Starlight on Willow Lake

by Susan Wiggs

  Dozens of thoughtful adaptive features had been retrofitted throughout the house. Alice demonstrated the use of the elevator. It was just big enough to accommodate the chair and another person. On the second floor Faith found herself at the top of the tall, curving staircase that wound down to the marble foyer. She looked over the edge and felt a chill. “Is this where you fell?”

  A beat passed. “Yes,” said Alice.

  “Tell me about what happened. Everything you remember.”

  “It was an accident,” she said simply, and backed the chair into the elevator.

  Faith pursed her lips, resisting the urge to question her further. She did have questions, though. Alice seemed fairly adept at operating the chair. What had she been doing at the top of the stairs by herself? Did she move about the house by herself frequently? Had there been other mishaps?

  They went back downstairs together. Alice negotiated the opening of the back door by bumping the control plate, then led the way through the automatic doors and headed down the ramp.

  The housekeeper, Phil, met them in the kitchen. “You have visitors,” she said.

  “I’m not up for company,” said Alice.

  “Then we won’t stay long.” A tall, gorgeous redhead strode across the room, bearing a colorful bouquet of sweet peas. “Just stopping by to see two of my favorites.” Kim Crutcher, Faith’s friend, set down the bouquet and bent to give Alice a kiss. “We were just in the neighborhood.”

  Kim’s mother, Penelope Fairfield, came in behind her. “My daughter’s lying,” said Penelope. “We wanted to make sure you’re all right. Are you in pain? I was so worried when I heard about your fall.”

  Alice pursed her lips. “Small towns are so charming that way. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. And to answer your question, I have a broken collarbone, and I’m told it will heal.” She looked from Kim to Faith. “I take it you know each other?”

  “Small town,” Kim affirmed with a nod. “A few years ago, Faith saved my babies.”

  “She saved my sanity,” Penelope said.

  “That’s a bit of an overstatement,” Faith said.

  “You’re talking about the twins?” Alice asked.

  Kim nodded. “Four years ago, Willie and Joe were born prematurely.”

  “It was touch and go for weeks,” Penelope said. “Then when they were discharged, it was chaos at Kim and Bo’s house, trying to feed and look after two underweight infants.”

  “I met Faith through a service,” Kim explained. “Just when Bo and I were at our wits’ end, she came along and turned everything around. Now she’s their godmother, and her girls are honorary aunties.”

  “What a lovely story,” Alice said. “And now your boys are ragingly healthy. I’ve always liked a happy ending.”

  Penelope reached down and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad the two of you are teaming up. We won’t keep you. I’m sure you have things to do.”

  Alice gave her a wry smile. “My busy life.”

  “We were just going out for a walk,” Faith said. “I’m still getting oriented here.”

  “And we have a hair appointment at the Twisted Scissors,” said Kim. “Bo is pitching against the Kansas City Royals this coming weekend, and there’s a reception.”

  “You’ll dazzle them, as usual,” said Faith. After the twins, Kim had taken a hiatus from her career in sports broadcasting, but she was slowly making her way back into the industry. As the wife of a major-league pitcher, she had a lot of options.

  “Thanks,” she said. “That’s my plan, anyway.”

  The four of them went out to the courtyard together. “Don’t be a stranger,” Penelope said to Alice. “We miss your input at book group.”

  “You’re in a book group together?” asked Faith.

  “Our monthly excuse to get together and gossip,” Penelope admitted.

  “Sometimes we actually read the book,” Alice said.

  “You should join us at the Hilltop Tavern some Friday night,” Kim said to Faith. “You, too, Alice. It’s a group of women, and we don’t even pretend to read books. We call it the Friday Night Drinking Club.”

  Faith smiled. “Thanks, but I actually like reading.”

  After Kim and Penelope left, Alice said, “There’s something I left out of your job description.”

  “What’s that?”

  “In addition to being my live-in help, you are required to have a life.”

  Faith gave a little laugh. “No problem.” She stooped and picked up a piece of litter. “A luggage tag from Air New Zealand. Your son is well traveled.”

  Alice nodded. “He couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

  “Mason?”

  “He and Regina both. They have busy careers in the city. Mason is very successful, so I shouldn’t complain. I have him to thank for setting me up here.” She didn’t sound overly grateful. “He tends to be hands-off, but he takes care of things.”

  “A dispassionate problem solver,” Faith said, though in her mind’s eye, she could picture his face when he watched his mother.

  “Yes. I instilled in him a sense of responsibility.” She paused, took a breath. “Sometimes I worry about his heart.” She went down an asphalt-paved pathway that wound past the pool and pool house. Faith couldn’t help but think about the moment she’d had there with Mason. When he’d exited the shower, she had nearly forgotten herself. And then there was that other moment, late at night when they’d shared a glass of whiskey and probably too much information. It was just as well he wasn’t planning on sticking around.

  “Your girls got off to school all right?” asked Alice.

