Starlight on Willow Lake

by Susan Wiggs

  Amazing. Did he say amazing?

  “It’s just so heartbreaking. And she’s getting worse, not better, in terms of attitude.”

  “Just before the recent fall down the stairs, did anything change?”

  “Not that I know of. I thought things were improving bit by bit. My brothers and I were in New Zealand scattering Daddy’s ashes when we got the call about her accident. We were horrified. She survived an avalanche, and then for her to go crashing down the stairs...” Her voice trailed off, and her hand trembled as she picked up her wineglass. “I couldn’t stand to lose both parents.”

  Faith didn’t say more right away. But she had questions. She had heard from the housekeeper that, prior to the fall, Alice had seemed slightly better, in the sense that she was more cooperative with her aides and perhaps less angry. The caregiver on duty had been there longer than any of his predecessors.

  Alice had been working hard on her physical therapy and making the tiniest bit of progress. She’d been encouraging of all three of her children about scattering their father’s ashes. Insistent, in fact. Adam hadn’t wanted to go so far away, but she’d assured him she would be fine on her own with the help. But something had changed, clearly.

  “What was your father like?” Faith asked Ivy.

  “Ah, where do I start?” A worshipful expression came over her face. Faith was reminded, obliquely, of the way Cara looked when she talked about Dennis. Fond memories softened a person’s heart, and it was nearly always reflected in their face. For some reason, she had not sensed that kind of sentiment in Alice when she spoke of Trevor. Maybe she’d missed it...or maybe Alice’s memories were not as fond as Ivy believed.

  Ivy went over to the piano and picked up a framed photo. It depicted Trevor Bellamy at a train station, running along a steam-clouded platform. The print was crisply rendered in black-and-white, so that it resembled a vintage photo in LIFE magazine. “I’ve always liked this shot. Mason took it in Paris about twenty years ago, I think. He managed to capture our dad’s energy. Growing up with him was like racing to catch up with a runaway train. It was a wild ride. He just seemed to veer from one adventure to the next.”

  Mason would have been a teenager when he took that picture, Faith reflected. Had he liked having a runaway train for a dad?

  She looked at Ivy, whose tears had dried into white ghosts on her cheeks. “Was that fun for you?”

  “Enormous fun, but then, I’ve always been good with spontaneity and unpredictability. It’s probably not for everyone, though. Daddy’s death nearly destroyed me, but in a strange way, I’m not surprised he died in an avalanche rather than growing old and fading peacefully away. Still, his death was so sudden, and so sad.” She shook her head, gazing into the fire. “Sometimes I honestly don’t know how Mom survived. Emotionally, I mean. They had a complicated relationship, I guess you could say. But a passionate one. She adored him. Whenever he went away, she was like a lost soul.”

  Complicated. Yes, Faith could sense that. “What do you mean, went away?”

  “He had to travel a lot for work, and for the foundation. He had so much business in Paris that he got an apartment and an office there.”

  “She didn’t join him?”

  “They both had superbusy careers, and on top of that, they were both committed to the foundation. Paris was rarely in her travel plans. As kids we took turns traveling with our parents. It was so much fun, even when it was a working vacation.”

  “What kind of vacation is that?”

  “Well, we’d go somewhere amazing, like to Machu Picchu or Alaska or Angkor Wat, and Mom would always find a way to help the local community. It’s always been a priority with her. One summer Adam and I were really jealous that Mason got to go to Paris to be with Dad and to work for the foundation.”

  “The summer he took that picture?”

  “Yes. He would have just finished his junior year in high school. I was just a youngster, but I remember when he came back from Paris, everything was different. I think maybe something happened in Paris.”

  “Your mom started to say something at dinner.”

  “I was so much younger, just six or seven, and Mason didn’t seem to stay around the house for more than five minutes at a time. I do recall when he got back from Paris, he was all banged up, you know, as if he’d had an accident. Maybe he got in a fight. You could ask my brother about it sometime.”

