Mothers and daughters, sisters and cousins, they lived for summers at the lake house until a tragic accident changed everything. The Summer That Made Us is an unforgettable story about a family learning to accept the past, to forgive and to love each other again.

That was then...

For the Hempsteads, two sisters who married two brothers and had three daughters each, summers were idyllic. The women would escape the city the moment school was out to gather at the family house on Lake Waseka. The lake was a magical place, a haven where they were happy and carefree. All of their problems drifted away as the days passed in sun-dappled contentment. Until the summer that changed everything.

This is now...

After an accidental drowning turned the lake house into a site of tragedy and grief, it was closed up. For good. Torn apart, none of the Hempstead women speak of what happened that summer, and relationships between them are uneasy at best to hurtful at worst. But in the face of new challenges, one woman is determined to draw her family together again, and the only way that can happen is to return to the lake and face the truth.

Robyn Carr has crafted a beautifully woven story about the complexities of family dynamics and the value of strong female relationships.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

Robyn Carr

“Carr addresses serious problems...realistically and sympathetically while seamlessly weaving them into the fabric of her engrossing story.”

—Booklist, starred review, on Any Day Now

“A satisfying reinvention story that handles painful issues with a light and uplifting touch.”

—Kirkus Reviews on The Life She Wants

“Insightfully realized central figures, a strong supporting cast, family issues, and uncommon emotional complexity make this uplifting story a heart-grabber that won’t let readers go until the very end.... A rewarding (happy) story that will appeal across the board and might require a hanky or two.”

—Library Journal, starred review, on What We Find

“With this tale of the soothing splendor of the land and our vulnerability, Carr sets the bar for contemporary romance. The well-paced plot, engaging and well-defined characters, and an inviting setting make Carr’s latest an enhancement not only to the romance shelves but to any fiction collection.”

—Booklist, starred review, on What We Find

“Robyn Carr has done it again... What We Find is complex, inspirational, and well-written. A romance that truly inspires readers as life hits them the hardest.”

—San Francisco Review Journal on What We Find

“Carr’s new novel demonstrates that classic women’s fiction, illuminating the power of women’s friendships, is still alive and well.”

—Booklist on Four Friends

“A thought-provoking look at women...and the choices they make.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Four Friends

“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”

—Library Journal on the Virgin River series

“The Virgin River books are so compelling—I connected instantly with the characters and just wanted more and more and more.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

The Summer That Made Us

Robyn Carr

ROBYN CARR is a Rita® Award–winning, #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than fifty novels, including the critically acclaimed Virgin River and Thunder Point series, as well as highly praised women’s fiction such as What We Find and The Life She Wants. Robyn and her husband live in Las Vegas, Nevada.

www.RobynCarr.com

For Margaret O’Neill Marbury, whose brilliance I greatly admire and whose wit and charm are extraordinary.

Thank you with all my heart!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Charlene Berkey was devastated. Her television career had come to an abrupt end. She should have been better prepared—the ratings had been falling and daytime talk shows were shrinking in popularity, but she thought her show would survive. The suits at the network kept telling her she’d be fine. Then, without warning, they canceled the show. They didn’t offer her any options. There wasn’t even a position available doing the weather. She was on the street, unemployed and feeling too old to compete at the age of forty-four.

The situation put a terrible strain on her relationship. Michael, typically such a sensitive man, didn’t seem to understand what this turn of events did to her self-esteem, her self-image. She felt overwhelmed, terrified and useless. She had no idea what the future held for her.

If all that wasn’t bad enough, her sister Megan was only forty-two and fighting stage-four breast cancer. Her most recent procedure to beat the monster was a bone marrow transplant and now all she could do was wait.

Charley made a quick decision. She wanted to use this time she suddenly had to be with her sister. She picked up her phone.

* * *

“I want to go to the lake house,” Meg said. “Like we used to when we were kids. I want to get up on one of those bright summer mornings, sit on the dock and watch the sun rise and the fish jump, and see those old fishermen floating out there with their lines cast, waiting for a catch. I want to spend the summer thinking about the way we were—six little blondes with bodies brown as berries. Half-naked, dirty as dogs, flushed and happy and healthy and strong. Our sleeping bags out on the porch, giggling late into the muggy summer nights.”

“While the mosquitoes ate us alive,” Charley said.

“I don’t remember being upset about mosquitoes as a kid.”

“You got it the worst,” Charley said. “You looked like you had chicken pox.”

“I want to spend the summer at the lake.”

“God, no! It’s not the place you remember,” Charley said. “It must be uninhabitable. It’s been years since the family abandoned it. It’s old, Meg. Old and neglected. It’s dying a slow death, I think.”

“That makes two of us,” she said.

“Please don’t say that,” Charley begged.

“John and I snuck up there once,” Meg said, speaking of her husband, a pediatrician to whom she’d been married for twelve years. They were like the perfect couple with the exception of a brief separation just a couple of years ago. “It looked kind of tired and it needs some work. But...oh, Charley, it brought back such wonderful memories. The house might’ve gone to hell like the rest of the family, but the lake is still so pretty, so peaceful.”

“It’s a long way from your doctor, from the hospital,” Charley said.

“Better still. I’m sick of both. I want to rest, have some peace.”

“And you think opening up that lake house against Mother’s express wishes will bring peace?” Charley asked.

“Guess what? I don’t give a shit, how’s that? Bunny died twenty-seven years ago. If Mother wants to suffer for the rest of her life, what can I do about it? It’s time Louise learned, not everything is about her.”

“She’s going to be impossible,” Charley said.

Megan laughed. “Do you care?”

“I don’t have a key,” Charley said, refusing to answer the question. “Do you?”

“You don’t need a key, Charley. Those windows on the porch aren’t even locked. Or the locks rotted away and are useless. We can get in and have the locks replaced.”

“She’ll have us arrested.”

“Her dying daughter? And her unemployed and homeless daughter?”

“You’re not dying! And I’m not exactly homeless—I’m just going to rent out my house so I can come and be with you.”

“You are unemployed...”

“That’s just for now,” she said. “I’m going to be with you until you turn a corner and start to get better. Stronger. Which you will.”

“At the lake,” Megan said.

“Aw, jeez...”

“Admit it, you’re dying to go back. To the scene of the crime, so to speak. We might figure out a few things...”

“What’s there to figure out?” Charlene asked. “It was the perfect storm. Bunny drowned, I was already in trouble even if I didn’t know it, Uncle Roy was down to his hundredth second chance and blew town and Mother and Aunt Jo weren’t speaking. When they couldn’t help each other through the darkness the rest of the family went down like dominoes.”

“All precipitated by Bunny’s accident?” Meg sounded doubtful. “There was other stuff going on or else Mother would have accepted whatever comfort Aunt Jo could give. They were so close!”

“Jo didn’t have much to give just then,” Charley said. “Her husband ran off, leaving her penniless and heartbroken. Mother seemed to blame Aunt Jo. Mother has always found a handy person to blame. All of us kids struggled as a result but I’ve made my peace with it—we were a completely dysfunctional family that, God forbid, should get help.”

Charley had often wondered how they could have been saved from such utter disaster. It was obvious what went wrong—poor little Bunny, gone. But it remained a mystery how everything could go as wrong as it had. That was probably why she had been so successful in the talk show business—that search for answers. She’d had a San Francisco–based television talk show for a dozen years and, since she’d studied journalism and psychology, she’d favored guests who had insights into dysfunctional people and relationships. It had been a very popular show.

And it was now canceled. “I want to go back,” Meg said. “I want to see if I remember.”

There it is, Charley thought. Everyone in the family had their own response to Bunny’s sudden death and Megan’s was to forget. Most of that last summer at the lake didn’t happen in her mind. She had been only fifteen at the time. The doctor called it a nervous breakdown and completely understandable, given the circumstances. They hospitalized and medicated her. She didn’t stay in the hospital long, then came home and seemed her old self with one exception—she couldn’t remember almost a year of her life. Pieces came back over time but it wasn’t talked about.

The Berkey-Hempstead family was very good at not talking about things.

“Do you think if you go back to the lake for a while it will all come flooding back, after twenty-seven years?”

“No,” Meg said. “I think I’ll remember the golden days of summers there. I think I’ll remember what a happy childhood we had. For the most part. I think it will be healing. So relaxing and healthy. I want to hear the ducks, the boats on the lake, the children at the camp down the road, the naughty teenagers partying across the lake in that cove. Surely that’s still there, the cove.”

Charlene remembered partying on the beach at the cove around the bend from the lodge. She had been all of sixteen. “Hopefully someone built a great big house there,” she said. “Or a parking lot.”

“I hope it’s not very changed...”

“That’s what you really want?” Charley asked.

“It’s all I want.”

Charley knew she had no choice because you don’t deny your only sister who has cancer anything. “I’ll have to go there,” she said. “Certainly things will have to be done to make it civilized. I’ll have to make sure the house is habitable. I should tell Michael our plans, talk with Eric...”

“Will Michael put up a stink about this?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know why he should. Of course I’ll have his complete support—he loves you. Maybe he’ll even steal a little time and come out for a visit, bring Eric.”

“Everything is all right with you and Michael, isn’t it?” Megan asked.

“Of course! Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know,” Megan said. “You sounded uncomfortable when I asked about him.”

Charlene laughed. “Sorry. This is an odd time. I have no job, no place of my own, no idea what’s coming next. The only home I have is Michael’s house in Palo Alto. It shouldn’t be such an adjustment. But it is.”

“I bet you feel dependent for the first time in your life,” Megan suggested.

“Maybe that’s it,” she said. But that wasn’t it. She and Michael were fighting. They’d had a standoff. About marriage, of all things.

* * *

Charley Hempstead met Michael Quincy when she was twenty-two and he was thirty-two. It was supposed to be a rebound fling, not a twenty-two-year love affair. Charley had been through quite a lot by that time in her young life; she’d had a baby out of wedlock at seventeen and had given her up for adoption, was attending college in California—as far away from her mother as she could get—and had been through a string of boyfriends, all useless college boys.

Michael hadn’t fared much better. When they met he was separated from his wife of six years and it was a bitter parting, the divorce promising to be quite messy. He was a professor of political science and had just escaped a shallow, loveless, acrimonious marriage. On the one hand, he was relieved there were no children to suffer through the divorce, but on the other, he worried he might never be a father. He had wanted children. His wife had not.

Both of them embarked on their relationship thinking it would probably be a mere comfortable blip on the radar, a placeholder until they could heal and regain their strength. But they were derailed by passion. Michael, the handsome young professor who all the coeds crushed on, fell in love with Charley. And Charley fell for him. They were living together in a small apartment in Berkeley within a few months. They talked, debated, read and made love constantly. They didn’t marry—at first because of the complications of Michael’s divorce and later because Michael was a little soured on marriage and didn’t want to spoil the relationship they had. Charley, if she was honest with herself, wanted to be different. Modern. And she didn’t mind pissing off her mother. The fact that Charley became pregnant accidentally a few years later changed very little. By then, Michael’s divorce was final, the settlement done, and he bought a small but fashionable home in Palo Alto, a place for them to raise their child. It was the ’90s—people cohabitated and had children together all the time; women even had them alone without suffering much recrimination. So, for Michael, who had feared he might never have a child, and Charley, who had been forced to give one up, the birth of Eric brought much happiness.

Michael did want them to marry one day to establish that their commitment was real, fearless and holy.

“Holy?” she’d asked with a laugh. “When did you get religious?”

“I just mean I’m not afraid to make a lifetime pledge. I want to do that. Someday.”

By the time little Eric was four years old, Charley had graduated from Berkeley and been in the workforce for some time, moving up very quickly in the world of television. She used the name Berkey, dropping Hempstead. She said it was better for television, but truthfully, she was still angry with her parents and secretly hoped it would piss them off. Michael was a full professor at Stanford. Charley went from production in the San Francisco affiliate, to weather reporter, then anchorwoman, and it wasn’t long before she took over a local morning talk show. The ratings soared and she was picked up by other markets. She bought herself a town house in the city—a very nice town house with a view—which she had used every nickel plus loans to buy. It was not only a great investment but convenient. Even though there were two houses between them, they managed to spend most nights together. If they stayed with her in the city, Eric and Michael would head back to Michael’s Palo Alto house and that was where Eric went to school. Charley’s house wasn’t entirely an indulgence. She reported to the studio at four a.m. and as long as she lived in the city the station sent a car for her.

They’d been together for twenty-two years. They’d had arguments here and there, power struggles over how to raise Eric or how the money should be spent, and conflicting political ideas. They managed well for two people with demanding careers and a child they were devoted to; they made such an exceptional team they were the envy of many long-married friends. The subject of their own marriage hardly ever came up.

Then Charley’s world turned on its ear. She had not been prepared for the network to pull her show without warning. She had no backup plan. At almost the same moment Megan was undergoing radical chemo to precede a bone marrow transplant. The doctors gave her a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the cancer, which had spread, and the chemo had already nearly wiped her out. Charley was not prepared to lose another sister.

And she was not prepared to have no career. Her career was her identity; she was proud of it. She had been successful.

“Sounds like a good time for us to get married,” Michael said.

She was stunned. “What, in your twisted mind, makes you think this is a good time for me?” she asked, gobsmacked. “And what, pray, do you think marriage will do to make it good?”

