Summer at Willow Lake (33 page)

“Sweetheart,” he said, “tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“Let me be the judge of that. There are already too many secrets.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you want to know, it’s that when I look at this picture, I feel envious. I wish you could have been this happy with Mom.”

“You’re reading too much into a snapshot,” he said. “Everybody looks that way when they’re young, with their whole life in front of them.” He put his hand over hers. “I tried—your mother and I both tried—for a long time to make it work.”

She drew her hand away. Despite the warmth of the summer day, his fingers felt cold. “After you told Mother the engagement was off, did she…what? Force you to marry her anyway? I don’t get it, Dad. You’re leaving something out here.”

He looked out the window again. “Your mother was not…amenable to ending the engagement. At her request, we went back to school and still acted like a couple. Just for a few days, she told me. But then things changed between us. They got better. I remembered why I started dating your mother in the first place, why I proposed to her. She was—still is—beautiful and intelligent and thoughtful.”

“And she was conveniently available, don’t forget,” Olivia said.

“I wasn’t much for being alone those days.”

“It’s better than being with the wrong person.”

“You’re smarter than I was.” He looked her in the eye. “Listen. I’m sorry those engagements didn’t work out. I’m sorry you got hurt. But I’m proud of you, proud that you knew enough to stop things. And that you have the courage to wait for something real, something deep enough to last a lifetime.”

Despite her anger at him, Olivia felt a flash of understanding. The day she and Rand had broken up, her father had spoken with surprising insight:
There’s a kind of love that has the power to save you, to get you through life. It’s like breathing. You have to do it or you’ll die. And when it’s over, your soul starts to bleed, Livvy. There’s no pain in the world like it, I swear.

Now, finally, she knew exactly where that insight had come from. Her father had been there. These words were not just platitudes. He was speaking from personal experience. He had once loved like that. Only, the object of that love had been a stranger. Mariska Majesky.

“I wanted to make your mother happy,” he said. “I wanted to deserve her. I wanted it more than anything. Sometimes if you want something badly enough, you make it happen through sheer force of will.”

“God. Hadn’t you learned anything?” she asked in frustration. “Hadn’t Mother? You married in December 1977. Why the rush? You were both so young, you had law school ahead of you—” She broke off, seeing his gaze shift toward the ceiling. “You have to tell me, Dad. I know too much already.”

He hesitated for a long, searching moment. He looked so old to her then. When had her handsome, vital, man-about-town father turned into a weary old man? Finally he took a deep breath. “This is your mother’s story, too.”

“And it’s mine, damn it,” Olivia snapped. “I deserve to know.” She couldn’t imagine what he was protecting her mother from.

“Your mother never thought you should know.”

“Don’t make me call her,” Olivia said. “Don’t do that to her.”

He paused, took a breath. “There was…a baby.”

The words delivered a sucker punch to Olivia. “What?”

“Your mother and I were trying for a reconciliation. We thought things would work out for us. She was, um, she was pregnant when we got married. No one knew why we moved up the wedding date. The baby would be ‘premature,’ as people said in those days, but we were happy about the news.” He pressed his fingertips together, staring at the empty space between his hands. “Then, a couple of weeks after the wedding, Pamela miscarried. It was a sad, hard time for us both.”

Olivia could only imagine. The marriage had been an imperfect structure built on the shakiest of foundations—a guilty, heartsick young man, an ambitious woman determined to make the “right” match for the wrong reasons. They had probably pinned all their hopes on the baby they’d made, and when the baby ceased to exist, they were left trying to keep their crumbling marriage intact.

“You know, Dad, I’m not big on karma and destiny, but I have to say, you might have interpreted the miscarriage as a sign.”

“A sign of what? That we never should’ve married in the first place, or that we should work harder to love each other?” He let out a protracted sigh. “You wanted to know what happened, and I told you. I wish the marriage had turned out better, but I sure as hell don’t regret it, because it gave me you.”

