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The little girl was adorable.
Allison gave her a second look. She seemed familiar. But Allison couldn’t have met her before. The red wagon in the driveway had Connecticut plates.
She glanced back at the father. Definitely she hadn’t seen him before. She would have remembered. He was slender and tall and moved with a natural grace that reminded her of John F Kennedy, from the old footage she’d seen on TV.
She watched as he scooped up his daughter onto his shoulders, then paused to talk to the movers for a minute. Next, he went to the garage and pulled out the tricycle. Gently he set the girl onto the seat.
“Give it a try,” he urged her. And then his gaze met Allison’s.
Hard to imagine a more glamorous life than being an accountant, isn’t it? Still, CJ Carmichael gave up the thrills of income tax forms and double entry bookkeeping when she sold her first book in 1998. She has now written over twenty novels and strongly suggests you look elsewhere for financial planning advice.
For Laura Shin
In appreciation of all the books we have worked on
together and all that you have taught me.
CHAPTER ONE
THE EMPTY SEATS in his station wagon haunted Gavin Gray as he drove up to the biggest house on the crescent. He stopped the car and gazed through the windshield at the classic Cape Cod colonial. The house looked a little tired. Welcome to the club. But it had good bones. Cindy Buchanan, his real-estate agent, beckoned to him from the door.
“You have to see this one. It’s a real family home.”
Cindy was a friendly, plump woman in her midfifties. She’d been showing Gavin houses all day, her patience never wavering. He was sure she’d have felt terrible if she knew how much pain her cheerful words had just brought him.
A family home.
He turned around to face what was left of his family—one little girl strapped into a booster chair in the middle of the backseat. “Tory? Want to see another house?”
Predictably, his daughter offered no opinion, but she scrambled out willingly and held his hand as he led her up the sidewalk to the welcoming front porch.
“It has a huge pie-shaped yard. And it’s the only house on this road that backs onto the lake.” Seeing his concerned frown in reaction to her comment, Cindy added quickly, “But there’s a fence, so it’s perfectly safe.”
He walked through the rooms, hardly noticing the details. But then he stopped cold at the sight of the view from the kitchen windows. It was fabulous.
On Golden Pond had been filmed at Squam Lake and the town had never forgotten its moment of cinematic glory. Gavin had seen signs on the main road guiding tourists to the actual sites used in the movie.
“The house does need a little work.” Cindy ran a hand over a crack in the kitchen wall. “It’s changed owners several times in the past few years. You should have seen it when Old Man McLaughlin was still alive.”
He couldn’t have heard that correctly. “Did you say McLaughlin?”
“That’s right. It was just Adele and her daughter living here in the end. And when Marianne left home…”
He felt as if he’d been submerged in ice water. He couldn’t breathe. Was his heart still beating? “Marianne McLaughlin used to live here?”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
How many times had he asked himself that question? The ultimate answer being that he couldn’t have. But he wasn’t about to share that insight with Cindy Buchanan.
He looked around with sharpened interest, trying to picture the beautiful, remote woman in this place. “I used to, but I haven’t seen her in about six years.”
His breathing returned to normal as he contemplated the significance of what he’d just learned. Could it possibly be this easy? “Do you know where Marianne’s living now?”
“Afraid not. She came back once, to bury her mother in the family plot. I haven’t heard anything about her since then. But maybe someone in town has. How did you say you know her?”
He hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. “We were friends.”
“Quite the beautiful girl.”
True enough. Where looks were concerned, Marianne could not be beat.
Tory came round the corner then, moving so quietly that Cindy didn’t even notice her. His daughter had been wandering upstairs, checking out the bedrooms, but Gavin knew that if he asked her whether she liked what she’d seen, Tory wouldn’t have anything to say. Even when Samantha was alive she’d been reluctant to express an opinion, relying on her twin to do it for her.
He decided to try anyway. “So, what do you think?”