He frowned at her. “You’re not working. You don’t have anything else going on. You said you weren’t prepared to dive into the job search immediately, that you needed a rest and time to think, which is a very good decision. I’m going to Cambridge in the fall for one semester. You should come with me.”

“So you’re going to rescue me?” she asked.

“I hadn’t thought of it exactly like that, but wouldn’t it take some of the stress off you?”

“Very sensitive, Michael,” she said. “My job loss and my dying sister make it a convenient time for you to drag me to England for six months. How perfectly relaxing.”

“If you’re going to be irrational, I withdraw my offer.”

“You needn’t withdraw it,” she said. “I decline the very romantic proposal.”

“You want romance, Charley? Here’s the romance of it! My father died when he was fifty-seven. I’m fifty-four. I’m perfectly comfortable with our relationship except for one thing—Eric. No, that’s not all—there are several things actually. If my fate is similar, I’d like to leave a widow, not a girlfriend. I’d like to bypass inheritance issues. Hell, if I’m sick in a hospital I don’t want you to be denied being at my bedside because you’re not my wife.”

“Who’s going to bar my way? Our son? Your mother, who adores me? Your sister, who wants to be my best friend? Girlfriend! After twenty-two years and a son!”

“You know you’re more than a girlfriend,” he said.

“But apparently you don’t!”

“I didn’t think it mattered, being unmarried,” he said. “Lately it’s started to matter to me. I love you. You love me. I’d like a legal commitment. I want there to be no doubt how we feel about each other.”

“I didn’t think there was any doubt,” she said. “Apparently you have some doubts if you suddenly need to legalize things.”

“It’s not doubt,” he said. “It’s the feeling that something is missing. As I get older that feeling gets stronger.”

“And so you decided that this moment, when I’m crushed by suddenly being fired and terrified that my sister could die...this would be the best moment for me to make a decision like this?”

“We could have an extended honeymoon in England,” he said.

“While you work? What is it you expect me to do while you’re working?”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be bored. Look, this isn’t just for us but also for Eric. For Eric’s children. But I don’t want to push you into making a commitment you don’t feel.”

“Eric is eighteen,” she rallied. “We have, if nothing else, a common-law marriage.”

“Common-law?” he shouted back. “Is that good enough for you? Because it’s not good enough for me!”

Of course the argument escalated from there as all of the frustration and fear and disappointment poured out of her.

It ended with her saying she needed to go see Megan and him saying, “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

She told herself their relationship wasn’t falling apart. They bickered but also said “I love you” a lot. She didn’t leave Palo Alto angry, but she did leave worried and confused. Why did he doubt her now after all these years? And why, for God’s sake, was she refusing to legally marry him? He’d been the only man in her life for twenty-two years! What was wrong with them?

Maybe with time apart she’d figure that out.

* * *

Charley had been in Minneapolis with Megan and John for a few days, watching as her sister grew a little stronger every day. She’d seen Eric right before she left and had talked to him since she’d arrived. He was a freshman at Stanford, where his tuition was free, one of the perks of having a professor father. He didn’t live with his father, however. He agreed to Stanford but he was ready for a little independence. He was in a dorm but he’d pledged a fraternity and in a couple of years he’d live in a frat house, something that made Charley shudder. But she completely understood.

She called Michael. “How are you? I miss you,” she said.

“I like the sound of that,” he said.

“Are you walking? It sounds like you’re walking...”

“To my car. I’m done for the day but I have to go back for a department meeting tonight.”

“Have you seen Eric?” she asked.

Michael laughed. “He sees me as little as possible. I have to make an appointment. He texts me. I think he does that to keep me from trying to find him and actually talk to him. He’s getting decent grades so I guess he’s all right.”

“I probably talk to him more than you do,” she said. “I responded to one of his texts and told him that was not going to scratch my mother-itch—I had to hear the sound of his voice. So he calls. He’s placating us.”

“More like playing us. He’s keeping us out of his business,” Michael said. “He’s building his own life.”

“Michael, I miss you, but I’m staying here awhile. Meg is getting stronger. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s out of the woods, but it’s such a relief. She’s eating. She’s up and about. Reading. She doesn’t have a lot of energy but it’s better than none.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s feeling better,” he said.

“She wants to go to the lake house for the summer,” Charley said. “I’m going to drive up there, see how it looks, maybe do some repairs, see if I can get it ready. And I can’t let her go alone.”

Michael was quiet for a moment. She heard his car door open, then close. “I understand.” Something in his voice said he was disappointed, that he’d rather they spend the summer working out whatever was wrong with them, not being apart.

“I’m going to take care of things like that, then I’ll come home to visit, to spend some quality time with you. I can put someone else in charge. Maybe John can take some time off. So, give me a little time to get the lake house straightened out, then we’ll talk about your schedule. When you have a little time for me...”

“I’ll make time for you,” he said. “I miss you, too. I even miss fighting with you.”

“We don’t fight much,” she said. “Do we?”

“We’ve been fighting too much. Just about that M word. I think you have a deep psychological fuckup that makes you scared of it and you should seek help.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re probably right. Add that to all my deep psychological fuckups. But I’m going to see you before too long. I’m really no good without you. You’re my rock. I love you.”

He let out his breath. “That was nice to hear,” he said. “I love you, too.”

What is wrong with me? she asked herself. Why not just agree to marry him, go to England with him, settle in as a wife, adjust to that new title? It wasn’t as though she’d give him up at the point of a gun. Then why not just marry him if that’s what he wanted?

Because right now she felt very vulnerable and dependent. She didn’t feel whole. Michael hadn’t exactly said, “Since you have nothing better to do, we might as well get married,” but his presentation left her feeling worthless. And who was going to feel sorry for her? She had twelve years of extremely well-compensated success. People said she should take a year off, clear out the cobwebs, rest and relax.

She felt anything but relaxed. She was stuck with time off because she was canceled and because of Megan’s illness, but it didn’t feel good. It didn’t make her feel strong the way her talk show had. She wanted to feel sturdy and confident again. Marriage after all these years wasn’t going to do that for her. Turning her into a wife instead of a television star didn’t make her feel stronger; it made her feel even more vulnerable. She wanted to feel equal again.

* * *

Charley went to the hospital to see Dr. John Crane, Megan’s husband, rather than waiting to talk to him when he got home in the evening. She wanted him to speak frankly with Megan not present. She asked him if he could arrange his schedule to look after Meg for a few days if she wasn’t available. John said it was fine; he could be there earlier in the evening and leave later in the morning. He would adjust his schedule to make dinner in the evenings, breakfast in the morning before he went to work, and he would check on her at least once during the day.

“You’re such a good team,” Charley said. “A couple of years ago when you were separated briefly, you seemed to be as much in love as ever. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”

“Love was never the problem,” John said. “We’ll talk about it someday. Right now I just want to get her through the next few weeks. Are you going back to California to see Michael and Eric?”

“No, actually. I’m going up to the lake house to see what needs to be done to make it habitable. Meg wants to spend the summer there.”

John’s face split into a huge grin. “So she finally found someone who would take that on. Why am I surprised that it’s you?”

“Maybe because if I was still working it wouldn’t be. Or if Eric were younger, or many variables. But I’m available and want to see Meg through this recovery. Maybe you should tell me right now—how much care should I plan on for her recovery? Could this get worse?”

“It could, but it shouldn’t right now. She doesn’t need around-the-clock nursing care. But at the moment she’s too weak and tires too easily to look after herself for any length of time. She can’t cook, do her own laundry or clean the house, but she’ll probably continue to get stronger. At least for now.”

“And then?” Charley asked.

“And then stronger still unless...” He shrugged. “Look, the reality is, it could go either way. Quite a while ago she said no more chemo, that it took too great a toll and she wanted to enjoy what time she had left. This last round, prepping her for the transplant was the hardest yet. Four years, Charley. She’s had enough.” He hung his head slightly, then raised it again. “And that’s why. That’s the separation, right there.”

“Huh?” she said, confused.

“The separation. Our disagreement was all about treatment. I bet you didn’t expect that, did you?”

“Wait,” she said. “I didn’t know you didn’t agree on the course of treatment...”

“She doesn’t want you to know, Charley. Meg didn’t want treatment. I wanted her to do anything and everything. I admit I wouldn’t have done it, either, if I was facing stage-four metastatic cancer but I wanted her to. I couldn’t let go. I wanted anything that might give her a chance and I would have taken miracles.”

“But she’s been in remission a couple of times!” Charley said.

“Only for it to come back harder and force her into more torture. She didn’t want me to make medical decisions for her if she was unable to do it herself and I’m afraid I brought that on myself. But we made our peace with it—I won’t do that to her anymore. I’ve given her my word—it’s up to her. I’ll support her. She says this is the last time, and if that’s what she wants, so be it.” He was quiet for a moment. “Because, no matter what, I love her.”

* * *

Charley had wondered why John and Megan had been arguing so much, especially when Megan was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation. Then she wondered why John was still around so much if they were supposed to be separated and talking divorce. That was two years ago. Now it all made sense—John wanted Meg to accept radical and even experimental treatment while Megan was saying, “It’s not just a waste of time. It’s also making me so sick.”

Charley knew from her research into various talk show guests that it wasn’t always the case with cancer treatment. In fact, most forms of breast cancer were easily treatable and highly survivable. Megan just got herself a rare and aggressive form. And Charley, like John, had always thought, That means you just fight harder.

But she knew how much Meg had suffered. And fought. If she wanted this to be her last battle, that was her decision. And Charley vowed to honor it.

It begged the question—did Meg want to go to the lake to rest and recover? Or to die in the last place they were a family?

* * *

As she drove to the lake house, Charley thought back to all those summers when her family made the same drive. They spent every summer at the house on Lake Waseka. A cabin or house on a lake was almost an institution in Minnesota, the Land of 10,000 Lakes. Lake property was handed down through the generations and people who didn’t have a home or cabin had a piece of property they could park a fifth wheel or Airstream on for weekends or vacations. But the Berkeys had a very nice house because Charley’s grandfather was a superior court judge. The judge started sending his wife and two daughters to the lake for the summer when his daughters, Josephine and Louise, were nine and ten years old. He’d drive up from the Twin Cities on some weekends and for two weeks in August. Lou and Jo continued the tradition of summer at the lake after they were married and had daughters of their own.

Charley, her sisters and her cousins lived for summer. They looked forward to it all year, started shopping in April and packing in the middle of May. The very day after school let out, off they went, north to Lake Waseka, a two-hour drive. Two moms and six kids packed into Louise’s car—first a station wagon and later, as the kids grew, a van. There was no law about seat belts back then—they were merely recommended. The Hempstead girls usually piled into the back on top of each other. They’d take enough luggage to get through a week or two, stacked on top of the car in a luggage rack, and on the weekend Charley’s father would bring the rest, thoughtfully packed boxes of linens, clothes, towels, toys and any other items they didn’t want to live without for three months.

It was always so meticulously planned.

The judge and Grandma Berkey stopped going to the lake house by the time there were four granddaughters, being overwhelmed by the noise and clutter of small children. And soon there were six—all little girls—and it was more than the grandparents could take, so they started renting a cabin at the lodge across the lake for their occasional weekends.

Six girls, each born one year after the other. Three for Louise, three for Jo. It seemed perfectly choreographed—Louise, the oldest sister, had Charlene and the following year Jo had Hope. Next Lou had Megan; a year later Jo gave birth to Krista. Then there was a little slip and when Krista was only a year old Jo gave birth to Beverly, who came so fast she was actually born at the lake house. Not to be outdone, Louise then had Mary Verna, who they called Bunny. And then they stopped. Six girls, sisters and cousins, in six years. Stairstep, tow-haired girls, bonded by blood and family and not just a little DNA because sisters Lou and Jo had married brothers Carl and Roy.

The Hempstead girls appeared to have charmed lives and they were happy and carefree during summer. Life back in the Twin Cities the rest of the year had its challenges, like all families. Particularly for Jo and Roy; they struggled with money and issues brought on by that struggle. But summers were different. The lake was a magic place. A haven. All of the problems they might have had through the school year drifted away. Until the summer of ’89. That summer everything changed. Charley and Megan’s little sister, Bunny, the youngest of the six girls, Louise’s baby, drowned accidentally. She was only twelve. Louise, grief-stricken and half-mad with the pain of losing a child, insisted the lake house be closed up. For good.

Charley found that at first sight the house was worn but presentable. She knew her mother paid a local family to keep an eye on the place over the years. The grass was cut and the hedges trimmed. But it was clearly in need of some attention. It was a roomy place—three bedrooms downstairs, two small rooms upstairs in the loft with dormers, two full baths and a half bath in the master. Plus, there was living space over the boathouse and the wide, deep porch was screened. The screen was torn and sagging and there wasn’t any outdoor furniture anymore.

She pried open a porch window. Meg was right; it opened easily. Upon getting inside it became obvious she hadn’t been the first one to do that. The place was heaped with trash and the beds downstairs looked used. Stained. There were, of course, no linens. But all that aside, she was wildly optimistic—the damage was all cosmetic. She would need new furniture and new appliances. The porch would have to be rescreened. Everything would need a serious scrubbing and fresh paint. There should be new toilets and maybe new tubs.

But first, she’d call an electrician to make sure the wiring was safe. And she’d have to hire someone who would clean the place out and make a trip or two to the dump.

