A Week at the Lake (39 page)

He sighed, looking more defeated than she'd seen him since he first agreed to leave New York for Noblesville. It was a look she'd tried to forget and had hoped to never see again. He reached for her hand and she felt the warmth of his surrounding hers. He looked her in the eye and held her hand as if it were a priceless possession; another thing that hadn't happened in recent memory.

“I love you, Mackenzie,” he said quietly. “I feel like I've loved you forever.” His eyes were clear and earnest. “I can't
imagine my life, even in a place I want desperately to be, would be worth much without you.”

His eyes plumbed hers searching for the reaction she was unable to give him. “In case you have any doubt, I want you to understand one thing. I would have married you even if you hadn't gotten pregnant. Nothing could have ever prevented that. It just might have happened a little later.”

She drew a deep and shaky breath as he answered the question she'd never had the courage to ask.

His smile was sweet as he placed a kiss on her forehead and another on her lips. “I never had any question that you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.” His smile grew, turning his brown eyes a warm whiskey color. “I hope when you've had some time to think everything through, that you'll still feel the same way about me.”

M
iz Mickhels? Emma?”

Emma rubbed her sleep- and tear-caked eyes then looked up at the nurse who had crouched beside her. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting outside Zoe's bedroom door this time, but she had vowed that she wouldn't move until Zoe came out. And that somehow when this happened she'd find the right words that would make Zoe understand just how much Emma loved her.

Mostly Zoe had managed not to come out of her room when Emma was out of hers, but she'd seen signs of her down in the kitchen. Seen her lying on the swim platform one late morning. Sitting in an Adirondack staring out over the cove one afternoon. But each time Emma had approached, Zoe had stared right through her and refused to engage.

Yesterday, Emma had watched from her window as Ryan Richards pulled up to their dock, but by the time Emma had worked up her nerve and gotten downstairs certain that Ryan's presence would at least force Zoe to acknowledge her, they'd already left the cove and were picking up speed.

“You two need talking,” Nadia said. “Or maybe some head knocking.” Her tone and expression said she was just the person to do it.

“I know.” Emma swallowed. “I want to talk to Zoe, to apologize. But Zoe's not interested in hearing it.”

“Then you make her interesting. You're the mother.” Nadia reached out a hand and helped pull her to her feet. “Is your job.”

“It's kind of hard to do that through a door.” Not that she hadn't already tried or had any real confidence that she'd do any better face-to-face.

“Then we open door.” Nadia pulled a pocketknife from her pants pocket and flipped open the nail file, which she inserted into the center of the doorknob.

Before Emma could protest or prepare herself, the nurse twisted the knife. There was a click. Nadia pushed the door open. Emma shrank back.

“No. You not wussy out. Have talk.”

Suddenly afraid, Emma tried to dig in her heels, but
she
was not the immovable force here. “But what if she won't talk to me?”

“Then you talk. Zoe listen.” Nadia gave her another gentle, for her, push.

Emma entered her daughter's room on jellied legs. Zoe sat on her window seat in much the same position Emma had just been forced out of, knees to her chest, chin resting on her knees. She stared at Emma out of green eyes the same shade as her own. “I don't want to talk to you. I locked my door because I don't even want to have to look at you.”

Emma kept walking, though the few feet past Zoe's bed and to the window felt like miles. She sat down on the opposite end of the window seat afraid that if she got too close Zoe might bolt.

“I just wanted to make sure you know how sorry I am.” Emma's voice cracked on the apology, bending it all out of shape. “I never meant to hurt you. Or anyone else. I love you more than anything. I . . . I only wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me? From what?” Zoe demanded. “From knowing who my father really was? From knowing that I was a mistake you wish you never made?” She buried her chin back in her knees. “Did Calvin know I'm not his?”

Emma nodded carefully.

“Well, at least now I know why he never acted like a
father. I always thought there was something wrong with me that made him not be interested.”

“Oh, Zoe.” Emma's heart throbbed painfully in her chest. How had she made such an incredible mess of things?

“If I was such a bad mistake. So bad you didn't even want to admit it to anyone, why . . . why did you even have me at all?”

“But I did want you. I never once even considered not having you.” The words she'd held back for so long rushed out. “You were unplanned, just like I was, but I wanted you. And I fell completely in love with you before I ever even saw you. I was just so worried about hurting Mackenzie.”

“Yeah, well then maybe you shouldn't have slept with her boyfriend.”

This was an undeniably good point. “That was wrong of me,” Emma said. “Adam and Mackenzie were good friends of mine. If anyone knew that that shouldn't have happened, even after they'd broken up, it was me. I behaved so stupidly. I drank too much and I trampled all over my friendship with Mackenzie. That was the mistake I've regretted ever since. But not you, Zoe. Never you.”

Zoe turned to look out the window as tears slid down her cheeks.

It was all Emma could do not to look away. But now with the scrim of fear and denial ripped away, Emma could see just how much of Adam her daughter carried. The man had a lot of good qualities. Enough for Mackenzie to have fallen in love with him and stayed married to him all these years.

“You're such a hypocrite. You've always told me to be honest,” Zoe said. “To always tell you the truth. But you didn't tell me the truth at all.”

“I know.” The admission was painful. “And I—I don't even have a valid excuse. I was afraid to tell the truth. Afraid of losing Mackenzie's friendship. Afraid of how it would make me look.” Emma saw it now for what it was. How selfish she'd
been. Unable to accept the reality of what she'd done, she'd twisted it around and convinced herself that what she wanted and needed was what was best for others.
Just like Eve had always done
.