  “Yes, they did, thanks. This is their first live-in situation, so it’ll be an adjustment. They’re very excited about living in such a beautiful spot.”

  “I see.”

  Faith couldn’t tell if the woman was genuinely interested, or if she was just filling empty conversational space.

  “Ruby’s ready to embrace it all,” Faith said. “She thinks she’s moved to the Magic Kingdom.”

  “She didn’t have much to say at dinner last night.”

  “She’s always been tentative about new situations.” Faith paused. “To be honest, she’s downright fearful of a lot of things. Her condition is a factor in that, but I hope as she gets older, she’ll gain confidence.”

  “What sorts of things does she fear?”

  You, for one. Faith didn’t mention it, though. “It’s a long list—things like barking dogs and swimming, going to third grade next year—”

  “Going to third grade? Why would she be afraid of that?”

  “Some smart-alecky kid at her school said all second-grade girls had to have their ears pierced before starting third grade.”

  “And she believed them?”

  “She’s pretty gullible. Even after I explained that it’s not true, she kept worrying about it.”

  “People who avoid doing things out of fear are missing out on the best part of life,” Alice declared. “Of course, if I’d been too afraid to ski down a mountain, I wouldn’t be in this chair right now, so maybe there’s something to be said for cowardice.”

  She steered around the corner, and the landscape revealed a sunny slope with a few raised garden beds. “Mason had his cousin Greg build up the beds when he bought the place. It’s for a garden, but clearly I’m in no shape to garden.”

  “I can help you plant some things,” said Faith.

  “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

  Faith had noticed right away that Mrs. Bellamy’s focus was stuck on all the things she couldn’t do instead of the things she could. Something to work on, certainly.

  “And your other girl, Cara? She didn’t have much to say, either, though I suspect that’s due to an entirely diff
erent reason.”

  “Cara is a tough cookie,” Faith said.

  “Most tough cookies I know have something to hide.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Maybe. I might be.”

  The path wound gently down the slope to the lake. There was a sturdy ramp linking the path to the dock adjacent to the boathouse.

  “I’ve always loved Willow Lake,” said Faith. “I grew up in Kingston, and it was a special treat to come down here on a hot summer day. I never dreamed I’d have a chance to live here.” She thought about the other night, her quiet conversation with Mason Bellamy and the unexpected places her mind had wandered when she was with him.

  “As you can see, Mason took care of everything.”

  “It’s very thoughtful of him. I once heard that if you wanted to determine how a man will treat his wife, you should look at the way he treats his mother.”

  “I’ve heard that, too. Best not mention it to his fiancée,” said Alice. “He goes to great lengths to avoid having to deal with me.”

  Faith didn’t reply. She had worked with a lot of families over the years, and she’d discovered that each had its own dynamic. “People show their love and caring in different ways.”

  “Or not at all,” Alice said sourly.

  During the tour around the property, Faith noticed how adept her client was at driving the chair. She took corners and navigated smaller spaces with expert coordination.

  “Is this the same chair you were in when you fell?” she asked.

  “No, that one was too badly damaged, so this is a replacement. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re an excellent driver. So tell me again about how you fell.”

  Alice threw her a surly glare. “I’m sure it’s in all the reports you read. I took the elevator upstairs. I can’t even remember why I went there.”

  Faith had indeed studied the accident report. The caregiver on duty had brought the mail to Alice that day. As usual, he had opened each piece so Alice could go over it. It all seemed entirely routine, although there was one unusual piece of mail. It was a document of some sort, in French. The housekeeper had signed for it. Alice ordered the aide to go fetch something she’d forgotten, and in the few minutes that had elapsed, she had made her way upstairs, using the elevator with its switch plate that allowed her to operate it independently.

  Alice scooted back toward the house. “I’m tired,” she said. “I’m going to rest for a while.”

  Faith accompanied her to a room designated the solarium, an enclosed small porch with an abundant arrangement of potted plants, mostly aspidistra and Boston ferns. “Could you turn on the music?” Alice asked.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Random selection is fine. I have thousands of hours of music, but it’s not organized into playlists.”

  “That’s something Cara can help you with. She’s an expert at making playlists.”

  “Oh, she will love that,” said Alice. “What a lucky girl.”

  “I’ll propose it to her when she gets home from work tonight. She has a job at the Sky River Bakery in town.”

  “Glad to hear the girl has some employment. Fosters independence. And she’ll learn that there’s no excuse for being broke,” Alice went on. “It’s a matter of being smart about managing one’s money and working hard.”

  “And you would know this...how?”

  “I know you think I’ve been spoiled, that I don’t know the meaning of poverty.”

  “Actually, you don’t know what I think. But it’s a good guess. For the record,” Faith said, “I’m good at managing money, and I do work hard. But I’m still broke.”

  “What’s the trouble, then?”

  “Medical bills,” she said.

  “Oh. I see. Then you should have found yourself adequate health care coverage.”

  “Yes,” Faith agreed. “I should. Silly me.” She had fought. She and Dennis had both had jobs. Coverage. But his illness and legal situation had overwhelmed everything, and claims were denied.