Charley went back outside and sat on a tree stump that had been there since she was a little girl. She pulled out her phone and began making a list in the notes section. The afternoon was sunny but not warm; April in Minnesota, especially on the lake, was chilly. The lake was so calm and quiet. The gentle lapping of the waves at the shore was soothing. She closed her eyes.

Then she began to hear it—the laughter of children. Someone’s mother yelling from the porch, You better not be in the lake without an adult! She could smell hot dogs and ribs on the grill, smell the campfire, toasted marshmallows; she saw seven sunfish lying on the dock to be cleaned—the largest of the catch. Someone whistling for his dog. A happy squeal and splash. Women laughing. The horn of a speedboat and the whistles of men. The pounding of little feet across the porch, across the dock. Whispers and giggles from the screened-in porch at night; laughter from the moms inside the house. Music from the radio mingled with the laughter. Voices and shouting of a late-night party somewhere on the lake. She recalled it so vividly she could hear it—the sounds of summer.

Maybe Meg was right. Maybe summer at the lake would bring her comfort. It could heal her, Charley thought hopefully. Or give her peace in her last days?

When Meg was going into the hospital for the bone marrow transplant she had said, “This may not work, Charley. But there’s one thing I need you to know. It’s important that you know. I’m not afraid. Either way, I’m not afraid.”

That’s when Charley decided. Whatever Megan wanted, if it was within her power, she’d make sure she had it. And, Charley thought, it wouldn’t hurt me to make peace with the past.

Chapter Two

Megan was thrilled to get a call from Charley right away. “Good news, Meg. The house needs work but it looks like it’s all cosmetic. It’s a wreck—people have definitely broken in and used the place. It’s trashed. And of course the furniture is dirty and rotting—but I can buy furniture and appliances in a flash. I’m going to get an electrician out here to check the wiring first. Also someone to haul trash. Those two things have to be done right away before I come back to the city.”

“Oh, Charley! We’ll repay you every dime!”

“That’s the least of my worries,” she said. Charley had been a minor star and had earned good money and invested wisely. She gulped back the fear that her earning days were over.

“Is it going to be a huge job?” Meg asked.

“Nope. Soap and water, paint, new furniture and appliances, new screening.”

“I wish I could help,” Megan said.

“I’m not going to do it myself,” Charley said with a laugh. “I’m going to hire people.”

“When will it be done? Will it be done soon?”

“It’ll be done by June,” she said. “It’ll probably be done before June but it’s really too cold to stay here right now. We need to wait for summer, Meg. The weather has to be warmer, especially for you. I’ll know more after I talk to a few people. I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Where are you staying?”

“There’s a motel just outside Waseka.”

“Did you look at the lodge?”

“Uh, no. For some strange reason I don’t feel like going to the lodge.”

“I promise you won’t see a familiar face, Charley!” Meg said.

“Just the same,” Charley said. “So, I don’t want you doing anything strenuous, but if you’re feeling good, you might start making a couple of lists. I haven’t looked through the cupboards yet but I’m sure most of the kitchenware is just too old and filthy to work for us. And there are no linens here. None. It looks like most of the pieces of wooden furniture are salvageable after some cleaning and polishing, but the armchairs, sofas and mattresses are out of here.”

“Okay!” Meg said. “I’ll do that! I’ll make lists!”

“Don’t get yourself too excited,” Charley cautioned. “You’re supposed to be resting and meditating and growing healthy cells.”

“I will!” she said. “I am! OMG, this is happening!”

“Oh, brother,” Charley said. “I hope this wasn’t a mistake...”

“It’s not! It’s happiness! Haven’t you heard that joy is good for illness? Joy and laughter and lake houses.”

“Take a nap,” Charley said, signing off.

Meg immediately started making lists and it filled her with optimism. That had to mean something good, she thought. She’d listed about twenty items when she stopped and instead went to the desk in the den and got out her stationery. She wanted to write to a lot of people who would probably either ignore her note or laugh and throw it away, but she was hell-bent.

Dear Hope,

In June we’re opening the lake house. Charley is doing most of the work and we’re going to spend the summer there. As you know, I’ve been somewhat under the weather.

She stopped long enough to laugh. But she thought it would be impolite to write, “As you know, I’m probably dying...”

She pressed on.

I’ve finished my chemo and bone marrow transplant and the only thing to do now is rest, relax, eat healthy food and heal. The lake is the perfect place to do that. We’d love it if you could join us. Just let me know the dates if you’re coming.

Just like old times,

Megan

She sent notes to Hope, Krista and Beverly even though Hope lived in Pennsylvania and hadn’t been back to Minnesota in at least five years and the only person Hope really kept in touch with was Grandma Berkey and occasionally Charley. Hope was a snob and loved having a famous cousin. Krista, unfortunately, was in a women’s prison, and the last time Megan heard from her, there was no parole in sight. And Beverly left the family for foster care the year after Bunny drowned. She went to live with a family better equipped to take care of her in the years following her trauma. Bunny had been Beverly’s best friend and they’d been together in that little rowboat when the storm rose up suddenly and Bunny was lost. Her foster family became her family of choice, though she did stay in touch with her mother, Jo. And Megan got Christmas cards with little notes. But the idea of Beverly going to the lake? After what had happened there? It was at best a very slim possibility.

Since it wasn’t likely any of them would come, Megan decided to reach out to Aunt Jo and Grandma Berkey. Aunt Jo would never go to the lake without an invitation from Louise and no one knew why or how Louise had that kind of power over her sister. They hadn’t been close since Bunny died. And Grandma Berkey was in a nursing home—someone would have to fetch her. With a little guilt and a sigh of resignation Megan thought that Charley would do that if she wanted it badly enough. Or John would. At the moment Meg had some very persuasive powers.

The only one she didn’t send a note to was her mother. She hadn’t even told Louise what they were doing. She’d deal with that later. But she did put stamps on her notes and took them out to the mailbox for the postman to pick up.

She told John what she’d done. “But I don’t think I’ll tell Charley,” she said.

“I can take a leave this summer,” John said. “I want us to be together.”

“Come on the weekends,” she said. “Let me stay with Charley during the week. Go to work. Your patients need you, you need them and you need to live a normal life.” Then she rubbed her cheek against his. “I might not be around forever, my darling. And I want you to carry on. In fact, the only thing I will ever ask of you is that you carry on.”

She put on some classical, cell-fortifying symphony music, reclined on the sofa in the den, took deep meditative breaths and pictured Lake Waseka as she remembered it, when it was at its best. She began to see them all as children, before the last year, six little blondes with bodies like brown sugar, freckled from the sun. Dirty, with calluses on their bare feet from not wearing shoes all summer, flushed and happy, gamy and healthy and strong. Giggling late into the muggy summer nights. Summer after summer. Everything that had nagged or bothered all year long disappeared as it was left behind. It was an escape from the real world. Grandma and the judge covered the expenses, from gas to groceries, so the material burdens were fewer and Lou and Jo were almost equals. This was significant because Aunt Jo worried about money all the time and it made her fretful. At the lake she was carefree. Happy. And there was almost nothing prettier than Aunt Jo when she was happy.

Their mothers became best friends again; there was laughter and what Grandma used to call shenanigans. They were fun. Young men passing in speedboats noticed them. Both Lou and Jo were attractive women. Lou was statuesque and bold and brazen while Jo was small and lovely and buxom and fragile. They were opposites who complemented each other. Lou often groused that Jo was the pretty one but it wasn’t exactly true. Lou could be pretty, too, when she was in a good mood, laughed and smiled. It was only the frown of envy and anger that made her plain.

At night they’d play cards or Scrabble and sometimes turn the radio up and dance—line dances and disco and boogie-woogie. All the little girls would dance, too. It was like having a party with your best friends every day of the summer. Then Lou and Jo would sleep together in Grandma’s big bed just like having a pajama party and whisper and laugh late into the night. There were eight bodies and five beds; when their husbands showed up on weekends they’d pile the kids on top of each other or make them take to the screened-in porch, but that big king-size bed of Grandma’s served them very well when it was just the two of them and the six kids.

Jo giggled more than Lou but Lou gave more advice than Jo. Whatever it was about their mysterious and complex relationship, it worked every summer. Lou would be her hardy self—capable and energetic and take-charge. And Aunt Jo would regress a little when around Lou, becoming her sweet, slightly incompetent self, but she would do whatever Lou suggested, which seemed to please them both tremendously. If you needed snuggling, like if you’d been stung by a bee, Aunt Jo was the one to go to. But if you wanted to try swimming across the lake, it was Lou who would coach and follow in the boat. Lou would teach the girls to dive; Jo would play dress-up with them. Between the two of them, no matter what problems they had all winter at home, every summer at the lake was a huge, raving, laughing, shining success. Before everything went so horribly wrong.

As Meg relaxed, she began to remember the time she fell apart. She lost her mind when she was fifteen. She’d been packing for the lake.

Carl, Meg’s father, stayed in the city to work and came to the lake on weekends. It was okay to ask him to bring something from home now and then, but he hated to be asked by everyone, all the time, week after week. He had a wife and three daughters, after all, and sometimes their requests for things that had to be searched out of closets and drawers frustrated him, made him cranky and not very helpful. So they tried to pack everything they needed for the summer. Meg tried hardest of all.

She could hear Charley and Mother fighting downstairs in the kitchen. As usual. Their voices would rise to screaming now and then; every year older Charley got, the more she swore at Mother. Mother swore, too, then denied she ever used a bad word. Whenever Megan heard them fight she renewed her own vow never to put herself through that useless exercise. Did Charley really think she was going to win against Mother? Did anyone ever win an argument with Louise?

It also meant no one was helping Bunny pack. Being the baby, Bunny tended to lack focus, expecting a big sister or her doting mother to step in and finish whatever she was doing. Bunny was spoiled. She was the only one Louise never yelled at. So, when someone gave her a chore, she didn’t take it seriously. She might pack a couple of things and then get sidetracked, dressing a doll or reading a book. Megan went down the hall to help her.

Bunny’s room was gone. Oh, the room was there, but the bed, dresser, toy chest, bookcase and Mary-had-a-little-lamb lamps were gone. Instead, Mother’s sewing machine was set up there. Also an ironing board, a trestle table covered with fabric and patterns, a sewing chest, a model-form and rocking chair. Megan felt disoriented. This was all wrong. She put a hand to her temple, feeling dizzy.

She walked around the upstairs hallway, stupidly looking for the missing room. All four bedrooms were accounted for—her parents’, hers, Charley’s and... But Bunny had no room.

“You’d better watch who you’re talking to, young lady,” Mother was shouting.

“Yeah? So what are you going to do about it? Send me away, maybe? Wouldn’t that be awful?” Charley shouted back.

“Maybe if you’d mind your manners, you’d find life here could be pleasant. Not to mention plentiful!”

Meg walked into the kitchen. Charley had changed. Megan stared at her, dazed. Who was this? Her hair was long, straight and stringy, a band tied around her head. She was so skinny, like a toothpick. Her clothes were terrible—torn and patched jeans, some kind of symbol sewn onto her little butt, and you could see her bra right through the gauzy shirt that only accentuated how flat her chest was. Her bare feet were filthy and her cheeks sunken. And the rage on her face was astonishing. Megan had seen Charley mad before, but nothing like this.

Louise had also changed. She was heavier, her hair very gray, and her face was deeply lined. Her skin was especially crepey around her eyes and under her chin. She looked like she’d been awake for a year. Her down-turned mouth was grim...but then it was usually grim when she wasn’t having her way.

“Where’s Bunny?” Meg asked.

They stopped fighting and turned to look at her.

“Where’s her room? Her stuff?”

They gaped at her. A look of absolute horror crossed Louise’s face.

“What’s going on?” Megan asked. “Where’s Bunny? You know, Mary Verna?”

“That’s not funny, Meg,” Louise said.

“Funny?”

“About Bunny,” Charley said.

“Where is she?” Megan demanded, tears gathering on her face, her voice shaky. She was confused and frightened.

“She’s dead and you know it!” Charley snapped.

Louise didn’t say anything. They stood in the kitchen in heavy silence, looking at each other. Then Megan noticed the kitchen was just a little different and everyone, including herself, was wearing clothes she hadn’t seen before. Meg grabbed her stomach like she was going to be sick and made a loud, moaning noise. “Dead? No! Where’s Bunny really? Where?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Charley swore, whirling around and presenting her back in disgust. But Louise got a strange look in her eyes and walked very slowly toward Megan as though she might bolt like a frightened fawn if anyone made any quick moves.

Megan’s ears were ringing so that it sounded like her mother was talking into a tin can when she said, “Charlene, please call Dr. Sloan.” Then Megan started screaming and running through the house, calling out to Bunny. She began tearing things apart, breaking things, ripping things off the walls, out of closets, pulling whole bureau drawers out and letting them fall upside down on the floor, looking for evidence of Bunny somewhere, finding none.

The police and ambulance came, someone gave her a shot, the world became very slow and quiet. The only sound was whimpering. Her own whimpering.

Megan had begun packing to go to the lake on May 8, 1989, and woke up a year later on May 12, 1990, without remembering a single thing. It was as though a slice was taken out of her brain. She spent two weeks in the hospital being treated for what the family doctor and the hospital psychiatrist decided to call a nervous breakdown. Later, when Megan became an RN, she recognized it as a psychotic break due to the psychological trauma of the past year. Bunny drowned, Charley was sent away to have and give up her baby, the family had become completely estranged. The family that had spent every summer, holiday and most Sunday afternoons together was gone.