She'd not only lied to her friends and to her daughter, she'd lied to herself.

“I'm really and truly sorry,” she said, meeting and holding her daughter's eyes. “I don't even know how to tell you how sorry I am.” She dashed away tears with the back of her hand. “But I promise I won't lie to you again.”

Zoe studied Emma's face long enough to make Emma squirm before she nodded. “And will you promise to listen when I tell you things?”

“Of course. I always listen to . . .”

“No.” Zoe cut her off. “I mean really listen. Even if it's not something you want to hear.”

“Like?” Emma felt the first stirring of hope. If they could talk this through, surely they could find a way to move forward, to put this behind them. If Zoe could forgive her maybe someday Mackenzie and Adam could, too.

“Like, just because you didn't want to act when you were a kid doesn't mean I shouldn't be allowed to. Acting does something to me. It makes me bigger, stronger. I don't know, just happier.” Zoe's arms opened as she spoke. Her knees came away from her chest, her long legs crisscrossed on the cushioned seat as her face grew animated. “That's how I feel in front of an audience, or a film camera, or even a microphone.”

Emma smiled at Zoe. “I feel the same way. It's in our blood. I just couldn't stand being forced to do it.” By people who didn't seem to care whether she liked it or not.

“But you wouldn't be forcing me,” Zoe said quietly. “You'd be letting me.”

They studied each other for a few long minutes. Emma knew this was not the end of this conversation, but only the beginning. And it wasn't as if the hurt she'd inflicted was
suddenly going to disappear. There was so much to atone for, so much lost time to try to make up.

“I'm not promising you a film with Eve. But I imagine we can find a way to let you get started in the business in a way we can both live with.” Emma reached for Zoe's hand hoping that her daughter would allow it. “I might not have the right to ask it right now, but I need you to know how important you are to me. And I need you to forgive me.”

She waited, barely breathing as Zoe accepted her hand.

“Did you ever forgive your mother?” Zoe asked.

She thought about Eve and then about herself. She had no idea why her mother had made the choices she had, had never asked a single question or even tried to understand her. She'd only nursed her own hurts and looked for a way to escape. She thought about her father and what his coming out would mean to Eve. How hard her mother had tried to pretend her marriage was something it wasn't and could never be. Who was Emma to say that her own reasons were purer?

“No,” Emma said. “I never did.” She grasped her daughter's hand more tightly. Zoe's fingers were longer and younger and in some ways even stronger than her own. She thought about what Eve was facing and how she'd chosen to try to use Zoe to soften it. She was not Eve, would never be. “But then I don't remember her ever asking me to.”

A
s Serena drew closer Brooks Anderson unfolded his long legs, brushed off the seat of his dress pants, and stood.

Grateful for the years of acting under her belt, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin, moving forward without a single missed step. When she reached him she tilted her head and pretended to look behind him. Reaching down deep she located a teasing tone. “You didn't bring your wife with you, did you?”

“No.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “But the old
guy next door came out dressed in a really beautiful ball gown and invited me to wait inside.”

“That's quite a compliment,” she said, settling herself as she might in the first lines of a scene. “Jason Merrimen is a very well-known and highly respected drag queen. He doesn't invite just anyone in.”

Brooks laughed and she saw him relax a notch.

“You see what you missed by not living in the Village?” she asked.

“I do.” He reached for the grocery bag. “Here, let me take some of that.” He hesitated. “Assuming you have a few minutes to hear an apology and don't mind if I come in?”

“Why would I mind?” she asked stepping past him. She would play this scene out and send him on his way. And then, well, no need to look any further than that. She took the steps lightly. As she opened the door she did her best to block her memories of the two of them standing in this spot drenched and eager to rip off each other's clothes. She blushed when she looked at the foyer wall he'd taken her against and thought she saw him doing the same.

She led him into the kitchen. He set the bag on the counter.

“I . . . I understand you spoke to Diana.” His eyes sought hers and she met them evenly.

“Oh, yes. Because you were in the shower and couldn't come to the phone.” She said this with a combination of wide-eyed innocence and the slightest of shrugs. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that had hurt.

“Just so you know. I wasn't expecting her. She took me by surprise when she waltzed into my hotel room.”

She remembered her own surprise when Diana had answered the phone. How her heart had constricted. The agony of embarrassment as she'd realized that she'd fallen into bed with him without first finding out what was really going on. She managed to say nothing only by carrying the
ice cream to the freezer then putting the few groceries away as slowly as possible.

She walked back to face him, careful to keep the island between them. She fished beneath the sink for a vase, which she filled with water. She was playing the part of a woman who is not surprised by betrayal. Even in this case it was not actually a stretch. “Imagine my surprise when she made it clear that your marriage was not actually ‘finished.' I believe that was the word you used?”

He shifted uncomfortably and she wondered what he'd expected. Chest beating? Wailing? “I thought we were finished,” he said a bit sheepishly as if he wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten their signals crossed. “We agreed to a trial separation. I was ready to file for divorce.”

She noted the word “was” as she reached for the flowers and began to remove the cellophane. She'd known that she'd “lost” if in fact she'd ever been in the running, when she'd heard Diana's smug voice on the phone. “But you're not anymore.”

He shook his head slowly. His eyes were filled with what looked like genuine regret. “I left you messages asking you to call me,” he said.

“I know. But there didn't seem to be any reason to listen or call. It's clear that whatever this
was
is over.” It took all of her strength to keep her voice even. She had to keep reminding herself that this was a part she was playing, not her real life at all. She found the scissors and carefully began to cut the stem of the nearest sunflower.