The Lake House (20 page)

Then the war came—a time Tom knew his grandfather still relived in his nightmares. The tragedy he saw, the horror and death, the blood of too many people sickened him.

When he came home, he was ready to settle down. He met Tom’s grandmother on the town common. She’d been sitting with her girlfriends listening to the band play in the gazebo, and her long, jet-black hair caught his attention. He asked her to dance, but she refused. Said that she knew what kind of man he was. He didn’t give up. It took two years, but she finally agreed to marry him. During the thirteen years they had before she passed, Grandpa said he was a better man than at any other time in his life. That was the power of a woman.

“With those shorts Heather wears, I bet she’s wild in the sack,” Grandpa said.

Tom screwed two pieces of wood together. “I guess she’s pretty.”

“Boy, I don’t understand you. Your name isn’t Woodward for nothing.” His grandfather looked at him. “I’m assuming you got my blood. But if your mother’s genes got ahold of you . . . they were docile people . . . then you should get some of those pills they have these days. I think this whole community could use a little.”

Tom banged desk parts together and held them until the wood glue dried. Grandpa hadn’t been shy about the women he brought around when Tom was a boy. It didn’t matter to him if the relationship lasted a year or a week, and he tended to court more than one at a time. He’d hoped his grandfather would lose interest, having had enough sex in his life for seven people, but his obsession worsened as he aged.

“Grandpa, I’m fine in that department,” Tom said.

“Good, good. You should go out and find one wearing something pink, soft, and fluffy. I loved those angora sweaters your grandmother wore in the fifties, so soft to the touch when I felt her up.”

Tom cringed behind the desk as he listened to Grandpa’s stories of conquest while he set up the computer. Grandpa had never remarried, nor had Tom’s father. It seemed the Woodward men were doomed to bachelorhood.

Tom looked out the window and saw Heather pick up a box and carry it into the house. “She’s not bad, now is she?” Grandpa clapped his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go get her?”

“Told you . . . not interested,” Tom said.

Grandpa looked Tom in the eye. “I know it’s hard, but at some point you have to let Annabelle go.”

Tom looked away. “I’m working on it.”

“You need a woman to get your blood moving. It’s not good to work as much as you do and to spend your free time with an old man.”

“I like hanging out with you.” Tom sat Grandpa at the desk. “Now you push this button and the computer will start up. You shouldn’t have to shut the computer down, but if you have to restart, I’ve left the instructions.” He pointed to the yellow paper covered with bold black lettering that he’d taped to the desk.

“I don’t see why I need a computer. I’ve lived eighty-four years without one.” Grandpa squished his mouth together and smacked his dentures again.

“Are your teeth hurting?” Tom asked.

“My teeth don’t exist. But my false ones don’t seem to fit anymore. I’m fine.” Grandpa waved his hand.

“I’ll call the dentist and make an appointment,” Tom said, making a mental note to call the doctor too. His grandfather’s skin looked ashen.

“Stop fussing. There isn’t much on me that doesn’t need maintenance or an upgrade. I’m not complaining.”

“So, on the nights I can’t be here . . . Grandpa, are you watching?”

“Oh, I’m watching all right.” Grandpa turned from the window to grin.

“I don’t mean Heather. Look at the computer,” Tom said. “If I can’t visit, I’ll call you. When I do, you press this icon here—this picture of the camera—and then press the key I marked with red ink. I’ll do the same, and then we’ll see each other through the computer.”

“What’s that thing you’re moving?” Grandpa asked.

“It’s called a mouse and it’s how you control the computer,” Tom explained for the third time. “Now, if you press this button, it will open the Internet.” He moved the mouse to the top of the screen. “I’ve set up bookmarks for you. This one will allow you to order your groceries from the computer and have them delivered. They have a better selection than Swanson. I have it set to my credit card.”

He was surprised at Grandpa’s quiet response. Usually, the idea of Tom’s handling some of the finances was cause for a fight. But Grandpa had paid for private high school and Harvard University, and Tom felt it was only right for him to take care of the man’s needs now that he could afford to.

“Get out of my way. Let me play with my new toy. And go help that fine young thing. She’s all fresh and showered and trying to move those boxes on her own. They look heavy.” Grandpa pushed Tom aside and strained his eyes to see the computer.

Tom added the ophthalmologist to the list of appointments.

He glanced at his watch, which read eight o’clock. He needed to return to work. Construction on five projects had been delayed due to the blizzard in April, and he’d hired extra crew to finish on time. There were design details and billing, along with hiring problems to contend with. He needed to add four architects and five support staff before the end of summer if he wanted to have time to sleep. After hundred-hour weeks, he needed a break.

Tom looked out the window. Heather bumped into her door and the box fell on her foot. The women of Nagog had raised Tom to be a gentleman, and the men of the community had provided fine examples. Funny, he thought, she’d showered and changed into jeans and a nice shirt to move boxes. Didn’t running shorts make more sense?

“Oh, what the hell. Grandpa, I’ll be back.”

“Now that’s my boy.”

He went out the door, crossed the drive, and walked onto her deck. The front door was open and he saw Heather as she tried to maneuver the heavy, large box up the stairs in her sandals that slipped on the polished wood. She tried to kick off the shoes, lost her grip, and the box broke open. “Damn!”

“You want help with that?” Tom asked.

She jumped and placed her hand over her heart. “Do you always just walk into people’s homes?”

“Sorry, I’ve been coming into this house like it was my own my entire life. Next time I’ll knock.” He walked toward the stairs and grabbed the mangled box, along with the books and clothing that had fallen out. “Where do you want this?”

“You really don’t have to help.” She tried to pull the box from him but he held tight.

He looked at her, waiting.

“Thank you. It goes in my closet. I’ll show you.” She began to lead the way.