Despite her anger and frustration with her father, Olivia felt a twinge. She reminded herself why she was here. “And your thing with Mariska gave you Jenny Majesky.”

His face looked gray with shock and regret.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Well, first of all, I’m going to thank you for telling me.”

“Why wouldn’t I tell you?”

“You’re an only child. My sole heir. The fact that there might be a sibling changes that status.”

She gave a brief laugh. She was feeling so many conflicting emotions—resentment, that both her parents had hidden so much from her. Envy, that her father had been happier with another woman. And yes, fear that the existence of another daughter was shaking her world. But not for the reasons her father thought. “Believe me, my inheritance is the last thing on my mind. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“There are a lot of things I have to do,” he said. “I need to check on some things, then come up to Avalon to meet her and verify the fact that I’m her biological father, figure out if she knows about me. Find out where Mariska is. What if Jenny was raised by a man she believes to be her father?”

“From what I’ve found out, it seems she was raised by her grandparents.”

“Maybe so, but she might believe someone else is her father. What would it do to that family, my just showing up to claim her? I want to do the right thing, but I don’t want to hurt any more people than I already have.”

Olivia nodded. “Why do I feel like I need a drink?”

He stood up and went to the bar. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Twenty-Four

“M
y dad’s going to be a pain in the ass about this,” Daisy muttered to Julian. The two of them had spent the morning raking load after load of pebbles onto the main path leading from the lodge to the dock. When the guests showed up for the celebration, they’d have a brand-new pathway to walk on. She wondered if anyone would appreciate that Julian had deposited at least a dozen wheelbarrows full of pebbles, while she had raked them in place. They had worked fast, wanting to finish before lunch.

“Maybe he’ll surprise you,” Julian suggested, tossing his shovel and work gloves into the wheelbarrow. He took a long swig from his water bottle.

His T-shirt was soaked with sweat and his cargo shorts slung low around his hips, the pockets loaded with Lord knew what sort of gear. Guy stuff. When guys got all grubby from hard work, they actually looked good. Not girls, though. She was damp and cranky. “God,” she said, “I’m already seventeen. I cannot wait until I can quit asking permission for every damn thing in the world.” She caught a glimpse of Julian’s face as he put the cap back on the water bottle. Oh, man. “I’m sorry, Julian.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“Sorry about what?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had beautiful eyes, olive colored, that looked wonderful in contrast to his creamy brown skin.

“Complaining to you about my dad. Olivia told me what happened to your father and…God, I’m really sorry.”

He nodded, his face unreadable. “Don’t worry about it. If my old man was still around, I’d be complaining about him, too.”

She peeled off her work gloves and tossed them into the wheelbarrow. “You are too good to be true, do you know that?”

He laughed. “I can honestly say no one has ever said that about me. Not even close.”

“Then no one ever saw you the way I do,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. She had an urge to touch him, maybe take his hand or something, but she didn’t. She and Julian were in a good place together—just friends without all the craziness of trying to hook up, and she didn’t want to mess with that. “So anyway, if you ever feel like talking about it—or anything—I’m a good listener.”

“That’s true,” he said. “You are.”

“Why do I hear surprise in your voice when you say that?”

He laughed again. “Well, look at you.”

She knew what he was saying. When most people looked at her, they saw blond hair and big boobs, a girl who liked to party. Very few bothered to look deeper than that. She put the gravel rake and the rest of the tools into the wheelbarrow, and he pushed it up the new path. The gravel made a satisfying crunching sound under their feet.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked as they put everything into the shed.

“What the hell. I might as well see what it’s about.”

She studied him, the face that looked like it ought to be on billboards for edgy male fashions, the lanky form, the amazing hair. He was amazing, period. Under different circumstances, she might let herself have a major crush on him, but not now. Not when her family was exploding. Right now, it was all she could do to like herself, much less a boy. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go ask my dad.”

They found him and Max busily digging and planting a small garden plot between the two biggest cabins. “Dad,” she called. “Hey, Dad. Mr. Davis is taking us to Kingston to—What are you guys doing?”