Charley and Louise stopped fighting that summer. At least out loud. Instead, the summer was spent keeping Megan calm and remembering things to her. They all took turns—Louise and Carl and Charley. Sometimes Grandma Berkey and the judge came to visit, but the judge mainly grumbled that there weren’t any screws loose on his side of the family, so he could only guess where all this psychiatry bullshit was coming from.

At the end of that summer, Charley took her leave. “Once I get a little settled in the dorm, I’ll call you. I promise,” she told Meg.

“Oh, Charley, can’t you go to college around here?” Meg wept. “I can’t live here without you! Can’t you go to the university and live at home?”

“It’ll be better here without me—no more fighting, yelling, swearing, threatening...”

“But what if you get hurt or something? Or what if I need you? And you’re all the way in California?”

“If you need me, I’ll come if I can. I think my being here... I think it’s made you sick and made you forget.”

“No! That can’t be the reason! Oh, Charley, I just lost Bunny! I can’t lose you, too. Please don’t go!”

“I have to, Meg. I hate her and she hates me.” She took a deep breath and squeezed Meg’s hands. “I’ll never forgive her. Them,” she said, for it was the judge who came to Louise’s aid when she said she wanted to send Charley away to have her baby. Carl was not convinced Charley should have to go but he didn’t argue with Louise and the judge. “And as soon as I can, I’m going to start looking for my baby. Here,” she said, handing Megan a cigar box filled with letters.

“What’s this?”

“It’s every letter you wrote me while I was in Florida. It will help you remember. You wrote me almost every day, Meggie. I think you kept me alive.”

“But I can’t keep you home!”

Her lips formed the word, but Megan didn’t hear the sound. “No.”

Charley didn’t cry. Not when they talked about their dead sister, her lost baby or leaving home. Megan never asked but had always wondered if she knew it was a trait she seemed to share with Louise.

When Charley was away that first year, Meg spent a lot of time rereading her letters to her sister. The chronology of a year she couldn’t remember. Some of the letters were smeary with tearstains that Meg assumed must have been her own. It was hard to imagine Charley crying, even in private, she was so strong. Meg had written about the quiet of the house, about how their father seemed to grieve in deep silence and withdraw further and further inside himself, no match for Louise’s insistent and relentless anger. Louise had always been the more talkative of the two, but Carl no longer even responded with his usual grunts and humphs. She had written about missing Bunny but also missing her cousins—the only one she ever saw was Hope and it was as though Hope didn’t know her anymore.

“I’m pretty sure no one has ever been this lonely,” she wrote in one of her letters to Charley. And in the margin Charley had scribbled, “Except me!”

* * *

Charley called from Lake Waseka every day with good news and then better news. She went into the biggest real estate office in the nearest big town, Brainerd, and asked if they could help her find a competent decorator and a crew to empty the lake house of old furniture and trash. The decorator, Melissa Stewart, recognized Charley from television and they shared instant rapport.

While the junk was removed, Charley and Melissa discussed the interior design. She wasn’t going to completely redecorate the place; she wanted it spruced up, painted, furnished and restored. They talked colors, appliances, mattresses and rugs. Melissa said she could text Charley pictures and make purchases on her approval.

Charley went again to Brainerd and bought new appliances, even though the electrician hadn’t checked the wiring yet. They had to be purchased, anyway, didn’t they? And luck was on her side. The very next day the electrician spent six hours checking the house. He wanted to make a few repairs, put in a new fuse box, replace some switches and outlets, and they’d be good to go.

Megan was so excited at the reported progress she started pulling out dishes and glasses she could spare to be taken to the lake. The kitchen counter was full of the stuff. She’d barely begun when she got tired. Bone tired. Excruciatingly tired. She wanted to lie down and thought for a second about just lying on the kitchen floor. No one had adequately prepared her for the power of the fatigue. Cancer is a pain in the ass, she thought.

She’d only rested for a few minutes when the sound of her doorbell brought her back to reality. All the way back—it was her mother. That, with the fatigue, turned her cranky.

When Louise made an unannounced visit in the middle of the day, it could only mean one thing. Drama. But, in a way, Meg had been expecting this. She thought Louise might get wind of the reunion she was planning even though it was destined to fail.

“Mother. Funny enough, I was just thinking about you.”

Louise flapped the small envelope addressed to Grandma Berkey. The invitation Megan had sent, inviting her to come to the lake. “Have you lost your mind? Or does it give you such great pleasure to hurt me like this?”

“Come in, Mother. Please. Let me get you something to drink. Another of what you’ve recently had?”

Louise made a wincing gesture. “It’s my bridge day. We had wine with lunch. Otherwise, as you know, I rarely drink.”

“Oh, really? Is that so?” Meg said sarcastically. “So? What’s the problem?” she asked, leaving her mother to stand in the doorway as she made her way slowly back to the den. She needed to sit down. She was weak. And bald. And thin as a noodle. You’d think the sight of her wasting body would intimidate Louise, make her think about someone besides herself.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble Grandma is when someone puts an idea like—”

“Sit down, Mother,” Megan said softly. “The doctor said it’s very bad for my cells when you stand over me, talking down at me. It’s upsetting.”

“Oh,” Louise said, taking a seat. And instantly she picked up where she left off. “You can’t imagine how difficult and obstinate and tiresome Grandma is when she’s got some idea—”

“Sure I can,” Megan said. “I’ve heard her rant for years. What’s new?”

“What’s new is that now she wants to go to the lake!” Louise barked.

“Well, I invited her. Why don’t you bring her?” Meg asked this as though she had forgotten that Louise had not gone to the lake in almost twenty-seven years.

Louise’s lips thinned and she leaned stiffly back in the chair. Megan could tell she was grinding her teeth. “Just what are you trying to prove?” she asked very sternly.

Megan took a deep breath. Then she sighed. “Nothing, Mother. I just want to go back to the lake. I loved the lake...”

“The lake that tore our family apart? The lake that swallowed up your baby sister? The lake that—”

“The last place any of us loved each other?” Megan asked, voice escalating to match Louise’s.

They were silent for a long moment. “This is ridiculous,” Louise said, rising as if to leave Meg’s house. Or, more likely, rising so that Meg could call her back and apologize.

“No, this actually makes sense. I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous—that five years ago when John and I wanted to go to a lake up north for a vacation, we rented a house on a different lake so that your feelings wouldn’t be hurt...when in fact we have a wonderful lake house in the family! And what’s even more ridiculous is that no one ever questioned the sanity of that. That’s what’s crazy.”

“Well, Megan, I can see I’ll have no success in discussing this issue with you. I was trying to spare you, but you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

Spare herself, she meant. Meg knew Louise had never tried to spare anyone anything in her life. Louise dished it out but she didn’t take it well.

“I have nothing further to say.”

Hah! A trap! Louise never ran out of arguments! “Fine. Good,” Meg said.

“If you’re going to go, you’re going to go.”

“I just hope I live long enough to go,” Megan said.

“You’ve been trying to hurt me with your impending death for four long years now, Meggie. And I don’t think I have any fight left in me,” Louise said.

“Mother, darling, you don’t have to fight. You just like to. I have to.”

“Oh, God, you never quit. You’ve become so mean-spirited.”

“And cranky. And foulmouthed, too. This cancer shit’s a bummer. But don’t worry, Mother. I’ll probably quit before you do.”

“I’m leaving. I can’t take any more.”

“Drive carefully, will you? That wine you had at bridge smells a lot like bourbon.”

Louise lifted her chin stoically. She headed for the door.

“Unreal,” Megan muttered as she wearily rose to follow Louise to the door. “You act like you’re afraid we’re going to finally find that goddamn body buried under the porch.”

Louise was brought up short with a gasp. Her skin took on an ashen pallor and she actually swooned slightly, leaning against the door. Then she slowly collected herself and left.

Chapter Three

Charley was able to accomplish a great deal in just a few days and was pretty confident that the decorator, Melissa, could finish what needed to be done in a few short weeks. Melissa could supervise the refurbishing of the wood floors, send in a chimney sweep, schedule the interior and exterior painting, stock the kitchen with small appliances, plates, glasses, pans and cutlery and buy new mattresses and porch furniture. She promised to text pictures before making purchases and Charley promised to make sure she was paid within a week of any purchases no matter how large or small.

And then the house would be like new. Oh, they would still need odds and ends—linens, comforters, rugs large and small. Melissa hoped to haunt some of the thrift shops and antique dealers to see if any side tables, a dining table and chairs and such could be added to make the place special, and Charley approved of that idea. The existing wood furniture, dressers, end tables, etc., looked like they’d be okay after some cleaning and polishing but Melissa thought she could do better with a little effort and not much money.

Just seeing the place after it had been cleared of trash and cleaned made Charley feel good about being there. It was a functional and cozy house—wide-open from living room to kitchen. She’d arrange a sofa, love seat and two large chairs in front of the fireplace, something rarely used during summer visits. A large area rug would have to be bought to cover the wood floors. The wood kitchen table that could seat six—and with extra leaves opened up to seat ten—sat behind where the sofa would be placed. Beyond that was a breakfast bar and work counter fronting the spacious kitchen. There was also an island with a vegetable sink.

Really, the kitchen needed to be gutted and remodeled with new cabinets, sink, countertop and updated work island, but for now the existing cabinets would be fine. More extensive work could be done later, when the house wasn’t in use.

Melissa promised to have the cabinets cleaned, wiped down with lemon oil and in good repair for now and do the same with the bathroom cabinets and countertops.

“Are you sure you can get everything done, Melissa? I promised my sister we’d be here by June.”

“Four weeks isn’t even mid-May,” Melissa said. “I work with some remarkable subcontractors.”

“The porch furniture, Melissa. Make it nice. When the weather is good, which is most of the time, the best place to be is on the porch. The one thing Meg said she wanted was to sit on the porch on one of those sunny summer mornings and look at the fishermen out on the lake.”

“It’ll be resort quality,” she said. Melissa pursed her lips for control and her eyes got a little wet. “You’re such a good sister.”

“She would do this and more for me,” Charley said. “Four chaise lounges, a couple of chairs with ottomans—wicker, maybe, I don’t know. A couple of simple side tables. It’ll all be moved to the boathouse for winter. And pick a good quality screen material—we don’t want the bugs in but we want to see out.”

“Absolutely.”

“I hope you can do this,” Charley said.

“It will be my priority. I don’t have any other big jobs right now and I have help. Let me clarify—okay to text you as often as necessary as long as it’s during business hours?”

“Certainly. And thank you.”

“And I’ll take a look at the boathouse, if you like. You said it once served as a guest room?”

“Go ahead,” Charley said. “I doubt we’ll have need of it. If we have more than five people at one time, I’ll faint. In fact, I think it will be me and Meg, her husband on weekends, maybe a visit from my two guys, my son and his father. Otherwise...I’m not betting on anyone.”

“But you want the house ready in case?”

“I want it like it used to be,” Charley said.

“Are you leaving now?” Melissa asked.

“In an hour or so. I’m just going to look around a little.”

“You must have had such a wonderful childhood here,” Melissa said.

“Mostly,” Charley said.

* * *

The summers were mostly wonderful, even that last one, right up to the end. That summer, when Charley was sixteen, would turn seventeen in late July and was headed for her senior year in high school, she fell in love. She was tall, lithe, pretty, smart and brazen and he was twenty-two. She’d had boyfriends before, hadn’t missed a winter formal, prom or homecoming dance yet, but she’d never been in love before. Not like this. And with all the summer romances and flings she and Hope and even Krista and Meg had had, for Charley this one was special and a little forbidden. Hot and heavy. His name was Mack and he was so handsome her knees buckled when she looked at him. He was a graduate of the University of Minnesota and headed for Harvard Law School. So, she fudged a little bit and said she was eighteen and had just finished her freshman year at Berkeley and was home visiting her family for the summer. She threatened Hope, Krista and Meg with dire consequences if they sold her out.

It was Mack’s first summer working at the lodge. His father was a rich attorney in Minneapolis and wouldn’t even consider letting Mack lay around all summer waiting to go to school back East. He liked to talk about work being a virtue. Mack figured the best way to work and play was a job at the lodge.

The girls used to sneak across the lake to the lodge on hot summer nights when some of the waiters and waitresses had parties after they got off work. Charley would’ve braved the wrath of Louise every night, but the workforce didn’t play every night. The lodge employed a lot of local kids but about a dozen were from out of town and for them there were a couple of small dormitories—cabins with bunk beds and chests. They didn’t dare party on the lodge premises; they’d get canned. They went around the bend to a cove that was just right, just private enough, for a lot of messing around. They’d have a fire, and most of them drank a few beers. Someone usually managed to pilfer some snacks. They’d sit around and tell jokes, stories and probably lies. There was a lot of sneaking off behind the trees or bushes; there was a lot of making out in plain sight.

Charley picked out Mack right off the bat that summer. He told her about himself, his important dad, his plans to be a kick-ass prosecutor and put away all the bad guys. She told him of her plans to be a broadcast newscaster. She let him get to first base, to second base; she went to second base on him and then she found herself in over her head...

“Come on, Charley. I’m too old for these games. We gotta either do it or move on.”

“What games? This isn’t a game! I’m not exactly ready. I’m not on the pill or anything.”

“Why not?” he asked. “Man, you’re the first college girl I’ve ever met not on the pill!”