  She might have to.

  “So, back to your mom.” Faith set the photo back on the piano. “When this kind of trauma happens, it’s a huge life change, but you said she seemed to be making progress.”

  “I did say that, but I’m no expert. It’s such a radical change for anyone. For someone like my mom, who was so active all the time, it was like a bomb going off in her life.” Another tear slipped down Ivy’s cheek. “I hope I’m wrong, but...sometimes I think she just wants to be released.”

  “Released. Tell me what you mean by that.”

  “Just that she doesn’t want to go on.”

  Faith caught her breath. “Did she say that?”

  “Not directly. This morning she said she didn’t see the point of anything. And it’s so not like her to give up. All her life she’s met challenges, and I thought she would meet this one, but she’s so angry and depressed.”

  Faith thought about Dennis. He had lived with passion and incaution, but in the end he had managed to find a peaceful spot within himself. His hunger for life quieted, and unexpectedly, in the midst of the storm, he found a strange kind of contentedness. The damned illness. He’d been open about his feelings, but he’d never actually said he craved release.

  Ivy lightly tapped the cover over the piano keys. “Mom used to play pretty well. She did everything well. I wonder if having the piano here bothers her.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “Sure. She says it’s here for when Mason comes.”

  “Your brother plays?”

  “Yes. We all do, a bit, but Mason was always the best at it. Mom taught him when he was little. One of my earliest memories is of the two of them playing ‘Heart and Soul.’ And a Chopsticks medley that got faster and faster, and for some reason, it made them laugh themselves silly every time they played it together.”

  Faith tried to picture Mason and his mother laughing side by side. They were so tense around each other now. What had changed? she wondered. And had it changed before or after Alice’s accident? Was something else going on between Alice and her elder son?

  Ivy turned another picture toward Faith. It showed Trevor and Alice in a midair cliff dive. “Acapulco,” she said. “By the time they were my age, they were married and had the two boys. I wonder sometimes why the three of us are so romantically challenged.”

  “You are? How so?”

  “I’ve never had a relationship that lasted, and I don’t know why. I’ve never had a relationship that I wanted to last. And Adam—I get the sense that he wants something he can’t have. Or can’t find. Although he’d never admit it, that’s one reason he went away for his arson investigation course. Then there’s Mason...”

  “He has Regina. Aren’t they engaged? That was my impression, anyway.”

  “I think that’s Regina’s impression, too. And yeah, Mason would say they’re engaged, but they haven’t gotten around to picking a ring. Or a date. Or even a reason that they should be together for life. I’d love it if they were really into the whole wedding thing, but they’re both holding back. I have no idea why, and I suspect they don’t, either.” She popped another dark chocolate. “So there you have it. Our nutty family in a nutshell.”

  “What if you met someone in Paris?” asked Faith. “Think how romantic that would be.”

  “Totally. I’m worried about being so far away. I told Mom I’d postpone the fellowship, but she wouldn’t hear of i
t.”

  “Sounds like something your mother would say. She told me right from the start she doesn’t want to hold any of you back from doing whatever you want to do.”

  Faith could relate to this completely. That was one reason she felt so guilty about Cara and college. She knew her daughter yearned to go to college, and she intended to support Cara’s ambition. When she looked online at all the costs involved, it practically gave her heart palpitations. But she was going to leave no stone unturned.

  “I’m planning to come back for a visit at least every two or three months,” said Ivy. “And I’ll come more frequently if you think Mom needs me.”

  “I’ll stay in touch,” Faith promised.

  “Thank you. I’m so grateful you’re here for Mom.”

  They watched the fire die down for a while longer. Then Faith got up and stretched. “I’d better get to bed. See you in the morning.”

  “Yes. My flight’s not until late at night, so I’ll have another half day with Mom.”

  “Good night.”

  “Hey, Faith?”

  Faith paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Did you think Mom acted weird when I asked her about the Paris apartment?”

