by Nancy Thayer
“You don’t seem to take my job seriously,” Josh muttered.
“What? How did we get to—” They were back on muddy ground, the swampland of their marriage. She didn’t want an argument this evening. They were going to a cookout. They were going to meet people. Calming down, she said pacifically, “I know you’re working hard, Josh. I appreciate it. I do.”
She put her arms around Josh, her husband, her beloved. With his thick, naturally frenzied red hair, sparkling green eyes, and freckled skin, it was difficult for him to appear as brilliant as she knew he was. Thirty-five, yet he looked like a kid. A good-natured, athletic, dreamy boy who fantasized about playing for the Red Sox. “Maybe we’ll make some contacts at the cookout,” she told him.
Josh kissed the top of her head and swept his son up into his arms. “Come on, champ, we’re going to a party.”
Outside, they chose the smaller, easier stroller and strapped Petey in. They went down the driveway, past Morgan’s SUV and Josh’s black Cadillac Escalade, which looked, Morgan thought, like something the CIA would use.
Be good, Morgan warned herself. Look around! It was June, perhaps her favorite month, warm and fresh and full of the promise of summer.
Bella and Aaron strolled along the lake road until they came to the Hortons’ house. Ben was parked in front, unloading the Jeep. Bella’s father was on the lawn, setting up the croquet wickets. Her mother was sitting on the porch in a rocking chair. Beside her sat the new woman from next door, Natalie, very thin and sophisticated, all in black.
Aaron called, “Hang on, Ben, I’ll help you.” He handed his bottles of wine to Bella and joined Ben at the Jeep. Together the men hefted the folding beach chairs out of the back of the Jeep and carried them around the Hortons’ house to the lawn sloping down to the beach.
Bella cuddled the three bottles against her. She noticed the new woman studying Ben. Good luck to you, Bella thought.
Ben was good-looking, with the Barnabys’ blond hair and blue eyes. Half of her high school friends had had crushes on him, even while he’d been a totally clueless geek, his nose always in a book, staying late to work on projects for the science fair.
In college, he’d had a serious long-term girlfriend, another science nerd. Vickie could have been pretty if she’d cared to, but she was almost aggressively fashion-unconscious. Her nice figure had been hidden beneath baggy jeans and loose tee shirts. Usually, they had arcane quotes on them, like “Resistance is not futile. It’s voltage divided by current.” In the winter, she wore hoodie sweatshirts instead of sweaters and often forgot to wear a coat. Ben and Vickie broke up after graduation. He went on to Stanford. She went to Harvard. Now she was doing postdoctoral work in London. They remained science buddies who emailed now and then.
When Ben was working on his doctorate in California, he dated other women; Bella knew because she flew out a couple of times to visit him. These women were a new breed—ambitious, intensely intellectual, and not interested in long-term affairs. They were Bella’s introduction to the less starry-eyed side of sexuality, and while she placed no value judgment on what Ben had with them, it made her vaguely sad. But then Bella was a hopeless romantic.
When Ben returned three years ago as an assistant professor at U. Mass.–Amherst, he was a grown-up, a serious adult. He rented an apartment in Amherst but came home often for meals or to sail. It was only a fifteen-minute drive. Today he looked familiar, her normal brother, clad in khaki shorts and an old tee shirt.
Bella went up the steps to the front porch. “Hey, Mom.”
“Join us, honey.” Louise gestured toward the wicker sofa. “Natalie, this is my daughter Bella.”
“Hi, Natalie.” Bella smiled at the woman sitting next to her mother, even as she cringed just a little inside. Natalie looked so sophisticated with her cropped black curls and no jewelry. She looked like the smart girl in high school, the one who always rolled her eyes at Bella. Bella was smart, but she was petite, only five two, with blue eyes, blond hair, and what older people always praised as a “sweet” face.
Natalie grinned shyly. “Hi, Bella. I think you and I might have met once or twice when we were kids. When Slade and I came to the lake for a week in the summer.”