“I didn’t have a reason to be on the pill!”

“You didn’t have a boyfriend...ever?”

“I’ve had plenty of boyfriends, but never one who threatened to break up with me if I didn’t get birth control!”

“Seriously?” He laughed. Then he grabbed her and kissed her and said, “That’s sweet. But I’m too old for this. We have to get on with it.”

“I told you, I’m not ready...”

“Then let’s get ready,” he said, snuggling her to the ground and going after her mouth with his. “I have protection. I have a condom. Let’s just take our time, how about that?”

“I don’t know...” she said. But the truth was, she was getting turned on and she had begun to have fantasies. She thought about moving out to Boston while he attended Harvard, working while he went to school. She never thought about the fact that she was probably smart enough to get into Harvard herself. She’d killed the SAT; her grades were excellent, always had been. But instead she thought about being his forever girl, then his supportive wife. They’d both be very successful, be a power couple, maybe even have children someday. They’d live in a big rural house, commute to the city, go home to each other every night—a lifelong love affair. They’d have lots of friends, join a club, have parties, go to dances at the club, take trips together.

While she was busy thinking about how ideal their life would be, he was sliding off her shorts and pressing himself against her. He was whispering, Baby, baby, baby. He had his fingers on her, in her, and she was about ready to explode. She tried to ignore the fact that it was a little uncomfortable. He was a little clumsy. Or maybe she was; she was the one without experience, after all. So she snaked her hand down between their bodies to touch him as intimately as he was touching her.

She felt herself because he was pressing right into her.

“Mack,” she said softly. “Where’s the condom?”

“Ugh,” he said. “Crap. Just kiss me a second while I get under control...”

So she did. And while she was kissing him, he was pushing deeper and groaning. He was pushing inside her.

“Mack!” she said, panicked.

He pumped his hips a couple of times. He moaned. “Crap,” he said again. “Oh, man. I shouldn’t have had so much beer. It’s okay.”

“What’s okay?” she asked.

“Nothing really happened,” he said. “It’ll be fine. But you shoulda told me you were a virgin.”

He pulled out and tucked himself away. He helped her pull her shorts up. He kissed her deeply.

“Yeah, I think I did! And something happened, all right,” she said. “And it happened without a condom!”

“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t worry. No one ever gets caught the first time. It’ll be fine.”

She sat up and slugged him in the arm. “‘I have protection,’” she mimicked. “‘I have a condom!’” she said. “You idiot!”

He flopped over onto the grass, his hand on his forehead. “Don’t bitch, Charley, okay? I got a little hot. Your fault, you turned me on so much. But I’m telling you—it’ll be okay. Trust me.”

“Fat chance I’ll ever trust you again!” She got to her feet and walked through the bushes to the lake.

“Come on,” he cried. “Come on!”

“Up yours!”

“Charley,” he called, following her. “Hey, come on!”

But she walked right into the lake and began to swim.

Charley swam across the lake in the moonlight, unable to cry after the first half mile. Waseka was a large lake and from the party site to the Berkey cabin was about a mile. The girls were fish, all of them, but swimming at night while under the influence and emotionally upset was a very dangerous thing to do. Charley knew it but really didn’t care at that moment if she died.

She should have at least made him say he loved her first. He couldn’t get a piece of her fast enough. And then he berated her for being a virgin? She would have to rethink growing old with him.

“You went all the way, didn’t you?” Hope whispered that night.

“Shh, don’t let the little girls hear you,” Charley answered. “They’re big mouths. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know?”

“It...it happened so fast. It hurt. I wasn’t that sure...”

“Did he...did he rape you?”

“Shh. No, I said okay. But I shouldn’t have and he didn’t use anything...or pull out...or...”

“Oh, Charley!”

Charley was upset by what happened and she needed time to think things through. She hung close to home, where she got a clear reminder of why she had been avoiding the place. Her mother was irritable and preoccupied; Aunt Jo was more spacey than usual. There was another couple who Uncle Roy had brought and they stayed on, upsetting the balance of things for a while. It was some Russian guy and his much younger girlfriend and things were tense for some reason. Charley didn’t understand why but they created drama. Then, before Charley could get a grip on her own issues, the Russian guy took off, abandoning his girlfriend, and Lou took the young woman to the bus station in Brainerd, and after that Lou and Jo did nothing but bicker. Lou was in a foul temper that rose every ten minutes; you didn’t dare spill or talk back or leave a mess—she was constantly on a tear. And Jo was withering, clearly very upset, probably with Lou. When asked what was wrong, the malady was described as “family trouble.”

“Well, no shit,” Charley muttered under her breath. Though no one knew exactly what had set the sisters at odds that summer, it was definitely made worse by the strange couple. Years later Charley realized that up to that point, that summer, her mother always seemed to be capable and decisive. Aunt Jo had always been sweet, supportive and attentive. They bickered as sisters will but rarely, and making up quickly. That summer they both fell apart. They became unaccountably useless as caretakers.

Charley described her own withdrawn behavior, which was barely noticed by her mother and aunt, as cramps. Not that anyone cared.

After about a week of thinking things through, she went back to the party spot across the lake. She asked several waiters where Mack was. “Gone.”

“That fast?”

“Didn’t hang around to talk it over.” One of the girls she knew said, “You should’ve told him you were only sixteen, Charley. Turns out you scared the shit out of him. He hit the trail.”

“Who said I was sixteen?” she asked.

“Your cousin Hope.”

The worst thing, even though Charley had made up most of the biography she’d given Mack, was it never once occurred to her that he might make up some of his. She heard he was not twenty-two but nineteen. He was not a graduate or even a college student and law school was not in his future. At least not anytime soon. His daddy was not a rich lawyer but a humble farmer and he didn’t have any way of escaping his fate if he had sex with the underage granddaughter of a superior court judge.

“You should’ve told Mack ol’ Grandpa was a judge,” said one of the waiters Charley had known for two summers. “You shoulda seen his face. I didn’t know a person could get that color!”

“I didn’t know anyone knew that!” Charley said.

“Hope told me. Hope told anyone who would listen about her rich, powerful grandpa.”

Well, that’s just great! Charley thought.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Charley’s heart didn’t break because Mack had run off and left her lonely, nor was she in a panic about him getting in trouble because she wasn’t going to accuse him of anything. Nor did she hurt because he was a liar who had used her. The lesson that hit her in the chest with the weight of a hundred-pound boulder was that she’d fallen for it. That was something that would stay with her forever—she could take almost anything but looking stupid. That was the worst pain she could imagine.

When it was just the six cousins and their mothers, no daddies or grandparents or unwelcome guests present, the four oldest girls slept in sleeping bags on the screened porch, their mothers slept in the big bedroom together—when they were speaking, that is—and the little girls, Bunny and Bev, got to sleep in the upstairs loft, which had two bedrooms. Of course they wanted to be outside on the porch with the big girls, but they were exiled as “babies.” So, Charley tucked into her sleeping bag night after night, sometimes weeping soft, silent tears as she wondered how she could have been so easily duped by such a well-known male trick. She rarely fell asleep before dawn. She had dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t hungry. But only Hope noticed. Only Hope tried to console her. And as far as Charley was concerned, Hope had caused the trouble by bragging about the judge.

Even though Charley and Hope were best friends, they were nothing alike. They were as different as Jo and Lou. Charley wanted to be Barbara Walters or at least Jane Pauley, and Hope wanted a nice, rich husband. “Rich as Grandpa Berkey and ten times as handsome,” she would say. So, to help Charley with her tears Hope would say, “Ohhh, don’t cry, Charlene, you’ll find another guy—a better one!”

It was only a couple of weeks after Charley lost her virginity that Bunny drowned. And suddenly the summer was over. The summers at the lake to come never would.

* * *

The lake house transformed under the fierce and yet gentle hand of Melissa Stewart. Charley often thought if she’d had an assistant like Melissa during her talk show days, her life would have been almost carefree. During the month of April Charley returned to the house on the lake three times and every time she saw such growth and improvement she was completely impressed.

“I’ve paid some of the best designers available in a big city and never saw results like this,” Charley said. “You’ve done amazing things, under budget, sourcing everything in small towns.”

“Maybe that’s the trick—small towns,” Melissa said. “I’ve lived here all my life. I know everyone. When I put the word out that I need a new dinette set that will seat ten, I get calls. When I email subs I’ve worked with that I’m considering a kitchen cabinet redo, I hear from cabinetmakers to renovators to antique dealers who are artists at restoration. Not just antique restoration but I know a guy who can make 1950s cabinetry look like it was built yesterday. You’re going to be ready in plenty of time.”

With the help of Melissa at Lake Waseka and John able to spend extra time looking after Megan, Charley thought it was time she go back to Palo Alto to spend time with Michael and Eric. Playing it safe, she called Michael and asked him if he felt like seeing her. “Of course,” he said.

“Can we do this without fighting?” she asked.

“I could have my lips sutured shut,” he said. “But then you might let something slip out and I’d have to defend myself.”

“Oh, I’m not going to let anything slip out,” she said. “I want to enjoy my family for a few days.”

“And I want you,” he said.

Because it had been so long since she’d seen them, both Michael and Eric went out of their way to clear their schedules as best they could to spend time with her. They had a lovely day in Carmel, went into the city for a great dinner at the wharf and Eric actually spent a night at the house rather than on campus with his friends. They watched a couple of movies, played Scrabble, sat out on the deck at night to enjoy the spring in the Bay Area.

One thing she did not do—she did not visit with old colleagues from the station or the network. There were still friends among them and several who kept in touch by email, but she admitted, only to herself, that it had hurt to be unceremoniously dumped by her station. There had even been talk of a farewell event, but she made excuses—she wasn’t planning to stay in the area for the immediate future. To a couple she had said, “My sister needs me. She’s been ill.” Michael, who knew her better than anyone, said, “You had twelve years of extraordinary success on that dying of beasts, the daytime talk show. That counts for a lot. Maybe you could take the high road. Attend a special luncheon or something. Thank the suits for all their support.”

“I could,” she said. “Except that would make me want to shoot myself.”

Seriously? she thought. Thank the people who fired her? Maybe someday. Right now she couldn’t do it.

Michael’s plans to spend six months in England studying Britain’s electoral system would begin in September. He stuck to his word and didn’t badger her about going along but he threw out some bait, just the same. Eric had expressed an interest in a year of study at Cambridge. Michael thought he could get a little help in facilitating that.

“Not see either one of you?” Charley asked, stricken.

“Don’t be silly,” Michael said. “Even if you never warm to the idea of joining me there, won’t you visit? Provided Meg can do without you for a while?”

“But both of you?”

Michael chuckled and lifted her chin. “I know it gives you a sense of security to think we’re both waiting for you here in Palo Alto but it isn’t like that anymore. Eric has things to do, people to see, a life to live. We get together for dinner every couple of weeks and that’s it. I guarantee you, if he gets to go to Cambridge, he won’t be hanging out with his dad! And if he stays here while I’m away, you’re not going to get much of his time, either. He’s grown, Charley. He’s busy building a life.”

“All these changes,” she said. “All at once...”

“I’ll make sure to visit you this summer at the lake,” Michael said. “I’ll make sure Eric comes. When did you last take Eric to Minnesota?”

“I think he was six. He hated it. After that I went alone. My obligation visits.”

“He’s more mature now,” Michael said. “In most ways.”

Nights in Michael’s arms brought back such memories it only left her confused, wondering what was wrong with her. She couldn’t imagine a woman on the planet who wouldn’t rush to hold him in some marital knot. He was so perfect. They’d been together so long, and yet when he touched her, she still came alive with desire. Better yet, she had only to whisper to him and he was ready for her. Familiarity was such a blissful aphrodisiac—practiced love meant they had a beautiful routine together. He knew where to touch, she knew how to move, he knew what to say, she knew what sounds turned him on. When he rolled her onto her back and pushed her shoulders into the mattress, she lifted her knees and spread them for him. That always made him chuckle a little. “In a hurry, honey?” he would ask. “No, take your time,” she would always say. And he would. He would tease and tempt and make her beg him to hurry, to finish. Michael would always make sure she had two orgasms and he would take one. He could work her body as though he’d programmed it.

But she could do the same to him. She knew exactly where to touch, kiss and caress to drive him mad. Making him a little crazy was not only her favorite thing. It was his. “Why do you do that to me?” he would ask. “Because you want me to,” she would say.

About nineteen years ago, when they’d been together about three years, after one of their wonderful lovemaking sessions while he was still above her, she touched his cheek. “Michael, I’m pregnant.”

He had merely lifted his eyebrows. No gasp, no grimace. “How’d that happen?”

“I think I might’ve missed pills or something.”

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“Do?” she asked.

“Do,” he repeated. “We’re good together. Please say you want to have it.”

Her heart soared, but she kept a poker face. “I want to, but it will be difficult. Inconvenient. I have a job. A good job.”

“You’d have to take some family leave, at least a couple of months, but my schedule is pretty flexible. I’d be involved. I swear.”

“Right,” she said. “I’m holding you to that, Michael. We have to do this together or not at all.”

“I agree.”

And they had.

* * *

It was the end of April when Charley returned from California to find Megan looking quite well, for all she was up against. There was now a thin, fuzzy cap of hair covering her bald head. It wasn’t much, but it was there. She looked as though she’d gained a couple of pounds and her color was improved.

