomach felt like it had been sucked dry, and she returned to her curled-up position on top of the covers. A platter with blueberry muffins and an insulated coffee mug sat on the nightstand. Molly had visited. Was she the one who had changed Heather into her pajamas?
The screech of circular saws and the old men yelling came through the window. Heather looked and saw Victoria, asleep on the chaise. The memory of Joseph holding her hair while she vomited returned. “Oh, God,” she moaned in embarrassment.
“Well, good morning,” Victoria said, stretching. “How are you feeling?”
“Like death,” Heather responded.
Victoria moved over to the bed and sat with her back against the headboard, she reached out and combed her hand through Heather’s hair. “I can’t imagine what they’re building out there, but they’re making quite the racket.”
“I think they’re probably trying to torture me for keeping them up last night,” Heather said. “I’m kind of mortified by the way I acted.”
“Oh, darling,” Victoria murmured, “we’ve all had those moments in life. I’m just a little worried about what caused it. You said you weren’t a big drinker.”
“It was a rough day, and with the stress of late I needed to blow off steam.”
“What happened?” Victoria asked as she continued to pet Heather’s head.
Heather pulled the sheet closer. “Charlie called and said he couldn’t use any of the pages I sent him for the book proposal . . . they weren’t sexy enough.”
“That man again?” Victoria said. “For someone who is supposed to be supporting your career, he seems to tear you down more than build you up.”
“Without him I wouldn’t have my career, and I need him to take me the rest of the way,” Heather said.
“You’re already a successful columnist. Why do you need to accomplish more?”
“They want someone famous and I’m not.” Heather looked up at Victoria. “I’m not like you. When you showed me your modeling photos and movies, I could see how confident and sexy you were. When a camera is on me, I’m uncomfortable in my own skin.” She bit her bottom lip. “I might lose my column. They told me last spring that I was in danger of being replaced.”
“Oh, Heather, I didn’t realize what you’d been going through.”
Heather sat up with her back against the headboard. “Tell me what’s going on with you and Joseph. I saw him walk over to your house last night.”
“Is that your delicate way of saying you don’t want to talk about your career anymore?” Victoria asked.
“Yep. Plus, you’ve been a little busy the last couple of days,” Heather said as she watched Victoria’s face flush.
“Well, would you like all the dirty details?” Victoria teased. “I was actually thinking of using that tip you gave me.”
“My stomach can’t handle that right now. I’m still a little queasy.” Heather put her arm around her midsection.
Victoria laughed. “Let’s just say that life can surprise you with the way things work out. Who would’ve thought that after all these years we’d share this love?”
“Victoria, that’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.” Heather stood. “I’ll be right back.” A horrid stench assaulted her nose in the bathroom. She walked into the hallway and the smell burned her eyes as she came to the top of the stairs.
Victoria came up behind her with a coffee mug in hand.
“Does my house smell like garbage and rotten eggs to you?” Heather asked.
“I think your septic tank’s sewage line might be backed up,” Victoria said as she covered her mouth and nose.
“Great, another thing I need to deal with today.”
CHAPTER 21
It had been the kind of day that made Tom long to be a kid again. The temperature stayed in the high seventies, and the lack of rain in the past month made the humidity tolerable. It reminded him of summer days when he lay on the beach, his mouth smudged with chocolate ice cream, creating pictures out of shifting cumulous clouds as the sun reflected off the lake, making wavy light patterns on the leaves.
It had been weeks since he’d visited Nagog, and he felt homesick. He needed a day to fish with Bill and Carl while they told him their crazy stories. The thought of a meal at Molly’s made him salivate. He’d eaten too many meals in restaurants and at his desk lately. He wanted to lie on the beach, take an afternoon nap, and then have a beer with his grandfather and Bill around the campfire. The last time he’d spent a full weekend in Nagog had been before Annabelle died. Since then, he hadn’t made time for lazy days with his family.
Tom loosened his tie and pulled it from under the collar. Instead of sitting in the grass enjoying the beautiful day, he’d spent ten hours in meetings that concluded with a three-hour dinner with the developer from the West Coast, who had highlighted hair and manicured nails, sucking down oysters and telling Tom he wanted twenty distinctive home designs with all the bells and whistles.
It had been hard to turn down hundreds of thousands of dollars in design fees and the chance to create homes across the western seaboard, but Tom didn’t want his name associated with cookie-cutter homes stuffed together with only three feet of yard between them. Those kinds of communities didn’t leave room for family barbecues in the backyard, and they created emotional distance between neighbors.
