by Susan Wiggs
“Done.”
“Now, hold up your hand, just like that, yes.” She slipped her own into his. “Your other hand needs to rest at my waist. Yes. You’re very good.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You feel polished and confident,” she said, “the way a true gentleman should. You smell good, too.”
“Nice of you to say.”
“I’m being honest, George. You smell wonderful. Now, about the dance frame. It’s not very technical. It’s based on common sense and consideration for your partner.”
He had a natural flair for the hold. Next, she showed him the basic footwork. He caught on quickly enough, and seemed to have a strong sense of rhythm. The look of concentration on his face morphed into delight, and he laughed aloud, the sound eliciting smiles from the other dancers.
“Hey, you’re a natural,” she said, though the attention made her feel self-conscious. They danced some more, and George laughed some more as she coached him through a couple of moves.
“I don’t think we’ll win any trophies,” he said, “but I’m having fun. Makes me wish I’d taken this up before my sons’ weddings.”
She decided to voice the question that had been nagging at her since their arrival. “Where are they, George? Where is your family now?”
“That’s not the real question,” he said. “The real question is, why aren’t they here?”
“I suppose that is the question. And you needn’t answer it unless you want to.”
“They think I’m on a fool’s errand, coming to Camp Kioga.”
“And they’ve stayed away because…”
“Because they’re convinced I’ll be back in the city before they can even get their bags packed.”
This was exactly as she’d suspected. Most loved ones tried to cling to denial as long as possible. “Just don’t make this a battle of wills, George. Nobody wins that kind of fight.”
“Not to worry. I have thought about this journey long and hard, to make sure it’s something I’m pursuing for the right reasons, not just to be stubborn.”
The inner workings of a family held endless fascination for Claire. Perhaps this stemmed from her lack of one. She was intrigued by the way people loved each other, and fought and turned their backs on each other, and then came together again. She was intrigued by all the ways people learned to forgive and grow and strengthen their bond. There was such richness in their efforts, and such grace, whether those efforts led to success or failure.
George was so studied in the way he dressed, so fearful and sweet at the same time. She thought about how he had carefully ordered the food and wine and how much he’d savored her enjoyment.
If you were my grandfather, she thought, wild horses couldn’t keep me from you.
It was dark by the time Ross and Natalie arrived in Avalon, a cluster of glowing windows and gaslit streets nestled beside Willow Lake. He was only vaguely familiar with the many little lakeside towns and villages of upstate New York, but Natalie claimed she’d been to Avalon before.
“Several times, as a matter of fact,” she remarked, folding away the road map.
“Here? I never knew that.”
“My folks settled in Albany after they came back from overseas. This was one of my favorite train stops on the way upstate.” She indicated a place called the Apple Tree Inn, a converted mansion with a lighted front porch and a sign advertising fine dining. “A guy asked me to marry him right there, about ten years ago.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. It was Christmas Eve. I was mortified.”
“What, mortified it wasn’t me?”
“Very funny.”
“You never told me that,” said Ross.
“I don’t tell you everything. And honestly, it wasn’t…my finest moment. He was adorable, but we were too young. I wonder whatever became of Eddie.”
“Nothing,” Ross said. “His life was over the second you turned him down.”
She laughed. “I’m so glad you’re back. I don’t know what I did without you.”
“Sent me jokes in e-mail,” he reminded her. “Several a day.”
“Well, it’s nice having you back where I can make fun of you in person.”
They stopped at a service station for directions to Camp Kioga. “It’s a good thing I came along with you today,” Natalie said, squinting at the unlit wilderness that surrounded them after they left the town behind. “A really good thing. It’s pitch-dark out here. And deserted, too. I feel like we’re in one of those teen scream movies.”
“Except we’re not teenagers and there’s nothing to scream about.”
“Speak for yourself.” She shuddered. “How about you pull over and put up the top.”
“It’s still warm outside. Let’s leave it down.”
“There are probably slimy nocturnal creatures everywhere.”