  “Weird, how?”

  “She just seemed really brusque, like she didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Oh...maybe.”

  “And is she also weird about her tumble down the stairs?” Ivy asked. “Like maybe it scared her more than she admits?”

  Faith wanted to get a few more facts about the accident before she explained her thoughts about what had happened that day. “Tell you what. You stay focused on getting settled in Paris. Your mom’s going to be all right.”

  11

  Sometimes Cara took the school bus home instead of riding with Donno. Her sister’s school got out earlier than the high school, and she didn’t like making him drive twice, or wait for her with Ruby squirming in the backseat.

  When they’d first moved to Downton Abbey—Cara’s private nickname for the Bellamy estate—it had been cool to get out of the sleek black car as if she were some kind of diplomat or VIP, but she got tired of explaining to her friends that, no, her mom hadn’t won the lottery, blah, blah, blah...

  After the school bus let her off, she hiked a sunny half mile to the long, winding drive leading to the house. She liked to pretend she actually lived at the Bellamy mansion, not as a temporary resident but as someone who belonged there. The driveway was so long it had its own street name, Webster Lane, in honor of the guy who had built the house a hundred years ago. The road was lined by rows of tall, straight trees, shedding white blossoms like snowflakes in the breeze. The grass was emerald green and perfectly cut, and at the end of the lane were two river-rock pillars and a wrought-iron gate that stood open to a glorious view of the house and lake.

  Being part of this idyllic picture made Cara temporarily forget that she was only a transient visitor. Forgetting her overstuffed backpack filled with schoolbooks, she felt like a character in some Masterpiece Theatre drama, with nothing more pressing on the agenda than getting dressed up for a high tea of jam and cream scones.

  Whatever the hell cream scones were.

  She pictured herself in period costume, some frilly outfit that weirdly made her look good. She was walking beside Leighton Hayes, aka the hottest guy in the junior class, the guy who looked as if he should have his own TV series. In her mental picture, Leighton Hayes wore a shirt with a starched white collar, with a Mr. Darcy–style ruffle, his curly black hair tumbling rakishly down over his brow. He would turn to her and say something totally cheesy like, “Miss McCallum, I am entirely smitten with you. I shan’t rest until you understand the depth of my emotions.” And she would whirl around with her frilly skirts flying. “Why, Leighton Hayes, I am forced to tell you, I feel the same way, and I would like to know what you intend to do about it.”

  “Well,” said a voice, “I was going to ring the bell, but then I thought it would be less intrusive if I knocked.”

  For a moment Cara felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. Milo Waxman, aka the geekiest guy in the junior class, stood just inside the main gate. His bike was propped against the garden wall, and he was regarding her with laughter in his eyes. He was skinny, and his jeans were too short and he wore horn-rimmed glasses that made him look even smarter than he actually was. His bike helmet gave his head the look of a mushroom.

  “Sorry to interrupt you and your imaginary friend,” he said, stripping off his helmet and hanging it on the handlebars. His rusty-brown hair was plastered to his forehead. “I was just stopping in to take care of some business.” He tapped the clipboard he was carrying.

  She wanted to curl up and die, right then and there. For a second she considered trying to explain herself, but she knew he would see right through her. The fact was, she had been caught red-handed being as silly and predictable as any mindless high school cheerleader, having a crush on Mr. Homecoming-King-in-waiting, who didn’t even know she was alive.

  And by studying her for half a second, Milo Waxman clearly had it all figured out. She could tell by the bemused, knowing look on his face. “You disappoint me, Miss McCallum. I thought you were a member of the intelligentsia.”

  She tossed her head. “Hit the road, Milo.”

  “What, you’re not inviting me in? Afraid I’ll make fun of your Justin Bieber posters?”

  She was never going to hear the end of this. “No, I’m trying to protect you from the wrath of old lady Bellamy. She doesn’t like company, even when they’re invited guests. I can only imagine what she would do to a door-to-door solicitor.”

