Lake News (39 page)

Closing her eyes, she let the beauty of the chords take her away. The tension in the pit of her stomach began to dissolve. Her thoughts calmed. When she felt strength return, her hands fell still. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and opened her eyes.

Maida stood in the middle of the living room. With one hand on the back of her neck, and her head tipped, she seemed as taken as Lily. She dropped her hand and straightened her head with a sigh. “No one else can bring quite that sound from those keys,” she said in a wistful voice. Then she took a breath and said a more neutral “Would you like lunch?”

Lily was warmed by the compliment and, yes, suddenly hungry. She started to get up.

But Maida was already on her way out. “Stay here and play. I'll bring it in.”

A second compliment? Maida waiting on her?

So Lily played, choosing songs that her mother liked, in part to thank her, in part because entertaining people
was what she did best. She continued to play when Maida returned carrying a large silver tray. She might have been an invited guest, for the way Maida set out ham and cheese sandwiches and poured fragrant tea.

“Thank you,” she said when they were seated on the sofa.

Maida busied herself squeezing lemon into her tea. “It's the least I can do. You've been good in the cider house.”

“I like the work.”

“I should pay you.”

Lily had raised a sandwich half. She put it right down. “Don't do that.”

“I pay the others.”

“They aren't relatives. I don't mind helping. What else would I do?”

“You could be over at Cassie's,” Maida said. She brushed crumbs from her lap. “Are you really filing a lawsuit?”

“I don't have much choice.”

Maida took a bite of her sandwich. Then she put it down and smiled. “Do you remember Jennifer Hauke? She was your year in school. She's Jennifer Ellison now, married to Darby Ellison, that dark-haired little boy. She just had a baby. It's their third. Another girl.”

Lily didn't know what the connection was between Jennifer Hauke's new baby and her own lawsuit, but the baby was certainly a more neutral topic. “That's exciting. Do they live here?”

“No. They have a house in Center Sayfield. Anita Ellison died last month.”

“Darby's grandmother? I'm sorry.”

“She was one of Celia's good friends.”

Lily remembered that. She had spent enough time at Celia's to know her friends, because Celia loved entertaining. She invited groups at a time, seeming in her element when the small cottage was filled. Lily remembered curling up in the bed in the loft while the ladies laughed themselves silly over something she didn't understand. Those somethings usually had to do with men. Lily would have liked to listen in on them now.

“I miss Celia,” Maida surprised her by saying.

“Me too.”

“She was a good person.”

“Yes.”

“Had a big heart.”

“Had big
ears,”
Lily mused. “I could talk to her about most anything.”

That brought Maida back. She sat straighter. “You could. But your generation is different that way. My generation was never given permission to talk about certain things.”

“You don't need permission. You just speak your thoughts.”

Maida sputtered out a laugh. “It's not that easy.”

“It is.”

She looked at Lily, challenging now. “What would you have me say?”

Lily backed down. She and her mother had shared so few companionable times that she didn't want to spoil things. “I was being hypothetical.”

“I'm serious. What would you have me say?”

Lily felt the old tightness at the back of her tongue. She focused on easing it, then said, “What your childhood was like. I haven't a clue.”

“Why does it matter? What difference does it make? My life began when I married your father. And you're a fine one to say I should talk. What about your thoughts? You told them to Celia, but never to me.”

Lily refused to look away. “I was afraid of stuttering.”

“I don't hear you stuttering now.”

No. She was thinking clearly. She was in control of herself.

From the other end of the house came a hollered
“Mom?”

“In here,”
Maida called back. “It's Rose.”

Lily knew that. Rose's voice was distinct from Poppy's, and no one else called Maida Mom.

Rose appeared in the archway and gave a startled look at the silver tray, the sandwiches, teapot, and cups. “This is nice,” she said. “Elegance in the middle of a workday.”

“We had to eat,” Maida explained, extending the sandwich plate. Half a sandwich remained. “It's yours if you want.”

