The Lake House (30 page)

“Of course.”

Victoria looked around Tommy’s office. Fine woodwork curled around the room like delicate art. “This craftsmanship belongs in a museum.”

“Thank you. Let me take your jacket.”

“I’m fine.” Victoria walked around the room, touching the carved wood. Large glossy prints of the homes Tommy had designed lined the walls. To anyone else’s eye, the bright
images would have detracted from the small frames on the shelves, but Annabelle’s smile had a magnetic power over Victoria’s heart.

She held a picture. Tom couldn’t have been more than ten. He stood at his workbench with hammer in hand, tongue stuck out in concentration. Six-year-old Annabelle wore a tiara and boa as she watched him work. Victoria petted the frame. “I remember how she drove you crazy.”

“In more ways than one.” Tommy sat on the couch, his arms spread across the back of the furniture, his legs crossed.

Victoria looked at him, so handsome and successful. He had the kindest heart of anyone she knew. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” he said. “Work is crazy, but it’s better than the alternative.”

“You eat, and take care of yourself?” she asked.

Cynthia walked in carrying a tray with coffee mugs and cream and sugar. She placed it on the table and moved away. “There are muffins, but would you like me to run out for something else?”

Tommy looked to Victoria to answer. “No, thank you, but it’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said as she walked to the door. “Mr. Woodward, would you like me to hold your calls?”

“Yes, please.”

“She’s very young,” Victoria said.

“And I’d be lost without her,” he said as he poured her coffee and added a splash of milk remembering how she took it. “Most days she’s the reason I remember to eat.”

Victoria took the cup. “I know your grandfather is very proud of you, but also worried.”

“I’m fine,” he said as he sipped at his black coffee.

“You work too hard, kind of like someone I once knew,” Victoria said.

“I guess we had that in common,” he said.

“Or is it because you fell in love with her and wanted to give her everything her heart desired? I know part of the reason you bought this building was to give her a good life.” He was silent and she took his large hand in both of hers. Annabelle had said the scars on his fingers from years of woodwork were like splashes of paint on an artist’s skin. “How are you really?”

“I miss her,” he said.

“She’d want you to be happy and to move on.”

“Are we talking about the same Annabelle?” he laughed.

Victoria smiled. “Okay, maybe she was selfish, she spent most of your relationship in another state or across the ocean, but she loved you. And though she might find a way to throw arrows from the other side at the women you date, I know she wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

“And what about you, Victoria?” he asked as he looked into her eyes. “Can you move on?”

“This isn’t about me.” She patted his hand. “I’m old and I’ve lived my life. I have time to lick my wounds, but you’ve done that long enough. Molly tells me that Thomas says you don’t date and all you do is work.”

“I have a company to run. There isn’t much time for a social life.”

“Well, I just happen to know a lovely young woman who lives right next door to your grandfather.”

“So this is a setup?”

“Don’t think of it like that. I’m just saying that Heather’s talented, beautiful, and a travel writer for the
Globe
. Right now she’s single and, from what I can tell, a little lonely.” Victoria was
surprised at the boldness of her words. Who was she to speak of moving on, when she herself had such a hard time facing the future without Annabelle?

“From what I see, Heather has a great life with lots of friends and parties. She doesn’t need me.”

“You’re wrong. Most nights she sits alone working in her office.” She looked at him as if to say,
Like you
. “I’m just asking you to check in on her when you visit Thomas.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Victoria sipped her coffee to allow her time to form her next words. “I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye five years ago. I was a coward.”

“Victoria, I understood. You were hurting.”

“As were you,” she said. “I miss seeing you.”

“I’ve wanted to visit, but I didn’t know—”

“—if it would be too painful when we both miss her so deeply. I know.” She smiled. “You’re always welcome in my home. I hope you know that. I promise I’ll have Molly cook so you don’t have to endure my food.”

With that he laughed and she squeezed his hand. She hoped he’d be okay, that they both would.

T
om tried to focus on his work after Victoria left, but memories plagued him. He picked up the picture of Annabelle from his desk, one he’d taken during a walk in Hyde Park in the springtime. In the photo she laughed as the wind whipped her dress. She never strolled; she bounced—a springy skip as she looked at the world in wonder. She loved to spin with her arms out to the side feeling the cool air on her skin.

He placed the photo on his desk. It was his fault that Annabelle wasn’t with him. The day he took the picture he’d known something was wrong. He’d tried to keep her inside, bribing her with movies so she’d rest. She’d performed in three shows the days before, but sitting still wasn’t her strength. It was a sunny day, and she’d felt the urge to explore.

When she suddenly stopped, mid-bounce, and covered her eyes with her palms while shaking her head, he reached out to hold her steady. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a head rush.” She took a deep breath. “I think it passed. I’m fine.”

Her skin looked as pale as her hair. “Why don’t we go home and relax?”

“But you promised we’d go to the National Gallery.” She wrapped her hands around his arm and smiled. “And I have a craving for a cupcake from Covent Garden. I feel fine.”