He switched the radio station to heavy metal rock and drummed his hand against the steering wheel. Up ahead he saw the exit for Route 93. He could be home in half an hour. Then what? More work?
He needed to check on Grandpa. Tom had lied to himself, pretending work had kept him too busy to visit Nagog the last couple of weeks. He knew that he was avoiding Heather. His mind had wandered to her more often than he wanted to admit. At night, before sleep came, Heather’s laugh or her story about Africa replaced his memories of Annabelle. Though he hated to admit it, the thought of opening his heart again scared him.
When he pulled onto Nagog Drive, he saw a limo parked in Grandpa and Heather’s shared driveway. Tom assumed the fian
cé had come to make amends or Heather had met someone new. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was better this way, but his disappointment surprised him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been hoping to see her tonight. The memory of her sitting on the deck with her legs angled toward him made him wish that there’d be more nights of flirting or possibly even dinner out, but it looked like he was too late. He backed up and parked his car on the other side of his grandfather’s house and walked around to the front door.
The house was dark. Tom unlocked the door and heard the sound of a saxophone coming from the stereo in the living room. Red roses had been placed in his grandmother’s crystal vase and he saw two plates with half-eaten dinners on the table. Tom walked into the living room, where Grandpa was dancing with a short woman in a purple dress, a flower tucked in her white hair. When the two smiled and leaned in to kiss, Tom cleared his throat.
“I don’t mean to interrupt.”
The couple broke apart like teenagers caught necking. Grandpa looked up. “Oh, Tommy. I thought you said you had meetings tonight.”
“I did.” He moved toward the woman and extended his hand. “I’m Tommy, the grandson.”
“Nice to meet you, dear. Your grandfather has told me so much about you. He’s very proud.”
“Grandpa, could I speak with you?” Tom led his grandfather into the kitchen. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Geraldine,” he said. “She’s eighty-two. Quite a hottie, don’t you think?”
“Where did you meet her? And how did she get here?” Tom asked.
“I sent the limo for her. Neither of us can drive, and I wanted to show my lady some class.” Grandpa winked at him. “Heather helped me sign up for an online dating site. We met on it about a month ago. And that camera let her know she was getting a hunk. I even ordered my suit on the computer.” He pulled the jacket’s lapels and puffed his chest in pride. “You’re not hanging around here tonight, are you?”
“I was thinking about sleeping over and doing some fishing tomorrow. Is that okay?” Tom teased.
“Sure, Molly and Bill would love to have you.” Grandpa pushed him toward the door. “You say hello for me.”
“Hey, you don’t have to shove. I was just kidding. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your hot date. Just make sure you use protection.”
“Yeah, yeah, you little wiseass,” he said. “And Tommy, I think it’s time to renovate. Give the house some sprucing. What do you think?”
“Will you be staying with me during construction?” Tom asked.
“Not if I’m lucky.” He poked Tom in the ribs. “Now get lost. Go visit that young hot thing next door. She’s had a rough week.”
Tom walked outside and looked to Heather’s house. Nerves held him back for a moment. Was he ready to pursue this?
As he stepped onto her deck, putrid fumes made his eyes water and dozens of toads jumped across the wood. He walked to the open front door and rapped on the doorframe.
“What?” Heather said without looking up from her book.
“Got some new pets?” he asked, as one of the toads hopped into her living room.
She looked up. “Oh, it’s you.” She studied his clothing and then turned back to the book. “Have you come to yell at me? Or maybe to read the Bible aloud? Because if you have, you’re too late. It’s been done.”
Heather wore pink pajamas with green M&M’s and a tank top, and her hair was in pigtails. He was surprised to see her in glasses, and through the tank top he could see that the cleavage she normally wore wasn’t her own. “Little early for bed. You sick?”
“Please, I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a crappy week,” she said without looking up.
He stifled a laugh. “Speaking of crap, is it garbage day?”
The book slammed. “Very funny. No, it’s not garbage day. For the last week, a horrendous stench has permeated my house.” She stood and paced, her arms flailing. “I can’t get rid of it. If I sit by the water to get some fresh air, the men blow cigar smoke at me.” She confronted him close up. “They seem to be following me—in the bookstore, the coffee shop, the goddamn grocery store. So I’m stuck working with the smell of sewage and listening to them reminisce about the war outside my window.”
“Are the toads some kind of old-man repellent?” He covered his mouth to hide his smirk.
She paced again. “No, they just showed up the day my screen went missing. If I close the door to keep the toads out, I choke on the nauseating smell. I’m tired of chasing the buggers out, so I’ve let them move in.”
They stared at one another.
“Boy, do you bring out the life in them.” He chuckled.
