The Lake Season

by Hannah McKinnon

  “Aren’t you going to say good-bye?”

  Paul paused on the top step, frowning.

  “To the kids?” Iris clarified, with emphasis.

  “I already did.”

  Just then the screen door creaked. Millie’s voice was unusually neutral, as was her expression. “Hello, Paul.”

  “Hello, Millie,” he said, caught in midescape. He reached to shake her hand with awkward formality. Millie accepted, hesitantly.

  Iris winced. It was all so weird.

  “The kids want a farm tour,” Millie said, turning to Iris. “Would you like us to wait for you?”

  Iris wasn’t sure if this interruption was a rescue offering or a quest to sate Millie’s own curiosity about her son-in-law’s presence, but she accepted it nonetheless. “Sure. I’ll be right in. Would you send the kids out to say good-bye to their father?” Their father. Words so heavy on her tongue. Had she ever referred to him as anything but “Daddy” before? She certainly couldn’t bring herself to use that term now.

  “Have a safe drive, Paul,” Millie said coolly. No offer to come inside, no offer of lemonade. At least her mother had made the decision for both of them.

  Once more Iris and Paul were left alone, and it occurred to Iris that this was the first official “drop-off.” The first baton in the passing-of-the-kids relay. It was suddenly too hot on the porch. But there was one more thing.

  “Listen, Paul,” she said. She crossed her arms, but hell, she’d allow herself that. There was no easy way to do this. “We need to figure this out.”

  And there it was again. The weary look, the rolling of the eyes. “Iris, Jesus. Can we just part peaceably?”

  A small fire erupted in her chest, but she exhaled deeply. “Hang on. All I’m saying is we need to be able to talk to each other.” She gestured inside. “They need us to work together. We’re still their parents.”

  Paul sighed. “Of course we are, Iris. What is it you want from me?”

  And the fire roared a little hotter. “Damn it, Paul,” Iris hissed, stepping down the stairs past him. She indicated for him to follow. There was no way she was going to get into it in front of the family. “I just want to touch base about the kids. Why can’t you do that without all this tension?”

  Paul threw up his hands. “Because there is no talking to you about anything without tension.”

  She halted at their car. Correction: his car. “You know what, just forget it. I’m simply hoping for a little exchange here; you know, how the kids are. What they know. How we’re planning on working this. Because summer ends in two weeks, Paul. And I’ll be coming home.”

  His eyes widened slightly.

  “Did you forget that small fact? It’s my house, too. Until we decide what to do next.”

  Paul stared at the pavement, which suddenly felt unstable beneath Iris’s flip-flops, as though it might open up and swallow them both.

  “I sent you the papers, Iris.”

  “Fuck the papers!” She was yelling now. Score one for Paul. At least he’d had the sense to leave the crazy woman who yelled and cursed in her parents’ driveway on a perfectly good summer day.

  “At some point we have to talk, Paul. Really talk.” Desperate, Iris grabbed his hand in her own, which only made Paul flinch. But she didn’t let go. “You have to be able to look at me. Don’t you think you owe me at least that much?”

  Paul’s gaze was flat. He’d shut down, she could see it already. Well, what had she expected? She dropped his hand and it swung loosely to his side. Like a puppet’s. A hard, wooden-hearted puppet’s. “Forget it. I thought maybe we could work this out, for the kids’ sake. But if you can’t even speak to me, then we are dead in the water. I’ll make some calls and find a mediator.”

  At that Paul looked up. She was speaking his language now. “Iris,” he said, pulling the car door open. “We are not getting back together. You have to accept that.”

  It was a slap in the face. The smug, sweaty bastard actually thought she was trying to get him to take her back.

  “Are you kidding?” she sputtered. Now it was her turn to throw up her hands. “Oh, believe me, that is the last thing I want. We are over. So over. And I am fine with that now. In fact, I insist on it. Because you don’t deserve me, Paul Whiting. You never have. But I got the best part of you.” She jabbed her finger toward the house. “And those three kids are waiting for me inside.”