Cindy turned in time to see Tory shrug. The real-estate agent’s thin eyebrows rose in surprise. “Speaking of the devil, your daughter looks remarkably like…”
“I think I’ve seen enough.” He wasn’t interested in taking the conversation in that direction. Besides, he really had seen enough. The house was in need of work, but it was on a quiet street and the link to Marianne was a coincidence that couldn’t be ignored.
“I’d like to make an offer.”
Cindy Buchanan looked surprised but pleased.
ON ALLISON BENNETT’S thirtieth birthday she found a special delivery package on her front porch. It wasn’t a birthday gift, though. The return address was from Abby’s Print Shop in North Conway.
Darn. The wedding invitations.
She’d meant to cancel the order, but there’d been a lot of cancellations to take care of in the past two weeks and she’d dropped the ball on this one.
Breaking off an engagement six weeks before the wedding was a pain in the butt.
Since there was no sending them back at this point, she ripped open the box and pulled out one of the printed cards. They were lovely…. Buff card stock, silver print, very elegant. Avoiding a loose board she’d been meaning to fix, Allison sat on the front porch step to take a closer look.
Allison Moore Bennett and Tyler Paul Jenkins cordially request your presence…
She remembered the afternoon that she and Tyler had ordered these. They’d argued over the wording. Tyler had wanted traditional invitations, while she’d been in favor of something more casual. She read through the rest of it. The ceremony at the chapel on Church Island at three. Canceled. Reception to follow at the Lakeside Inn. Also canceled.
She sighed, and then lifted her head at the sound of heavy footsteps out on the street. New owners were moving into the McLaughlins’ old house today. Two men in baggy jeans and dark T-shirts carried a sofa from the moving van down the ramp and in through the front door. They’d been hard at work for over an hour and now the van was nearly empty.
Allison had been keeping tabs on their progress, though somehow she’d missed the arrival of the family itself. The new owners were already inside, she surmised from the red station wagon parked next to the garage, which was being used as an unloading area for all sorts of things. A lawn mower, a canoe, a mountain bike, a cherry-red tricycle…
She hadn’t been snooping. It was just that she’d had a number of chores to take care of out here this afternoon. The late summer sunshine was perfect for watering plants, sweeping the porch and shaking the cushions on her outdoor furniture.
Okay, she was snooping. But she couldn’t help being curious. The house next door, 11 Robin Crescent, had always been Allison’s idea of the perfect family home. It was larger than hers, a lovely colonial complete with a copper weather vane on the roof. Best of all, it backed onto the lake. When she was growing up, living on the other side of town, she’d spent a lot of time in that house.
Her somber mood returned as she thought of her childhood friend Marianne. They’d had fun together. They both loved art, though her talent had been no match for Marianne’s. And they’d spent hours in the sun and swimming together behind that house.
But somehow the good memories were always overtaken by the bad ones. Allison tried not to think of those as often. It was easier now that Marianne didn’t live here anymore. She’d moved away years ago, leaving her mother alone in that house until the day she died. Since then, several other families had taken up residence. But none had stayed longer than a year or two.
Allison had watched them come and go with envy. If she had had the money, she would have loved to buy the house herself. But she’d been lucky to afford the one she had—thanks to an inheritance from her grandmother.
The movers emerged from the house next door again. Instead of unloading more furniture and boxes, they grabbed brown bags from the cab of the van. A late-afternoon snack.
Allison realized she was hungry, too. Time to start dinner. Just as she was heading inside, though, her new neighbor and his young daughter made an appearance. He was a nice-looking man, about her age or maybe a few years older.
The girl was adorable. Allison gave her a second look—she seemed familiar. But Allison couldn’t have met her before. The red wagon in the driveway had Connecticut plates.
She glanced back at the father. Definitely she hadn’t seen him before. She would have remembered. He was slender and tall and moved with a natural grace that reminded her of John F. Kennedy, from the old footage she’d seen on TV.
Allison watched as the man scooped his daughter onto his shoulders, then paused to talk to the movers. Next, he went to the garage and pulled out the tricycle. Gently, he set the girl onto the seat.