Rose shook her head. “No time. I put a turkey breast in the fridge. It's cooked. All you have to do is heat it up. School got out early today. I have the girls in the car.”

“Only Emma and Ruthie,” said Hannah, slipping past her. “Hi, Gram. Hi, Aunt Lily.”

“I asked you to wait in the car,” Rose said.

“They were pinching me.” She leaned against the sofa arm nearest Lily. Lily gave her shoulder a welcoming rub
and was rewarded by a glowing smile. “They can come. All four of them.”

“Super!” Lily said.

The deal was a movie and supper. Hannah had asked if she could invite three friends. When Lily readily agreed, she had cautiously asked if she could invite a fourth. “In case they don't come. They might not want to.”

“They'll want to,” Lily had said, praying it was so.

She and Hannah had written invitations up on Maida's pretty paisley stationery. Hannah had made her father drive her to the post office to mail them Friday night. Lily learned this from Poppy, who learned it from Rose, who had apparently been slightly put out.

“Pure guilt,” Poppy had told Lily. “She knows she should be doing the party herself, but having said she was against it, she won't lift a finger to help.”

“She's driving me crazy about this party,” Rose said now.

“I'm not,” Hannah told her, but her glow had faded. Nervous now, she murmured to Lily, “I just don't know what to wear.”

“She has a closet full of clothes,” Rose put in. “It's not my fault if they don't fit.”

“You bought them too small.”

“You outgrew them too fast.”

“I can't help it.”

“Oh-ho, yes, you can.”

The words were different, but the tone just the same. Lily remembered too many such arguments from her own childhood to bear listening. “I think,” she said quickly, “that
I have to go shopping. I don't have many clothes here. I didn't knnn-know how long I was staying. I don't have the right kind of thing for this party.”

“It's only a movie,” Rose said. “What you're wearing is fine.”

“It's a birthday party,” Lily said right back. The moment of stuttering was past. She knew where she was headed. “Hannah can come shopping with me. We'll both get something. My treat.”

“When?” Hannah said, glowing again, and suddenly Lily was as excited as she was.

They went the following afternoon. Lily had barely finished at the cider house and cleaned up when Hannah ran up the road. Her big T-shirt and baggy jeans were as unflattering as ever, and her hair was in a ponytail that exaggerated the roundness of her cheeks, but those cheeks were rosy and her eyes were alive. The part of Lily that identified so closely with Hannah was pleased—the promise was definitely there.

They drove south to Concord. Poppy had given Lily a list of stores in order of preference, but they didn't have to go far. At the very first store on the list, Hannah fell in love with a dress. It was a Black Watch plaid, cut in an Empire style, of a fabric that was soft enough to fall gently and smoothly. Hannah couldn't take her eyes off her reflection in the mirror, and Lily knew why. The dress made her look grown-up—and remarkably slim.

They bought a matching hair ribbon, a pair of dark green tights to match the green in the plaid, and a pair of shoes with the smallest wedge of a heel.

Setting those things aside, they moved to the part of the store that had clothes for Lily, and again, Hannah fell in love. Moments after she touched it, Lily was trying on a long skirt, vest, and blouse. The skirt and blouse were a soft heather blue rayon; the vest was woven of a dozen compatible colors. Lily could have looked for days and not found a better choice.

“Shoes, too?” Hannah asked, into it big-time by now.

“Thank you,” Lily chided, “but I have shoes.”

“Earrings, then,” Hannah said, pointing to a rack.

“Thank you,” Lily said in the same chiding tone, “but I have earrings.” She reached for her wallet. “My credit card can only take so much.” She slipped it out and handed it to the salesgirl, who went to work writing up the sale.

She didn't realize what she had done until the salesgirl went still. An adorably mod young woman, early twenties perhaps, she looked at the credit card, looked at Lily, looked at the credit card again. Her eyes grew wider.

