by Wendy Wax
“No, I don’t want to go to lunch. No, I don’t want you to come here,” Emma said. “No, don’t keep calling and guilting people into putting me on the line with you.” Emma drew another breath, but she couldn’t stop the words rushing from her lips. Not that she made any great effort to do so. “No, I don’t want your credit card on account at the Sagamore or anywhere else. No more gifts. No more anything. No means no. Nothing. Nyet.”
“But . . .”
Emma disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Mackenzie.
They were all still staring at her.
“What’s going on?” Serena asked.
“Eve is still in New York. She claims she wants to come up and have lunch or something.”
“Because?” Mackenzie asked.
“How the hell would I know?” Emma replied. “I’ve never understood anything she’s done or more to the point didn’t do. But I have no doubt she has some ulterior motive.”
Zoe had been watching the conversation as one might a tennis match. “Do you think maybe she just wants to try to make up for everything?”
“That would be nice, Zoe, but highly unlikely,” Emma said more quietly.
“I’m sorry for giving you the phone,” Mackenzie said. “It just felt wrong to have enjoyed her gift and then tell her to go screw herself.”
“It’s not wrong,” Emma said, attempting to at least approximate calm even if she didn’t feel it. “As soon as she sees a chink in anyone’s armor she goes in for the kill. It’s not wrong. It’s self-preservation.”
In Emma’s dreams that night Eve hovered above her like a dark cloud. Large and menacing she obliterated the light of a summer moon that was trying to shine down on some odd forest/closet combination whose floor appeared to be covered with what was either lush grass or really old green shag carpet.
The cloud glowered above the girl, who cowered on the forest/closet floor, imploring her to behave like a Michaels. But this time the cowering red-haired girl wasn’t Emma. It was Zoe.
“No!” Emma fought to reach her daughter’s side, determined to shield her from the cloud that even now was changing shape. But Zoe remained just out of reach.
Whoever the set decorator is in this dream should be fired. Gran’s voice sounded in her head, wry and comforting. There’s a reason green shag didn’t survive the seventies.
Not funny. Emma watched in horror as Zoe straightened, took a step toward Eve. But Zoe didn’t beg permission not to act as Emma once had. She was demanding the right to be onstage. She wanted to perform.
This is not your movie, darling. It’s Zoe’s, Gran’s voice whispered.
But she’s too young to know what she wants.
You knew. Gran’s voice was warm. I wouldn’t have done what I did if I’d had any doubt.
But she has no idea what the business can do to a person. Fingers of fear trailed along Emma’s spine. The fear was not for herself.
No. But Zoe has something you did not. She could feel Gran’s smile.
What’s that?
A mother who will be there to help her navigate. One who will have her best interests at heart.
Zoe and the closet faded. Emma didn’t wake, but she could still feel her grandmother’s presence even as the images changed. In the new dream Emma was nine or ten. Her parents were home for a visit. Eve and Rex had even tucked her into bed. But something woke her, some sound.
Quietly she padded into the kitchen of the Hollywood Hills house to get a drink of water. She’d set the empty glass on the counter, when something moved out near the pool house. Emma went to the window and peered out. It was Eve barefoot and wearing a lacy white peignoir that floated around her like a cloud. Emma pressed her nose to the glass, unable to look away as her mother backed away from the pool house window, sagged into the nearest chaise, and dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she cried.
Your father was never meant for marriage or fatherhood. Gran’s voice was soft, filled with regret. And your mother knew it; she believed if she looked the other way it would cease to exist.
I married a man just like my father. Only I told myself it was for more noble reasons. But I was just afraid. Emma wished Gran were here now and not just in her head and her dreams, but the nightmare images had faded. What does Eve want from me? Why won’t she leave me alone?
I’m not sure. Gran’s voice sounded less certain.
But I thought you were supposed to know all and see all.
Gran’s face wavered before her. An amused smile on her lips. You’re thinking of those Johnny Carson episodes I let you watch. When Johnny played Carnac the Magnificent. Emma felt as much as heard her grandmother’s sigh. The afterlife doesn’t work like that. Sometimes there’s too much static. Sometimes a person has so many motives it’s hard to tell which ones matter.
