A Week at the Lake

by Wendy Wax

  The woman I fell in love with ran away from that kind of life. She even learned to trust in love at first sight. I’m not sure what’s happened to that woman. I haven’t seen her for a while.

  She pushed off the fence and let her feet lead her where they would, Adam’s words filling her mind.

  The next thing she knew she was standing in front of the basement apartment on Jones Street, staring at the double window that had provided the only daylight in the tiny studio apartment. Her drawing board/dining room table/desk had been shoved up against that window. Her bed had been a double mattress that sat on the hardwood floor. It was on that mattress that she’d first made love with Adam, the first male who had not found her too tall, too big, too awkward. He’d claimed she was “just right” for him. Had always said their bodies fit together perfectly. And yet he’d made a child with Emma—who was small and curvy and as opposite to Mackenzie as a woman could possibly be.

  She felt a burst of pain. A yawning chasm of loss. A pulsing anger.

  She turned away from the tiny daylight apartment where the life she’d once imagined had loomed so large, where each day had held so much promise. Where she’d believed she had the strength and talent to achieve her dreams, the courage to become whatever and whomever she wanted.

  But she had only been fooling herself. She had not been certain or courageous. Not on the inside where it mattered most. Her steps slowed even as her thoughts raced. Adam’s certainty had never wavered. His self-confidence, which had drawn her just as surely as his earnest brown eyes and lean good looks, had remained absolute regardless of the situation in which he’d found himself. And he’d been right to hold on, hadn’t he? While she’d done nothing but despair over her childlessness and stake out her spot in his shadow.

  Adam had said he loved her, couldn’t imagine his life without her. Could she believe him? Should she trust him? And how could she ever trust herself when she’d failed so miserably to become the woman she’d meant to be?

  She spotted the subway station ahead and picked up her pace. She didn’t want to be somebody’s helper, not even Adam’s. And she didn’t want to blog or write a book about the things she wasn’t and didn’t have. So many things she knew she didn’t want. And no idea what she did want or what she was willing to do to get it.

  She was almost to the station when the text dinged in. It was from Zoe. It’s mom. We need you. Please come! An Upper East Side address followed.

  Your throat sounds practically back to normal,” Wes Harrison said to Serena when they’d completed the first take. “What did you do for it?”

  “Thanks.” She cleared her throat noisily realizing that she’d forgotten how close to laryngitis she’d played it when she’d called in sick. She studied Wes, fighting back the urge to name some completely gag-inducing concoction of, say, equal parts urine and chopped-up cactus spine. “Oh, you know, just the usual.” Which could be warm honey or hot tea with lemon or warm salt water or any number of fixes that people who relied on their voices for a living depended on. Even though in her case it actually involved shrugging off decades of ancient memories and wrongful yearnings, a cure she couldn’t quite see Wes embracing. Lauri Strauss pouted over in a corner, an indication that Wes had already moved on.

  Serena stretched happily while they waited for the next playback. She had, in fact, drunk wine in the garden and eaten ice cream for dinner then proceeded to have one of the best night’s sleep she could remember. She felt light and untethered. Joyful. In fact, the only clouds on her lovely horizon were her former friends Emma and Mackenzie, who had once again ceased to be a part of her life.

  “Let’s try this one slightly bitchier,” Ethan’s voice rang out in the studio. “Even though you’re not giving him the fan, you are extremely ticked off.”

  Ethan’s concern over her health when she’d arrived that afternoon had made her feel slightly guilty. She’d seen his surprise when she’d accepted his hug and cheek kisses with a beatific smile. It was the first time since she’d known him that she hadn’t been thinking about some other man in his presence.

  Wes eyed her suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Right as rain.” She smiled. She was still smiling when she let Georgia tear into him with a comedic intensity that had everyone in the control room gasping with laughter. Even Lauri’s pout had tipped up into a smile. The take was, in fact, golden. Serena took an exaggerated bow and blew faux kisses into her microphone. “Gee, can I try that again?” she asked sweetly. “I think I can go a shade or two nastier.”

