by Sarah Morgan
Her job was to keep everything as normal as possible in the home. To be indispensable. So she’d cuddled Molly, flicked on the low light her sister found comforting and read to her until she’d fallen asleep again. With Molly clinging to her, Izzy could pretend everything was going to be all right. Molly loved her. Molly needed her. Somehow, this whole mess would work out.
Izzy had wondered about the nightmare, though. Was Flora responsible? She felt angry with her dad for making a bad situation worse. Still, at least her dad and Flora hadn’t been hugging and kissing at the table, so there was that. She’d been watching for it, ready to intervene if she witnessed any behavior unsuitable for Molly. But there was nothing. Izzy might have thought that her father and Flora were no more than friends if it hadn’t been for that one glance. That one single, longing glance Flora had sent her father and that Izzy had seen.
He hadn’t noticed because he’d been focused on Molly at the time, but Izzy had noticed.
“So, I mean—” Avery paused, like someone about to step onto ice and wondering if it would give way and drown her in frozen waters “—presumably he likes her or he wouldn’t have brought her home to meet you. Meeting the kids is kind of a big deal.”
How could a few words crush you?
She’d been trying to minimize it in her head. “Maybe.”
“I guess it’s not so surprising. Your dad is kinda hot.”
Charlie made a choking sound. “That’s gross.”
“I mean for an older man. And don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”
Izzy longed for an ejector seat. She wanted to shoot herself out of the house, preferably to another planet. “This conversation is getting weird.”
“Will she be going with you to England for your summer vacation?”
“What? No, of course not.” She hadn’t even thought of that, but she was thinking of it now and it made her dizzy. Flora at Lake Lodge? No way. Every year since Izzy was born they’d spent three weeks of the summer in the beautiful English Lake District with her mother’s best friend and her family. Aunt Clare was her godmother. Their lakeside vacation was one of the highlights of Izzy’s life. Exercise and excitement. Freedom and fresh air. Aiden.
I love you, Izzy. Always have.
Thinking about him calmed her a little. She hadn’t shared the detail of last summer with anyone. Would she have done so if her mother hadn’t died? She wasn’t sure. At the time it had seemed too special and precious to share as a morsel of gossip. Her friends talked about boys the way they talked about mascara, comparing and contrasting qualities. Izzy didn’t see Aiden that way. He wasn’t one of those boys who was waiting for the right moment to shove his hand up your dress. When her bike had broken down, he’d fixed it. She could have fixed it herself the way her dad had taught her, but she’d liked the fact that he was prepared to get oil on his skin and sweat on his clothes to help her. She’d been convinced what they had was special, but time had eroded that conviction along with many others. Special last summer didn’t mean special now, did it? Feelings changed. She wanted to turn the clock back to the time when her mother was alive, to the summer Aiden had told her he loved her and she’d believed him. To a time when life seemed simple and her thoughts were full of Aiden, and college, and possibilities.
If she’d known how much her life was about to change, she would have savored each second. The thought of not going to Lake Lodge and seeing Aiden again made her feel something close to desperation.
“But your aunt Clare was your mom’s closest friend—” Although Charlie’s voice tailed off, the implication of her words still hung in the air. Why would they spend the summer with their mother’s closest friend when their mother was no longer with them?
“Not just my mom’s. She’s a family friend. Dad adores her, too. We all do.” She didn’t mention Aiden. She had to stop thinking about Aiden. He hadn’t said those words since. The messages they’d exchanged had been factual. Made the football team. Went sailing with Dad. Love could die. People could die. “Molly would be gutted if we didn’t go. We’ve been trying to keep everything the same.”
Surely if there was a question of them not going, her father would have mentioned it?
An image of the lake floated into her mind. It was so peaceful there, the air fresh and clean. There was something about the awe-inspiring scenery that made problems shrink. Right now she badly needed hers to shrink. She was tired of being trapped in a place filled with memories of her mother. True, Lake Lodge was also somewhere she associated with her mother, but not in the same way as home. The house belonged to Aunt Clare and her family, and was filled with their family treasures and personal items. Izzy wouldn’t be confronted by a large photograph of her mother when she came down to breakfast. Even the memories would be different. She remembered her mother lying on a sunlounger, a book open next to her, one knee bent as she talked to Clare. Her mother, curled up in the library while rain thundered against the windows and turned the waters of the lake choppy. Her mother had been a different person on those vacations, at least in the first few days. After that she’d become restless, longing to return to the fast lane.
Once, she’d taken Izzy’s hand and pulled her toward the lawn that stretched all the way to the lakeside. “Listen,” she’d said. “What do you hear? Nothing, right?”
Izzy had dutifully listened. “I hear birds? And the water.” Faint splashes. The ripple of tiny waves as they hit the shoreline. They were the most relaxing sounds she’d ever heard. Izzy would have lived there if she could, but apparently her mother didn’t agree.
“Exactly. Birds and water. Don’t you miss the sounds of the city?”
