The Lake House (21 page)

When they arrived at the Jacobses’ home, Molly tucked Victoria into their guest bed and asked, “What happened?”

Victoria stared straight ahead, her back rigid, her eyes proud, the picture of her mother’s decorum as she spoke, “Devon had been drinking, spending time with friends instead of coming home to us. He woke me, wanting to be intimate, but I pushed him away, disgusted with the smell of scotch on his breath.”

Molly smoothed Victoria’s hair as she sat next to Victoria on the bed.

“He yelled that the first time I kissed him he was drinking scotch, and that it didn’t seem to bother me then, but now it disgusted me. He yelled that I no longer liked anything about him.

“Melissa began to cry and I ran to her, but before I could reach her room, he grabbed my arm and spun me toward him.”

Molly saw the shadow of bruises in the form of a handprint on her friend’s upper arm and brushed it with her fingertips, trying to heal her with love.

The soft touch caused tears to form in Victoria’s eyes as her strength broke. “I told him to take his hands off me . . . he yelled that’s all I said anymore.” Victoria shook as she held Molly’s hand and whimpered in pain. “Melissa cried out for me and he blocked the door yelling that all I wanted was to be a mother and I had forgotten that I was also a wife.”

“How could he be jealous of his own daughter?” Molly asked, thinking of how Bill rocked their children to sleep each night.

“Molly . . . he told me he never wanted Melissa . . . uncontrollable anger spewed from me. I grabbed him and tried to force him away from the door. He pushed back hard and I lost my balance. I tripped and hit my head against the railing. My neck wrenched as I fell backward down the stairs.”

“Oh, honey.” Molly gently hugged Victoria and felt her wince with pain as she leaned into Molly’s embrace. “Did Devon help you when you fell?”

“He was by my side in moments, cradling and calling my name in panic, and then I blacked out . . . I woke up in the hospital with a concussion, a sprained back, along with a broken arm and wrist . . . I didn’t know where else to go, so I came here.”

“Of course you did. This is your home.”

In the month that Victoria stayed, she hid in Molly’s home, not wanting the community to see her in her bruised state. When questions were raised, the other women were told that Victoria tripped on her gown and fell down the stairs of a movie set. They were caught up in their hurt at how long she’d stayed away, happy to give her space to convalesce, so no one questioned her explanation.

As soon as her body healed, Victoria left Nagog with Melissa and headed to Paris for a movie role. Over the next eleven years, Molly received postcards from Europe, Australia, Morocco, and Italy. Once a week, Victoria called and spent an hour telling Molly grand stories of her and Melissa’s adventures.

Molly worried, not just for Victoria but also for Melissa. A child needed stability: a home with dinner on the table, a bedroom to hang posters and hide diaries, and a yard to play in. Children needed schoolmates, not tutors. Victoria had bought the house in Malibu, but they never seemed to be home.

Then a phone call had come late one evening. In a frazzled voice, Victoria asked, “Can we stay with you for a few months? Nothing’s wrong. Well . . . you’ll understand when we arrive.”

Molly was raking leaves with her own teenage daughter, Jennifer, when seventeen-year-old Melissa waddled up the walk, her hand resting over her expanded belly. She picked up a handful of bright red, orange, and yellow leaves. “Fall is so beautiful here.”

Victoria scooped up the leaves and showered them over Melissa’s head. The two kicked and played in the pile. Then Victoria looked at Molly and nudged Melissa. “Oops. We can get carried away. I’ll rake these back into a pile once we’re settled.”

Molly pulled Victoria into a hug and held her tight, almost squeezing the breath from Victoria’s lungs. All the fear from the last eleven years released when she could touch her friend and know she was safe. Then she turned and pulled Melissa into the same embrace. “I haven’t seen you since you were five. You’re beautiful.” Then she looked down at Melissa’s stomach. “Well, let’s get you off your feet. They must be swollen after that long flight.”