Greg straightened up, took off his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. He gestured at the freshly turned earth. “Planting a memorial garden.”

She looked at him, and then at Max. Her brother did his best to emulate their dad, peeling off his own cap, wiping his brow. “Memorial to what?” she asked.

“Bullwinkle,” Max said simply. “And Yogi. And all their friends.”

“The trophy heads,” Dad explained.

Daisy felt a twitch of humor. “You buried the trophy heads. The ones that were in the main hall.”

“Yep. And we’re planting photinia and salvia for a memorial,” Max said.

“The heads creeped him out,” Dad explained.

“Hey, me, too,” Julian said, giving Max a high five.

“They creeped everyone out.” Daisy had never liked the dead glass eyes, the bared teeth, the moth-eaten hides. “Nobody wants to look at a moose trophy head or a stuffed wildcat. But we have about five Dumpsters around here,” she added. “You could have just thrown them away.”

“We gave them a proper burial. To show respect,” Dad said.

One thing about her dad. He always managed to startle her. She’d spent more time with him this summer than she had in years, but she still hadn’t quite figured him out. “Okaay,” she said. “So is it all right if we go to Kingston?”

“What’s in Kingston?” Dad asked.

Always with the questions. She was so sick of the third degree. “Dad—”

“Sir,” Julian said, “Mr. Davis—Connor’s father—offered to give us a lift because there’s an air force recruiting office in Kingston. I’m looking into signing up for the ROTC. To pay for college.”

Daisy almost laughed at the way her dad’s jaw unhinged. He was so used to her slacker guy friends, he wasn’t even sure what to do about a boy who showed a little initiative.

“Well,” Dad said. “Well, that’s commendable, I suppose.”

“I give Daisy the credit,” Julian said. “Never even thought about going to college, but maybe there’s a way for that to happen.”

“Good job, Daze,” her dad said. “Now, how about your own plans for college?”

She glowered at him. “I knew that was coming.”

“And?”

“And, in case you forgot, you’re sending me to a school that makes getting into college a graduation requirement.”

“Really?”

“Well, almost.”

“Good. Then maybe I won’t gripe about the tuition bills so much.”

When he went to pick Olivia up later that afternoon, Connor saw that she and her father were waiting for him in the lobby of the building. From a distance, they resembled the usual elegant, WASPy residents of the Upper East Side, successful and self-possessed, confident of their place in the world. Yet when he went to introduce himself, Connor saw that the rich weren’t that different after all. Just like anyone else, they made mistakes, hurt each other and hid things.

Philip was tall and slim, wearing expensive-looking shoes, every hair in place. As Olivia made the introductions, Connor had only a flicker of recall. He’d seen Mr. Bellamy once or twice back when they were kids, on Parents’ Day at camp.

“I appreciate you driving Olivia to the city,” Philip said.

“Not at all,” Connor replied. He felt awkward, tongue-tied. What the hell did you say to a guy who just learned he had a grown daughter? Congratulations?

Bellamy wasn’t exactly passing out the cigars. “Olivia tells me you’re doing a great restoration job up at the camp. I know my parents will be delighted.”

“I hope so.”

“We should go,” Olivia said. “Try to miss the worst of the traffic.” She lifted up on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. “I’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Sure, sweetheart. Thanks for coming.” Then he added, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

Connor helped her into the car and went around to the driver’s side. Just watching her in this uptown world of doormen and delivery entrances reminded him of the differences in their lives. She had become the woman she was meant to be, privileged and purposeful. He wondered why she didn’t seem to be happier about it. Sure, the meeting with her father had probably been intense, but it wasn’t that bad, finding out your parent had a past. People did stupid things all the time, and their loved ones had to endure the fallout. God knew, he was proof of that.

He waited until they crossed into Jersey and headed north until the traffic thinned, and then he started to pry. “Talk to me.”

She stared straight ahead. “Not now.”

“You should talk to me.” He knew firsthand that hiding things and keeping secrets never worked.