Bella nodded, although what she remembered most about next door was Eleanor Clark. She was glamorous, a wealthy interior designer from Boston’s most chichi area. During July and August, her driveway was lined with convertibles and sports cars and even a Jaguar, with license plates from as far away as California. When Bella was younger and Bella’s older sister, Beatrice, wasn’t married yet, they used to hide in the attic with their parents’ field glasses, spying on all the golden people languidly lounging on Eleanor’s back deck in their very abbreviated bathing suits. It was better than HBO.
Bella remembered also, vaguely, Natalie and her brother, Slade, from past summers when they visited their aunt Eleanor: two scrawny, pale kids who seemed uncomfortable outdoors. Their mother and father never came to the lake house. The kids would wade from their aunt’s beach into the lake, rushing right back out, clutching their arms, complaining that the water was too cold. The girl shrieked when she turned over a log and found bugs. The boy spent a lot of time in the forest, often carrying a book and studying tree trunks, which Bella had thought kind of weird and kind of intriguing.
If she remembered correctly, the brother had been pretty cute. Movie star cute. Black hair, like Natalie’s.
“I remember,” Bella told Natalie. She settled on the edge of the sofa, cradling the three bottles of wine in her arms. “Seems like a long time ago.”
“It was,” Natalie agreed. For a moment, she dropped her gaze, looking pensive.
Louise announced brightly, “Natalie’s an artist.”
Bella said, “Yes, I heard that. What sort of art?”
Natalie cleared her throat. “I paint. I’ve studied art for several years now, most recently in New York. But I’ve always had to work full-time as a waitress or sales clerk to pay the rent and buy food, so I’ve never had a chance to concentrate on my work. When Aunt Eleanor asked me to watch her summer house for her, it was an answer to my prayers.” Talking about her work transformed her. She was prettier, more engaging. “What do you do, Bella?”
“I teach,” Bella began. “Well, I taught. Hey, I’ve got to get these bottles into a cooler. No one wants warm white wine. Want to walk around to the back with me?”
Natalie glanced at Louise.
“Go on, you two,” Louise said. “Grace asked me to sit out front and tell people where to put their stuff.” As she spoke, an older couple came up the lawn to speak to her.
Natalie rose, extending a hand. “Here,” she said to Bella. “I’ll carry one of the bottles.”
Bella and Natalie went down the steps and around the side of the house. Almost a dozen people were on the back lawn, setting up tables and chairs, firing up the grill, going in and out of the kitchen. Bella found a cooler full of ice for the wine.
“I don’t like to talk about it in front of my mother,” Bella confessed to Natalie, “but when you asked what I do—well, it’s a complicated question. I’ve taught third grade for a few years. Last Christmas my mother broke her leg, so I came back to help her and to run her shop for her.”
Natalie leaned against the deck railing. “Her shop?”
“Barnaby’s Barn.” Bella joined her against the railing, and they both gazed out at the water. “She sells children’s things, mostly. Handmade clothing. Handmade wooden cradles. She’s kind of an artist herself, but not like you. She makes these miniature collections called Lake Worlds.” Bella always felt protective of her mother when she spoke about her creations.
“Lake Worlds?” Natalie prompted.
“When we were children, Mom invented stories for us about the creatures who lived around Dragonfly Lake. Darling Deer and her family for Beat—that’s my older sister. Her name is really Beatrice. Timid Toad and his warty family for Ben, and Busy Bunny for me. Barton Bear
for Brady.”
Natalie’s eyes flicked toward the woods. “Are there bears around here?”
“There could be, but don’t worry, I’ve never seen one.”
Natalie relaxed. “So go on.”
“Well, our friends were crazy for the dolls, so Mom made more animals for birthday and Christmas presents, complete with miniature nests and lairs. I’ll show you sometime. She began to get phone calls from parents, offering to pay her if she’d create a set of animals for their children. At the same time, a small barn just on the outskirts of Amherst came up for sale. So she got the idea for her shop. That was sixteen years ago.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, the money helped a bit, especially when we all started college, but Mom didn’t particularly care about the money. She enjoyed creating Lake Worlds and seeing children’s faces when they came into the shop. But while her leg healed over the past few months, I’ve run the shop for her.”