  With that, Iris spun on her heels. Toward her mother and father. Toward Leah, and her kids. To where all their misplaced regrets and good intentions awaited her, bound and imperfect, a family album made of glass. But a gift nonetheless.

  • • •

  The kids provided needed entertainment. Lily zealously reconstructed her swim meets, acting out the final strokes of her triumphant races in the confines of the kitchen, bringing tears of laughter to Bill’s eyes and a new smoothness to Millie’s usually creased brow. Never one to sit out, Leah also jumped in, as if the youthful influx of energy in the house restored some integral part of her. Jack kept bringing in specimens from outdoors: frogs, grasshoppers, once even a mouse, which they all exclaimed over and made elaborate habitats for.

  Even Sadie seemed to shed her teenage angst on the farm. Gone, for the moment, were the usual tensions between them. True, Sadie still sequestered herself to moments of solitude, retiring to Leah’s hammock, where she rested all but her thumbs as she furiously texted friends back home. But even that was an increasing rarity.

  At night, Iris tucked them all in as if they were small children. Jack had the pull-out sofa in the den, while the girls shared the antique four-poster bed in the guest room. It was an old ritual Iris was grateful they allowed her to perform. Perhaps it was the long farm days that tired them, their limbs and minds weary from sun and lake. Or maybe it was the fact that they’d missed their mother in their weeks apart, something Iris herself felt acutely. But there was a profound sweetness to this new evening routine that reminded Iris of their days as babies, and the physical closeness she’d then taken for granted. The way they used to sink against her, already limp with slumber, and how she was free to caress and marvel at them up close. It had been years since Sadie had allowed Iris any kind of proximity like that. Even Lily preferred a quick good night kiss at home, asking her mother to please leave her alone so she could finish her picture book, before turning out her own light. Now, after the sun set each night, she lay beside Jack on the pull-out couch, recounting the day’s adventures. Then up the stairs she went, where Iris settled herself between her girls. Sadie to one side of her, with a book. Lily to the other, with her tattered yellow giraffe tucked under her chin. The bed creaked beneath the weight of the three of them, and Iris relished the sound. Sometimes they’d talk about the day; sometimes Iris read aloud to Lily, and Sadie, propped against the pillows beside them, set down her own book obligingly and listened along. It was these final hours that brought her the greatest peace. Just another reason Iris wished this summer would never end.

  • • •

  “When can we go out on the boat?” Lily wanted to know one afternoon shortly after they’d arrived. Millie had driven the truck over to the farm stand, and Jack and Lily were busy stacking vegetable crates into the back, having just finished a day of sales.

  “Yeah. I want to water-ski,” Jack said.

  “Well, Grandpa only has the dinghy. But you’d love that, too. How about it, Sadie?” Iris asked.

  Sadie hesitated in midcount at the till, furrowing her brow as she wrote down the current dollar amount in hand. “Um, sure.” She glanced up at them. “Unless you mean fishing.”

  “Why else would we take the boat out?” Lily asked.

  Sadie rolled her eyes, resuming her count. “Gross. Rain check.”

  “More fish for me, then,” Lily said.

  Unlike Jack, who seemed to maintain Swiss neutrality by v
irtue of both being the sole boy and the middle child, the girls had a more complicated relationship. Sadie was often impatient, perceiving Lily’s curiosity and wish to be included as intrusive. Lily was left feeling resentful, especially in the past year, as Iris watched helplessly, ducking in and out in her own attempt to mend their fences.

  “It’s so good to see the girls working together like this,” she told Millie now, as they stood at the tailgate of the truck, watching the kids pack up the stand.

  “Of course it is. Hard work is great for kids. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years.” Millie was right, of course, and it filled Iris with guilt for staying away. And for inadvertently keeping the kids away from their grandparents and this place, which seemed so right for them all.

  “Who’s hungry?” Leah strode toward the truck, a bin full of fresh-picked eggplant in her arms. “I vote for eggplant Parmesan tonight.”

