The Lake House (27 page)

“You know, that furniture is going to encourage her to throw more parties.” He picked up his paper and began to read the sports section.

Molly sat. She buttered a thick piece of homemade bread until the oil melted through. “Friendship is the answer. If she cares about the community, she won’t disrupt it. And the party wasn’t
that
bad. I remember you tying on a few in your younger years.”

The sunroom door creaked open. “I was on the beach and I smelled bacon,” Joseph said as he walked into the room. He stopped and stared at Victoria.

Molly looked at her friend. Her back had straightened and her cheeks were flushed. Electric static filled the air. “Joseph, come on in and sit.” Molly stood and grabbed a plate. She placed it next to Victoria at the table.

“Good morning, Joseph,” Victoria said and she picked up her coffee mug and sipped.

“Morning, Victoria.” Joseph didn’t take his eyes from her as he sat, but then he turned to Bill. “So how ’bout those Sox last night.”

“Ridiculous game,” Bill said. “Damn Sox had better get it together this season or it’s going to be over before it even starts.”

Molly watched Joseph and Victoria. They looked like two middle-schoolers at the lunch table, afraid to talk but aware of the close proximity. Yes, she thought again, friendship could heal any rift.

T
he sound of knocking woke Heather. The soft warm cave of her bed enticed her to ignore whoever was at her front door. Insomnia had been her companion for the last week. George had approved her summer lake series, but she was finding it hard to write in her home office. It seemed that ideas came to her only at night, when she tried to sleep.

“I’m coming,” she yelled, realizing she didn’t have time to change out of the tank top and shorts she had slept in.

Victoria and Molly stood on her deck, smiling and waving. Molly held up a basket and Victoria followed with a thermos. “Heather, we have baked goods and coffee,” Molly called. Heather shuffled to the door, squinting in the sunlight.

“I brought scones, cinnamon buns, and muffins,” Molly chirped as she bustled into the room, set the basket on the coffee table and unfolded the white linen. “Oh, and I brought you brownies for later. A little sin from me to you.” Her soft figure fell into the rocking chair, sending it swinging.

“This is Venezuelan dark roast, caffeinated this time, and I grabbed your paper.” Victoria’s hand shook, and the paper fell to the floor. “Sorry about that. Silly arthritis, but you don’t want to hear about our maladies.”

Heather looked away from Victoria’s flushed skin. She gathered the loose newspaper sections from the floor. At the bottom of the pile she found a manila envelope without an address.

“Let me get some cups and plates,” Heather said.

“Take your time. We know we barged in,” Molly said.

In the kitchen, she ripped open the manila envelope and pulled out a church’s bulletin with areas highlighted for Heather to read: Bible study hours; singles activities; and classes for conversion to Catholicism.
Sarah,
she thought. The woman wouldn’t speak to Heather, but she was willing to save her soul.

Heather gathered plates, napkins, silverware, mugs, and milk, and returned to the living room. “I’m sorry, I don’t buy butter or cream,” Heather said as she put everything on the coffee table.

“That’s all right, dear. Victoria would make us feel guilty for eating it.” Molly put her hand over her mouth and whispered, “She’s a health nut.”

Victoria grabbed a muffin, broke off a piece, and popped it into her mouth as she sat in the overstuffed chair. “I eat butter now. I believe in whole foods. I’ve gotten away from processed products. Margarine is no better than eating plastic. I read—”

“Told you,” Molly interrupted.

Victoria rolled her eyes.

“Is any of this considered healthy?” Heather asked as she sat on the couch.

Victoria laughed. “Molly doesn’t know the meaning.”

Molly huffed.

“I’m not saying you’re fat. You’re a wonderful baker who doesn’t sacrifice taste for the waistline,” Victoria said.

“Call me fat if you’d like, my husband loves my body. And no, dear, every bite is filled with love and at least five hundred calories. So eat up and enjoy, for tomorrow you can diet again. Victoria has managed to be my friend her entire life, and my cooking hasn’t affected her skinny rear,” Molly said.

Heather bit into a blueberry muffin, the warm, soft sugar waking her taste buds and bringing back safe memories of her grandmother’s home: warm linens, brushed hair after a long bath, and delicious baked goods.

“I’ve never tasted a muffin this good. Please, don’t tell me what you put in this,” Heather said.

Molly’s face brightened. She handed Heather coffee. “Victoria and I were noticing you don’t have furniture for your deck.”

“We’d like to take you shopping,” Victoria said.

“I’d love to, but money’s tight after everything I spent on furnishing this house.”

“Well, that’s fine, because it’s a housewarming gift,” Molly said.

Heather was taken aback. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Of course you can,” Victoria said.

“It’s too much. You barely know me,” Heather said with a slight flutter to her voice as she choked on emotions. These women had cleaned her home, helped her paint, and now they wanted to buy her furniture.

“You’re part of the Nagog family now, and I hate to tell you, but it’s a life sentence.” Molly laughed. “Just ask Victoria.”

Heather put the muffin down and ran a hand through her knotted hair, suddenly embarrassed by her unkempt appearance. “I still need to take a shower and—”

“Go ahead. We’ll wait, and we won’t take no for an answer,” Victoria said.

“And I would love a ride in your cute little car,” Molly said.