  “I’m working on a fund-raiser for the local animal shelter,” he said, showing her the information page on his clipboard. “Puppies and kittens. Who doesn’t like puppies and kittens?”

  She glared at him. It would serve him right if Mrs. B tore him a new one. “This way,” she said, and led him up the stairs to the grand front entryway. She caught a glimpse of herself in the giant mirror over the hall table, and the Leighton Hayes fantasy dissolved into the ether. Her reality crashed down, with the mirror reflecting the image of her with one of the few boys who bothered to speak to her—Milo Waxman. And there she was in her leggings and droopy cargo jacket, her dumb hair she’d stupidly cut in spikes and tipped in purple. It was one of her many what-was-I-thinking moments.

  She tended to have a lot of those.

  The house was freakishly quiet as usual. She made her way to the kitchen, finding Wayan there, methodically trimming the ends off asparagus.

  “Hey, Wayan, this is Milo,” said Cara. “He’s here to see Mrs. B.”

  “I’ll betcha you’re looking for a snack,” Wayan said with a grin. He loved feeding people. It seemed to be his passion in life. “I made some sugar-free peanut butter bars.”

  “Thanks.” Cara and Milo each helped themselves to one. “Delicious,” Cara said. “It’s really nice of you to make sugar-free things for Ruby.”

  “No problem, only solution. I like trying new things. And that little kid, you know, she is so sweet, she doesn’t need any added sugar.”

  Cara nodded in agreement. “No argument from me.”

  “You’re lucky,” Milo said. “My younger sister is a cross between a rat terrier and a weasel. You don’t want to mess with her.”

  Cara resisted a smile. “Ruby has her moments, but most people are pretty crazy about her.” Her little sister was like a baby kitten, adorable and cuddly, playful and probably way too skittish.

  Pretty much the opposite of Cara, who was prickly and disagreeable, with a habit of saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong moment. And she wasn’t afraid of anything. If she could survive losing her dad, she could survive anything.

  “Did she get home yet?” Cara asked the chef.
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  Before Wayan could answer, there was a plinking sound of the piano being played. Well, not so much played as played with. From day one, Ruby had been fascinated by the shiny black Steinway in the parlor, though she had no clue how to play.

  Cara grabbed an extra cookie on a napkin and led the way. “Hey, Ruby, this is Milo Waxman. He—”

  “I know you.” Ruby stopped playing and regarded him with a worshipful gaze. “Your sister Wanda’s in my grade.”

  “Oh.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Are you friends with her?”

  Ruby lowered her gaze to the floor. “She’s kinda scary.”

  Milo nodded sagely. “Yep, that’s Wanda.”

  “You came to my classroom last week to talk about taking care of pets.” Ruby turned to Cara. “He brought a newborn baby kitten that was an orphan and had to be fed with a bottle, but we weren’t allowed to touch it.”

  “You’re scared of cats, anyway.” Feeling snarky, Cara turned to Milo. “She’s scared of cats.”

  “Maybe one day you’ll come to the shelter and get to know some of the cats and kittens there.”

  Ruby quailed. “Maybe.” She swiveled around on the piano stool and plinked out a few notes, then tried a chord. “I like how these notes go together,” she said, and tried a few more, with varying success.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Ruby jumped back as if the keyboard had turned into a hungry crocodile.

  Cara stepped defensively in front of her sister as Alice Bellamy glided into the room. “She was just—”

  “I know what she was doing,” barked Mrs. Bellamy.

  Cara narrowed her eyes at the woman. “You asked.”

  “It was a rhetorical question.” She aimed a sour look at Milo. “Who’s your friend?”

  “He’s not—” Far from it. “This is Milo Waxman. He goes to my school. He says he’s here about a fund-raiser.”

  Mrs. Bellamy pursed her lips. “I have a nonprofit foundation. You can apply for a grant and go through the same evaluation process as everyone else who comes looking for a handout.”