  “With extra cheese!” Jack chimed in. The four of them clambered into the bed of the truck, and Iris noticed the cash bin securely tucked against Sadie’s side.

  “Want me to take that in the cab for you?” Iris offered.

  Sadie shook her head, all business. “I’ve got it. I still have to input today’s profits in the books when we get back.”

  “When did you learn how to do that?”

  “Mom. Please. Grandma showed me this morning.”

  “You learned all that in one day at the stand?”

  Millie raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Iris as they climbed into the cab.

  “I know, I know,” Iris said. “Spare me the ‘I told you so.’ ”

  • • •

  Only one thing had been missing from her life these past few days. As they approached the smokehouse, and the kids’ laughter rose up from the truck bed, Iris’s tummy fluttered. Cooper was back. His truck was parked out front, though there was no sign of him. Since the kids arrived, Iris had not spoken to him. He’d told her he was taking a few days off on the farm to work on another project across town, and though she appreciated the uninterrupted reunion time, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was purposeful on his part. And if so, what it meant for the two of them.

  Iris did not ask Millie to stop, nor did Millie offer. Torn, Iris sat up straight for a better look out the window. Ignoring the nervousness that flooded her, just as she ignored the fact that her mother had accelerated, if only slightly.

  As they passed, Cooper emerged from the smokehouse, shading his eyes in the late-day sun. Too late, Iris raised her hand in greeting, wondering if he’d seen her. But it didn’t matter. His focus was on the back of the truck, taking in the kids for the first time. As they rolled past, Iris craned her neck to watch out the cab window as Lily raised her hand and waved at the stranger by the smokehouse. As Cooper raised his own and waved back.

  • • •

  After dinner, Iris went up to her room to make the call privately. But Cooper’s voice mail picked up. “Hi,” she said, “I guess you saw us drive by this afternoon. I didn’t realize you’d be here. Anyway, I just wanted to check in.” She paused. “I miss you.”

  Trish, however, wasn’t as indecisive. “There’s no reason for them to meet,” she stated adamantly the next morning. Iris had brought the kids to the café to visit, and they’d made themselves right at home in a booth by the pastry display case. Lily and Jack went to work on their cupcakes as Sadie longingly watched the teenage crowd at a corner table.

  “I’m not suggesting you hide Cooper,” Trish whispered. “He works on the farm, after all. But until you figure out the next step for you, and them,” she said, pointing discreetly at the kids, “there is no need. You’ve got enough on your plate. And so will they.”

  “I’m not going to introduce them like that,” Iris said, mildly offended. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  Trish smiled ruefully. “Only sometimes. But that’s beside the point. You know what I mean. Just keep it neutral in their presence. They’re here for their aunt’s wedding. After that . . .”

  Iris grimaced. “The real fun begins.”

  “Oh, come on.” Trish squeezed her hand. “You’re going to get through this. You all will.” She glanced over at the kids. “It’s so good to see them. You are one lucky dog, you know.”

  “I know. Well, I’ve gotta run. The girls have a dress fitting. Can you believe the wedding is next week?”

  Trish screwed her lips together, her trademark face for deep thought. “How’s the bride faring?”

  “Okay, I think.” It was true. Since the kids had arrived, Leah was like one herself. Kicking the soccer ball around the yard with Lily and Jack, stretching out on the dock with Sadie. Even Millie had seemed more relaxed. Iris was relieved. This time was theirs; it was what she’d come to think of as “the before.” “The after,” once the four of them returned to their real lives . . . well, that would come soon enough.

  She checked her watch and tipped back her coffee. “Fitting time. Let’s go, guys.”

  “Mom, no!” Jack groaned. “I am not going dress shopping. That is so not survivable.”

  Iris reached across the counter and swiped chocolate frosting off his upper lip. “What? You don’t want to spend the day helping me pick out gowns and shoes? I was counting on your great taste.”

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  “Relax, your grandpa is picking you up. He’s taking you to the club, to play some golf. Is that ‘survivable’?”

