Claire stretched again, and wondered how Kirk had fared on the sofa. Her stomach tightened the way it always did when she thought of her husband and the problems between them.
That was when she saw the tray on the bureau against the opposite wall.
She sat up and swung her feet onto the cool floor. Wilted dandelions hung their heads over a small glass vase. A note lay propped against the white thermos she'd normally used on the boat. Next to the thermos stood a mug and a cellophane-wrapped muffin.
She read the note: "Enjoy your breakfast in bed." The printing looked like Daisy's. The accompanying picture was Jenna's trademark rainbow.
Claire twisted the top off the thermos. Out seeped the aroma of Earl Grey tea. For a second she looked at the door. It was so darn quiet out there. Where were those kids? Where was Kirk?
Then she glanced back at the book on her pillow.
What the heck. She deserved a break, didn't she? Claire lifted the tray, then set it on the unoccupied half of the bed. She poured out a mugful of the tea, unwrapped the muffin and opened her book. Pulling up the pillow against the headboard, she settled herself back under the covers.
The brother had killed him, Claire decided. She was all but positive…
man, it was hot! Kirk checked to see if Andie was still wearing her hat. She had the pale skin of a true redhead: sunscreen alone didn't offer her enough protection.
There she was, at the far corner of the beach, sprawled out in the sand, reading one of the books he'd bought for her, the brim of her denim hat pulled low over her face.
Andie. Something was going on with that kid. He wasn't sure what. Daisy and Jenna had opened their arms for big hugs when he'd woken them with a finger to his lips for them to be quiet. But Andie had held herself aloof, her expression blank when he explained he wanted to give their mother a break this morning.
The two younger girls had helped him put the tray together. It was seven-thirty when he'd set it on Claire's bureau and turned out the light by her head. He'd never seen someone look sad in their sleep before, but that was exactly how Claire had looked to him with her flaxen hair spilled over the pillow, thin lines traced across her brow and down either side of her lips.
Sad and vulnerable. He'd felt a piercing guilt knowing he was the reason she looked that way, and he'd been so tempted to lie down next to her and smooth away those worry lines with soft touches and even softer words. But he'd known Claire wouldn't welcome him in her bed. And the girls were expecting him to keep them amused.
So he'd allowed himself merely to stroke the side of her cheek before rounding up the girls and taking them to the Conroys' summer place just a few miles farther along the shore of Lake Rosseau.
Beaches were rare in Muskoka cottage country. Generally, the lakes butted up to solid rock, and most cottagers built long wooden docks connecting land and water.
Buddy and Pat Conroy's property was different. They'd bought the small cottage as an enticement to their children—who were now married, with children of their own—in the hope that Robert and Laura would spend more of their summer holidays with them.
Now that he was semiretired from his law practice, Buddy kept the small natural beach well groomed, and was always generous about sharing access with other friends from Port Carling. Especially those with small children.
"Let's build another sand castle, Daddy," Jenna said, tugging his arm.
The heat had made him somnolent, but he shook off his fatigue and padded along the sand to the water's edge. There Jenna handed him a bucket, with strict instructions on the type of sand he was to use.
"Not too wet, Daddy, or it mushes down. And not too dry or it won't stick."
"I've got it," he assured her. Crouching to his knees, he began to shovel. Lord but he was tired.
The couch was not the most comfortable place to sleep, especially since it was about six inches shorter than he was. 'Course, it seemed just fine when he was taking a lazy afternoon nap.
He might as well admit it. The situation between him and Claire had kept him up. That and the faint line of light he'd seen under her bedroom door.
Knowing she couldn't sleep, either, had caused him to feel guilty as hell. After all, she was pregnant. She needed her rest.
"Put it here, Daddy," Jenna commanded with all the authority of an office manager. Funny, you'd think that being the youngest, she'd be more used to taking orders than giving them. But right from the start Jenna had seemed to have more confidence than the other two.
Which made him wonder what this fourth child would be like.
He dumped the pail of sand in the area that Jenna had cleared, and was told to go get another. Obediently, he walked back to the water's edge. Daisy was wading at knee level, trying to catch something in a green plastic strainer.
"What're you looking for, Day?"
"Bugs."
She sounded so matter-of-fact it made him smile.
"Why bugs?"
"So I can feed my grasshopper."
"Your grasshopper?"
"He's in the jar by the castle."
Kirk dropped off the fresh pail of sand with Jenna, then went to check. Sure enough, a gray grasshopper sat in the bottom of an old jam jar. The lid had several airholes that had been punched in with a nail.
Daisy came up beside him with several water bugs in the strainer. Water spiders? They all had spindly legs with tiny bodies. They wouldn't make much of a meal, he figured. Besides, didn't grasshoppers eat grass?
Daisy took the jar out of his hand and struggled to open the lid. "Mrs. Conroy gave me this when I went inside to use the bathroom. She said to say she was making sandwiches for lunch."
"Daisy!" That had been at least half an hour ago. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
His daughter shrugged. "I didn't mink of it." Her hair had grown, he noticed, so that her bouncy blond curls now brushed her shoulders.
