The Lake House (31 page)

“I’m sorry I yelled at you the day after your party,” Tommy went on. “I can be protective when it comes to my family.”

“Thanks, I really am sorry for what happened. I didn’t mean to disrupt anyone’s night.”

“Good to know,” he said. “Do you mind turning off the lights? It’ll give us a better view. I can’t see the stars in Providence.”

Heather flipped the switch. The Milky Way’s river of light illuminated the black sky. She plopped into the chair and leaned her bare feet against the deck railing. “My root beer float is at the perfect marker.”

“I didn’t know there was a perfect marker.”

“When there’s still enough ice cream to eat with the spoon, but some has melted, making the soda creamy. That’s the perfect marker.”

“I wasn’t certain you’d be a root beer float kind of girl. I was thinking martinis, but that’s not my style,” he said.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t know anything about me, you seem to have formed a lot of opinions.”

“I guess you’re right. Sorry.”

The silence stretched over them while Heather sucked at her float. “One summer my mother dated this guy who always brought us root beer floats on Wednesday nights. The three of us would watch the sunset from the front stoop, and I could have as much as I wanted.” She shrugged. “It’s a good memory.”

Tom looked to the lake. “I have lots of memories like that. Fishing with Grandpa and Bill. Roasting marshmallows. Eating Molly’s brownie sundaes.”

“Oh, those brownies smothered in chocolate sauce and ice cream. Thanks for ruining any chance I have of saying no to her baking this week.”

He pulled his chair next to her and rested his legs on the railing.

Heather licked the ice cream off the straw. “So let me ask you something. The first day we met . . . why didn’t you tell me what I was getting into?”

“I didn’t like you,” he said.

“You didn’t know me.”

“You looked at me like I was a piece of meat.”

“Well, aren’t we stuck on ourselves?”

He sucked at his float. “Maryland was like a mother to me. I didn’t want you in her home.”

“So, I’m a martini-style girl who doesn’t know how to be a good neighbor and you wished I’d never moved in. Oh, and let’s not forget that I’m a flirt who only wants you for your body. Tell me how you really feel.”

“Slam dunk on being an ass.” He fidgeted in his seat and then looked at her. “Sorry, my attitude has nothing to do with you.”

“Why didn’t you get rid of me by telling the truth about who lives here? You know, this is your fault,” she said.

“Interesting perspective. One that I’ve wondered about.”

“And your grandfather’s a dirty old man.”

Tom’s laugh echoed across the lake.

“Every time I stretch on my front lawn or sit on the beach, he makes an excuse to come talk to me, and when I helped him with his computer, he pinched my butt. There are way too many horny old people around here.”

Tom turned to her. “You might not want to wear those shorts in front of him. He’s a Casanova.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “In his mind.”

“His last girlfriend passed away two years ago. He’s prowling for another. But I warn you. There hasn’t been a woman who’s been able to keep up. No matter how young she was. And thank you for helping him with his computer. It means a lot to me. Of course, he might have been using that as excuse to hit on you.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s why he wanted my help.” Heather smiled as she wondered how Thomas was doing with his online dating adventures. He hadn’t needed her help lately.

“What’s that grin for?” Tom asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“None of your business.” She giggled and sucked at her drink. Tom shook his head and stared at the sky, a deep, contented grin on his face. He looked peaceful, like the world was this safe place filled with love and happiness. His large muscles made him look solid. Secure. Sparks of energy fired along her nerves as she stared. He was certainly pretty, but “ass” was also a good description.

“So, since you’re being brutally honest, are you gay? I never see you with a woman, and you don’t like it when someone flirts with you.”

“Carl’s trying to start that rumor to razz me, but I think you know I’m not gay.” He looked at the sexy way she’d angled her legs.

Heather uncrossed the leg she’d pointed at him and curled her feet under her thighs.

“Just a guess,” he said.

Silence, strained and uncomfortable, followed.

“Point three on being a jerk.” He put his root beer on the arm of the chair. “I should probably leave before you completely hate me.”

She stabbed her straw into the slush. “Don’t worry, I already do. So you might as well stay.”

“At least I brought you ice cream to enjoy,” he said.

“Yes, that makes up for you treating me like an unworthy vixen after your hot body.” She sucked on her straw. “Nope, doesn’t taste that good.”

“So you do think I’m hot.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows, making her laugh.

“I think I’ll just start calling you Conceited Ass instead of Tommy.”

“Fair enough.”

They were silent as they looked at the stars and listened to the lake lap against the shore.

“Do you see the Big Dipper?” Tommy asked.

Heather looked up at the constellation while she sipped her float. “Have you ever been to Africa?”

“No,” Tommy said.

“I was there in March. My guide took me to the middle of the field one night. We sat in the Land Rover drinking hot chocolate and listening to the lions call to one another from either side of the delta. The sky had more stars than blackness. I wanted to make that moment last forever.”

“It sounds incredible.” He leaned his head against the back of the chair.

“It was amazing. I saw a lioness with two baby cubs. They looked like stuffed animals you could cuddle, but they strutted as if to say, ‘I know I’m the king.’ Actually, they acted kind of like you,” she teased.

He looked at her and laughed. “Touché.” They smiled at one another for a moment and then he looked back to the stars. “Tell me more about Africa.”

“I slept in a tree house that overlooked a watering hole. Every day, Frank, the resident elephant, would hang out in the early evening and eat leaves from the tree. I could see his eyelashes.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No. He was so close that he would take his trunk and reach it over my railing and sniff me like a dog.”