“You're Lily Blake?” she finally asked in a tone of awe.
“The
Lily Blake?”

Lily's heart started to pound.
Deny it,
the little voice inside said.
There are other Lily Blakes in the world
.

“I
knew
you looked familiar,” the girl cried with an excited smile. “We don't get many famous people in here.” Her mouth went from wide to round. “Omigod. Wait'll I tell my boss. She'll be
wild
that she wasn't here when you came.”

Lily felt her tongue tensing up. She held up a hand and shook her head while she made it relax. As soon
as she could, she said, “Don't do that. I'm in hiding.”

“Only my boss,” the girl promised. “She'll
die
.”

Hannah was suddenly at Lily's side. Standing straight and tall, sounding like an imperious brat, she said, “If you tell anyone, you'll
ruin
my birthday. If you tell
anyone,
we won't ever come into this store again. Not me, not my mother, not anyone in our family, not anyone in our town.”

Imperious brat? She sounded just like Rose! At that moment Lily didn't even mind. All she could think of as she quickly signed the sales slip and they hurried out of the store with their bundles was that she should have paid in cash.

Poppy's phone rang early Wednesday morning. It wasn't the first call, and it wouldn't be the last, but it was the one that interested her most.

“Hey, Poppy,” said Griffin Hughes. “How's my girl?”

She loved his voice, oh, she did. “Fine. But… where's Willie Jake?” The call had come through the police department line; only, Willie Jake hadn't told Poppy he was out.

“He's at his desk. I asked him to switch me to you when he wouldn't talk. He said you wouldn't either, but I had to give it a try.”

“I always talk to you.”

“Not about Lily.”

Poppy let out a breath. “Ahh. And here I was starting to think that you were interested in
me
.”

“I am.”

“But you keep asking about Lily! Everyone keeps asking about Lily! I
have gotten four other calls this morning from press people asking about Lily!”

“That's because word's out that she's back. This time it's more than rumor. She was seen. So. What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Her being back.”

Poppy sighed. “Griffin, Griffin, Griffin. The press has been
cruel
to my sister. What kind of person would I be if I talked?”

“I'm not the press. I'm a writer. There's a difference. A press person works for someone else. Anything he writes is subject to editing. He works on a deadline, has to consider sales potential and managerial politics.”

“And you don't?”

“No. I'm my own boss. I write an article the way I want to, then put it up for sale. I've done other things for
Vanity Fair
. They like me. They like my writing.”

“They aren't interested in sales?” Poppy asked. “I don't believe that.”

“They are. But what I write is what their target audience wants to read. It's a good fit, so to speak.”

“And they don't want this article yesterday?”

“They do. A good part's done. I started writing it long before this happened to Lily. But her experience adds something. Come on, Poppy,” he coaxed. “Tell me a little.”

She was sorely tempted. His voice was that strong. “Why do you keep calling
me?
Why don't you call someone
else?”

“I've
tried
. I called, uh”—she heard the rustle of paper—“a
realtor named Allison Quimby, an old guy named Alf Buzzell, and the guy who runs the general store.”

“Did they say Lily was here?”

“Didn't say yes, didn't say no. I have never met people more skilled at evasion.”

Poppy smiled. “Evasiveness isn't a crime. We protect our own, that's all. Have I ever told you the story of the sacred gourd?”

There was a pause, then an amused “I don't believe you have.”

“Well, y'see, there was a gourd once. A gourd is a hard-shelled fruit?”

He cleared his throat. “I did learn that once.”

“Well, there was this gourd that grew one summer on a farm just off the south end of the lake, and it was a beauty, all rich greens and purples, regal almost. There was something unusual about it, something uplifting. You could stand out there in the field and look at it, and after a little while you felt better than you had when you came. If you had a headache, it was eased. If you had a dilemma, you had solutions.”

“What did it do for you?”

Poppy caught her breath. “What do you mean?”