“I’ll try not to run over any of them. And let’s hope nothing drops on your head.”
“Ross, I swear—”
“Quit being a baby.”
The lakeshore road took them northward. They passed a few farms and residences, and then…nothing. Finally, in the middle of nowhere, they spotted the sign: Historic Camp Kioga. 2 Miles Ahead. The pavement turned to gravel, and Ross slowed the roadster. The headlamps lit the surrounding dense forest, creating a tunnel of green. The shadow of an owl swooped over them, and occasional watching eyes flashed in the underbrush.
“Okay, this is seriously creepy,” said Natalie, turning up the volume on the radio. A bouncy song about love gone wrong was playing, which seemed to lighten the atmosphere a little.
“Scaredy-cat,” said Ross. “Finally, here we are.”
The old-fashioned entranceway was constructed of two large timbers connected by an arch. Camp Kioga was spelled out in wrought-iron twig lettering. “Jeez, even the sign looks creepy,” Natalie remarked.
The remainder of the driveway was illuminated by path lights leading to a big lodge at the lakeside. “Now, this is more like it,” she declared, regarding the glowing windows with obvious relief. “It’s even prettier than the brochures promised.” Inside, they could see candlelit tables, waiters in black coats, dancing couples. It was the picture of vintage rustic elegance, the kind of place that invited nostalgia. Or, thought Ross, old men in search of old memories.
He and Natalie went inside to a big lobby area and stood for a moment, looking around.
Peeled timber ceiling beams soared above the lounge area and registration desk. The room had a timeless atmosphere; it felt like the sort of place people imagined other, more functional families than their own visited together, a couple of generations back. Maybe in Granddad’s day.
At the registration desk, an earnest-looking woman waited expectantly. Adjacent to the lobby was a dining room, complete with live music and dancing couples.
“He might be there,” Ross said.
Natalie touched his arm. “Go ahead,” she said, following the direction of his gaze. “I’ll get us a place to sleep for the night.”
Leaving her at the desk, Ross went into the dining room. It was getting late and the crowd was thin. Ross surveyed the room, scanning the light dinner crowd, mostly couples. A small ensemble, on a raised dais in the corner, was playing the old tune “Stardust Memories,” and several couples danced to the languid melody. His gaze skipped past them; it was well-known in the family that Granddad didn’t dance. Then Ross heard a sound he hadn’t heard in far too long—the ringing tones of his grandfather’s laughter.
His gaze made another sweep through the dancers, this time focusing on a tall man dancing with a slender, dark-haired woman.
Ross froze, his chest constricted with emotion.
George Bellamy was dancing. He wore a tailored dress suit with a crisp white shirt and narrow tie. His close-cropped, snow-white hair caught flickers of light from the rustic chandelier. He looked lost in pleasurable concentration, with a small, crooked smile on his face.
>
A thousand thoughts crowded into Ross’s head. He was unprepared for the sucker punch delivered by the sight of his grandfather. Striding toward the couple on the dance floor, Ross had an urge to physically remove the strange woman from his grandfather’s arms. Maybe Ross’s mother and aunt were right. Maybe the stranger was shameless, worming her way into Granddad’s life.
“Granddad,” he said, keeping his voice low and his temper reined in, for now.
George Bellamy stopped dancing, stepped away from his partner and turned. Just for a moment, he appeared confused, disoriented in a way that made Ross’s pulse speed up in panic. Then George’s face lit with a blissful smile. In the dim, kindly light, he looked youthful, perfectly healthy and utterly delighted. “My boy,” he said, reaching out with his arms. “My boy. I knew you’d come.”
The woman moved aside. George hugged Ross close, right there on the dance floor. Ross could feel dozens of eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He was back. His grandfather’s relief was palpable, and Ross knew George was thinking of the son who had gone to war and never came home.