“Give it a try,” he urged. And then his gaze met Allison’s.
She left the opened box of invitations on her porch and went to meet him halfway. “Hi! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Allison Bennett.”
He hadn’t shaved for a few days. Lucky for him, he was one of those men who managed to look sexy, rather than unkempt, as a result.
He offered a tired smile and shook her hand. “Thanks. It’s good to be here, finally. I’m Gavin Gray. And this is my daughter, Tory.”
Allison squatted to say hello, but the young girl wouldn’t look at her.
“Tory? Can you say hi to our new neighbor?”
Apparently not. She pedaled off down the sidewalk as if she hadn’t heard her father’s request.
That was when Allison placed the resemblance. Tory Gray looked a lot like Marianne McLaughlin had at that age. Dark hair, glowing skin and wide blue eyes. A miniature Snow White.
Even as a small child, Marianne’s beauty had worked to her advantage. In kindergarten, the little boys were forever sharing their lunchbox treats with her and all the girls scrambled to be her partner during gym and class projects.
Allison wondered if Tory’s grade-school years would be equally blessed.
“I’m sorry.” Gavin apologized for his daughter’s behavior. “She doesn’t mean to be rude. She’s just shy.”
“That’s okay. Is she starting grade one this year?”
He nodded, keeping his eye on the child. When she reached the end of the block, she turned the trike around and started back for home.
With the full sun in Gavin’s face, Allison saw lines around his eyes and mouth that she hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t just seem tired. He looked sad.
For that matter, so did Tory. She pushed the pedals on her tricycle grimly. No trace of pleasure on her pretty face.
“So…” Gavin began. “How long have you lived here?”
“In Squam Lake, all my life. But only in this house a few years.” Allison chatted about the town for a while, and Gavin explained that he was an architect, with plans to support himself here designing cottages.
“I used to work at a downtown office in Hartford, but I want to be around for Tory as much as possible. Provided I can line up enough clients to keep bread on the table.”
Admirable goals for a father. Only where was the mom? Inside unpacking? Gavin might think she was prying if she asked. Worse yet, if he was a single dad, he might think she was hitting on him.
“I should get going. I was about to make dinner.” She took a few steps toward her house. “Do you and Tory like lasagna? I’m having it for dinner and I always make extra. I’d be happy to bring over a casserole.”
Tory stopped her tricycle by her father’s feet. He held her hand as she got off. “What about it, Tory? Would you like lasagna for dinner?”
She looked at her father mutely. Gavin seemed disappointed by her silence, but also resigned—as if he’d expected nothing more. He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If it isn’t too much trouble, that would be great.”
AS SOON AS SHE STEPPED inside her house, Allison’s phone began to ring. The call was from one of the older women who lived on the block, Gertie Atwater. Gertie was an old friend of her mother’s, and she’d once worked for Allison’s grandmother, too. She still put in three afternoon shifts a week at The Perfect Thing.
“Well? What’s he like? I saw you talking to him.”
“He seemed…pleasant.” It wasn’t exactly the right description, but Allison couldn’t put words to the impression Gavin and his daughter had made on her.
“He’s certainly good-looking. And his daughter is a doll.” And then, most importantly, Gertie added, “There isn’t any wife in the picture, you know.”
Allison almost asked her how she knew that, but then she stopped. Of course Gertie would have quizzed Cindy Buchanan, the real-estate agent who’d sold the property.
Allison didn’t think the people who lived in Squam Lake were nosier than people in any other small town in America. But this was the sort of place where neighbors watched out for one another. At times—like now—they could seem to care just a little too much.
After Gertie’s call, Allison pulled out her mother’s recipe for lasagna. No sooner were the onions and garlic sautéing for the tomato sauce, than the phone rang again.
This time it was her dad. “Hello, sweetheart. Happy birthday. Are you having a good day?”
Without leaving time for an answer, he added, “Have you heard from Tyler?”