  Wes blanched but Ethan gave her the go-ahead. When the session was over Ethan met her out in the hallway, where they watched Wes stalk off. Lauri, who had apparently learned how to cut her losses much earlier than Serena ever had, walked up to the board engineer and batted her eyelashes at him. If the girl behaved herself perhaps she’d teach her how to use the fan.

  “You were in great form this afternoon, Serena,” Ethan said. His voice and eyes were admiring.

  “Thanks, but I bet you say that to all your cartoon characters.”

  He laughed. “Okay,” he said studying her. “What is it that’s changed? You seem different somehow.”

  “Different?” she asked. “How?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Ethan said. “But I like it.”

  “Thanks.” As they walked to the lobby she thought about the diversions he’d created when they’d needed to escape Mount Sinai and Le Cirque, the box of goodies he’d sent, his concern for others. He’d been great with Zoe, too. With a small sigh she shoved Zoe out of her mind along with her mother and Mackenzie. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it lately, but I’m really glad to have you as a friend.”

  He stopped, turned. “I’m not really interested in being your friend anymore,” he said.

  Serena looked up wondering if he was teasing. But no, his expression was quite serious—especially for Ethan. “Is it something I said or did?” Maybe he knew she hadn’t really been sick. Or more likely, he’d finally noticed that she’d never really been a friend in return. She’d just enjoyed the attention, somehow coming to expect it as her due.

  “No, not really,” he replied.

  Serena’s good mood began to dissipate like an overfilled balloon that had sprung a small leak. Ethan was such a great guy, a real class act. Apparently his patience was not limitless. “I understand,” she said finally. “It’s been an awfully one-sided friendship, hasn’t it? You’ve been so giving and I . . .” That’s what she got for always being so distracted by men who weren’t even half as interesting. She would have done better being friends with someone like Ethan than engaging in far too brief relationships with men who didn’t give a flying fig about her. “I understand and I don’t blame you one bit for . . .”

  “Actually, I don’t think you understand at all.” The dimple in his cheek creased. His eyes behind the glasses were extremely twinkly. “What I’m trying to say, and none too suavely I might add, is that I don’t want to be your friend because I want to be your . . . date. Main squeeze. To put this in casting terms, ‘I’m tired of playing the funny, but geeky, guy friend. I want to audition for the lead male in your . . . life.’” He was smiling but there was no mistaking his sincerity.

  “Oh.” For the second time in less than twenty-four hours relief flooded through her as his words, and the way he was looking at her, sank in. She might not deserve Ethan Miller or his interest, but in that moment she recognized how lucky she was that he had not written her off, as he undoubtedly should have. A world without Ethan in it would have been considerably colder. “Hmmm,” she said, as her lips twisted into a smile. “What kind of audition did you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure.” He linked his arm through hers. “I didn’t really expect to get this far before you shut me down and smashed all my hopes.” He speared her with a look. “I’m not going to have to marry
someone else to get my shot, am I?”

  “Ouch! I totally deserved that. But, no.” Her smile grew. She could actually feel it stretching across her face. “I think I’ve finally moved on from that.”

  “Thank God,” he said as they strolled through the reception area. “Can I get back to you on the audition thing?”

  “Sure.” Her phone dinged. She glanced down at the screen then did an unintentional double take. “If you call me a cab you can skip right over the audition.”

  “All right, you’re a cab,” he said because it was expected of him, but he’d already moved to the reception desk. “Ask Paul to bring the car around, will you?” He took Serena’s arm and walked her outside to the curb. “What’s wrong?”

  “The text was from Zoe. Something’s happened to Emma. They’re at an address on the Upper East Side.” Her heart dropped. “Oh, God. I hope that address isn’t Mount Sinai.” She should have learned her lesson the first time. “She can’t die now when I’m so mad at her.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Ethan asked.