A soldier’s homecoming was meant to be a joyous occasion. Yet the joy in this moment was muted by a sense of sadness. In his grandfather’s embrace, he was that young boy again, grieving and afraid. It was astonishing how quickly those feelings came rushing back, as though they had been hovering just below the surface, never really gone, waiting to reemerge.
“My boy,” Granddad said again. “My dear, sweet boy. Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” Ross said, wanting to hold this man close and never let him go. “Can we go have a seat?”
“Of course. I’m so pleased you came, son. I didn’t know when you’d arrive.”
“I got here as fast as I could. My mother says you hired some phony tart who’s going to fleece you bare.”
Granddad stepped aside. Ross had no idea the hired woman was still standing nearby, overhearing this. “Son, I’d like you to meet Claire Turner,” said Granddad.
“The phony tart,” she added helpfully.
“Great,” said Ross.
“Miss Turner, this is my grandson, Ross Bellamy.”
“Delighted,” she said.
Ross knew there was ice in his gaze as he offered her a greeting of curt politeness. He would soon be having what he expected to be a short, dismissive conversation with her. Yet there was something unsettling about her. No, there was something about him, regarding her. This woman is going to be trouble, warned a quiet inner voice. At first glance, she didn’t look like a gold digger. She wore no jewelry, little or no makeup that he could see. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back, revealing an undeniably pretty face. She wore a plain dress that did not have to loudly advertise the obvious—she had a knockout figure.
“Pardon me,” Ross said. “I’m going to have a word with my grandfather.”
“Of course,” she said. “Why don’t you go to the bar where it’s quiet. I’ll settle things here.”
I’ll just bet you will, thought Ross, watching her go. She was mesmerizing to look at, with a soothing voice and manner that had probably won George over from the start. Ross felt nothing but contempt for her, yet against his will, that contempt was tinged by curiosity.
Natalie came to greet George. As she gave him a hug, she immediately burst into tears.
“This is not helping,” said Ross.
“I just don’t know what to say. I’m sorry you’re sick, Mr. Bellamy, and I feel so helpless.”
“You’ve helped enormously by coming here with Ross,” said George.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again, and handed Ross a key. “The cabin number’s on the tag,” she said. “I’m heading over there now.”
“Charming creature, I’ve always thought,” said Granddad as she withdrew. “There was a time when I wondered if the two of you might marry.” He smiled at Ross’s expression. “It’s one of the few perks of being terminally ill. I get to speak my mind without getting in trouble for it.”
“Nat and I…we’re not like that.”
“I know. You have a wonderful future ahead of you, my boy. Just not with her.”
The bar was quiet, and furnished with comfortable wing chairs and low tables. George ordered two glasses of brandy, looking pleased to see that it was Rémy Martin, properly served in crystal globe snifters.
The two of them sat together, facing a glowing fire in the river-rock fireplace. On the table between them was a chess set, the pieces already lined up for battle. George settled back and lifted his glass. “To my grandson, the war hero.”
“And to my grandfather, the exaggerator. I’m no hero.”
“You came home alive and well. In my eyes, that makes you a hero.”
Ross was quiet. He had accomplished what George’s son could not. He had come home in one piece. “Whenever I got in trouble over there,” he said, “I thought of you. And when I did that, the only option was to make it home.”
“And for that, I am profoundly grateful. I hope you’re planning to stick around, because…well, you know.” He took a sip of brandy, closing his eyes as he swallowed. “How are you?”
“I’m completely freaked,” Ross admitted.
“That was my initial reaction, as well. It’s one thing to grow old as I have, knowing I shan’t live forever. It’s another to discover my actual expiration date.”
Ross had always understood how hard it would be to lose his grandfather. But it had always seemed a distant eventuality, something that would happen someday in the nebulous, undefined future, taking him by surprise, like a sniper attack.
Instead the loss was predicted to happen this summer.
Ross hated that. With every fiber of his being, he hated the heartless prognosis.
Leaning forward, George nudged a pawn on the chessboard in his favorite opening move, the French defense.