Kirk glanced toward the cottage. From the outside deck Buddy waved at him, and he noticed Patricia carrying a tray of glasses out from the house. After a quick check of all three girls, he bounded up the lawn to join them.
''I never meant for you to feed us, Pat," he said.
"I know, Kirk. It's our pleasure. We love your girls." She pushed her graying hair back from her face. "I just got off the phone with Mallory. She and Drew are bringing Angel over for lunch, too."
Buddy looked up from the crossword. "Angel?" A smile spread over his usually implacable features. "That's good. We haven't seen her in a while."
"All of seven days." Patricia smiled indulgently. "This will be a good opportunity for the girls to play together."
Mallory. Drew. Kirk's insides had lurched at the mention of Claire's old friends. Had his wife told them about their problems? He was almost certain she would have. Mallory and Drew, as well as Grady Hogan, were Claire's best friends. She'd known them all her Me, from the summers she'd spent up here at the cottage.
If Claire had said anything about Janice, about the baby, they'd think he was dirt.
And they'd be right.
"I'll get the girls washed up for lunch," he said.
"No rush," Patricia told him. "Let them play a few minutes longer. Can I offer you something to drink? Buddy's having iced tea."
"That would be nice, Patricia. May I help?"
"No problem. I have everything right here." She poured from a frosted pitcher, then passed him a glass.
"I'd better go back down to the beach." He could see Jenna and Daisy from here, but Andie was too far away.
"I'll call when it's ready," Patricia said.
Ice chinked against the plastic glass as Kirk walked slowly back to the sand. He sat on the edge of the beach and watched his children play. Andie was still reading, but Daisy and Jenna had joined forces and were now building the castle around the grasshopper.
How had he come to this—turned into the kind of man that he himself despised? Hadn't he sworn when his father had left his mother to marry an aerobics instructor fr
om his father's downtown gym that he would never do something like that to his own wife and children?
Not that he equated Janice with the vacuous young woman who'd only stayed with his father for two years before cutting out with the executive partner of his father's law firm.
No, Janice was an intelligent, attractive woman who was interested in a genuine, long-term, full relationship. That was what had brought this whole situation to a head.
"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level," she'd told him during one of their dinners. She'd placed her hand on his arm and leaned forward, revealing—intentionally or not, he had no idea—a glimpse of her firm, upright breasts.
He'd known what she'd meant, of course. Sleeping together. It was a tempting proposition, but one that made it impossible for him to ignore the reality of his marriage.
"Let me think about that," he'd said. He didn't want an adulterous affair. Janice didn't, either. But neither did he want to break up his family. How had he arrived at such a reprehensible situation?
His relationship with Janice had started innocently enough. Or had it? If he was honest, he had to admit that right from the start he'd seen that Janice was attracted to nun.
And he'd felt flattered.
Janice thought he was handsome. She often complimented him on his physique and how well he dressed. She knew he was the highest-grossing broker in the office and went out of her way to tell him how impressed she was.
Whereas all Claire ever saw was a man who was never home on time and who didn't do enough to help out with the house and kids.
Not that that was any sort of excuse—
He turned at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Sure enough, there was Drew's Explorer. Standing, he brushed sand from his khaki shorts and shielded his eyes with one hand. Out stepped Mallory, then Drew, who opened the passenger door to get Angel from her car seat.
They were here. Time to face the music. Kirk stepped forward to greet them.
"How was your day, mom?" Daisy asked, after showing Claire her new pet grasshopper. His name was Sam. He did not like green eggs and ham. He did not like water beetles, either. Or spiders or flies. All those dead insects lay in the jar with him, alongside a clump of grass.
"Did you have a nice break?"
"I did." Claire squeezed Daisy, inhaling the little-girl scent, enhanced by the aromas of lake water and sunscreen.
Actually, she'd been bored silly. She'd finished her book around two in the afternoon. She'd been right. The murderer was the brother. Then she'd spent a few hours in the kitchen, improvising some fresh-fruit salsas for her next "Cottage Cooking" column.
She hadn't been able to stop worrying about the children. Kirk had left a note that he'd taken them to the Conroys' beach. Would he remember hats and sunscreen? Would he make sure they had enough to drink? The heat could be dehydrating.
But they'd made it home just fine, with the girls displaying no ill effects that she could see. Now Kirk was on the deck, barbecuing the chicken breasts she'd marinated earlier. Jenna was helping, chirping like a bird just before sunrise. As for An-die… She'd given Claire a look that Claire could only describe as accusing, before holing up in her bedroom.
During dinner, Andie continued to be sullen, withdrawn.
"Aren't you hungry after your busy day?" Claire asked, passing a mixture of chopped strawberries and blueberries tossed in a light lime vinaigrette with some cilantro, which she'd thought might appeal to the children.
Andie shook her head, not looking up from her plate. "I hate those green things. I'm not eating that."
Claire glanced at Kirk. From his expression she could tell he had no more idea what was going on with their eldest daughter than she did.
"Have a little more chicken, then," Claire said. "You've hardly eaten anything."
Andie set her knife and fork on the plate. "Can I go to my room?"
Claire looked again at Kirk, who said reluctantly, "No snacks later, Andie."