  She shook her head, began to refuse. “No, but . . .” Everything about him radiated concern for her and her well-being. She was finished pushing the right people away for all the wrong reasons. “Actually, if you don’t mind riding along, I could use a little moral support.”

  “Done.” He opened the limo door for her, handed her in, then slid in beside her. He took her hand as she gave the driver the address. For the first time she leaned against a strong male shoulder and knew that she could rely on it.

  Forty-two

  Mackenzie’s cab pulled up directly behind a black town car just as Serena emerged from it. “Serena! What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know! I got a text from Zoe about Emma. I was so afraid the address was . . .”

  “Mount Sinai?”

  Serena nodded.

  “Me too.” Mackenzie tried to get her breathing under control. The cab pulled off as she realized where they were. “Why are we at the Carlyle?” Mackenzie’s heart was still pounding so hard it was hard to think. “What’s going on?”

  “Good question.” They turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Zoe walking quickly toward them, her face creased with worry. “Thank God you came! This way!”

  “What’s happened?” Mackenzie asked even as they fell into step behind Zoe.

  Mackenzie tried to brace for what they might see. Had Emma had a relapse? Oh, God, had she died?

  Her heart in her throat, she picked up her pace to try to catch up with Serena, who was trying to catch up to Zoe as they raced through the entrance. Zoe stayed several steps ahead of them moving urgently.

  Serena had her phone out as they followed her into Bemelmans Bar. “Have you called 911? We’re not far from Mount Sinai; we can get Paul to drive us there,” she huffed. They rounded the grand piano. Serena skittered to a halt. Mackenzie slammed into her back. They teetered briefly but regained their balance.

  Neither of them were prepared for what they saw. And neither, it seemed, was Emma. Who even now was rising slowly from the banquette, the soft, yellowed light shadowing her face along with Ludwig Bemelmans’s murals behind her. She looked even more shocked than Mackenzie felt. What she did not look was ill. Or anywhere near the verge of death.

  Serena and Mackenzie turned on Zoe. “What is going on here?”

  Zoe began to back away. “I thought it would be a good idea for the three of you to talk this out face-to-face. You know kind of a Parent Trap scenario. Like when Lindsay Lohan tricked her parents into being in the same place at the same time because she hoped they still really loved each other?”

  “You’re joking, right?” Mackenzie asked, trying to slow her heart, which felt like it might beat its way right out of her chest.

  “No. It’s not a joke.” Zoe continued to back away. “This is totally for your own good.” She took another backward step. “If you want to go ahead and get started I, um, need to go to the ladies’ room. But I’ll . . . I can send over a waiter.” She turned then and fled.

  The three of them continued to stand where they were. Close enough to hear and be heard, not close enough to have committed to staying.

  Mackenzie watched Emma’s face. Even in the dark her eyes were tired and red, her face haggard, which seemed only fitting. Why should she sleep when Mackenzie couldn’t?

  A waiter appeared, noted that they were still standing, then asked, “Can I get you something from the bar?”

  “I don’t suppose you have arsenic on the rocks?” Serena asked. “Or an unregistered handgun or two?”

  The waiter’s gaze moved across all three of their faces before returning to Emma’s and Serena’s. Recognition dawned. He smoothed his hair as he glanced beyond them. “Is this like some new version of Punk’d?” he asked hopefully. “I don’t see the cameras. But I do have some head shots in the back.” He flashed a very nice set of caps. “Just leave it to me.” He exited chuckling. “Poison and lethal weapons! Ha!”

  No one moved. They looked, Mackenzie thought, like three adults contemplating an ugly game of Ring Around the Rosie.

  “I had no idea Zoe asked you to come,” Emma said. “But I am glad you’re here.”

  “She didn’t ask us to come,”‘ Mackenzie said. “She texted us that it was an emergency. That something had happened to you.”

  “Yes,” Serena added. “We thought we might be on our way back to Mount Sinai. Somebody should explain to her what happens to little girls who cry wolf.”