“I’m glad you’re finding entertainment in this.” She hurled the book at his head.
He caught the paperback before it hit his face. “Memoir Writing for Dummies. I thought you were a famous writer for the Globe.”
“Screw you! I’m having difficulty writing in this environment.”
Tom liked seeing her like this—frazzled, unraveled, and passionate as hell.
“Have you tried talking to Victoria or Molly?”
“No—” Heather stopped. “I see the way Sarah and Agatha treat Victoria. If I say something, it might start a fight, and I don’t want to cause her any problems. Plus, she’s been busy with Joseph this last week.”
“What about Molly?”
“No. She’s hasn’t been feeling well and I don’t want to bother her. Will you stop staring at me like I’m crazy?” She grabbed the book from him and sat on the couch.
“How about this? You stay here and I’ll get rid of the smell. I think I know what’s causing it.”
“How? I don’t even know what the problem is. I called a repairman and he said a bad septic system wouldn’t smell like rotten eggs and dog poop.”
“Do you have a flashlight?” Tom asked.
She shot him an incredulous look. He put his hands up and backed away. “I’ll get one out of my car.”
For Tom’s tenth birthday, Carl had bought him a chemistry set and taught him to make stink bombs. Tom went to his car, took off his dress shirt and grabbed the flashlight. In Grandpa’s garage he found a rake and garbage pail. He searched the yard and listened for buzzing flies. He removed the grating under the back porch and found the smelly culprits. Using the rake, he fished out yellow boxes and brown bags of dog feces. The smell made his eyes burn. Flies swarmed his face as he sealed the offensive items in the trash.
As he dug out clothes from his car and changed, he had to laugh. God, he loved these old men. The dog poop was a nice touch. He wondered where they’d gotten it, since no one in the neighborhood had a pet. Still, this latest prank was exceptionally cruel. He’d need to talk to them.
He went inside and walked past Heather on his way to the kitchen. She kept her eyes on her book. After washing his hands, he stood in the doorway to the living room and watched her. Heather’s ponytails reminded him of his first love, Stacy Sisilack, whose short brown pigtails were always tied in ribbons that coordinated with her dress. One afternoon, he’d found a robin’s egg that matched the light blue of Stacy’s ribbons. When he gave her the gift, she agreed to join their desks together during art time. It had been the best afternoon of his first grade year.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“I went for Thai food. Daniel and Carl joined me, uninvited. They talked about the Depression, World War II, concentration camps, and how our generation is a bunch of spoiled brats who don’t know the meaning of hard work,” she said.
“Go throw on some clothes. And you might want to grab a sweatshirt.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, you have two choices: stay in here and deal with the smell or come with me. I’ll be your shield against the elderly. But only if you keep the pigtails. They’re cute.”
She stormed up the stairs. “I’m not going out in pigtails. I haven’t lost that much dignity.”
“Okay,” he yelled after her, “bu
t I don’t think the trees care about your dignity. I thought we’d sit on the beach and have a glass of wine.”
Tom walked to the fire pit and threw another log on the flames. He poked the embers with a large stick and then laid it in the sand.
“So, were you able to fix the problem?” Heather asked.
“Let’s just say that in a few hours, the smell should be gone. Keeping it away might be another story.” He sat down next to her in the sand with his back against a large log.
“Do I need to call some kind of repairman?”
Tom smirked. “More like a garbage man.”
Heather shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Your neighbors are putting stink bombs under your house.”
“What?” The wine splashed onto her jeans and the sand. “Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. Did something happen between you and them?”
Heather looked down at her wine and pulled her hands around the glass. “I guess you don’t know that I had a few people over again last week, and the music was loud. I figured you had showed up to yell at me again.”
“They didn’t call me. I guess they decided to take matters into their own hands.” He stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Whatever.” She waved him away as she thought about all the mysterious things that had happened in her house: the ants, the missing pipe, the lack of hot water, the horrendous smell . . .
Tommy walked toward the Jacobses’ home, and Heather groaned, worried he was going to ask Molly to join them. Still embarrassed by her drunken behavior, she’d found ways to avoid her, Victoria, and Joseph with the excuse that she was overloaded with work, which hadn’t been a lie. Charlie had called every day with suggestions for her writing and the upcoming travel she needed to arrange. Between him and her neighbors, she was on the verge of a breakdown. So much for lakeside tranquility.
Tom returned with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. He sat next to her and placed a white candy puff each on two long sticks with carved points. “You can’t have a fire without s’mores.” He handed her a stick. Heather watched him place his marshmallow near the fire, careful not to get too close to the flames, expertly rotating his stick.