“He called to wish me a happy birthday,” she admitted. “But he was just being polite.” She had to make that completely clear, since her dad was having difficulty accepting her broken engagement.
“He still loves you.”
“I don’t…”
“It’s not too late to go through with the wedding. Tyler’s a nice guy, with a successful business. He’d be a good provider.”
“Dad, I can take care of myself.”
“Sure you can,” her father said. But she knew that despite the fact that she’d lived on her own for years and ran a successful business, he didn’t really believe that. He’d always been protective, and he’d become even more so since he and her mother divorced.
“I’m okay on my own, Dad. Honestly.”
He sighed and she could tell he was giving up on the lecture—for now. “We still on for dinner?”
“Of course. I’m bringing lasagna.” Even after all these years alone, her father had not learned how to cook for himself.
“Good. I bought a nice cake from the bakery. It’s chocolate—your favorite. We’ll have a real celebration.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m looking forward to it.” She heard the beep that told her another call was waiting. This time it was her mother, in New York City.
“I’ve bought you a plane ticket to come and visit us for Thanksgiving. We’ll do some shopping. Take in a few shows.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She got along well with her stepfather and he was always tactful enough to make sure she had plenty of one-on-one time with her mom.
“In the meantime, are you sure you’re okay? I could take some time off from my job if you needed me.”
It was a generous offer, Allison knew. Her mother hadn’t returned to Squam Lake since the divorce. She hadn’t said anything, but Allison guessed the memories were too painful.
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“Okay. If you say you’re fine, then I believe you. Have a wonderful day, sweetheart. You deserve it.”
“I will. Love you, Mom. Talk to you next week.”
As she returned to her cooking, Allison thought about her parents. It had always bothered her that they’d given her no reason for ending their marriage. She supposed they were trying to shelter her. But she’d been an adult when they’d separated. Old enough to handle the truth.
Unlike the little girl next door. She’d made such a job out of riding that tricycle. Was a divorce the reason for the sadness in her eyes?
And her father’s, too?
CHAPTER TWO
MONDAY MORNING, Gavin woke up with a sick feeling in his stomach. It was hard not to think about the little girl who wouldn’t be starting grade one today. His little Samantha…
He took a moment to remember her, gazing at the photo of the twins that he kept by his bed.
Then he pulled himself to his feet, went to the washroom and forced himself to smile at his image in the mirror.
Just the act of smiling, according to research, made you feel happier. He wasn’t so sure about that, but he kept trying, nonetheless.
When he’d finished washing and dressing, he went to Tory’s room to help her select an outfit for her first day. She was already awake, sitting on her bed and staring woefully at her dresser.
“Would you rather wear shorts or a dress?”
No answer.
“Pink or blue?”
Tory just stared at him.
So, as usual, he set out some clothes, then made her breakfast. They walked to school together, met the principal and were shown to the first-grade classroom. He wasn’t surprised when Tory cried as he tried to leave her with her new teacher, and he ended up staying in the classroom for the first hour and a half. At recess, the teacher encouraged him to leave.
“I’ll call if Tory doesn’t settle in after you’re gone.”
Gavin returned to the house on Robin Crescent. Stepping around open boxes, he made his way to the kitchen. The movers had placed the table and chairs in the alcove overlooking the lake and now he sat and pivoted so he could look out over the water.
There was much to do, yet he felt paralyzed.
Over the weekend he’d assembled Tory’s bed, unpacked her clothing and set up her dollhouse. Even so, her room looked bleak. It could do with a coat of paint, at the very least.
The rest of the house needed work, too. At some point he’d have to fix the cracks in the walls and replace the grimy light fixtures and worn carpets. Maybe he should have bought a place in better repair.
He still couldn’t believe that he and Tory were living in the house in which Marianne had grown up. Many times she must have sat in this exact spot. He tried to imagine what a teenaged Marianne would have thought about as she looked out onto the lake. But he couldn’t. He’d never been able to understand what went on in her head.