“How was your visit?” Meg asked.

“Perfect,” Charley said. “I think the advantage of seeing Michael so rarely is that he takes time. I don’t remember him ever having so much time to spend with me. Of course, I was a bit short on free time myself.”

“I hope you’re not grieving the show unnecessarily, Charley. This is a temporary setback. A small break in the action, that’s all.”

Charley began idly looking through a stack of magazines. There was a reason Meg had so many subscriptions when the rest of the world seemed to be getting their news and articles online—she had to rest a lot and couldn’t sit at the computer for long periods of time. Just like the magazines, TV talk shows were an endangered species. “That would be encouraging, but I’m afraid it’s not true. Talk shows like mine have been on the decline for a while now.”

“But maybe your next step will not be a televised talk show.”

“What do you suppose it will be?” Charley asked, for that was the real dilemma. The network hadn’t offered her a position. She feared that at forty-four she was considered too old for television. There were other positions, of course—at the executive level, behind the camera, in the field. But she’d loved her show.

“Hey, look at this,” Charley said, holding up a purple envelope. “A letter from Hope! It’s opened. You didn’t mention... What did she have to say?”

“Same old Hope,” Megan said with a shrug.

“Can I have a look?” Charley asked.

“I guess you might as well,” Meg said.

“But if it’s private...”

“It’s not,” Meg said. “Really, go ahead.”

Charley opened it and read.

My darling Megan,

How wonderful that you’re opening up the lake house for summer! We’ll be there! I’ll have to get back to you on the exact dates. We usually spend a couple of months at the Cape but of course we’ll cut that short this year if there’s a chance to get together with the family. I won’t know whether Franklin will come for the duration until closer to the date—he’s so overwhelmed with his company. I know he’ll do his best! And Bobbi and Trude will be thrilled. They’ll have such a good time. Does the lodge still have a stable and horses to use? And is Grandma Berkey going to be able to come? I’ll dash off a note when we have a few more details about our summer.

Love, Hope

Charley fanned herself with the note card. “Oh, Meg, what have you done?”

Meg shrugged again. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“How many of them did you invite?” Charley asked.

Megan briefly bit her bottom lip. “All of them.”

“All of them?” And Megan nodded. “Oh, God,” Charley said.

“Don’t worry, they’ll never come. Hope surprises me...but I bet anything she’ll change her mind. The lodge is no longer like a country club the ladies can go to for bridge. It’s just a hotel now. I don’t mean ‘just.’ It sounds like a nice hotel. But I don’t think the guest services are available to the lake people, just the guests.”

Charley raised an eyebrow. “And you know this how?”

“I looked into it,” Megan said.

Charley eased down into a chair. Megan reclined on the sofa. The den was a small, cozy room. It contained only a sofa, one chair, a side table and coffee table, a bookcase and a small flat-screen TV in a niche in the bookcase. Charley looked at Megan, huddled in a knit wrap. She was perpetually chilly, having so little meat on her bones. Eyeing her now, thin and nearly bald, her cheekbones so prominent and her constitution weak, it was hard to remember what a force of nature she could be.

“I forget how stubborn you can be,” Charley said. “Have you heard from anyone else?”

“Everyone, I think.”

“Care to expound on that?” Charley pushed.

“Well, it shouldn’t surprise you, Hope was the first. Beverly called. She said she was very doubtful—she’s pretty sure she’s not in a good place with that yet. But she’ll keep it in mind. Aunt Jo said it sounded to her like just the thing this family needed—time to get beyond all the trouble and angst and move on. Of course, she also said she wouldn’t feel right about going unless Louise asked her. And I don’t see that happening.”

“And Mother?” Charley asked.

“Oh, she’s furious. But there’s not much she can do. I guess she could arrest us and post a guard.” Megan laughed rather brightly. “I wouldn’t put it past her, to tell the truth. But she’s mostly angry that I invited Grandma Berkey and now she expects to be carted down to the lake and Mother’s pitching a holy fit about it.”

“You didn’t...”

“Of course I did,” Megan said. “I wouldn’t leave Grandma out. The house belongs to her.”

“Oh, brother,” Charley said. “Well, I think you take after her. Did any of the others ask how you were feeling?”

“Oh, yes, they’re actually very lovely people, our family.”

Charley just shook her head. Hope hadn’t asked. Typical of Hope. She didn’t think about other people much. “You know the best part about your recovery? You’re not going to get away with this shit anymore!”

“Lighten up, Charley. It’ll be fun. Even if it’s just the two of us.”

“I have a feeling it’ll only be fun if it’s just the two of us,” she said.

Chapter Four

When Hope Hempstead Griffin received the little note from Megan, something came alive in her that had been dormant for years. How long had the note been there? She hadn’t collected the mail in days! It was four in the afternoon when she opened the front door of her palatial home, stepped over the custom-hooked doormat that read Hope and FR Griffin and walked down her curved brick driveway in her terry-cloth robe and furry slippers. She pulled an armload of bills and catalogs out of the box and waddled back up the drive at a slow pace, leafing through the mail. Once every month or so she got a letter from her mother, sometimes a small package addressed to the girls, all of which she threw away unopened, but other than that there were only rare items personally addressed to her.

She dropped all the other stuff on the kitchen table and tore open the note. “The lake,” she whispered in a reverent breath. She read the few lines over and over. She held the note in her right hand and clutched her robe together over her pendulous breasts with her left hand. She absently ran a hand through her messy hair as though she were suddenly concerned with her appearance. Her lips began to move in nervous, meaningless, silent chatter. With a sweep of her hand she cleared a month’s worth of newspapers, magazines, catalogs and junk mail into the trash can. She put the note, alone and prominently displayed, in the middle of the table. She went to a cupboard in search of a coffee cup, but she found the cupboard empty. She rummaged through mounds of dirty dishes in the dishwasher and then the sink until she found one that wasn’t too nasty and slowly washed it out, her lips moving the whole time.

The coffeepot was permanently stained but she rinsed it out and loaded it with filter, grounds and water. While the coffee began to brew she went into the downstairs powder room and fussed a little with her hair. It was perfectly hopeless. Ha, ha, she thought. Hopeless Hope. Well, it would have to do for now. She hadn’t had a proper coiffure in months. She hadn’t washed her hair in days. Or showered, for that matter. “Coffee. Shower. Dress. Hair. Clean kitchen. Manicure. Take out trash. Run dishwasher. Unload. Reload. Vacuum. Sheets. Clothes...clothes...summer clothes...” Her lips moved over these words but the only sound was an occasional squeak.

When her coffee was brewed she sat down at the table with her address book. She flipped through the pages, and when her eyes lit on a name she mentally approved of, she reached for the phone and dialed. She hadn’t talked to her friend Maxine in so long. They had served on so many fund-raising committees together and had carpooled, belonged to the same country club. It would be so nice to tell someone like Maxine her news.

“Maxine? Max? Hi, it’s Hope! How are you?”

“Hope? I’m fine. But how are you?”

“Oh, great. How about Bob and the boys? Good?”

“Excellent. Tennis, track and baseball are just about in full swing so you know what I’m going through. And the girls?”

Hope’s laughter was melodious. “Oh, they’re ridiculously busy. Lessons, meets, games, drama club, cheerleading. Everything you can squeeze into a day! Having teenagers is so busy!”

“Busy doesn’t even touch it. What are you up to these days?”

“Frantic. Simply frantic as always. No rest for the weary. And making summer plans already, too.”

“Really? What are you doing this summer?”

“Well, we had planned another summer at the Cape, but I think there’s going to be a change of venue this year. It seems my family... You’ve heard me speak of my family? Back in Minnesota? Charley Berkey? From Chatting with Charley, Channel 10? Well, it seems the family has decided to summer at the lake house on precious little Lake Waseka. It’s the most charming place in the world. I grew up having all my summers there—riding, tennis, boating, everything you can imagine!”

“Won’t that be nice for you! I’m so glad you’re making plans for yourself!”

“Oh, the girls are thrilled. They haven’t seen Grandma Berkey in ages! And she raised me, after all. She’s eighty-eight now, and still kicking up a fuss. Ever since my grandfather the judge passed, she’s become more cantankerous every year. I do love the old darling. Filthy rich, you know. In fact, I’m quite sure this reunion has to do with her estate. She probably wants to discuss her bequests. It was actually her family who had the money to begin with...”

“So the girls are going with you, then?”

“Of course! I don’t know if Franklin will be able to go or not. He’s been in London all month and I haven’t even run this by him yet. He does love the Cape but I’m sure once he knows...”

“Frank? What about...what about Pam?”

Hope laughed indulgently. “Pam? Maxie, darling, sometimes you have such a passion for indiscretion! Franklin might take liberties with my feelings...successful men are used to giving orders and having their way, often taking their wives completely for granted. But I doubt even Franklin would be so crude as to bring Pam along on our family vacation!”

There was silence on Maxine’s end. Hope began to fidget.

“Pam is temporary, Maxine. If it hasn’t worn itself out yet, it will soon. In any case, I’m going ahead with our plans for the lake. It was the highlight of my youth and I’m sure the entire family will be there.”

It wasn’t that Hope had read an awful lot into a little card. It was how she lived—building castles in the air. She had a whole imaginary life. On some level she knew what was real and what was fantasy, but as it happened, she preferred her fantasy life. Her hands began to tremble slightly.

“Hope, forgive me, but I don’t think Frank regards Pam as temporary,” Maxine said.

Hope laughed again, but her laugh was hollow this time. “But of course she is! Just the other night Franklin said something that sounded awfully like he was just this close to coming home. Of course, I don’t intend to make it that easy for him. He’ll have to make a few changes, that’s for sure! I’m not going to allow him to just stomp all over my feelings for the rest of my—”

“Hope! He divorced you! Years ago! He’s remarried! They have a child!”

Hope’s voice was weak and pathetic. “We have children, too.”

“Yes, two adorable teenage girls who really deserve to have a mother who is living in this world! Hope, darling, I know this has been hard on you, but you really must consider talking to someone about this. A professional. A therapist. You need help!”

“Maxine.” Hope sighed, remembering now why it had been so long since they’d spoken. “Sometimes you’re so...so...bold. I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine. It’s not that I need a therapist to tell me that my husband has divorced me. Believe me, I’m more than aware of the fact. It greets me daily. The problem is very simple. I married for life. The vows I took are permanent.”

“Oh, really? And how’s that working out for you?”

“I won’t keep you! You have carpooling and meetings and probably some fabulous function at the club. Say hello to Bob and your handsome sons. I’ll call you again when we’re all home from the lake and settled in. Until then—”

“Really, Hope...”

“Goodbye, Maxine. Have a lovely summer!”

She hung up the phone and shook her head sadly. Why were all her friends so willing to give up? So quickly? So easily? Well, not her! She had things to do!

She gathered up discarded shoes, slippers and clothing on her way up the stairs to her bedroom. She shook dust balls off those items that had been on the floor for a long time and made a mental note to mop the foyer and kitchen floors. Soon she stood under a steaming shower and mentally ticked off all the things she had to do right away. What a scandal she’d become, letting things go as she had.

Hope’s husband had left her six years ago. Her daughters were then eight and ten. He told her he wasn’t happy. He hadn’t been for a long time. He didn’t like their life. He’d felt unfulfilled and suffocated by her. The arguing, for one thing, as if that was her fault. It was Franklin, in her opinion, who constantly avoided intimacy and who also seemed to avoid home in general. She had been very clear about her needs and more than specific about how he needed to change to meet them. But Franklin could be a thoroughly selfish man.

She had painstakingly built the perfect home and family for him and he was perpetually unappreciative! In addition to keeping a flawlessly ordered and spotless home—thanks to a little domestic help—she volunteered at the school, at the church, and was almost exhausted from her country club and Junior League activities. She made sure they had season tickets to the symphony; she hosted a fabulous summer barbecue and a Christmas party for the corporate officers of Franklin’s company every year. If it were not for her judiciously chosen charity work they would not have been present at every glittering, star-studded event in Philadelphia! All this so that Franklin would look good to his colleagues, to his rich family. And did he care? Hah! When she thought about how she impeccably choreographed their every family trip, right down to what each of them would wear every day and where they would eat every meal, she couldn’t imagine that he’d last very long living alone in an apartment! It was ludicrous.

And of course he hadn’t. Lasted long in an apartment, that is. He was soon living in a rather spacious town house with a woman named Pam. Younger than Hope, naturally. And from a simple miner’s family! It was all part and parcel of the old midlife crisis. Franklin had been all of thirty-eight when his crisis struck, but then he’d always been precocious. And this Pam was a CPA. Married before, of course. So they had that much in common. They could sit up late at night and talk about number crunching and ex-spouses.

Ex. Ex. Ex. Ex.

Franklin divorced Hope after a one-year separation. He gave her the six-thousand-square-foot house, the car, and worked out a time-share agreement with her for the house on the Cape. She could use it for the last two weeks in July. Big deal. He continued to pay her living expenses and had given her half the stock he received when he left the investment firm. He paid the taxes, utilities, phone, gas, cable TV and even for bottled water. But he refused to continue her country-club membership, pay her credit card accounts, or for a housekeeper, beauty shop, florist or spa. He paid alimony and child support and told her to figure out how to budget for the first time in her life. He said what he had given her was generous. Given! As though she hadn’t worked her ass off for fourteen years to create the most perfect, flawless home and family for the vice president of finance of a major investment firm!