“So, about this illness…” Ross kept his voice low, but even he could hear its intensity. Almost independently, he answered the opening move with one of his own. He and Granddad had always played chess, almost compulsively.
“We can go over all the technicalities in the morning. I promise not to die tonight.” George advanced another pawn and regarded him with shining eyes. “Dear God, how I’ve missed you. I worried about you every moment.”
“I’m sorry for that. The work was hazardous but I’m glad I served. I know you were opposed to my going, but it was just something I had to do.”
“And I couldn’t be prouder. And now you’re back, and it means the world to me.”
The center of the chessboard was fairly crowded now, with flanks of pawns. The queen’s black bishop was hemmed in and useless.
Ross didn’t give a shit about his future at the moment. “Look, Granddad, I don’t care how sick you are. I want to know what the hell is going on. Where’s everyone else? Uncle Louis and Gerard and Trevor? Why aren’t they here with you?”
“Well, as you know, the elder two are overseas, but they’ll be in New York soon. Trevor and Alice flew in from L.A. when I ended my treatment at the Mayo Clinic. They’re staying at the apartment,” he said, referring to his residence in Manhattan. “I invited them to Camp Kioga with me, but they declined. They all think I’m on a fool’s errand, and they’re hoping you’ll be the one to make me see reason and escort me back to the city.”
“Yeah? So how am I doing?”
“Not so well, because I intend to stay here.” His face turned mild, reflective. “Ross, I had to make a choice. I’ve lived a full life. I’ve had my share of blessings and losses. I came here to face my greatest regret, and that is the long estrangement with my brother, Charles. Full-on treatment would ‘give me’ maybe a few more months, but every day would be eaten up by appointments, painful and invasive procedures and tests. So I chose to come here, and invite my family up and have a day like I did today. I sat in a porch swing, did the New York Times crossword and prayed you’d be here soon.” He offered a smile that made Ross want to cry. “Now you
’re here. I’m sure the others will join us soon.”
“But why here? And what’s this about a brother?”
“Now that I’m out of time there are some things I see clearly, and the need to reconnect with my brother is one of them. Things that happened in the past…I can’t let them matter now. All my priorities have shifted. My bank balance? Doesn’t matter what it is, either. It doesn’t matter if I missed the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy or if my damned socks match. What matters is making sure I come to terms with things in my past, and share my heart with my loved ones.”
Ross wasn’t quite sure what his grandfather needed to come to terms with. What could be powerful enough to divide brothers for a lifetime? Whatever it was, he hoped they could make this quick. Suffer through an awkward meeting with the brother, then head back to the city and find a doctor—a team of them—who could find a way to beat this disease.
He nodded his head toward the dining room. “And why her?”
George frowned at the game board. “She’s exactly what we need.”
Ross ignored the we. “But, Craigslist, Granddad? Seriously?”
“I was told one could find anything on the Internet. Apparently this is so. I simply listed the attributes I needed, and Godfrey put it all on the line.” George took one of Ross’s pawns with his bishop.
“On the line?”
“You know, the Internet.”
Ross’s mouth twitched. “Online, you mean.”
“Yes. Within hours, there were applicants queuing up to meet me. Godfrey prescreened them. It was disheartening, I tell you. Nothing like those match-up services they’re always advertising. I wish you could’ve seen some of the candidates.” He chuckled. “Did you know there’s a variety of tattoo known as the ‘tramp stamp’?”
“Granddad—”
“Don’t worry, Claire doesn’t have any tattoos. None that I know of. At any rate, I nearly gave up the search, and then I met Claire. Almost from the first moment, I knew she was the one. I had a feeling about her.”
“Yeah, about these attributes—did you check her references? Her qualifications?”
“Of course. I had to make certain she was exactly what I was looking for. I’m sure you’ll come to like her, too. At first glance, she seems a bit plain, but you’ll soon realize that’s not the case at all. She has a quiet sort of beauty. Doesn’t seem to want to play up her looks the way most women do.”