Natalie tilted her head, studying Bella. “Do you enjoy running it?”
Bella looked back at Natalie. She liked her frank question. “Truthfully? I do, but … have you ever had a great idea at the back of your mind and it won’t come quite clear?”
Natalie threw back her head and laughed. “All the time!”
Aaron approached them, glasses of Pinot Grigio in his hands. “Ladies?” he offered, with a pretentious bow.
“I’d love some.” Natalie took a glass.
“Natalie, this is my boyfriend, Aaron,” Bella said. She stumbled over the introduction. What should she call him? He was certainly more man than boy. They weren’t engaged yet, but they were definitely not merely friends.
Aaron turned toward Natalie, and Bella thought how proud she was to be his girlfriend—or whatever she was. Aaron wasn’t provocative like an underwear ad, but he gave off an air of steadiness, rock-solid capability, competence. If he’d been a surgeon, Bella would have let him operate on her. If he’d been a pilot, she’d have boarded any plane he flew.
But he was an architect, and he was aimed toward California.
Natalie was asking Aaron, “What kind of architecture do you prefer? Or perhaps the question should be, who are your favorite architects?”
More guests were arriving at the party, all carrying an offering: a bottle of wine or a casserole or a tray of deviled eggs. Bella saw her mother and father stroll down to the water’s edge, leaning toward each other as they talked. Something had happened since Louise broke her leg, Bella thought. Her parents had always been a team, but now they seemed even closer. She’d talk it over sometime with Ben, if she could drag his attention away from his work for a second or two.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Ben came up the steps to the deck and joined their group.
Natalie sensed an eager click in her chest when Ben approached. She believed she’d developed a certain sort of judgment from all her years of painting, like an organic and obstinate lock growing right below her diaphragm. She would arrange objects for a still life—a vase, a silver platter, a bunch of grapes—and the lock stayed stubbornly shut. She’d remove the grapes, lay a sheaf of daffodils across the platter, and click!—the reluctant lock snapped open. So she knew when a painting was right for her.
That same click! startled her when she saw Ben face-to-face. Something inside her opened to him. She thought she gasped; she hoped no one noticed.
Next to her, Bella stirred. “Natalie, this is my brother Ben. Ben, this is Eleanor Clark’s niece, Natalie …?”
Natalie supplied her last name. “Reynolds.”
Bella nodded. “Right. She’s living here this summer.”
Ben gave Natalie a preoccupied hello.
Natalie returned a lukewarm “Hi”; she didn’t want to appear eager.
“Great day,” Aaron said. “Have you been swimming yet?”
Ben answered, “Not yet. The water’s still cold. But I got the canoe out last weekend.”
Bella slid her arm through Aaron’s. “Could you help me set out the salads? I think they’re getting ready to eat.” She deftly pulled Aaron away.
Ben stood near Natalie, saying nothing.
“So,” Natalie asked, “you live on the lake, too, right?”
Without looking at her, Ben answered, “Not really. I mean, I grew up here, but, technically, my parents’ house is no longer my home. I’m thirty-two now. I moved out years ago. I live in Amherst.”
“I see. What do you do?”
“I teach at U. Mass.–Amherst,” he said as he cast a sideways glance at her and blushed deeply.
Well, ha! she thought, he was as attracted to her as she was to him. She angled her body toward him, lifting her face toward his. “What do you teach?”
“Chemical engineering.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his shorts, as if afraid of what they’d do left out on their own.
She confessed, “I’m not sure I know what chemical engineering is.”
“Most people don’t.”
She persisted. “Give me a try.”
He hesitated, then shot her another quick glance. He blushed again. “I heard you say you’re an artist.”
She smiled wryly. “True. But that doesn’t make me an idiot.”
Ben checked her face, as if to be sure she wasn’t ridiculing him, then told her, “Chemical engineering is more or less the combination of chemistry and physics with biosciences to create and construct new materials or techniques. Like nanotechnology or new fuels.”
“Oh, well, if you put it that way, then it’s perfectly clear,” Natalie teased.