A year after the divorce he had married Pam, who Bobbi and Trude said was nice. But she convinced herself that nothing had changed. She wouldn’t take the family portraits off the walls, wouldn’t pull up the personalized welcome mat and kept sending out Christmas cards signed, “The Griffins—Franklin, Hope, Bobbi and Trude.” She wrote an annual newsletter that chronicled every family member’s achievements for the year, including Franklin’s. She kept going to her volunteer posts and kept talking as though she and Franklin were still living together, embarrassing the girls and everyone around them. She wouldn’t stop going to the club even though she was no longer a member until one of the managers had to ask her to stop coming unless she came as the guest of a member. She was mortified to realize no one ever invited her. But it didn’t change her thinking.

Nothing would change her thinking, not even the gradual disappearance of all her friends. Her behavior definitely further deteriorated when her daughters went to live with their father. They told her she was crazy. That’s when she let herself and the house go into the tank. She’d gone through all the money from the stock in short order, stunned to realize after it was gone that it had been a few hundred thousand dollars. She stopped going out. She kept running into people like Maxine, who were interested only in confronting her with her divorce. She only cleaned and dressed when the girls were coming home for a weekend, but even then she didn’t do a very good job. Then they started begging to be allowed to skip their weekends with Hope. They claimed the house was a mess. Well, it was hell without help. Hope’s best housekeeping efforts had a rather smeary, lackluster effect that she’d gotten used to. She’d bust her butt if Franklin would even get out of the car when he picked up or delivered the kids, but since he didn’t care, she didn’t care. She had her groceries delivered. She had gained something in the vicinity of eighty pounds. Thirteen pounds a year. Roughly one pound one ounce per month since Franklin left her.

She spent her days and nights on the couch, watching TV and cutting pictures out of catalogs. Earlier on she spent most of her money paying for the useless things she’d bought from the shopping channel; Franklin had bailed her out of credit card disasters twice but on the third time around he refused and her card was canceled so she was reduced to catalog snipping until her monthly check was due. Then she ordered COD. She frequently overordered and had to send packages back.

But all that was going to change now. She was going home. Home to her rich family. Grandma Berkey had piles and piles of money and was older than dirt. She probably wouldn’t last much longer... Hope would finally get her inheritance... Maybe she would move in with Grandma Berkey and start over... Oh, God, she needed to lose some weight! She needed to get her house in shape! She would have to get in touch with the girls and let them know what they were doing this summer.

Somehow, in the fever of all this, she pushed aside the fact that Megan had cancer. Hope’s mother, Josephine, had chronicled all she knew about Megan’s illness and treatments in her regular letters to Hope, but Hope almost never read them. If she did open a letter, she merely scanned it in search of something of importance to her. It had not for one second occurred to Hope that Megan might be spending her last months at Lake Waseka.

Hope dressed in the only clothes that would fit her and began the most thorough job of housecleaning she had done in at least five years. She heaved out so much trash—from papers to cans to dead houseplants—she completely filled the Dumpster at the far end of the alley. She scrubbed, scoured, dusted, washed, wiped, shined, vacuumed and waxed. She laundered and ironed. She phoned in a grocery list that was largely fresh greens and cleaning supplies. She called carpet cleaners and window washers. She wrote checks for those services she couldn’t cover immediately and made appointments to have her hair and nails done. And her legs waxed.

Hope’s house had twelve rooms and even though she had been the only one living there full-time for five years, it took days to snap it into even tolerable shape. She was never going to be a very good housekeeper. She drank a lot of coffee, didn’t eat any sweets and only slept for a few hours each night on the sofa in the den. Then she called Franklin.

“Is this the Franklin Griffin residence?” she asked the woman who answered the phone. She pretended not to know Pam’s voice even after all this time.

“Just a moment, Hope. I’ll get him.”

It annoyed her very much that Pam would take that kind of liberty with her. She grimaced and tapped her freshly manicured finger on the streaked kitchen counter.

“Hello, Hope,” Frank said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Franklin. And yourself?”

“Well, thank you.” He waited. She didn’t speak. “What can I do for you, Hope?”

“Nice to talk to you, too, Franklin.”

“All right, then—”

“Wait! Wait a minute,” she begged. “I’m making some summer plans and I have to discuss the girls’ schedules with you, among other things.”

“Shoot,” he invited.

“Well, my family is opening up the lake house for the summer. We haven’t been back since the judge died,” she explained, which she knew was not the truth at all. Her brow wrinkled. She’d taken him to the lake the summer they got married...1996? It had only been seven years since the family had stopped going there but the years had been very hard on the house. Was that when Franklin first began to doubt that she came from a very rich, prominent family? Was that why he really left her? “It’s been completely refurbished,” she informed him quickly, hoping first that Megan would at least buy some new appliances, and second that her daughters would lie to their father about its condition. “I’d like to take the girls there for six weeks or so this summer. From about the tenth of June to maybe the end of July.”

“No can do, Hope. We’re going to be in New York and the Cape until the middle of July. The girls are expecting you to join them at the Cape and bring them home by the first of August. As usual.”

“Franklin, this is my family!” She stopped herself just short of demanding that he be there with them. Despite what she said to others, she knew Franklin was not inclined to spend any time with his old family.

“Maybe we can work out some compromise, but the girls are going to have a say in this. They don’t have to go with you at all if they don’t want to.”

“Franklin, why do you persist in trying to turn my own daughters against me? Isn’t it enough that you’ve taken them away from me? My own children?”

He sighed into the phone. “We’ve been over this, Hope. They love you very much but they hate this game you play, pretending we’re still married. Not to mention all the other airs you put on.”

“I don’t do that,” she insisted, her voice beginning to tremble. “Believe me, Franklin, I’m well aware that you’re not married to me anymore.” She wouldn’t go so far as to admit that she was not married to him, however. That was too much. She loved Franklin! “All I want to do is take my children home to see my family. We haven’t seen each other in years.”

“All right. I’ll talk to the girls about it. Maybe something can be worked out. It won’t be for six weeks, though. That’s too long. But maybe a little longer than—”

“And, Franklin? I’m going to need a little extra money. To buy some clothes for myself and the girls and to—”

“The girls have clothes,” he said irritably.

“The right kind of clothes. I know how to buy my daughters’ clothes. I’m not taking them back to Minnesota dressed like a couple of punk rockers. I have to get a few simple, inexpensive things for myself and I’m going to need some travel money. Also, I’ve just put some work into the house... It was quite falling down around me. I’d happily pay for all this if I had any money, but unfortunately on my limited income...”

“Hope, I give you two thousand dollars a month and pay all your bills, including gas for your car. You have only to buy food and clothes. You have a college degree. Have you ever thought of going to work?”

“Can’t we call it a loan, then? You could simply advance me a few months of that allowance you give me...” She could not call it alimony. No matter how hard she tried.

“And add it to what you already owe me? No, I’m afraid not. Sooner or later you’re going to have to be accountable.”

“At least May and June, then! At least send those checks early! For God’s sake, Franklin, would you like to see me beg? Am I not quite humiliated enough for you?”

“Overdrawn again, Hope?”

She was silent for a moment. “Does this young girl you’re living with know what a cruel bastard you can be?”

“Do you mean Pam? My wife? Who is only eleven months younger than you?”

“Please, Franklin,” she whimpered, but it was more a plea for him to stop throwing that truth in her face than a plea for money.

“I’ll send May’s check now,” he relented. “And I’ll talk with the girls and call you next week to let you know what time they’re willing to compromise from their summer plans. And...if you decide to drive to Minnesota, you can use the gas card as usual, but I’m unable to fund plane tickets.”

“Drive? You expect me to drive?”

“Actually, Bobbi would probably be thrilled to do the driving. I don’t know if your nerves can take it, but she’s coming along with experience.”

“Ohhh, Franklin...”

“Is that it? Money and vacation plans?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly very tired.

“I’ll be in touch, then. And, Hope? I want to remind you that the insurance coverage you have will pay for counseling...if you’re interested.”

She stiffened. She had told him many times before that she would indeed consider counseling—marriage counseling. She was about to remind him of that when she remembered she needed that check right away—to cover the carpet cleaning, window washing and beauty shop expenses. Where did her money go? She couldn’t eat that much every month. And there were only those few little COD catalog purchases... “Thank you, Franklin,” she said as sweetly as she could. “Please convince the girls to extend their vacation time with me. Please. It’s very important to me...and I ask for so little.”

“I’ll speak to them,” he said.

She was so tired. All that cleaning and primping. All that stress and worry. She would have to rest now and wait. It was going to be all right. Once she saw Grandma Berkey again everything would be fine.

She didn’t think about Megan’s four-year battle with cancer. Her oblivion was so complete that if someone asked her, right now, how the family fared health-wise, she would say, “Very well, thank you!”

* * *

In 1989, the year the Berlin Wall came down and the Game Boy was introduced, right before Hope was due to become a junior in high school, she took her last realistic look at her family. Her cousin Bunny was dead. Her parents had had a very troubled marriage and her father, Roy, had run off, couldn’t be found and didn’t send money. Her mother was sick—depressed and emotionally unavailable. Her mother had no job, no husband and no money. Her sister Krista couldn’t stand to be at home anymore and was running with a bad crowd, skipping school and getting into serious trouble. Twice the police brought her home in the middle of the night. Her youngest sister, Beverly, had been Bunny’s best friend and was broken by her loss. She was in even worse shape than Jo. Her cousin Charley had been exiled to Florida to have and give up her illegitimate baby. Charley’s last letter to Hope said, simply, “I’m going to run away the second I get back to Saint Paul so don’t expect any help from me...unless you want to come with me.”

“Mama,” Hope entreated. “You have to ask Grandma and the judge for help!”

“The judge can’t help us,” Jo said.

Hope later learned that the judge had offered help with the condition that Jo agreed to divorce Roy and live by Berkey standards. Jo refused.

The family was in utter chaos after Bunny’s death. And that was when Hope started looking for a better life.

As a little girl Hope had spent hours looking through the photo albums at pictures of her mother and Aunt Lou dressed for their formal dances at the club and pictures of their incredible coming-out parties and unbelievable weddings. Aunt Lou had twelve bridesmaids—like Grandma Berkey before her—and so did Hope’s mom. There were trips to Europe and carriage rides through the streets and ice-skating at the winter carnival. What the hell had happened to them all? How could this be? Falling apart was one thing but this whole family was ready to be shot and buried—they were that humiliating.

Grandpa Berkey was still on the bench and she went to him. “Please,” she begged. “I’ll do anything you want, act any way you please, just let me live with you and go to a decent high school and maybe get into college somewhere. Please, I’m begging you. I want to have the kind of life you planned for your daughters.”

Charmed, her grandparents took her in. They dressed her, showed her off, sent her to a private school. And she did as she had promised. She followed their every wish from crossing her legs at the ankle to getting home before ten every night. She went with them to the club for dinner every weekend, danced with all the old codgers, learned to play bridge and wore long, lacy dresses when torn jeans, bra tops and exposed garter belts were all the rage.

She had a coming-out party, got her college degree and met a man from a rich family. When she got married in Saint Paul, a simple but elegant affair held at Central Presbyterian Cathedral with dinner at the country club, she introduced Franklin’s wealthy family to Grandma Berkey and the judge as the people who’d raised her. She had whispered to the Griffins that her biological mother was emotionally unwell and Hope hadn’t lived with her since she was small. Jo didn’t argue with this story. Hope’s father, they said, was deceased. No one else from the family came to the wedding. No one seemed to think this odd. Nor did they ask any questions.

Chapter Five

By the middle of May both the house on Lake Waseka and Megan were looking much better. Even several visits from Louise couldn’t bring Megan’s spirits down as she anticipated the summer, and Louise definitely tried to put the kibosh on their plans. Louise steadfastly insisted she would not join them. If they wanted Grandma Berkey at the lake, they’d have to find someone other than Louise to deliver her.

There was very little left to do in the house and Charley went ahead of Meg to see it done. John had agreed to help Meg pack, make sure she had her medication and drive her and her luggage north to the lake. He wanted to be there on weekends whenever possible. There were just the finishing touches, things that Melissa had offered to take care of but Charley wanted to do herself. In fact, Melissa had come close to begging, but Charley insisted. Charley’s hands-on involvement in fixing up the place had been pretty limited and she looked forward to adding the accessories she’d shopped for in the city. She had fluffy towels, crisp sheets, thick rugs, soaps and creams, place mats and napkins, comforters and down pillows. She bought a set of eight wineglasses and as many tumblers and cocktail glasses.

After putting her new purchases in the house, Charley lit off for the nearest large grocery to stock up, looking forward with great longing to the summer days when the farmers would begin to put their fresh vegetables out on roadside stands.

She settled in, smoothing sheets over the mattress in the master bedroom, shaking out and putting down fluffy rugs in bathrooms, in front of the door and kitchen sink, beside the beds. The new down pillows almost hugged her back when she squeezed them. Everything was in place before the sun lowered in the sky and she took a glass of wine onto the porch, sat in one of the chaises with her feet up and began to do what Megan had been doing—remembering the summers that were filled with laughter and fun.