  “All right, you’ve made your point.”

  “If I comb my hair right, it won’t show.”

  “You’re cheeky. You left cheekiness off your résumé.”

  “So,” Faith said, enjoying the way Alice’s eyes gleamed when she was challenged. “What else is on the agenda today? We’ve already covered tantrums and bullying. There was a note in your treatment plan about doing more work in anger management.”

  “It can hardly be surprising that I’m angry at the world,” Alice lashed out. “Anyone in my position would be.”

  “Being paralyzed is a condition. Being angry is a choice,” said Faith.

  “That’s bullshit,” said Alice. “Imagine not being able to walk, to comb your own damn hair—”

  Faith’s heart lurched. “I can’t. But I can imagine letting people help me with these things.”

  “It’s not just the disability. I lost more than my mobility that day. My independence, my career, my privacy. And you can’t even fathom what it’s like to lose your husband forever.”

  “That’s something I don’t have to imagine.”

  “Why not?”

  “I already know what it’s like.”

  “Just because a man walked out on you doesn’t mean you know what it’s like to really lose him.”

  “I never said he walked out,” Faith shot back. “He’s dead. So don’t tell me I can’t fathom a loss like yours.”

  “Oh. For Lord’s sake, you should’ve told me.”

  “I just did.”

  “I mean really told me.”

  Faith saw honest emotion in her face and, for the first time, something other than rage and fear. Something like empathy. She said, “It’s a long story.”

  “You think I’ve got something better to do with my time?”

  * * *

  When Faith was seventeen, she lost her own mother to the congestive heart failure that had plagued her all her life. The day after high school graduation, Faith discovered her mother had died in her sleep. She remembered sitting in the tiny, quiet clapboard house where she’d grown up, feeling a loss so deep she could scarcely breathe. She’d sat with her mother for what seemed like a long time, with the tears running down her face and the phone in her hand, her fingers too numb with grief to dial for help.

  It was a painfully young age to learn the true meaning of aloneness. With nothing more than a high school diploma and her mother’s empty bank account, Faith grabbed any job that would keep even a tiny sum of money trickling in.

  When you were young and alone, and struggling to survive, a guy like Dennis McCallum could definitely turn your head. He was matinee-idol handsome and spoke with a Scottish burr. He rode a shiny black-and-silver motorcycle, played guitar with a fine hand, and he lived like there was no tomorrow. Which turned out to be the case for him.

  In the way of any stupid-in-love seventeen-year-old, she got pregnant. Dennis, with his insatiable appetite for everything life had to offer, was thrilled, and he married her immediately. People assumed he did so in order to get his green card, but Faith knew better. She had never felt so cherished as when she lay in Dennis’s arms at the end of a long day, or listened to him strumming softly on his guitar on a Sunday afternoon, after all the week’s chores were done.

  Against all odds and predictions, they were wildly happy. Cara—the name was Dennis’s choice, a favorite name in Scotland, where he’d been born and raised—was a magic baby, perfectly healthy, well behaved, bright and cheerful even as an infant.

  They scarcely noticed or cared that there was no money. Her wages as a home health aide, and his as a motorcycle mechanic—without a green card—just managed to cover their living expenses. She got pregnant again. Things were looking
up. They lived on hope and happiness, and nothing fazed them until one day, when Cara was about eight. She and Dennis were playing a madcap game of one-on-one in the schoolyard near their apartment when Cara came running in.

  “Dad’s on the ground, and he won’t get up.”

  He’d had a virus that week, and later it was discovered that this was the trigger to everything that came after.

  Thus began the terrible odyssey of his diagnosis and prognosis. Initially, doctors were baffled, because his symptoms were so strange. He had no family history, because he’d been a runaway in Scotland.

  Eventually, however, the subtle symptoms added up. He was always thirsty. Occasionally, dark patches appeared under his arms. He couldn’t keep weight on, even when he tried. He’d been known to sweat buckets.

  Dennis took the diagnosis the way he took everything else in life—as a joke. Their minimal health coverage didn’t allow them to pursue the most aggressive and expensive treatments. He did his best to adjust to the recommended lifestyle changes and insisted on taking “his girls,” as he termed Faith and Cara, on a cross-country road trip.

  Then Dennis’s health took a turn, and he was beset by the worst complications of his type 1 diabetes. By the time Ruby was born, he was too sick to do anything. Faith worked day and night to care for her newborn daughter and her husband. They sank deeper into debt over his medical bills, which piled up as the insurance company denied claim after claim. She managed to work out a payment plan whenever possible. Dennis outlived his prognosis by several years. No one could explain it, but Faith suspected it was pure stubborn will and determination.

  One day she spied an official-looking letter stashed in the bottom of his guitar case. It was a Notice to Appear from the US Citizenship and Immigration Service, stating that he was required to appear at a deportation hearing.

  “This is dated six months ago,” she said, icy fear running through her veins. “When were you going to tell me about it?”