  “But you came.” Emma made no effort to hide her surprise or her gratitude. “Despite everything, you both came.”

  It was hard to argue with that one. Mackenzie flushed as she remembered just how quickly she’d dropped everything—including her anger—and raced to get here. Was it only a matter of emotional muscle memory? Blind panic? She’d felt just as frightened as when Emma had been in the coma and she thought she’d never hear her voice again.

  “I got a message that Gran’s apartment had come up for sale. And I . . . I think I’d like to buy it. I thought it might be good for Zoe and me to be bicoastal.”

  “So you and Zoe didn’t plan this little get-together, together?” Mackenzie asked.

  “We might have if she’d told me what she intended,” Emma said. “Except that I’m done using lies on my friends.”

  “It sucks being left out of the loop, doesn’t it?” Serena said.

  “Yes, it does,” Emma conceded. “But I’m so grateful that you showed up here for me. Even though I don’t deserve it.”

  The waiter returned with a tray that held three pale green drinks in tall thin glasses. “I’ve brought you Gin-Gin Mules,” he said, seeming unsure what to do with them. “One of our signature cocktails. They’re on the house.” He looked down at his tray. “Of course they would be easier to consume if you sat down.” He looked around once again as if for a camera.

  “You can leave the drinks here on the table,” Emma said. “If they don’t sit down I may have to drink them all myself.”

  The waiter did as requested then left them alone, but not without a splashy bow, no doubt meant for that well-hidden camera.

  “What do you think, Mac?” Serena asked. “I’m still pretty pissed off at all that anger showered down on me just because I called a spade a spade. But other than Zoe, well, and Adam actually, you’re the most injured party present. Shall we have a drink and get this behind us? See if there’s anything left of our friendship?”

  “I guess there’s no harm in listening.” Mackenzie took the chair, leaving Serena to slide into the banquette next to Emma. The room glowed in the artificial light that lit the murals; heavy lamp shades inspired by the murals cast a similar glow on the wooden tables. The lush carpet muted the sounds as other tables began to fill. “Why don’t you start with how you got Zoe to forgive you?”

  E
mma reached for her drink but didn’t lift it. “I’m not sure she has, at least not completely. I’m just grateful that she’s speaking to me again and . . . I don’t know. I’ve been composing these huge apologies ever since the shit hit the fan.” She smiled nervously. “And now that you’re here I’m not sure I can remember a word of any of it.”

  “How odd,” Serena said, her eyes on Emma’s face. “I’ve seen you memorize pages of dialogue in a single sitting.”

  “That’s because if you get it wrong on set or on a soundstage, you just do another take,” Emma said. “If I screw this up I might never see you again.”

  Was that what she wanted? Mackenzie asked herself. To never see Emma again? To let go of their friendship once and for all?

  Serena took a sip of her cocktail and sent Mackenzie a questioning glance. “What do you think, Mac? Are you ready for the apologizing to commence?”

  “I think so.” Mackenzie reached for her cocktail.

  “Okay.” Emma reached into her purse and withdrew a thick stack of handwritten sheets of paper. They shook slightly in her hand as she cleared her throat and prepared to speak.

  “You’re kidding,” Serena said, eyeing the sheaf of papers. “That’s . . .”

  “Be quiet,” Mackenzie said. “I want to hear this.” She took a long sip of her drink, which had a gingery-lime flavor.

  “I’m sorry, Mackenzie,” Emma said prying her eyes from her notes and turning them on Mackenzie. “I’m sorry for everything. From that stupid, stupid night in LA to my inability to speak up, to . . .” The papers rustled in her hands and she put them down on the table in front of her, drew a fresh breath. “God, I really am sorry for everything.” She glanced back down at her notes briefly before meeting Mackenzie’s eyes again. “To this day I really don’t understand how that night happened. I mean from the first time he met you, you were the only woman Adam ever talked about. And honestly, he and I . . . it wasn’t as if we ever even looked at each other that way.”