The Lake Season

by Hannah McKinnon

  She rose abruptly from the table.

  “Now, where are you going?” Millie asked.

  “To the lake.”

  Outside the day was bright. Her morning swim took her farther into the center of the lake than ever before, a sardonic nod to one of the few benefits of anger. Limbs limp with exhaustion, Iris pulled herself out of the water and headed back up the lawn to the house. The truck had still not returned.

  She showered quickly and phoned Trish at the café. “Can I come over?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Iris lied. “I just thought we could get a head start on the cookbook.”

  There was a clattering of pots and pans in the background. “It’s still morning rush hour here,” Trish puffed.

  Iris winced. She couldn’t stay at the farm another moment. She certainly didn’t want to be there when the truck returned. “I don’t mind waiting. Consider me another customer.”

  Downstairs, both of her parents were still loitering in the kitchen, sentinel to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Millie asked.

  Iris ducked into the mudroom. “Into town.”

  She’d just slipped her feet into a pair of sandals when she heard the crunch of gravel outside. All three of them looked up at once.

  “They’re back!” Millie announced.

  Iris froze. She did not want to be caught here, trapped in the mudroom with her still-wet hair and puffy eyes. She spun back toward the kitchen, but Millie was already blocking the doorway, coming through it herself.

  “Iris, really,” Millie grunted as Iris bumped against her. The two women shuffled left, then right, trying to get out of each other’s way.

  “Mom, can you just . . .”

  But the mudroom door swung open behind them before Iris could escape. And it was not Leah who filled the doorway.

  “Stephen!” Millie gasped. “What a surprise.”

  Iris’s jaw dropped. What was he doing here?

  “Come in, come in!” Millie welcomed him.

  Stephen, in a linen shirt and holding a dozen yellow roses, stood in the door with a sheepish grin. The poster boy of chivalry.

  “I know I’m two days early, and I apologize for not calling ahead. But I wanted to surprise Leah.” His eyes twinkled in anticipation. Instantly Iris felt bad for the guy.

  “Nonsense,” Millie said, leading the way. “It’s a wonderful idea. Bill, look who’s here!”

  More coffee was poured, and chairs were pulled out around the kitchen table. Mute, Iris found herself seated once again, derailed from her escape to the café.

  “So,” Stephen said, looking at the three faces smiling nervously back at him.

  “So,” Bill repeated.

  In the awkward silence that followed, Iris held her breath, waiting for it.

  Stephen cleared his throat and looked around. “So, where’s Leah?”

  • • •

  “What did they say?” Trish asked. She grabbed Iris’s hand across the café booth, squeezing too hard.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry. I just can’t believe this. I mean, this is awful, right? For you, of course. But for Stephen, too . . . the poor schmuck.”

  “Yeah, well.” Iris dumped the contents of her bag on the table, and the notebooks and pencils rolled across its surface. She was too numb to discuss it anymore. “Can we get to work now?”

  Trish shook her head. “No way! Finish the story.”

  “There’s no ending yet. Leah and Cooper are still gone.”

  “Did you try calling them?”

  Iris held up her hands. “Not me. Though Millie just about set the phone lines on fire. The woman literally closed herself off in the pantry with the phone, pretending to hunt down some alleged baked goods, when what she was really doing was hitting redial over and over. All while Dad poured Stephen cup after cup of coffee, just a few feet away. She kept shouting, ‘Still looking for those cookies. Can’t imagine where I put them.’ As if we couldn’t see the long yellow phone cord shut in the pantry door.”

  Trish’s head wagged back and forth. “Good lord. What was their explanation? And did he buy it?”

  Iris shrugged. “They just said she’d driven to Vermont for a lumber order.”

  Trish’s eyes widened. “No mention of Cooper? Or an overnight stay?”

  “Nada.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trish said, lowering her voice.

  “For what?”

  Trish appraised her old friend knowingly. “The whole thing stinks. I mean, I’m not saying anything happened between Leah and Cooper—I’m sure there really was a problem with the truck. But, I don’t know . . . things just seemed to be going somewhere with you two.”

  Iris held up her hands. “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There is nothing going on with Cooper and me.” She opened a notebook and started flipping through it irritably. “Let’s just get to work, okay?”

  Trish eyed the files and notebooks strewn across the table between them, and let out an ominous breath. “So we’re really going to do this cookbook?”

  “We are,” Iris informed her firmly. She bit into a chocolate-­dipped croissant, willing the confection to eradicate her ill will. She needed to focus on something good.

  But Trish could not let it alone. “Can I ask just one more teeny question?” She had a cheeky expression on her face, one that usually got her what she wanted.

  “Not getting into it,” Iris warned her, tearing off another piece of croissant. “These are killer, by the way. They have to make it into the cookbook.”

  “Sure thing.” Trish crossed her arms. “But it’ll cost you.”

  Iris looked up, licking a stray dab of chocolate from her upper lip.

  “One chocolate croissant recipe for a straight answer. Hell, I’ll even throw in some cream filling.”