That evening, Victoria and Molly sat on the Adirondack chairs by the lake with iced tea between them as the sun set in purple streaks across the sky.

Victoria took Molly’s hand and held it to her heart. “Thank you for this. I didn’t know Melissa remembered this place; it must be the nesting thing.”

“Who’s the father?” Molly asked.

“A boy from Ireland. It’s up to her if she wants to contact him. You can’t tell her anything. The doctors told her she couldn’t fly, but she insisted on coming to Nagog. You should’ve seen the fit she threw when I tried to stop her.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Molly said.

Two weeks later, Melissa’s screams curled through the open windows and sent the wood critters into their nests. The baby, determined to break into the world, was weeks early. There hadn’t been time to drive to the hospital. The golden crown pushed its way through. Molly eased her hands around the baby’s shoulders, slid her into the world, and the little girl announced her arrival with a howl.

Molly placed the pink, scrunched baby into Melissa’s arms as the paramedics rushed into the room. Victoria cradled Melissa as they laughed, tears streaming down their cheeks. The paramedic cut the umbilical cord, checked the baby’s heart and lungs, and placed her back in Melissa’s arms.

“Welcome to the world, Annabelle Victoria Rose,” Melissa said.

Everything will be okay now,
Molly had thought.

Now, as she looked out the window of the sunroom at Victoria sitting on her porch swing, Molly placed her hand over her mouth to stop the tears that always came when she thought about Annabelle. The sweet girl had left this earth long before her time. Molly had been witness to the child’s birth and death, and had a hard time trying to make sense of God’s will. What happened to Annabelle had left Victoria’s heart in tatters, and Molly didn’t know how to sew it back together.

The men came into the room, led by Carl, saying, “I’m headed home to the wife.” He kissed Molly’s cheek and burped. “Ah, the sign of good food. You know, in Italy, a man’s belch is the highest compliment he can give the chef.”

“Yes, but with you, I know it’s pure hatefulness,” Molly teased. She guided him off to the side a bit with her hand on
his arm, and said in a low voice, “Carl, I need you to talk to Sarah.”

He put his hand up. “I’m not getting involved in womenfolk’s problems. I learned a long time ago to stay out of it.”

“Well, if you won’t deal with the Victoria issue, will you at least get her to stop spying on your new neighbor?”

“Would that I could, but my marriage is strong because I keep my mouth shut and my head to the ground.” He waved as he walked out the screen door. “See you tomorrow, men.”

“Molly, thank you for a lovely meal.” Joseph kissed the top of her head and pulled her into a hug.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Molly said. She looked at him, knowing she shouldn’t say anything. He and Victoria would work things out in time, but it had been two months, without progress. “Why don’t you, Bill, Victoria, and I all go out for lunch tomorrow? Maybe to a little restaurant in the North End?”

Joseph patted her shoulder. “I have plans with my daughter. Another time.” He walked out the door and waved good-bye.

Bill came up behind her and encircled her in his arms. He smelled of beer and popcorn, and she relaxed into his warmth.

“I can’t bear to see them hurt,” Molly said.

He kissed her curls and nuzzled his chin against her head. “Come to bed. You can’t fix the world tonight.”

J
oseph chose to walk the beach to get home, the sand spilling between his shoes and socks. It had been a warm spring day, the kind where light swooping clouds filled the sky. When his children
had been small, Joseph would pack the station wagon and drive to the ocean on days like this. Though it was still too cold to swim or wear bathing suits, Barbara would bundle their little bodies in sweatshirts, roll up their pant legs, and let them run. While he and the children flew bright-colored kites, she’d sit on a blanket, a book in hand, happy for a moment to herself.

“Mom, look how high the kite is!” Little Joey would yell.

Barbara would shade her eyes with her hand so she could see the kite twirling, and then smile at her family.

Joseph looked to the starry night sky. Kite-flying days were in the past. His grandchildren had traded in days with Grandpa for sports, gymnastics, dance, and school activities. Now work and their own families kept him from seeing them as much as he’d like.