Twenty-one
The day dawned clear and bright with a pale blue sky, pulled-cotton clouds, and a bright yellow ball of sun vaulting up into it. A faint breeze teased at the tree branches and shrubs but barely raised a ripple on the calm waters of the lake. It was a day that belonged on a postcard with the words “Wish You Were Here” scrawled across the bottom. A postcard Mackenzie would definitely not be sending to her husband.
They stood on the dock in their bathing suits and cover-ups, clutching beach bags and towels. A picnic basket and a cooler filled with food and drinks sat at Nadia’s feet. “I carry, no problem,” she’d said when Mackenzie had finished packing it with an array of goodies Martha had left for them.
The nurse had been smiling since she’d returned from her day off the day before last, but had so far offered no clue as to where she’d been or what she’d done. Her smile was pure Mona Lisa—if the Mona Lisa could have bench-pressed six hundred pounds and had short spiky blond hair. And if da Vinci had thought to paint her in a pair of cutoffs that exposed tree trunk thighs and a halter bathing suit top that left her muscular shoulders and arms bare. A tattoo in the shape of the Soviet Union with Cupid’s arrow through it had been inked on her back just behind her right shoulder.
Having the blessing and curse of the Michaels red-gold hair and white skin, Emma and Zoe slathered sunscreen all over each other then donned sunglasses and baseball caps—Emma’s covered the uneven new growth that was a stark reminder of what she’d been through and how vulnerable she still was.
Mackenzie, who’d made it through one of the coldest Indiana winters on record, took the lotion bottle when they were done and applied it liberally. Her beach bag had a long-sleeved T-shirt and a towel. Serena, who’d grown up in a southern family that prized smooth creamy complexions on its women, did the same. Only Nadia, whose bare limbs were, according to Serena, “as white as a field of new cotton,” didn’t bother with sunscreen.
“Want color. Was told it good with my hair and eyes.”
The Richardses arrived in The Mohican, a gleaming mahogany twenty-two footer with pinstriped decks, and a flag that flew from the stern. It reeked of 1920s glamour, and Mackenzie wouldn’t have been surprised to see Jay Gatsby behind the wheel, although Jake Richards didn’t look too bad there, either.
“She’s gorgeous,” Emma said over the rumble of the engine as Jake handed her into the front seat then reached a hand out to Zoe.
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” Jake said gallantly. “I could say the same for all of you.”
Nadia handed the cooler and picnic basket to Ryan, who stowed it on the rear seat and then offered a hand to help the rest of them aboard.
Mackenzie, Serena, and Ryan sat in the bench seat behind Jake, Emma, and Zoe while Nadia happily claimed the seat behind the engine deck, which she shared with their picnic basket and cooler.
The engine’s rumble turned throatier as Jake put the throttle in gear then pushed off from the dock to motor out of the cove. Once in open water he gave it gas. The rumble rose to a roar
and the bow rose as The Mohican gained speed.
Cool air buffeted them as the boat planed off and began to skim over the lake’s sun-dappled surface. Jake drove with one hand, his other arm slung across Emma’s seat back. Zoe’s ponytail poked through her cap and flew out behind her. When he thought no one was looking, Ryan reached up and gave it a tug. When she turned he feigned ignorance. But as soon as she turned around he tugged it again. Their laughter, along with Emma’s and Jake’s, floated lightly above the sound of the engine. It was a glorious day to be alive, and Mackenzie could feel Emma treasuring each moment of it.
Everyone they passed noticed The Mohican. A friendly lot, the boaters pointed and waved and called out as the classic wooden boat swept by.
