Family Tree (34 page)

S
wimmers, take your marks.”

Annie sat on the top bleacher of the aquatic center, high and dry. She wore her old, woven wool letterman's jacket over a new swimsuit. At her feet was her lettered team duffel bag with a towel and change of clothes.

The buzzer sounded, and Annie tensed briefly, conditioned by years of training right here at this pool. It was twenty-five meters long and L-shaped, with the diving area at the far end. The lanes were demarcated with floating ropes.

The young swimmers dove off the blocks, torpedoing through the water with all their strength. Coach Malco walked along the deck with her stopwatch and clipboard, exactly as she had done when she was Annie's coach. The race—a fifty free sprint—ended within about thirty seconds.

Annie turned to Pam and Olga, who had accompanied her to the pool. “I competed in a triathlon a couple of years ago. And I finished.”

“No surprise there,” Pam said, and told Olga, “She was always the best athlete on the team.”

Annie sighed. “Now I'm challenged by walking from the locker room to the rec pool.”

“You don't have to do this today,” Pam said.

“Yes, she does.” It was Coach Malco, seemingly unchanged from years past. Same iron-gray hair, marble-hard expression, steely glint in
her eyes above the reading glasses. “Get over there in the rec pool and start your workout, Rush.”

“You have no mercy.” Annie levered herself up.

The coach grabbed her hand, helped her down the bleachers, and pointed her in the direction of the rec pool. “Welcome back, Rush,” she said, and offered a quick smile.

“Thanks. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

She managed one lap. It was a start. It felt good to be in the water, though she was ridiculously weak. Pam and Olga swam with her, urging her on. She dragged herself out, panting but triumphant. Then she spied Fletcher, Sanford, and Teddy coming toward her.

“That's three generations of handsome right there,” Pam murmured.

“Olga, look!” Teddy ran up to her, brandishing a cloth badge. “I'm a flying fish.” He turned to show Annie. “I made flying fish.”

“Cool,” Annie said. “Congratulations.” She tried not to check out Fletcher in his swim trunks, but failed. It was impossible not to check out Fletcher in his swim trunks. She felt an intense burn of lust, and suddenly it hit her. She had gone more than a year without sex. Her cheeks flared with heat as she looked up at him. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey, Annie. Back in training?”

She felt her cheeks turn redder. There was a time when she had shot effortlessly through the water. “Just getting started.”

“Help me out with my leg, will you, buddy?” Sanford said to Teddy, heading over to a bench.

“You didn't call me back,” Fletcher said.

He'd left her a voice mail and a text. “I didn't call you back,” she said. “That was totally rude of me. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. Just say yes. As in, yes, I'd love to go out to dinner with you.”

“Fletcher—”

“Dad,” called Teddy. “Dad, let's go!”

Fletcher stared at her intently. “Call me back,” he said.

Annie caught up with Olga, who was walking toward the locker room. “You told them we'd be here?”

Olga offered an elaborate shrug. “Pam and I think you need a man.”

“I need a life first,” Annie said. In the locker room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Ick,” she said. “I'm pasty. And hairy.”

“Yes,” Olga said bluntly. “You need a lot of help.”

“Not the kind you got in rehab,” Pam said.

And without further discussion, they took her to the Maple Grove Day Spa for a facial and waxing, manicure and pedicure, followed by a trip to the Peek-a-Boutique for a new outfit and makeup.

Annie studied her image in the shop mirror. The coral sheath dress fit perfectly. The strappy wedge sandals showed off the pedicure. She still wasn't used to having short hair. She tried to tell herself that it was a good thing, starting her life over with new hair. But lately, she wasn't so good at lying to herself. “These curls are awful,” she said.

“Oh, come on,” said Pam. “They're adorable.”

“I look like Betty Boop.”

“
She's
adorable.”

“She's a cartoon.”

Olga combed her fingers through Annie's hair, expertly styling it with a few pins. “Better,” she said. “You need more lipstick and blush.”