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Send me a picture of the girls in those dresses,” Trish said.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You and Wayne are coming to the rehearsal dinner at the club on Friday, right?”

  Trish grimaced. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Iris planted a quick kiss on her cheek before dashing out the door. “I didn’t think so.”

  • • •

  To their delight, Miss Patty fussed over the girls. She offered each one their own dressing room, and sailed in and out with accessories as if bestowing gifts upon royalty.

  As they tried on their junior bridesmaid gowns privately, Iris settled onto the couch between her mother and Leah, who was already fidgeting with her camera, at the ready.

  “Is this the first time they’re seeing the dresses?” Millie asked.

  “Leah sent us a magazine clipping,” Iris said, thinking back to the one image of the dress they’d gotten in the mail. But she couldn’t remember the details of the gown, so she was just as excited as Lily and Sadie to see the real thing.

  “Excuse me,” Miss Patty said, appearing with two pink shoe boxes. “What style footwear would you like them in?” She produced a ballet slipper flat from one box, and an open-toe with a sizable heel from the other.

  “I can already tell you which one they’re going to want,” Leah said, smiling knowingly as she lifted the pair of heels out of the box.

  “But they have to be able to walk down the aisle,” Millie reminded them, ever the voice of reason. “Besides, I think the heels are too old for them.”

  “But they’re so cute!” Leah cooed, running her finger over the tip of the heel, which Iris noticed for the first time was stitched with sequins. “Sadie will freak for these.”

  “A proven ankle-breaker,” Millie cut in, plucking them out of Leah’s hands.

  “Whose ankle?” Leah demanded.

  “Third-grade talent show,” Millie replied indignantly, looking at Iris.

  “Not my ankle!” Iris said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Amanda Breckenworth. Remember? She toppled off the stage like a sack of potatoes. Hasn’t walked the same since.”

  Iris and Leah burst into a fit of laughter.

  “You can’t be serious,” Iris said.

  “When was the last time you saw Amanda Breckenworth, anyway?” Leah deman
ded.

  Millie shrugged dismissively. “It’s true. Her mother tells me she still hobbles.”

  Iris held up her hands in mock surrender. “Better make it the ballet flats. Heaven forbid we burden them with a lifelong limp.”

  Lily swept the curtain aside and twirled out. “Ta-da!”

  “Oh, Lils.” The bodice was demure, a simple sleeveless shell in cream organza. But the bottom was a full skirt in pale pink that hit just above her knee. Tied around her waist was a delicate celadon ribbon, one of the wedding colors.

  “Well,” Millie said, coming to stand beside Iris. “Aren’t you the belle of the ball.”

  Lily grinned from ear to ear, unable to contain her pleasure.

  “And where’s our other belle?” Leah called to the closed peach curtain on the other side of the mirror. “Sadie’s is slightly more grown-up,” she whispered to Iris. “I hope that’s okay.”

  Sadie emerged from her dressing room with less flair than her little sister, but a grin to rival Lily’s. “What do you think?”

  Leah whistled. But Iris couldn’t speak. The tears were already starting, and she swatted at them quickly, not wanting to embarrass Sadie. But, just look at her . . . she thought.

  Sadie stood before them in a sleeveless silk dress. The top was a tank style like Lily’s, but the skirt was long and straight, flowing like liquid below her knee. It highlighted her slender figure and the small curves that Iris noticed with a pang were starting to emerge.

  “Don’t move,” Leah squealed, grabbing her camera from the couch. “Pictures!”

  The kids smiled obligingly for their aunt, who ducked in and out snapping photos like the paparazzi.

  But the laughter of the group escaped Iris, who felt transported, as if she were somehow watching this from some cosmic maternal distance. This time she did not roll her eyes when Miss Patty appeared and offered her the box of tissues. In fact, she took a handful as the girls stood in front of the mirror, admiring themselves and each other.

  When Leah came to stand beside her, Iris reached for her hand and squeezed it. Hard.