It wasn’t hard when she focused. When it was just them—the girls—it was carefree and filled with pleasure. It wasn’t harmonious every second, of course. Six little girls could squabble and bicker, especially when the rain forced them inside, but their conflicts were short-lived. They just enjoyed the heaven that escape to the lake provided. They loved to spy on their mothers late at night. Getting caught was almost as much fun as the spying, which never turned up much besides gossip about their marriages. They had swimming races and diving contests. Since they spent so much time in the lake they hardly ever took baths. In fact, they washed their hair in the lake. Aunt Jo would give them a bottle of shampoo to take to the lake every few days. They had an old outdoor shower at the boathouse but they used it sparingly because the water was freezing.

Her cell phone rang and she held her breath when she saw it was Michael. She prayed they wouldn’t fight. “Hi,” she said. “I was just thinking about you. I just got here this afternoon. The place is all put together and I’m by myself.”

“Where’s Meg?” he asked.

“John’s bringing her in a few days. I wanted to come ahead, make sure it was clean and comfortable and stocked with healthy food.”

“John’s okay with her spending the whole summer at the lake?” he asked.

“He’s planning to come on the weekends. But how are you?”

“Ready for the semester to end,” he said. “Listen, I hope you’ll take this as good news. Eric was able to get a slot in an exchange program at Cambridge. He’s coming with me in September.”

“Oh, Michael,” she said. “Is he happy about that?”

“He’s ecstatic. Of course, all he can talk about is the fact that he won’t be staying with me. He’s planning on staying in a student flat. But we’ll be in the same city. And I’ll be able to check on him.”

I wonder where I’ll be, Charley thought. “Both of you gone? I don’t know if I can stand it.”

“Charley, you’re gone,” he reminded her. “You can come with us, you know.”

“You know that depends on a lot of things, mostly Meg.”

“And how is our Meg?” he asked.

“She’s looking so much better. And she’s stronger. I’m filled with hope. But she’s thin and still needs two naps a day, so...”

“I’ll bring Eric in the summer,” Michael said. “In fact, I can’t wait.”

At least he didn’t say he’d send Eric. “I wish you could see it right now,” she said. “School isn’t out yet so the lake is still quiet. You can hear a fish jump now and then. Someone will whistle for a dog or maybe shout the dog’s name. No speedboats but the occasional putter of a motor on a bass boat out in the big lake. It’s so peaceful. Restful. Good for thinking.”

“I’m sorry Meg’s illness was what took you away, but after the shitty way your year started out, this might be just what you need. Has Louise reared her ugly head?”

Charley laughed. “Oh, yes. She tried saying she wouldn’t allow us to come here, but when Meg said she’d have to call the police and arrest us, she tried other tactics. She won’t be joining us. We’re not at all sad about that. But guess who says she’s coming? Hope. She says so, anyway.”

“And Beverly?”

“She says she’s not sure if she’s ready for that much reality.”

“It might be just the two of you all summer,” Michael said.

“I’m perfectly all right with that idea,” Charley said. “Being here alone I tried to remember all the good things that happened when we were children. That’s what Meg’s been doing. It turns out it’s not that hard to do. I’m remembering so much.”

“Too much?” he asked. Because of course Michael knew about that summer romance that went awry, leaving her an unwed mother.

“Actually, I’m remembering that last summer more kindly now. Do you know what never occurred to me at the time? In fact, it didn’t occur to me until very recently. My summer love who ran for his life when he found out my grandfather was a judge—he might’ve been afraid of a statutory rape charge. I was sixteen. He was nineteen. We both lied about our ages. And he said he was from the city, but I heard from one of the other waiters that he wasn’t—he was a local kid. If I’d been near here when I found out I was pregnant I could’ve tracked him down, but I wasn’t, and then they sent me away. When I made contact with Andrea seven years ago, all I could tell her about her father was that he was nineteen and he’d said he was Mack but that wasn’t his real name.”

“You could ask around now,” Michael said.

“You think he could still be around after twenty-seven years?” she said. “Maybe after I’m here a little while.” But what she didn’t want to say, what she couldn’t quite say, was how she still found it so embarrassing. She was made to feel humiliated by the way she was sent away. Thinking about facing the locals to say there was a man out there who should know he has a child who was now twenty-seven, married, with children of her own, was intimidating. Yes, the sophisticated talk show host might be able to spit out something like that in the big city, but out here in the small farm towns, facing old-fashioned Methodists who went to church every Sunday was different. Feeling like a fool had always been her weak spot.

But she vowed she would try. After she got used to the idea.

* * *

The next day Charley put her iPod in the speaker bay she’d brought along and, to the comforting strings of Vivaldi, she folded freshly laundered towels and put them in the linen closet. She hung two fluffy yellow towels in the bathroom. It had been such a relief to sleep amid smells of lemon oil and pine needles rather than the motel’s economy disinfectant that bore a ghastly resemblance to cheap talc.

She went to make a pot of coffee. Just as she turned on the machine she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She was drawn to the kitchen window for a closer look. There was a young girl sitting across the lawn in one of the freshly painted chairs that Melissa had put out in the yard. She had a small suitcase on each side of the chair. For a second Charley almost felt like she was looking at a memory; the girl’s hair was stringy, her jeans ratty, her T-shirt ragged and grayish, her jacket a cheap, dated corduroy. With a closer look, she realized it was not a girl, but a woman. A small, familiar woman.

“Krista,” she whispered. “What the hell?”

When they were little girls, aged one through six, they looked like towheaded clones, but as they grew older they each took on more individual characteristics. Charley was tall, her face angular, her hair a dark auburn, while Megan was only five-three and when she’d had hair their mother had called it dishwater blond. She hadn’t seen Krista in a long time, a couple of years since she’d visited her in prison. In fact, Charley had only visited her a handful of times the whole twenty-three years. But from the distance of one hundred yards she looked the same as she had the last time she’d seen her, her brows thick and straight, her hair that nondescript and shapeless brown, her mouth harshly set. She was Megan’s height and probably didn’t weigh a whole hundred and fifteen pounds.

Charley wondered, not for the first time, what kind of baggage prison would leave Krista with. She could have visited her more often. But she hadn’t. The whole experience of visiting Chowchilla had been so horrid.

It was odd the way she sat out there, watching the house. What was she doing here? Meg had sent her a note telling her the lake house would be open from June through August but it wasn’t yet June. And Krista was supposed to be in prison, for God’s sake. Last Charley had heard, she wasn’t even eligible for parole.

It was sunny but chilly outside. Charley shivered and found her heaviest sweater. She turned on the oven to begin to warm up the place, then on the spur of the moment opened a can of biscuits, tucked them into a pan, covered them with butter, sugar and cinnamon and popped them in the oven. But the cold air, smell of coffee and hot cinnamon biscuits and sounds of music hadn’t drawn Krista to the porch.

Well, Charley decided, she’s having trouble with this. So I’ll have to bring her in and get her story, find out what she expects of me. I’ve done that for a living for years.

Charley tucked a woven lap blanket under her arm, poured two steaming cups of coffee and went out into the yard. Krista watched her cautiously as she approached but she didn’t move. She neither rose to greet her cousin, nor did she bolt.

Charley knelt before her, placing both coffees on the ground. She unfurled the blanket and wrapped it like a shawl around Krista’s shoulders. Then she placed a warm mug in Krista’s hands. “Krista, why are you sitting out here? Did you escape?” she asked.

Krista shrugged.

“Really?” Charley said with a sarcastic laugh.

Krista’s lips moved into a smirk. “Once I got here, I realized you might not be happy to see me. I was giving you a chance to send me away.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m a convicted murderer, maybe?” Krista replied with sarcasm of her own.

Charley put on her impatient interviewer face. “I know you didn’t murder anyone, Krista. How’d you get out?”

“A miracle. Some big-shot lady lawyer got me out. I stopped believing something like that was possible a long time ago.”

“That’s a relief. I’m glad I don’t have to harbor a fugitive.” Krista made a face and Charley smiled. “Wanna come in? Or you wanna sit out here by yourself?”

“So you’re okay with this, then? Me being here?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Krista. I think in all fairness I should be asking you if you’re okay with me being here. We haven’t even talked in a couple of years. And I wasn’t able to do anything to help you. Aside from some letters, I was hardly any support to you while you were in prison...and I knew you didn’t deserve to be there.”

“Oh, I don’t even think about that, Charley,” Krista said slowly, getting to her feet. “I mean, first of all, I did deserve to be there—just maybe not for the reasons they said. And second, I wasn’t much help to you, either, as I recall. I don’t think you had it that much easier than me.”

Charley’s head slowly tilted to one side as she listened to Krista. This woman had just come out of twenty-three years of hard time while Charley had been considered a minor celebrity making lots of money. Yet she had sympathetic words for Charley. It was almost unheard of that anyone would express such a kindness to her, especially a member of her family. That her success had come at great labor and sacrifice was irrelevant to most people. She was unaccustomed to genuine concern for her feelings.

She bent to pick up one of the two small suitcases. “How’d you like a nice hot soak in our new bathtub?”

“That would be so cool,” Krista answered. “You just have no idea how cool.”

* * *

Charley gave two taps on the bathroom door before entering. The bubbles were high, nearly covering Krista’s head. Charley picked up the empty coffee cup and replaced it with a new one. “This is Amaretto Crème,” she said. “With a little dollop of whipping cream on top for good measure.”

“I don’t drink.”

“It’s just the flavor—no booze. Krista, I have to say something quick before I lose my nerve. And I don’t think there’s any way to preserve your dignity when I say it.”

“Go ahead, babe. I don’t have hardly any dignity.”

“I peeked in your suitcase. The stuff you brought with you...your clothes. The underwear and jeans? It’s no good. You have to let me replace it all for you. With new stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. Orphans in third-world countries have better underwear than you. I’ve spent more on lunch...many times...than it would cost to buy a few new outfits for you to wear this summer. And you’ll need a bathing suit.”

“Gee, we were all girls at the last place I lived, so when we went to the beach, we just skinny-dipped,” Krista said, laughing harshly.

“Maybe some nightclothes. You obviously don’t need nightclothes or robes or slippers in prison.”

“Shower thongs, Charley. Not slippers.”

“Well, you need slippers and beach thongs. Flip-flops.”

“Charley,” Krista said.

“And we’ll get you a decent haircut in Brainerd, if you like.”

“This is so much how I pictured you, Charley. A perfectionist. Throwing money at everything.”

“Please, I don’t mean to hurt your pride, Krista. I just want to help. I want you to be comfortable and feel safe. Don’t deny me the pleasure of—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t deny you your pleasures. I don’t do things to hurt myself anymore,” Krista said, raising her arm high above her head and watching the soap suds run slowly down. “Spend as much on me as you want, Charley.” She laughed. “I didn’t have time to stop at Victoria’s Secret on my way out of Chowchilla. And my beautician was all tied up.”

“Who cut your hair in prison?” Charley asked.

“Whoever could be trusted with scissors. It was usually a guard. But we did have a little beauty shop there, if you use the term loosely.” She sank down in the tub, letting the water and bubbles cover her head. She rose up again. “Way loosely.”

“Well, for right now you can wear some of my stuff.”

This made Krista laugh. “Really, Charley, I can get by for the time being. All right?”

Charley left the bathroom and came back directly with some underwear and and a pair of soft white socks. She dangled them toward Krista, then put them down on the closed toilet lid and left.

“Charley?” Krista called. “When do you expect the phone to be hooked up?”

“Couple of days. Why?”

“I haven’t called my mom yet. I never really believed I was going to get out so I didn’t tell anyone what was happening. I just came straight here.”

“I have a cell...you can call her whenever you want...”

“Maybe in the morning, then. And, Charley?” The sound of the drain gulping bathwater accompanied Krista’s yelling. “I have to check in with my parole officer in Grand Rapids...it was the best I could do... Do you suppose...?”

“I’ll take you there myself. I’ll be your sponsor here.”

“I don’t think I need a sponsor. But, Charley? Oh! Oh, Charley! Oh, my God!”

Charley rushed to the bathroom. There stood Krista, her skin pink from the hot water, wearing Charley’s cotton underwear and matching undershirt. Bright soft whites. Krista was running her hands up and down her sides, over her little rump, around her hips, over her little breasts. “Oh, Charley, these are the most wonderful things I have ever had on my body!” she said with reverence. “I will never take them off!”

“Yeah, well, I think that’s what happened to the last ones.”

* * *

They had to share a bed, Charley told her, because they had only the one mattress so far with two more being delivered. And there was only the one heating pad to keep them warm. Fortunately, there were plenty of quilts and comforters and pillows. “Just like our mothers used to do,” she said. Charley took the flavored coffee and hot cinnamon biscuits to the bedroom on a tray and they nibbled and sipped while they talked.

“Tell me what prison was like,” Charley said.

“Oh, not now,” Krista said, sinking back against the down pillows. “Just let me smell and feel these things. Charley, your life is so rich, do you know that?”

She picked up her coffee cup, warming her hands with it, and smiled. She did know. She worked hard for it—she appreciated every moment of it.

“Do you smell all these smells? The lotion and pine and linen and soap...soap that isn’t lye, I mean. The dirt and the lake and the...the...furniture polish?” she asked.

“Yes. And varnish,” Charley said. “I had the hardwood floors sanded and varnished.”

“There’s paint and wallpaper paste and lemon oil.” She closed her eyes and twitched her nose in the air. “There’s vanilla somewhere, some sweet-smelling cleaning fluid. The smell of brand-new muslin and ages-old cotton...what a great combination.”

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