Mackenzie rested her elbow on the side and tried to take in everything at once: the tree-covered islands that flashed by, the white frothy wakes they cut across, the birds winging their way through the summer sky. Her mind wandered to Adam and she pulled it back. She had tried to stop counting the days that had passed without a call from him (five) but found herself ticking them off like a castaway on a desert island beach. Yesterday there’d been a quick text—headed to meeting, how r u?—which had caused her to waste an entire thirty minutes debating whether to respond. Finally she’d settled on an even briefer “fine,” which she did not even bother to punctuate. He’d asked a question; she’d answered. Done.
The Mohican turned north and began to hug the eastern shore. Jake had informed them that since it had been years since they’d been out on the lake together, even Emma and Zoe were going to be treated like tourists. He pointed out the sights along the way and as they passed what he identified as Fourteen Mile Island and Shelving Rock, he cut speed. “We’re entering the Narrows here,” he called back to them, and sure enough the lake shrank to about a mile across with the Black Mountain range to their right and Tongue Mountain to their left. Deftly, Jake began weaving through a cluster of small, tree-covered islands strewn across the lake like dice. “There are a lot of shoals and shallows through here so we’ll have to take it slow, but to my mind it’s the prettiest section.”
Jake knew what he was talking about. They’d been on the lake many times over the years while visiting with Emma but while Mackenzie saw things she recognized, she’d forgotten just how beautiful the lake and its surrounds were. How visceral an impact such natural grandeur could instill. As they entered the aptly named Paradise Bay, they fell silent. The jagged shoreline was shrouded in trees whose branches skimmed the water and cloaked the rock face that rose to tower above it. Encircled by lush green mountainside, the bay was secluded and magical. Boats of all sizes floated on the deep blue water. “There’s no anchoring or rafting to other boats here,” Jake said as he idled the engine. “It’s crowded this time of year. And with the tour boats always coming through, the locals typically stay away. But it’s a hard spot to resist.
“In the early nineteenth century the rich folk who populated the mansions on Millionaires’ Row used to bring guests here in steam-driven yachts for afternoon tea and sometimes for dinner,” Jake said.
“Ah, yes, as opposed to you poor peasants who’ve owned acres and acres of land here since the seventeen hundreds,” Emma teased back. “Jake has little respect for us upstarts who didn’t arrive until the eighteen hundreds.” It was wonderful to see the easy smile on her lips and the saucy tilt of her head.
They floated companionably, cradled in the sleek wooden boat that creaked comfortably beneath them. The breeze was soft, the temperature somewhere in the seventies. Occasionally a puffy cloud passed in front of the sun.
“Can we go over to Calves Pen and do some cliff jumping for a while?” Ryan asked his father.
Nadia, who had stretched out on the deck with a contented sigh and whose large expanses of white skin could undoubtedly be spotted from outer space, roused for this. “Miz Mickhels not jumping off cliffs. Not even over dead body.”
Emma smiled impishly. “And here the only thing that’s kept me going is the possibility of flinging myself from a cliff again sometime soon.”
There was a ripple of laughter.
“I know that’s what I live for,” Serena said. “Not.” She’d turned in her seat and brought her knees up to her chest. Her dark hair had been mostly tucked up under her hat, but wisps of it fluttered around her face. “I think the yacht tea parties sound way more attractive. I can just picture the white glove service and silver tea set with Paradise in the background.”
“Your mother was a stellar cliff jumper back in the day,” Jake informed Zoe. “Though I don’t think she ever managed to keep her eyes open on the way down.”
“Ha, that shows how much attention you were paying,” Emma retorted.
Jake made no reply, but from the look on his face, Mackenzie suspected that Jake had been paying plenty of attention.
“I could take you one day if you want,” Ryan said to Zoe. “I’ve got a twelve-foot runabout. And I don’t head up to school until after Labor Day.” The girl smiled up at him, and Mackenzie had the feeling Zoe’s reluctance to leave her mother’s side might have met its match. Emma and Zoe slathered on sunscreen and pulled their baseball caps lower on their heads. Serena shrugged into a long-sleeved T-shirt and straightened her straw hat. Mackenzie did the same.
“Nadia?” Emma offered the nurse the bottle of sunscreen, but the woman shook her head slowly; her normally vigilant eyes looked ready to close. “I know it’s clouded over a bit, but the sun is strong and it’s reflecting off the lake.”