"I know." She pushed against the table, and her chair legs scraped on the old pine floor. Neither Claire nor Kirk said a word about being more careful. As Claire watched her daughter trudge back to her room, the descriptive word that came to mind was despondent.
"Do you mink she got too much sun?" she asked Kirk.
"She was wearing her hat the whole tune. And I made sure she put on plenty of sunscreen."
After dinner, Kirk insisted Claire relax on the deck with her tea while he supervised showers for the girls and put them to bed. It was still warm outside, even though the sun had set. Kirk's voice, low and soothing, traveled faintly through the open patio doors. He was singing an old favorite of all the girls—a song about a woman who'd swallowed a fly.
Since he'd found out she was pregnant, Kirk had been pampering her like a princess. Claire wasn't certain how she felt about that. Sure it was nice, but who was he really concerned about? Her or the baby?
How about both? That was the fan- answer. After all, he'd been as considerate during her other three pregnancies.
Maybe that was the solution. If she kept herself pregnant…
Very funny. Claire finished her tea and set the empty cup on the arm of her chair as she went to stand at the railing.
The half hour right after sunset was such a peaceful time of day. The lake rippled lazily; she could hear the water lapping on the rocks below. The strands of clouds hugging the horizon glimmered mauve and pink. Above them, set in the deep blue sky, she could see a few of the brighter stars and the saucy arch of a new moon.
Only when Kirk touched her arm did she realize she'd stopped hearing his voice murmuring in the background to the girls.
"Are they asleep?"
He nodded, removing his hand and staring out at the lake, too. "Do you have any idea what's eating Andie?"
"Not really. She's been a bear with her sisters this week. Is it adolescence?"
"At ten?"
"It does seem early." She thought of the ease with which she and her eldest daughter had always communicated before this year. "If there is something wrong, I can't understand why she won't speak to me. She always has in the past."
"Same here. I just tried to talk to her, but she gave me the same look I've been getting all day. As if she just found out I was an ax murderer. Not unlike the looks I got from Mallory and Drew during lunch, by the way."
Claire dipped her head so he wouldn't see her smile.
"Of course, I can't say I blame them." Kirk reached over and took one of her hands. The left hand. The one with her wedding band and the engagement ring he'd given her on a night much like this one. They'd been out in the canoe. It had been a few days after the owl incident.
Kirk twirled the rings, and she found herself focusing on the band he himself wore on the ring finger of his left hand.
"I've been such an idiot, Claire. Since you and the girls have been gone I've had a lot of time to think."
Think? Thinking could be good or it could be bad. What if he'd decided he wanted to be with Janice? Claire suddenly wanted to ask him to keep quiet. If this was more bad news, she didn't want to hear it. Not tonight. Not ever, to be honest.
But Kirk had something to say.
"I never should have let my friendship with Janice get anywhere near the stage it did. What I've realized, Claire, is that our family is way more important to me. As you are."
He let go of her hand and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. Against the white of his golfing shirt, his face and arms looked darkly tanned. His intelligent face was serious and sad.
"I love you, Claire. Is there any way I can make these past few months up to you?"
CHAPTER TWELVE
He hadn't seemed TO feel he loved her before he found out she was pregnant.
Claire pushed the negative thought aside. If she wanted to save this marriage, give her girls a happy, stable home, she was going to have to get past the bitterness and the hurt.
Under her bre
ath, she repeated her new mantra: An affair doesn't have to mean the end of a marriage.
Kirk brought his hands up to caress the sides of her face. Cupping her jaw, he bent closer to her. "You are beautiful, Claire. As I watched you sleep this morning, it was all I could do not to climb in next to you."
So he had been the one to bring in the tray, to turn off the light.
"I'm fat." Was that all she could say? Claire could have bitten her tongue—wished she had.
Kirk's arms slipped around her waist, joining at the back, pulling her toward him. "You are not fat. You never have been."
"You can't deny that after Jenna—"
"Claire, I liked those full curves." He put a hand to her hair, stroking it. It was a calming gesture, and made her want to shut her eyes.
"Don't think this happened because of you— because of a few pounds or an extra wrinkle or two."
Janice was younger, and in truth that still stung. Forty was only a few years away, and Claire was all too aware of it.
"Because I love you. And I love your wrinkles. All two of them." Then he kissed her brow, his lips soft and comforting.
He loved her. How Claire wanted to believe that he meant what he said. His kisses—they felt as though he meant it. He was covering her face now, the tender skin of her eyelids, the sides of her cheeks, the line of her jaw.
She thought of last night, how her body had alternately glowed and ached with memories of the lovemaking they'd shared in the past.
It had seemed so impossible men, just twenty-four hours ago, that she would ever know those pleasures again.
Now she wasn't so sure.
"Kirk, I don't know…"
He was kissing the corners of her mouth, his lips still gentle and undemanding. "We have to start somewhere. I know it isn't going to be easy. But let me touch you, Claire. Let me show you how incredibly beautiful you are to me."
His hands on her bare arms were so soothing, his kisses completely intoxicating. She didn't want him ever to move away from her. She felt a longing building from deep within, from the hurt, empty place at her very core.
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