“I’d love to go to Africa someday.”

“It was great, but everyone around me had someone to share it with. Wherever I looked, there were families—the people, the animals. I felt pathetic. They assigned guides to eat dinner with me. I love to travel, but I hate being alone all the time.”

“I can understand how that could be tough.”

She looked at him. “Please, you have this big family, and I’m sure you have plenty of women to take on vacation.”

He shrugged. “Except for Grandpa, I don’t have anyone to take to Africa.” He looked down at his empty mug. “So how do you like your new home? Are you settling in?”

“The house is beautiful. I still can’t believe I own it. There’s something about waking up every morning and smelling the lake air, watching the geese land on the water . . . and I’ve probably taken too many days on the beach reading books than I should have. I’m rather swamped with work right now.”

“It sounds like the Nagog life suits you.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s not exactly what I expected. Instead of barbecues and parties every night, I listen to the frogs. And home ownership is more work than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I should’ve expected there’d be problems with a home this old, but between the ants under my sink and plumbing issues, it’s been a little stressful.”

“Is there anything you want me to take a look at?”

She turned and smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s sweet, but not right now. Molly has had Bill fix everything.”

“That’s good. Well, I should get going. I have an early day tomorrow.” He stood and gathered the cooler and went to his truck. Heather walked to the edge of the deck as he returned
and handed her a piece of paper with his number. “Just in case anything else goes wrong in your house.”

Their hands touched, and when she looked at his aqua eyes, she felt the same electricity that had been there the night they’d moved her boxes. “Thank you. It’s rather neighborly of you.”

“It’s the least this conceited ass can do.” He smiled and then turned. The engine in the old truck revved to life and he drove away.

Heather went back to the deck and sipped the last of her float as she stared at the stars. The empty seat next to her made her feel even lonelier. She listened to the night sounds: crickets chirped, a loose screen door banged against the neighbor’s house, and the wind started to blow.

Heather saw a light on in Victoria’s sunroom. Three times she turned back before finally making her way to Victoria’s stoop and ringing the doorbell.

V
ictoria had been in the sunroom in a red silk robe and pajamas, perusing her drawer of movies, when she heard the bell ring. Concerned, she ran and whipped the door open and was surprised to see the girl on her front porch.

“Heather? Is something wrong?”

“I know it’s late, but since you’re up, I was wondering if you wanted company?”

She looked uncomfortable asking and Victoria opened the door wider. She wrapped her arm around Heather’s shoulder and ushered her into the house. “Of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just . . .”

Victoria smiled and pulled her into the kitchen. “Is it the strange sounds in your house? It takes time to acclimate to your home’s song, especially one as old as yours: the squeaks and the creaks. My guest room is always open. I was about to watch a movie, would you like to join me?”

Heather took a deep breath. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Victoria led her into the sunroom. “Is the fire too warm?” Victoria asked. “My California blood is a little cold tonight, but the fresh air is nice so I have the windows open.”

“No, it’s fine.” Heather looked at the large portrait that hung above the mantel. “Is this your granddaughter?”

Victoria touched the frame. “Yes, that’s Annabelle.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Heather said, her eyes scanning the room.

“Oh my God,” Heather said. She pointed to the golden statuette. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes,” Victoria said. “You can touch it.”

Heather tentatively reached out her fingers as if it were a magic lamp that made wishes come true. “I’ve never seen an Oscar in person.”

Victoria looked away and busied herself by opening a large drawer filled with DVDs. “What would you like to watch? I have everything.”

“How about one of your movies?” Heather said.

“Why don’t we save that for another night? I’m in the mood to watch something fun, with a handsome leading man. How about
Singin’ in the Rain
? Gene Kelly’s finest moment.”

“Never seen it,” Heather said as she turned and looked at a collage on the wall behind the rocking chair.

Victoria placed her hand over her heart. “Pure sin. We have
so much work to do. I’m going to make hot chocolate and popcorn. I say we watch movies until we can’t stay awake.”

Victoria went to the kitchen and left Heather to scan the pictures around the room. When she returned with two blue mugs with sunflowers painted on the sides and a large bowl overflowing with white popped kernels, she saw Heather looking at a large photograph hung on the wall above the shelves. She placed the tray on the ottoman and stood behind Heather who was studying the women in bright-colored dresses standing in the windows of an abandoned brick building. The picture had been signed:
Ormond Gigli 1960
.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible,” Heather said.

“Look at the second row from the top, the girl in the white dress.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “Is that you?”

“It is. The picture is called
Girls in the Window,
and it graced the cover of
Ladies’ Home Journal
.”

“You wore pointy shoes back then?” Heather asked.

“You think you’re the first generation to realize they elongate the leg? You’d be surprised how much us old folks influenced fashion.”

Heather leaned closer to the picture. “You all look so sexy and powerful.”

“And we’re covered up. Not wearing bikinis for clothing. Back then, women were in touch with the sensual pride of the feminine spirit.” Victoria brushed Heather’s hair from her face. “These days I think girls are ashamed of how they come out of the womb. They’re determined to stuff themselves into a perfect mold.”

“Determined? More like forced.” Heather looked at a framed movie poster. “Is that you in the background?”

“Yes. I won the Oscar with that film,” Victoria said.

“I know this picture. Where do I know it from?” Heather asked. “Oh my God, I remember. My grandmother. We watched this together when I was little. She
loved
this movie. You really were famous.”

Victoria waved Heather’s words away as she walked toward the television. “You’re the famous one these days. I’ve been reading your column, you’re a wonderful writer.”