Izzy didn’t, but she felt pressure to give the answer her mother expected. Life was always simpler when things were the way her mother expected, so she’d nodded, and hadn’t admitted that she loved the place with a passion. Not just the lake, but the Lodge. She loved the large windows and her turret bedroom with its views over the lake. She loved the fact that the house was lived in. The deep sofas were slightly worn, the furniture scuffed. Aunt Clare never expected you to take your shoes off or eat and drink only in the kitchen. It was a house that welcomed dogs and muddy boots, laughter and life in all its messy glory. Izzy was able to relax in a way she was never able to relax in her own home. In Brooklyn they basically lived in the kitchen and the bedrooms. The elegant living space was reserved for her parents and entertaining. In the Lakes there wasn’t a single room that was out-of-bounds.
And then there was the enormous garden, with its deep, dark corners and tangle of ancient trees. The star of the show was the giant horse chestnut with its sturdy branches perfect for climbing. Izzy loved the lake with its glassy surface and deep sense of mystery. Most of all she loved the boathouse. She’d often wondered what it would be like to live somewhere like that. Maybe she wasn’t a city person.
And it wasn’t only the place she loved, it was the people.
When they were little, Izzy and Aiden would sneak out of bed and sit at the top of the stairs, listening to the clink of glasses and the musical sound of adult laughter. It had sounded so grown-up to Izzy, who had longed to be old enough to join them. Aiden had said it would probably be boring, but she didn’t think so. Her mother and Clare had been at school together and were still best friends. Izzy envied their closeness. Every other sentence seemed to start with Do you remember that time…
Izzy wondered about that as she sat feeling isolated with her supposedly best friends. She tried to project herself forward ten years and imagine herself saying Do you remember that time…but her brain wouldn’t play the game. She didn’t want to remember this time.
She found it hard to talk to anyone, but she was sure she’d be able to talk to Aiden. He’d understand what she was going through. He always understood. They’d always been able to talk about anything and everything, maybe because they weren’t bogged down in the day-to-day detail of each other’s lives. There was something about rigging a boat on the la
ke and scrambling up craggy slopes that made talking natural and easy. She wished they lived closer. At the end of every summer they made the same promises to stay in touch but then life came in like the tide and washed away their good intentions. They were sucked into their own lives and the only news she had of him was what she saw popping up on social media, and everyone knew that was mostly fake. Aunt Clare had flown over for the funeral of course, and hugged Izzy so tightly she’d thought her bones would crack. She’d read a poem and talked about the importance of friendship. She’d looked terrible; pale and exhausted, her voice faltering as she’d spoken the words but Izzy knew she’d looked terrible, too. She’d been using every last ounce of energy to hold it together and hadn’t said much to Clare.
Now, she wished she had. She wished she’d ask if their summer would be the same as it always had been. She’d just assumed, and the promise of a summer at Lake Lodge had been like a blanket warming her on a cold night. She wanted to feel the grass under her bare feet as she ran down toward the water’s edge. She wanted to feel the breeze on her face early in the morning, and dip her limbs in the cool, clear water. Lake Lodge was the perfect summer retreat, a place she associated with happy times. Would it be weird without her mother there? Probably, but she loved it so much she thought it would probably be okay. Maybe she should email Aunt Clare, just to be sure.
Her friends were looking at her, waiting for cues.
Charlie gave an awkward shrug. “It must be weird, but I guess it’s great, really, that he’s happy.”
Because she’d been thinking about Aiden it took a minute for her to realize they were talking about her dad.
They were basically saying she was selfish. That her feelings were all about her, when they should be about him.
Izzy felt more alone than she ever had in her life before.
She wanted her dad to be happy, of course she did, but what if his happiness meant hell for the rest of them? She didn’t want him to be with Flora. She didn’t want him to be with any woman. So what did that make her?
A bad person. She was a bad daughter. A bad friend.
Bad.
She wished they’d talk about something else, but Avery didn’t seem inclined to do that.
“So what next?”
“I don’t know.” And it was bothering her. She didn’t like not knowing. She’d invested everything in doing what she could to keep life the same, and now her father had rocked the boat so hard it was taking on water.
She’d expected him to ask what she’d thought of Flora, but he hadn’t. Did that mean he didn’t care what she and Molly thought? Did they have no say in their future? Or did it mean he wasn’t seeing her again?
Her spirits lifted a little as she focused on that possibility. If it was still on he’d be talking about her, wouldn’t he? Inviting her round again. He hadn’t mentioned her, and Izzy hadn’t seen him leave the room to take a call.
The most likely explanation was that the relationship was over.
She felt a rush of optimism. If that was the case, then at least some of her problems were over, too.
5
Flora
“So how was the date?” Julia tugged Flora into the cold store at the back of the shop. “The kids fell in love with you, right? You’re their new mommy, and you’re all going to live happily ever after.”
Hardly.
The relationship was over. She’d blown it.
“It was…interesting.” The evening had brought back memories of sitting at the table with her aunt. Flora had invariably picked at her food and wondered how it was possible to feel lonely when you were sitting across from another human being. She’d had the same feeling in Jack’s house. “Little Molly was very shy, which is natural I’m sure. The older one was a little wary.”