Annie knew it was useless to argue with Olga. She submitted to the finishing touches, then checked the mirror again.

“Look at that,” she said, unable to keep from smiling. “I've rejoined the living.”

“It's good news,” said Lorna Lasher, the brand consultant Annie's father had hired. She had convened a meeting one Friday morning at her office in Burlington to go over the plan to launch the barrel-aged Sugar Rush. Everyone around the table—Annie, her brother, her parents—leaned forward, tensing.

“We like good news,” said Annie. Since the pool workouts, she looked and felt strong.

“Don't we all? You're approved for distribution, which was a no-brainer, thanks to your track record. The labeling is finished, so you're good to go.”

“Nice,” said Kyle. “Everything's bottled and ready for shipping.”

Annie's father kept watching Lorna. “That's not the good news,” he said.

She grinned. “You're right. That's the
expected
news. The good news is, I got you placement in the media.” She passed out a list of broadcasts, websites, and magazines that were going to feature the new product.

Mom gasped. “
Oprah Magazine
. The holy grail.” Her mother looked especially pretty today, Annie observed. She'd had her hair done and wore a dress that showed off her figure. Annie wondered if it was for the meeting—or for Dad.

“The
Today
show,” Annie said. “Even better.”

They went over a plan for the product launch. Everything about the meeting felt familiar to Annie—the jargon, the rapid-fire discussion, the charts and spreadsheets. Everything—except her father. It was strange, seeing him in this context.

There were things she noticed now that she had not realized as a child. He was a good businessman. He kept control of the meeting and created a plan with Lorna that made perfect sense.

And he had some news of his own. He had finalized an order for a hundred cases of syrup from upscale gourmet shops all over New England and upper New York, with his family firm as the sole distributor.

Afterward, they went to lunch at an old restaurant on the shore of Lake Champlain. The building used to be an icehouse, but for as long as Annie could remember, it had housed a restaurant famous for family celebrations—graduations, bar mitzvahs, weddings, and anniversaries.

Walking through the door was like stepping back in time to the day of Kyle's high school graduation. She was ten years old, dressed in her favorite pin-tucked summer dress and sandals. Back then, they'd been a party of six, her grandfather seated at the head of the table, Gran at his side. Annie remembered standing at the deck railing to watch the Lake Champlain ferryboat. She'd ordered a Shirley Temple and lobster claws with pappardelle pasta, feeling entirely fancy when the dish arrived. In that moment she knew nothing but happiness and security, never imagining it would be the last time the family celebrated anything together.

A couple of days later, Dad had announced that he was leaving. And just like that, the sky fell down.

Now, twenty years after, Annie realized her father's leaving was key to the way she thought about men.

“Everything all right?” asked her dad, leaning across the table toward her.

“Oh, fine,” she said, waving away his concern. “Just . . . thinking.”

“About what?” He offered her the dad smile, the one that used to make her proud to have the handsomest father in all of Switchback. She had idolized him, put all her admiration and trust in him—and then he'd left.

“Thinking about the last time we were all together at this restaurant,” she said, shrinking from telling him—or anyone—what was truly on her mind. “Gran and Gramps were with us.”

“Kyle's graduation,” her mother said, darting a glance at her father.

Annie studied her parents now, sensing . . . something. She caught Kyle's eye and tried to convey a what's-going-on question, but he was Kyle and he was a guy and he was clueless.

The sommelier came with a bottle of Billecart-Salmon, and she knew for sure something was happening. “Pink champagne,” she murmured. “And so early in the day. What's the occasion?”

“Let's have a toast,” her father said, once all their glasses were filled.

“To barrel-aged Sugar Rush,” Kyle said. “And to our other new product, Head Rush.”

“Wait,” said Annie. “Head Rush?”

Her parents exchanged another look, both seeming as mystified as she was.

“I qualified for a growing permit to supply a licensed dispensary.”

“Oh my God. You're going to grow pot,” said Mom.

“Awesome,” Dad said under his breath.