  Iris narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Start talking.”

  “Trish.” Iris set the last bite of croissant down on her plate. “You get three questions. That’s it.”

  “Three? What are you, a genie now?”

  “We’ve got work to do.” Iris smacked the large binder of recipes on the table for emphasis.

  “Party pooper. All right, then. Is Leah on the top of your hit list?”

  “I am, if you really want to know. That’s one.”

  Trish rolled her eyes. “None of this is your fault, Iris. Stop being such a masochist. So, what are you going to say to Leah when she gets back?”

  Iris clucked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. They have to be yes-or-no questions. You know the rules!”

  “No fair. If it’s just three questions, then I need more elaborate answers.”

  “Uh-uh. Make it work.”

  “Question two: Are you going to confront her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? Surely you’ve got something to say?”

  Iris popped the last bite of croissant determinedly into her mouth. “That’s three.”

  “Strike that one,” Trish decided. “Last question. Forget about Leah. What about Cooper?”

  “What about him?”

  “We both know you have feelings for him.”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  Trish narrowed her eyes. “Tell you what, you don’t even have to answer that last one. I already know.”

  Iris ignored her friend’s smug grin and slid the notebook roughly across the table. “Good for you. Moving on. Here are some notes I worked on last night. I think we should start with a table of contents, you know, to give ourselves some sort of outline for recipes.”

  Trish flipped open the notebook, but her detectivelike gaze remained locked on Iris. It was going to be a long morning.

&n
bsp; An hour later the lunch-shift kids arrived, bleary-eyed and in matching pink flip-flops. “Rise and shine!” Trish greeted them loudly, with a boisterous clap of her hands. “Shoot an espresso, ladies. Lunch starts in five.”

  Iris watched as the college-aged girls shuffled past, frowning. “Looks like someone had a good Saturday night last night.”

  “Every night’s a good night when you’re twenty-one,” Trish muttered. “Want another coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll let you get back to work. I’ve got plenty here to get started on.”

  “When do you want to meet again?” Trish asked. “I’m free tonight, after the boys’ swim practice.”

  Iris winced, thinking of Sadie and Lily, at their own practices miles away. “Maybe we can get together Friday?”

  “Friday, it is.”

  “Oh, wait.” Iris slapped her forehead. “Tell you what. Come by for dinner Friday night, and we can go over recipes afterward.”

  Trish eyed her suspiciously. “What’s going on Friday?”

  Iris lifted one shoulder, trying to look casual. She needed Trish to agree to this. “It’s just a little gathering. With Stephen’s family.”

  “This is the weekend they’re flying in to meet your family?”

  Iris didn’t answer, but instead feigned focus on the notebooks she was stuffing into her bag.

  “Oh no. Don’t get me wrong, I love to hear about the family drama. But I’m not sure I need to witness it.”

  “Come on,” Iris pleaded. “It’s just one little dinner. And I really need someone in my corner. We can sit at the end of the table, away from the crazies.”

  Trish shook her head.

  “Near the bar!” Iris added, slipping toward the door. “It’ll be like front-row seats.”

  And with an audible sigh, Trish caved. “Oh, all right. But you owe me more information!”

  “It’s a running tab,” Iris shouted, hurrying out the door.

  Sixteen

  The farmhouse was quiet when she got home, the driveway by the barns empty. Iris strode through the kitchen, relieved. She grabbed a peach from the bowl on the kitchen table and headed upstairs to hole up in her room. She would not try to guess where Leah was right now. Or Cooper. She would not care.

  Trish’s notes were fanned out around her: fish-and-avocado tacos, cucumber chicken wraps, soba noodles. A culinary circling of the wagons, with Iris protected in its calorie-rich core. Relaxing into a rhythm, Iris began to put together a theme for different sections of the book, starting with a chapter of grab-­and-go family dinners. But first, she’d need a name. “Busy Moms On the Go”? Too dull. “Moms on Wheels”? Sounded more like a Dr. Seuss book. Besides, wasn’t this for fathers, too? Let the damn men fret over what to make and how to get the kids to practice, for a change. She had finally decided on “Carpool Creations” when she heard the screen door slap shut below.

  Gathering her knees to her chest, Iris listened. There were no voices. But a moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Iris held her breath. There was a knock on her door.

  “Can I come in?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Leah pushed the door ajar. She blushed. “Hi there.”

  Iris opened her mouth, then shut it. She had no idea where to begin.

  “I’m back.” Then, when Iris didn’t answer, “I guess you heard what happened.”

  Iris looked away. She would not look at Leah’s innocent smile. Or her dangly turquoise earrings that swayed girlishly as she cocked her head and waited for Iris’s reply. Briefly Iris wondered if she’d worn those purposely, knowing how green they made her eyes look. Or if she’d selected that particular pair of denim shorts to wear on the ride to Vermont, seated beside Cooper in the cab, her brown limbs stretched up on the dashboard. She’d gone too far this time. “Frankly, Leah, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Can you believe we were stranded overnight?”