Wary? She was pretty sure Izzy had hated her on sight, and Flora had plunged in with her well-meaning conversation and people-pleasing techniques and made things worse. She didn’t even blame them for rejecting her, but now the past churned around inside her like a deep, dark sludge.
It was pathetic that she should care so much about belonging and being accepted.
“Teenagers are always wary,” Julia said. “Mine look at me suspiciously when I walk into the room. They’re worried I’m going to ask them to do something. Welcome to family life.”
She hadn’t felt welcomed. Not by those who were alive, and not by those who were dead. Throughout the whole uncomfortable evening, Becca had been gazing down at her with those watchful sloe eyes. She’d smoldered down from the walls like a security system.
Stay away from my family.
Was it selfish to wish Becca hadn’t had such a large visible presence in the home?
Yes, it was. Becca’s pictures probably brought comfort to the children. And to Jack. She remembered how much it had hurt her when her aunt had packed away all the photographs of her mother. Looking at them will make you unhappy. Remind you she’s gone. Photographs simply kept the past alive.
Flora had sneaked a photograph under her mattress. She’d looked at it every night and it had comforted her. Knowing that, how could she blame the children for wanting pictures of Becca on the walls?
She thought about Izzy.
“Do your teenagers cook and do a lot around the house?”
Julia gave a shout of laughter. “Are you kidding? I can’t even get them to put a plate in the dishwasher without a fight.”
“Izzy ran the house. She didn’t seem like a typical teenager.”
“A teenager is a unique and unpredictable animal. They adapt to their surroundings.” Julia frowned. “Which, now that I think about it, is probably the definition of a virus, too. Go figure. Even after they leave home you feel the aftereffects.”
Her friend always managed to make her smile.
“She cooked. From scratch. Homemade burgers. Veggie. She even toasted the buns.”
“And she’s seventeen?” Julia’s eyes widened. “Color me impressed. Lucky you.”
She didn’t feel lucky. She’d been so positive that she could make this work, that she could help, but she’d blown any chance of that by mentioning her mother.
Should she tell Julia about that? No, because then questions would follow. Questions Flora didn’t want to answer. And she didn’t want to admit to her stupid fantasy of showing up like Mary Poppins and transforming their lives.
She forced her mind back to work. “We need to scrub out these buckets and change the water.”
“This job is all glamor. I’ll scrub the buckets, you deal with the flowers and cut the stems. You’re so good at that part. I mangle everything I touch.” Julia picked up a bucket. “It seems to me that it went really well. I’m no psychologist, but it could have been a disaster. Those kids have had massive change forced upon them. They’re trying to adjust, and then their dad brings home another woman. That could have gone badly.”
It had gone badly.
“Mmm.”
“You could have felt the need to compete with the dead wife.”
“Trust me, there is no competing. Becca has already won hands down.” That, at least, she could be honest about. “She’s the Becca, of Becca’s Body.”
“Oh wow, I took one of her classes once. I needed a month of physio to recover.”
“According to Izzy, everything she did, she did brilliantly.”
Julia emptied out the old water and cleaned the bucket. “She loved her mother. We see those we love through rose-tinted glasses.”
Or Izzy could have been exaggerating to make her feel small and insecure.
“Becca didn’t have a single vice. She didn’t eat carbs, she did a ton of stuff for charity. Even her hair did everything it was supposed to do.” Thinking about it made Flora gloomy. “Just looking at her photo made me feel like a sloth. Her body was so hard and honed you would have bruised yourself if you’d bumped into her. I’m more of a soft landing.”
“Flora—”
“You should have seen the
pictures.” She trimmed stems and put the flowers back into fresh water. “She was so thin and perfect.”
“—and also no longer here,” Julia said gently. “You don’t need to compete, Flora. Be yourself. Be you. That’s the woman Jack can’t stay away from.”
Being herself had never really worked for her in the past. She’d spent so many years trying to please her aunt that at some point she’d lost track of who she was.
Julia finished cleaning the last of the buckets. “So what happens next?”
“Nothing. He hasn’t called.”
“Is that unusual? How often does he usually call?”
“Every evening, before we go to sleep.”
Julia stared at her. “What do you talk about?”
“I don’t know. What we’ve done during the day, that kind of thing.” They mostly focused on the present. She didn’t talk about her past, and he didn’t talk about his wife. And there was something intimate about those late-night conversations when they were both in bed. Not that they were in bed together, of course, but it was the next best thing and the closest they were going to get right now.
“If you’re talking that often, you should definitely call him.”
And force him to admit the kids didn’t like her? The fact that he hadn’t called told her everything she needed to know. She was braced for the most seismic, monumental rejection of all time. “I’ll leave it for now.”
“Coward.” Julia helped put the flowers back in the buckets. “Maybe it’s time you stopped talking and moved on to the action part of the relationship.”
“That isn’t an option.” They were past that, and even if they weren’t she wouldn’t have been surprised if Izzy had installed cameras and alarms.
“Well you definitely can’t take him back to yours. Your apartment isn’t designed for passion.” Julia frowned. “I’m not sure what it is designed for.”