He moved past her. “I know where it is. Decide where you want the rest of the boxes.”

Tom walked up the stairs and into the master suite. He stood at the closet doorway, thankful that Heather hadn’t followed. The room brought back a flood of memories. Tom had renovated the master suite as a gift to Maryland for her sixty-fifth birthday. The closet had been created as the perfect showroom for her extensive ball gown collection, handed down from her mother and grandmother.

Now a few pairs of fancy shoes lined the racks he’d built. A sweater, some skirts, and a few shirts replaced the long full gowns made out of silk. Tom spun the revolving jewelry armoire, exposing the hidden mirror.

Tom remembered watching Annabelle in the mirror, wearing short jean cutoffs and one of his white button-down shirts tied up in a knot around her waist, while he worked on the closet.

“Hey, lover boy,” Annabelle had cooed.

“I’m working right now, and I’m covered in dust.” He tried not to watch her. The skimpy outfit worked better than lingerie, and it made him ache.

Small dimples framed her smile as she strutted toward him. He tried to steady the shelf as he fired the nail gun. She released her hair from the ponytail; golden locks cascaded down her back as she shook her head. With painful slowness, she unbuttoned her top.

“Don’t distract a man with power tools,” he’d said.

Tom dropped the box, and the thud lurched him back to the present moment. He bowed his head and held the doorframe
for support. He could still remember the goose bumps on Annabelle’s skin when he touched her. If only he could reverse time.

He turned and walked downstairs to collect the rest of the boxes.

Heather was leaning against the deck railing. “Thanks for your help. It’s really nice of you.” She smiled at him.

He looked at the boxes. “You’re welcome. Where do you want the rest of these?”

“This pile here goes upstairs in the bedroom, the rest in the kitchen. I’ll help you carry them.”

“I’ve got it,” he said. Heather grabbed a box at the same time he did, and they bumped against each other. Her box tumbled, and he caught it with his free hand before it hit the ground. He tried to step around her just as she tried to move out of his way. When they bumped again, she laughed and looked up at him with a sweet, radiant smile. Standing there, Heather’s body so close to his, he felt something that he’d thought was long dead—a flicker of attraction to someone besides Annabelle.

“I’m not usually this klutzy,” Heather said. “It must be your influence.”

Heat rose from her skin, bringing with it the faint scent of floral perfume. She was flirting with him. Grandpa had been right, it’d been a long time, but Tom wasn’t the kind of man who would use a woman to forget the deep ache left by the loss of the one he loved. “Heather, as far as I know, you’re engaged and shouldn’t be flirting with me.” He turned and walked into the house without pausing for her reaction. He continued to move the boxes marked for the bedroom, while she brought the others into the kitchen. They moved in opposite paths and when the
work was done, he found her on the deck, her back turned as she looked at the lake.

“Well, that looks like the last of it,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

She turned, her voice, quiet and hurt, caught him before he could leave. “I wasn’t trying to flirt. I just didn’t know where to move.”

In her eyes he saw loneliness. It made him uncomfortable to realize how much he also noticed the curve of her waist and hips.

“No, I’m sorry. I was a jerk,” Tom said. “I need to be going. Good luck with the unpacking.” He walked off the deck and went into the garage. He knew Grandpa was right—he needed to move on. He just hadn’t figured out how.

L
emon-scented suds overflowed onto the counter and covered Molly’s checkered apron. She passed a sponge over the greasy pan while she stared out the window. Victoria sat alone in her sunroom. Molly had invited her over, but Victoria had declined when she realized Joseph would join them.

Excited cheers came from the living room. The Red Sox must have scored. Molly looked at the sudsy mess and turned off the water. She wiped her wet apron and the soap-covered floor with a towel. Carl, Joseph, and Bill sat around the television with bowls of homemade caramel popcorn and Chex Mix between them. Molly had invited Sarah, but she’d declined when she found out Victoria had been invited.

A bunch of children,
Molly thought.

There had to be a way to bring them together. Bill had told her to leave it alone, but you didn’t mind your own business when it came to family.

The phone rang and she grabbed the black receiver from the wall. “Hello?” Sarah’s voice came over the line. “I think Tommy and Heather had a fight. I’m telling you, this girl is trouble. First I have to listen to her loud music while she paints, and now
she’s upset Tommy. He’s been through enough without getting involved with the likes of this one.”

“Sarah, Heather is a perfectly wonderful young woman, and if you would introduce yourself and get to know her, you would see that. And what do you mean they had a fight? About what? They don’t even know each other.”

“He was helping her move boxes and she was getting all flirty with him, then Tommy walked away very quickly after he moved the boxes, and Heather looked upset.”

“That could be many things, and it’s none of our business. Instead of being nosy, you could’ve been over here keeping me company while the men watched the ball game.”

“I had things to do,” Sarah said. “I’m creating a rule book for Heather.”

“You’re not!” Molly exclaimed.

“Someone has to keep things under control. And I know it won’t be you and Victoria, the way you’ve been helping her settle in. I’m certain Victoria will be throwing parties with this young woman and creating problems while she’s here. But I’m going to nip it in the bud.”

Molly sighed. “Sarah, this needs to stop. At some point, either you and Victoria need to have it out, or get over it. Victoria is here to stay.”

“I doubt that very much,” Sarah said. “I have to go. My tea is ready.” Sarah hung up.

Molly shook her head. The towel and apron went into the laundry hamper. Molly poured herself a glass of Chardonnay and retreated to the four-season porch. Through the window she watched Victoria walk outside and settle on her porch swing.

When Melissa was five, Victoria had shown up at Logan Airport,
twisted and bruised. Molly watched Melissa, her eyes wide with terror, try to support Victoria as they walked through the airport. Molly had thought she’d never allow her friend to leave Nagog again.