  Iris held up a hand. “Or hear about it. About you or Stephen or whatever happened in Vermont.” For the first time Iris looked her directly in the eye. “But don’t worry, your wedding bookings are perfect. Just as they were to begin with.”

  Leah blinked. “Thanks. I guess I overreacted . . .”

  Iris cleared her throat loudly, turning back to her notes on the bed. “Is there anything else? Because I’m sort of busy here.”

  Leah turned to go. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, you know.”

  So that was it: no apology; no honest explanation. Typical Leah. It was all Iris needed to let the floodgates open. “Really? Aren’t you the one who dumped all her wedding crap on me? Who took my spot to Vermont? Who disappeared overnight, without even a phone call? And what about your poor fiancé, who showed up in the doorway with roses, and couldn’t understand why none of us knew where the hell you were?” Iris realized her hands were shaking now.

  “Why are you so upset?”

  “I’m upset, because you never take responsibility for anything. Somehow it never occurs to you that maybe you’ve made a mistake. Or that maybe you hurt someone’s feelings, or taken something away from them.”

  Leah scoffed. “What did I ever take from you?”

  Furious, Iris began shoving her notes into her bag, a list of ready-to-air grievances flashing through her head. Childhood Barbies, favorite jeans, boyfriends. “I’ve got work to do. I’m not playing this game with you anymore.”

  Iris pushed past her in the doorway and stormed down the hall. She needed air.

  “Iris, wait, I just want to explain something . . .”

  Iris held up her hand. “Save it.”

  But Leah was not giving up. She shouted down to Iris from the top of the stairs. “Is this about Cooper? Because nothing happened.”

  Iris froze on the last step. “Who said anything about ­Cooper?”

  “Oh, come on. Since when are you interested in construction, Iris? It’s pretty transparent what’s been going on.” She paused, backpedaling. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  But it was too late. Iris turned to look back at her. “No, of course you didn’t. Just like you don’t mean to drink too much, or drop out of college, or wander off to Europe for a few years.”

  “What has any of that got to do with you?”

  “Everything! I’m the one who cleans up your messes, Leah. I drive you home when you’re too tanked. I make calls to get you jobs that you quit without a second thought. I’m the one who remembers Dad’s birthday every year. And yet you just keep taking!”

  Leah stuck her chin out, indignant. “Name one thing I’ve taken from you.”

  Iris’s eyes flashed. It was all flooding back. “Jake Tanner. The day before senior prom!”

  “The kid from the fro-yo shop? That was high school, Iris. Grow up!”

  “Exactly! So why are you still pulling this crap now? You didn’t want Jake Tanner back then. I don’t think you want Cooper now. But you have to remind the rest of us that you can have them. You’re worse than Templeton, pissing on everything like a dog just to mark your territory!”

  Leah coughed back a laugh. “That’s pathetic.”

  “You want to know what’s pathetic? You’re about to marry this great guy, and you’re going to blow it. You’re going to lose everything.”

  Leah raced down the steps toward Iris, her cheeks burning. “Me, lose everything? What about you? Remember Paul? Besides, it’s not like Cooper would . . .” She stopped and put a hand to her mouth.

  Iris sucked in her breath. “Go on. I dare you to say it.”

  Leah shook her head.

  But Iris was not letting this one go. “Let me guess. It’s not like Cooper would be interested in someone like me?”

  “That’s not what I said!”

  Iris leaned in, her voice low and trembling. “But it’s what you meant, isn’t it?” She
spun away from Leah.

  “Iris, please . . .”

  Iris waved her away, a sob catching in her throat. At the patio doors, she fumbled with the handle, jiggling it once, then twice, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  Leah trailed close behind. “Let me help.”

  “Leave me alone!” Iris roared. She popped the lock on the patio doors and threw them open. The doors flung back on their hinges as she burst through, gulping at the humid air. She collapsed onto a lounge chair.

  For an hour she sat, the sun on her face drying her tears into salty trails. But Iris did not wipe them. Her thoughts were fixed on the lake, the birds, the sun’s heat on her raw cheeks. Surrounded by them, she willed the numbness to dissipate. Just feel, she told herself. Just feel, and hear, and breathe.

  • • •

  She must have fallen asleep, because the ringtone on her phone startled her. Iris opened her eyes to see the sun lower on the horizon, and the shade shifted over the patio. She scanned her phone’s screen. Home. Relief flooded her. She needed to hear the kids’ voices.

  “Sadie? Is that you, honey?”

  “It’s me,” Paul said.

  Immediately Iris stood up. Paul hadn’t called once since she’d arrived, and her stomach flip-flopped. “Are the kids okay?”

  “The kids are fine,” he said. “They’re outside playing.”

  Relieved, Iris glanced back at the house, which remained dark and quiet. “That’s good.” She hesitated, waiting for Paul to continue.

  “So, how are things up there?”

  The question irritated her. Paul didn’t care one iota how things were up there. There was something else. “Fine. What’s going on, Paul?”