He certainly couldn’t understand the way she’d left their kids, never looking back, never phoning or writing or making any contact at all. They’d been one-year-olds. To him so sweet and adorable. He couldn’t imagine leaving them. At least not by choice.
Which had led him to wonder if Marianne was dead. But his calls to hospitals and police stations in the area had turned up nothing.
For a while he’d considered hiring an investigator, but his brothers had talked him out of it.
“She knows where you are,” Nick, ever the hard-nosed cop, had pointed out. “If she doesn’t care enough to keep in touch, you and the girls are better off without her.”
Gavin had tried to accept his brother’s advice. But Samantha’s death had set him thinking about Marianne again. He wondered what she’d been doing with her life for the past six years. How was she earning a living? Had she found a man who made her happy?
And what would she say when she found out about Sam’s death? Would she finally be sorry? Would she regret leaving all those years ago?
Most importantly, would she realize how much Tory needed her now? Sam’s death had hit the poor kid so hard. Gavin hated knowing how much his daughter hurt. The pain was hard enough for him to handle. How could a child be expected to cope?
He rubbed a hand over his face.
An hour went by. There was no call from the school. He hoped that meant that Tory was settling in.
Light danced on the lake. A pair of ducks landed on the water, then drifted out of view. The pain in his chest seemed to ease a little. He took a deep breath, grateful for the respite.
Another hour went by.
In the first months after Sam’s accident, many days had passed this way, with Gavin simply sitting, staring into space, accomplishing nothing aside from the immediate chores required to care for Tory.
Reminding himself that he wasn’t going to live that way anymore, Gavin finally dislodged himself from his chair. He sorted through boxes until he found the ones from his old office. Since he had a new house to pay for and a daughter to support, this seemed like a good place to start.
In the upstairs room he’d chosen for his workspace, he assembled the legs on his drafting table, then set up lamps and unpacked his office chair. Next, he ripped open one of the moving cartons and found his files.
By the time he had them organized in his filing cabinet, it was shortly after two. He set the alarm on his watch so he wouldn’t forget to pick Tory up from school at three-thirty.
As he stacked books on the windowsill, a movement outside caught his attention. The cute neighbor who lived next door and made such good lasagna was coming home.
The lush green leaves of a big oak tree partially obscured his view. Still, he managed a glimpse of her light-blue dress as she unlatched her gate and crossed to her porch. By the time she reached the door, he couldn’t see her.
She’d been friendly the other day, but not too friendly. He was glad about that. He wanted to get along with his new neighbors, but that was all. He wasn’t ready for anything more. Certainly nothing romantic. Since Marianne had left, he hadn’t had time to think about women. And since Sam…He hadn’t had the heart.
Sure, Allison Bennett was pretty. And she seemed kind and thoughtful. Maybe at some other point in his life he’d have considered asking her out. But this just wasn’t the time.
There was that casserole dish to return, however.
He’d put it in the dishwasher last night. Now he ran downstairs and pulled it out, relieved to find it was spotless. He might as well take it back before he forgot.
Gavin left his house, passing by the old oak en route to Allison’s. The tree was one of several that bordered the road, branches arcing over the pavement to form a natural bridge from one side of the street to the green patch in the middle.
Robin Crescent was going to be breathtaking in a couple of weeks, when the leaves began to change. Living in New England, you couldn’t help but love the fall. Still, Gavin’s sense of anticipation for the coming season was marred by the memory of how much Marianne had hated it.
“Why does everyone think autumn is so beautiful? The leaves are dying. Don’t you think it’s sad?”
She’d had empathy enough for the trees. Why not for her own daughters?
Frustrated to find himself dwelling on the past again, Gavin rapped on his neighbor’s door a little harder than he’d intended to.
Allison responded at once. She was shaking her hair out of a ponytail and he had an unanticipated visceral reaction as her shiny maple syrup-colored hair fell loose to frame her face.
He resisted the impulse to touch it. Instead, he held out the baking dish. “Thanks very much. The lasagna was great.”