Ben had pale blue eyes streaked with white, like shards of icebergs, as if a shield of cold protected the deep and complicated depths. He had long, thick lashes, too, and shaggy blond hair. But he wasn’t surfer-boy tempting, he was grown-up tempting. He looked reflective, resolute.
And clueless. He didn’t seem to get the fun in her voice. He seemed, in fact, insulted. She hurried to appease him, because she really didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Maybe I could understand it a bit better if you gave me more details.”
“I’m working on hierarchical porous materials.”
“Okay …”
“We’re looking for a way to convert wood-based biomass into oil.”
“Fuel.”
“Right.”
“Got it. Sounds important.”
“It could be. I hope it will be.” He continued talking, enthusiastic now, explaining his lab, his grad students, the papers he’d had published in scientific journals she’d never heard of. As he talked, it was as if a light had gone on inside him. Natalie understood; she had her own light.
“There you are!” Louise Barnaby came onto the deck, carrying a toddler in her arms, followed by the appealing young couple Natalie had seen two houses down from Aunt Eleanor’s. “Natalie, I want you to meet Morgan and Josh O’Keefe. Oh, and I mustn’t forget Petey, their son.”
Petey clung to Louise with wide eyes.
“Say ‘Hi,’ Petey,” Morgan urged. The boy blinked. “It will take him a while. With the move, all the new people, so much change … He’s really a pretty gregarious little guy.”
Louise asked, “Morgan, didn’t you say Felicity Horton has babysat for Petey once or twice?”
“She has. Petey adores her.” Morgan added, “I do, too. She’s fifteen and still more Anne of Green Gables than Beyoncé.”
“Well, then, Petey, let’s go find Felicity!” Louise carried the baby away.
“Hi. I’m Josh.” Robust and red-haired, he sported a Rolex on his wrist.
Morgan held out her hand to Natalie. “I’m Morgan. You must be the artist, right?” She wore her long brown hair loose to her shoulders. She was tall, thin, and lanky, athletic-looking.
The O’Keefes introduced themselves to Ben, and for a while the four chatted amiably about the lake, the party, the long-awaited arrival of summer.
Morgan turned to face the lake. “This is our favorite time of day. I love to sit on
the deck with a drink and see the light show.”
“It’s your favorite time of day,” Josh corrected mildly. “I’m usually driving home from work, if I’m lucky enough to leave that early.”
“Where do you work?” Natalie asked.
“At Bio-Green Industries.”
“In that new facility on the outskirts of Amherst?”
“Right. We’re working on plant technology, trying to find a way to propagate plants without the use of chemical enhancements.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Ben lifted his glass. He informed the others, “I’m a chemical engineer at the university. Working on biofuels.”
In a wry voice, Morgan said, “Oh, Ben. Just the kind of person who makes my life miserable.”
Puzzled, Natalie glanced at the two of them.
Ben asked Morgan mildly, “What do you do?”
“I was a biological and chemical safety officer at Weathersfield College outside Boston. I specialize in hazardous waste management.” Noticing Natalie’s perplexed expression, Morgan explained, “Chemical engineers and biosafety officers are natural enemies. Chemical engineers are more cavalier with the rules than chemists; they assume that because they’re working with small amounts of chemicals, they don’t have to be as careful and they can skirt the rules—”
“And biosafety officers take up all our precious time insisting we fill out piles of forms and nitpicking our every move when we’re trying to, oh, save the world!” Ben shot back. “We do not dump any chemicals down the drain. My lab is spotless.”
“Gosh, I’d love to see it someday,” Morgan replied wistfully.
Josh chuckled. “That’s my wife. Hand her safety goggles and gloves and she’s blissed-out.”
“I’ll take you through anytime,” Ben told her. “Did you hear about the terrible accident at UNH?”
“No. What happened?” Morgan leaned forward, fixated.
All around them, families and couples gathered in clusters on the deck and in the yard, sipping beer and wine, yelling orders at their kids, telling jokes, laughing. A teenage girl played on the beach with Petey. A yellow Lab wagged through the crowd, looking hopefully for dropped crumbs. Delicious aromas drifted through the air.