He looked over at Victoria’s home and saw her on the porch, swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the crickets. An owl hooted in the distance as he watched.

When Annabelle was born, the community fell in love. Everyone took turns visiting Molly and Bill, bringing presents and food in exchange for a moment holding the baby. Victoria’s absence through the years was forgotten as Annabelle brought people together in the way only new life could.

Victoria, Melissa, and Annabelle moved into the Rose home. Painters and carpenters fixed the house, and Victoria made Nagog their residence through Thanksgiving and then Christmas. Ladies visited once, sometimes twice per day, unable to resist Annabelle’s first smile or the little baby sounds that puckered her lips.

Joseph kept his distance. Victoria looked like the Madonna: pure, beautiful, radiant with life. Before bed, he and Barbara
would sit on the porch and share a bottle of wine. He’d hear Victoria’s laugh ring out from across the beach, and a place inside him that he thought he’d long forgotten began to ache.

The three Roses returned to Victoria’s home in Malibu that spring, but continued to visit Nagog for the next six years. Three weeks out of every summer, their presence lit Nagog like a nuclear blast. During those times, Joseph found himself spending longer hours at work. At times he’d come home to find Victoria and Molly sitting with his wife, enjoying a glass of wine, while their children, all college age, sat around the bonfire. He’d give Barbara a quick kiss and then retreat to his study or the garage. Confusion singed his nerves. He loved his wife, but his heart continued to skip each time Victoria smiled.

It was as if magnets pulled them together, no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance. In the morning he’d be fishing on the dock, only to see Victoria emerge from the water, the curves of her body apparent in her suit. When he went for walks, they’d bump into one another. One day, as he followed a bright red hummingbird through the woods, his camera slung around his neck, he came upon Victoria and Annabelle in the tree house.

Victoria wore a white sundress with yellow flowers that left her defined shoulders bare. Her golden legs dangled off the porch and swung in the breeze as she sang a nursery rhyme.

“No, Grandma. I sing.” Annabelle held up her five-year-old hand and stood. Twisted, golden curls bobbed around her shoulders, and her pink cheeks popped when she smiled. The familiar voice from his childhood came from those little lips.

Suddenly, he was eight again, sitting under the tree, watching Victoria sing and dance. Annabelle twirled and took a bow. Joseph clapped and Victoria looked down.

He looked at the two women. “It’s déjà vu. She’s the spitting image of you.”

Annabelle ran into Victoria’s arms. They rubbed noses and gave each other big smooches.

An explosion burst through his heart: the smell of Victoria’s hair, the feel of her skin under his hand, the way she nipped his ear when he teased her. He hadn’t been able to stop himself. The camera to his eye, he captured the love between Victoria and Annabelle: the smile on her face, the laughter between them. He’d seen in Victoria not just the sexy woman who commanded a room, but also the soft and loving grandmother.

Joseph looked away from Victoria’s home and walked back to his empty house. He turned on the stove light and placed a cup of water in the microwave for tea. In the later years of his marriage, Barbara had gotten him into the habit of having chamomile tea before retiring to bed. The appliance beeped, he dunked the tea bag into the mug, and took it into the dark, empty living room. He didn’t think the tea would help him sleep tonight. Too many memories were spinning.

His laptop and camera were on the coffee table. He sat on the old leather couch in the indentation that years of family time had created and connected his camera to the computer with a USB cord. The digital age had brought back the excitement of his childhood; he had a reason to play with toys again. Many nights, Joseph stayed up past midnight downloading music. His collection had grown to six thousand songs, with hits from 1940 to the present. Many of his friends thought computers were too complicated and didn’t enjoy DVD players or video cameras. They were like bulls that wouldn’t leave the confinement of the pen to walk to the pasture. Joseph tried to pull them into the
twenty-first century by the horns, but they refused to leave the safety of the past.