Heather went upstairs and turned on the shower. The sounds of Molly and Victoria talking downstairs gave her a feeling of comfort. Being mothered for the first time since early childhood felt strange but good. Heather stripped down and stepped into the shower, then a scream ripped from her lips, she fumbled against the door, and stepped out soaking wet.

“Heather, are you okay?” Victoria called from the stairwell.

“Yes, but I think there might be something wrong with my water heater,” she yelled. The shower dial was turned to hot, but the water was ice cold. She wrapped her body in a fluffy white towel and then fiddled with the shower knob trying to force hot water from the showerhead.

“I’ll have Molly get Bill to come take a look. It probably needs to be reset. It hasn’t been used in years,” Victoria said from the hallway.

“Thank you,” Heather said. What more could go wrong? She was beginning to feel like her house was haunted or that someone was sabotaging her living space. But both ideas were ridiculous.

T
he Mobil station on the corner looked out of place, its blue-and-red fiberglass sign an intrusion on the colonial ambiance of Littleton town center. The church bell rang out as Heather
waited at a stoplight. In the park, children played tag around the white gazebo while their mothers sat on the park bench socializing. The old hotel with the wraparound porch had been converted to apartments and retail stores. The proprietors sat on the front steps sipping Cokes out of the can while they fanned their faces.
It’s like I’ve gone back to the 1950s,
Heather thought.

The women directed Heather to the consignment shop and she pulled into the driveway. The Victorian home had been painted dark purple, green, and blue to accentuate its architectural details. Deck furniture, an old wishing well, weather vanes, and a spinning wheel dotted the front lawn.

“Over here.” Molly motioned to the side yard as they got out of the car. “Isn’t it in beautiful condition?”

Six teak chairs with armrests surrounded the beautiful wooden table. A blue umbrella protected the smooth red wood from the sun. Heather ran her fingers along the curve of the chair. She picked up the price tag and her throat constricted. “I thought this was a consignment shop.”

“Oh, don’t look at that.” Molly took the tag.

Heather punched her heels into the soft earth. “I can’t let you buy this. It’s too much.”

“Nonsense. Think of it as our investment in Nagog’s beautification. During our evening walks we’ll get to look at it,” Molly said.

“Do you like it?” Victoria asked.

The furniture looked like it belonged on the cover of a home magazine. The two women waited for her response with anticipated smiles.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Molly bounced with excitement to the front door of the shop. “I’ll have them deliver it this week. You’ll have to plan a dinner party to christen it.”

Victoria put her arm around Heather and steered her to follow.

“Victoria, I can’t . . .”

“Darling, when someone gives you a gift, it’s best just to say thank you,” Victoria said. “We’re trying to make you happy, not uncomfortable.”

Heather smiled. “Okay. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I love it.”

When they returned to Nagog Drive, Agatha and Sarah were at the picnic table in the front yard knitting and they scowled as the women stepped from Heather’s car.

Heather turned to Molly and Victoria. “Would you like to come in for a brownie? I have skim milk. It has to cancel out some of the calories.”

“Skim milk won’t do. I’ll be right back,” Molly said, and headed for her house.

Victoria and Heather went inside and Heather curled onto the couch, the big white pillow across her lap. “So what’s the deal between you and the knitters?”

“Deal?” Victoria looked around. “You really did a lovely job on this room. The pale green is perfect and the furnishings are great, but I do think you need some accents. I have three full boxes of decorations from my old house that I can’t use. You’re welcome to look through and pick out anything you like.”

“That would be great. Thank you,” Heather said. “And did you notice that I thanked you instead of protesting? I did listen to your wisdom.”

Victoria smiled as she looked out the window to where Sarah and Agatha were gathering their things.

“Do I need to get out the Hershey’s Kisses and decaffeinated coffee to get you to answer my question?” Heather asked.

Victoria sat in the overstuffed chair. “Jealousy is a powerful emotion. Same with anger and resentment. All three combined can’t be undone.”

“Are they jealous of you?” Heather asked.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but there was a time when people admired my life. I thought I had years to make amends, but some mistakes are too big.”

“And some people can’t accept those who stand out,” Molly finished, walking into the room, a glass bottle from the farm up the road in hand. “Let’s dig in.”

Molly passed Heather a thick brownie and a cup. The milk tasted like cream, and the gooey dessert melted in her mouth. “Molly, we can’t be friends. Your baking is going to cost me too many dress sizes.”

“Better to have sweet friendships and big thighs than be skinny and never taste the goodness of life. That’s what my mother always told me,” Molly said.

“So, Victoria, why are the knitters jealous?” Heather asked.

Victoria focused on the brownie, nibbling the corners. “I left Nagog to try my hand at becoming an actress and I didn’t come home very often.”

“Were you famous?” Heather leaned forward.

“Like Ingrid Bergman,” Molly said.

“Really? Like
Casablanca
?” Heather asked.

“Something like that,” Victoria said.

“Were you in that movie?” Heather asked.

“
Casablanca
came out when I was a teenager,” Victoria said. “If you’re going to hang with us cool old ladies, you’re going to have to learn about the classics. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll teach you about movies if you tell me where you shop. Those shoes are exquisite.”

“Deal. I can’t believe you were a movie star. What was it like?”

“In my time, it was all about the glamour. Life was sequins and diamonds, and extravagant parties with gowns and tuxedoes,” Victoria said.

“Tell me everything,” Heather said as she took another bite of the brownie. “How did you break into the movie business?”