He lived for her smile and he couldn’t deny her what she desired. He’d been so busy trying to give her the perfect life and make her happy that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him.

But Victoria wanted him to move on. Everyone did.

He looked at the work on his desk and the exhaustion grew. The thought of sitting on the beach in Nagog stargazing made him think of Heather.

He opened his browser, searched for the
Globe
’s website, and clicked on “Solo Female Traveler.” A picture of Heather in a black dress appeared at the top of the page. He scrolled down and began to read.

While visiting Africa I learned a little about the mating customs of monkeys. One day while sitting by the pool reading a
book at Mfuwe Lodge in Zambia, a monkey came down from the tree and sat in the chair next to me. I was frightened by the close proximity, but he looked at me with gentleness and stared as he rubbed his hands. I tried to ignore his presence, assuming he’d return to his tree, but instead he settled on the chair, crossed his legs mimicking my posture, and pretended to read a book. As I turned pages, he copied my actions.

Another monkey jumped onto the chair and tried to usurp my first suitor’s territory. The two battled, screaming at one another until the second monkey retreated.

My suitor turned his attention to me and puffed up his chest in pride. I guess he decided that he’d won my love because he moved toward my chair. I backed away, my muscles tightening as I put my arms up in defense.

In the end, I’d hurt his feelings and he turned away. From up in the tree I heard the sad sounds of rejection coming from my sweet monkey.

Tom laughed as he read the column. He could picture Heather sunning in her little shorts as the monkey tried to woo her. He continued to read back copies of her column, getting caught up in her adventures. Her childlike wonder at the places she described reminded him of Annabelle in a small way. He’d been avoiding Nagog and Heather, but now he wanted to hear her stories in person. Maybe Victoria was right: it was time to move on, if only to make a new friend.

T
he gears on Heather’s small car screamed as she tried to downshift and missed the notch. The road to Nagog was dark and she clicked on the high beams, wiping tears from her cheeks. It had been a grueling day. First, Charlie had been at her meeting with George at the
Globe,
where the two men had discussed her career as if she weren’t even in the room. It had been the first encounter with Charlie since their blowout at the party.

George had left early that night and hadn’t been privy to their fight, but Heather was certain he’d heard about it from coworkers. The office was thick with tension as Charlie told George that it would be at least another year before anything on the Travel Channel would even start to be in motion. Then he discussed a book deal that he was working on with a publisher in New York, which was news to Heather. Last, George turned to Heather and told her he wanted the four columns about vacationing close to home at a lake by the end of next week—a nearly impossible request.

As they left the office, Charlie told her that he needed the first one hundred pages of her new book ready and edited in twenty-one days, a book that, so far, had only a sample chapter written. Then he walked away without an apology for humiliating her
the night of the party, or further comments on her career. She’d wanted to fire him on the spot, but the chance of a book deal meant she was stuck with him.

Feeling overloaded emotionally and mentally, Heather called Gina to meet for drinks. As soon as Heather walked into the bar in the North End, she knew it was going to be a bad night. Gina was with Michard, and the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other as they nuzzled. Heather felt like the third wheel while she suffered through a glass of wine and finally excused herself.

As she pulled into her driveway, her shoulders ached with stress. She needed a good, cleansing breakdown to lift the tension, but it wouldn’t come. Afraid of waking Thomas, she gently opened and closed her car door, then walked onto her lit deck.

“Hi,” Tom said.

Heather jumped and held her heart.

He sat at the far end of her deck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I was enjoying your new furniture and stargazing.”

“Glad you like it.” With her head down, she walked into the house.

Heather changed out of her black dress and into shorts and T-shirt, then sat on her window seat and brushed her hair. Tom wore his usual jeans and T-shirt. He reclined on her deck chair, his muscular arms around his head as he stared at the sky.

He grabbed a beer from his cooler and looked up to her window. “Want to join me?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Come down and have a drink with me,” he said.

She didn’t need more drama tonight, but the loneliness she’d felt at the bar stirred in her heart. She gave in and went downstairs. The night air felt warm and thick as she stepped
outside. Mosquitoes flew around a bug lamp in Sarah and Carl’s yard.

“You looked fantastic in that dress. Party tonight?” He handed her an opened beer.

She took it without question, sat and took a sip, shocked at the sweetness in the bottle. “This is root beer.”

His grin deepened the cleft in his chin. From the cooler, he grabbed two frosty mugs filled with vanilla ice cream. “I had a craving.” He placed a straw in the pink cup and pushed it across the table.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Sucking up for forgiveness. I took something out on you, and I don’t play the jerk well,” he said.

“So you thought you’d wait for me on my deck, not knowing when I might be home or who I’d be with?”

“Your deck has the best view of the stars besides the beach.” He pulled his hand through his hair. “If you walked in with someone then I would’ve looked the fool . . . the way I know I made you feel the night I helped you move boxes. If you were alone I’d get a chance to apologize. Either way, my conscience might leave me alone.”

The lake looked like glass, and an owl hooted in the woods. She took a deep breath filled with the scent of roses and let the serenity of the scene seep into her frayed nerves.