“For medical use only,” Kyle told her, “until it's legalized, which is likely to happen in a year or two.”

“And Beth's on board with this?”

“Mom. Quit worrying. Beth is fine with the plan.”

Their father took a sip of champagne. “You'll figure it out on your own. The syrup, the farm, the weed—everything.”

“That's been the idea all along, Dad,” said Kyle. To Annie's knowledge, her brother had never directly confronted their father about leaving, but there was an edge to his comment.

“What your father is trying to say is that he—I—
we
won't be directly involved from here on out,” said Mom. “We've got plans.”

Annie's skin prickled. We?
Plans?

“What kind of plans?” asked Kyle.

Their parents looked at one another again. They reminded her of nervous teenagers trying to figure out how to admit to a fender bender. There was something about them, something new and awkward, that made them
look
like teenagers.

“Your father and I . . . We're moving in together,” Mom said in a rush.

“What?” Annie exploded.

“Jesus,” Kyle said at the same time.

Dad took Mom's hand. “Since I've been back, we've been . . . talking.”

Annie had a sneaking suspicion that “talking” was code for . . . She wouldn't let her mind go there.

“We're getting a place in New York,” Dad said. “We found an apartment in Chelsea.”

“What the heck are you going to do in the city?” asked Annie.

“I'm going to start continuing ed classes at Pratt, and your dad's expanding the fine-food division of his distributorship to Manhattan.”

“You're serious,” said Kyle.

“We are,” said Mom. “It probably sounds rash or sudden, but we're serious. And happy. And we want you to be happy for us. Happy
with
us.”

She was glowing.
Glowing.
Annie had not seen her mother glow since she was a young mom, being waltzed around the kitchen when Dad came in from work.

This was her shot, Annie realized. Her mother's shot at art school, the one she hadn't taken all those years ago. Annie felt nothing but pleased about that. But getting back together with Dad? With a guy who had walked away from her twenty years before?

“I do want you to be happy,” Annie said.

“But,” her mother prompted.

“I'm skeptical,” Annie said. “How do I know this is going to work out better than it did the last time?”

“You don't know,” Dad admitted. “You have to trust. I can promise you, we're in this to make it work. And we will.”

“Do you hear that?” Annie asked her brother. “Does any of this make sense to you?”

He was in the middle of chewing on a dinner roll. “No,” he said. “The one it has to make sense to is Mom.”

“And it does,” their mother assured them. “You'll see.”

Annie took a gulp of her champagne. Dear Lord, it was delicious.
She took another sip and stared across the table at her parents. Her reaction was a jumble of feelings that were going to take a long time to sort through. She was completely taken in by the sweet fantasy of a mended family, by how young and fresh this renewal made them seem. At the same time, she felt a dark rumbling of resentment. Why couldn't they have figured themselves out years ago, back when she was a kid who needed both her parents?

Love comes in its own time, Gran used to say. You don't get to declare when or how.

It's never too late to have the life you want.

“When?” Annie asked.

“When you're better,” Mom said.

“Oh, come on. Do you mean to say you're waiting for me to give you the green light? Don't you dare put that on me.”

“Seems like we're all full of new plans,” Dad said, wisely changing the subject. “What about you, Annie? What do you want your role in this to be? Besides goddess of barrel aging?”

“You have a clean slate,” Mom added. “Life anew, like Dr. King said. You can go anywhere. Do anything.”

Her brother polished off the last of the champagne. “If you could do anything you want right now, what would it be?”

She felt a wave of love as she looked at them—her family. They had pulled her out of the dark, rescuing her from a twilight existence. She owed them everything, yet all they seemed to expect from her was to begin again.

Fletcher was just stepping out of the shower when his mobile phone and the doorbell rang, almost at the same moment. Out on the back porch, Titus gave a woof of warning. Great timing. He slung a towel around
his waist and went to find the phone, leaving a trail of wet behind him. He found the phone on his bedroom bureau—missed call from Annie Rush.