“Is okay,” Nadia replied. “My skin strong. Like me.”
“Anybody else ready for lunch?” Jake asked when his son’s rumbling stomach made itself heard.
It seemed all of them were and so they motored through the bay to nearby Hazel Island, which Jake had finagled a last-minute permit for. There Jake eased the boat up to a temporary dock. Despite both Richardses’ offers of help, Nadia hefted the cooler smoothly to her chest then up to one impressive shoulder. The path they followed was strewn with pine needles and led to a picnic site comprising a large wooden table, a grill, a fire pit, and a breathtaking view down the Narrows. They munched on thick tuna and ham sandwiches, gobbled down cut fruit and potato salad, then dawdled over Martha’s duly famous chocolate chip cookies.
Jake, Ryan, and Zoe waded out into the water. Nadia followed behind them.
“So what are we thinking for Zoe’s birthday?” Mackenzie asked when they were out of earshot.
“Eve’s idea of dinner and a show in the city would be a good one except I don’t think any of us have the energy. I’m even thinking about doing my next recording session by phone patch from up here,” Serena said.
“As I’m pretty sure I mentioned last night, I’m not up for anything Eve suggests,” Emma said.
“Yeah, we got that,” Serena replied. “But Zoe brought up an interesting point. I mean, has Eve ever worked this hard to connect with you before?”
They both watched Emma’s face. Mackenzie was surprised to see Emma seemingly considering the question.
“No.” Emma’s admission was reluctant.
“Maybe you almost dying forced her to see things differently,” Mackenzie said. “I know it’s made me think about a lot of things in a way I never have.”
Serena nodded. “It’s pretty hard not to.”
Emma looked out over the water. “Well, I guess anything’s possible, but I definitely wouldn’t count on it.”
Zoe’s laughter reached them, followed by the sounds of serious splashing. There was a victorious shout in Russian.
“All right, so we’re going to be celebrating locally. Why don’t we just chill and cook out. And maybe let Zoe pick a film?” Mackenzie suggested.
“It doesn’t sound very exciting for such a milestone birthday,” Emma said.
“All things considered, I don’t think she’s expecting an extravaganz
a,” Mackenzie said. “I have no doubt your daughter would be the first to say that having you back among the living is present enough.”
“I know what’ll make it more exciting,” Serena said with a nod toward the four who were headed back to the boat. “Invite Ryan and Jake. And we’ll pile on some extra presents. Maybe even start the day with birthday cake for breakfast like we used to do back in the day.”
A short time later they climbed back into The Mohican for the ride back to the lake house, where they arrived pleasantly tired, happily windblown, and satisfyingly sun kissed.
As it turned out, some of them had been kissed harder than others. Emma looked the healthiest Serena had seen her, with a touch of color in her cheeks and a couple of new freckles across the bridge of her nose, while Zoe’s glow was a combination of sun, youth, and a budding crush on a good-looking boy. Mackenzie, like Serena, had fared pretty well. Only Nadia moved carefully, her arms held away from her body like the Tin Man in need of an oilcan, her face a shade of red that hurt to look at.
The woman who could bench-press the lot of them took each front step at a turtle’s pace, expending a great deal of effort not to bend her knees, brush her legs together, or allow her arms to touch her sides. They gathered on the porch above her unsure what to do.
“Are you okay?” Serena asked though it was obvious she wasn’t.
“Nyet.” Nadia said this quietly, careful not to shake her head or even move her lips more than necessary. “I too hot. Too . . . red.”
“But you could land a job as a stop sign if you ever get tired of nursing.” Serena winced as the words tumbled out. “Sorry.”
“Don’t make laugh,” Nadia said. “It hurt.” She continued to speak with as little movement as possible, but the shock in her voice matched what showed in her eyes. “I burnt. Turn red like lobster.”
“Okay,” Emma said. “Before we go any further I think we should go ahead and take ‘I told you so’ off the table.”
