Starlight On Willow Lake. Сьюзен Виггс
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physical therapist, psychological counseling and a sports trainer.
It was late at night by the time Faith finally found time to put away the last of her things—a few books and keepsakes, memorabilia of life before it got so complicated. It was interesting how little one actually needed on a day-to-day basis—a few changes of clothes, a decent bar of soap, toothpaste and toothbrush. It was hard to believe there had been a time when she’d daydreamed of having a house of her own, maybe one with a garden and a tree where she could hang a swing for Ruby, and sending Cara off to any college she chose. The future Faith had once imagined for herself was a distant memory from another life, a life she’d nearly forgotten. These days she didn’t have time for hoping and planning. She’d nearly forgotten what that was like. Lately, all she had time for was the daily juggling act of trying not to drop all the balls she had to keep in the air.
But things were looking up. Instead of standing in line and filling out humiliating forms at the Ulster County Housing Authority, she stood in an opulent bedroom with an antique poster bed, with the French doors open to a view of the starlight on the lake. The girls were fast asleep in the adjacent room, and the only sound Faith could hear was the pleasant chirping of frogs outside.
She finished arranging a small stack of folded clothes in a drawer. Then she drew herself a bath in the big claw-foot tub. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper bath. As she settled back into a cloud of scented bubbles, the sense of indulgence was so intense, it brought on a vague feeling of guilt.
Don’t be stupid, she told herself. This is where you live now. You have a bathtub. There’s no shame in using it. She noticed a bit of blood still caked under her fingernails. She found a brush and scrubbed away the last of it.
After the bath she slipped on an old jersey nightshirt and checked on the girls. Their room adjoined to hers through the bathroom and dressing area, and at the moment it was a minefield of their belongings, hastily hauled in from the van. As usual, Ruby’s bedside lamp was on, because she was afraid of the dark.
Cara had fallen asleep the way she always did, with a book still open to the page she was on. Faith picked it up and angled it toward the light—a novel called Saving Juliet. Cara was always interested in saving things that were doomed.
Faith bent down and quietly switched off the lamp. Moonlight streamed in through two dormer windows, and the shadows outlined the twin beds against the opposite wall. Ruby slept with her Gruffalo clutched in the crook of her arm, her sweet face pale in the bluish glow. Faith reached down and, with the lightest of touches, brushed the hair away from Ruby’s forehead and placed a kiss there.
Look at our girls, Dennis, she thought. Look how beautiful they are.
Studying Ruby’s face, she could still see him in the shape of the little girl’s mouth and the tilt of her eyebrows. You’re still here, Faith said to Dennis. Then why do I feel you slipping away? Time, said the widows in the grief group she’d attended for a while. It was both a healer and a thief. As the months and then the years passed, the pain of missing him faded—but so did the memories.
She returned to her own room, but she was too keyed up to sleep just yet. She walked outside, her bare feet soundless on the cool surface of the deck. Taking a deep breath, she gazed up at the stars and then broke down and wept with relief.
It wasn’t like her to cry; she wasn’t by nature a crier, but the pent-up tension of her past struggles had been sitting inside her like a time bomb waiting to go off. And now that the waterworks had been unleashed, she found she had no power to turn off the flood of relief.
After a few moments, or maybe it was an eternity, she heard a door open and shut; someone cleared his throat.
“Oh, hey...” She stood and turned, seeing Mason Bellamy silhouetted against the lights coming from the main house. She quickly wiped her cheeks with her bare hands. “Is everything all right? Does your mother need something?”
“No,” he said. “Everything is great. How about yourself? Is there something in your eye? Or are you just glad to see me?”
“I’m okay.” She knew she didn’t sound okay. Her voice shook. “These are tears of relief.”
He gestured at the glider placed at the edge of the deck, positioned for a view of the lake. “Have a seat. Stay there, and don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute. Ninety seconds, tops.”
She complied, pleased that he didn’t seem too freaked out to find a woman in a state of meltdown. Dennis hadn’t been good with meltdowns, so she had learned to control them, keeping her emotions in a tightly wrapped box and enduring her darkest moments in private.
The beauty of the moon and the stars reflected on the lake was so intense that she nearly cried again. Instead, she inhaled deeply, tasting the fresh sweetness of the air and listening to the chirping of frogs down by the water’s edge.
True to his word, Mason returned a moment later with two short glasses, clinking with ice. “Are you a whiskey drinker?” he asked.
“Not often enough. What are you pouring?”
“Scotch. I figure with a name like McCallum, you’d have a taste for it.”
“That’s my married name. But I’ll try the Scotch.”
“This one is called Lagavulin. I found a bottle that’s been waiting sixteen years for someone to open it.” With the dexterity of a seasoned bartender, he poured a shot into each glass. “Cheers,” he said, touching the rim of his glass to hers.
The whiskey was remarkably smooth, its flavor unexpected. “Oh,” she said. “I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”
“Essence of peat smoke. They use peat to roast the barley.” He stirred the wooden glider with his foot, and they sat together in the nighttime quiet, savoring the whiskey.
“Well, thanks. I like it... I think. Warms my chest.”
“So about those tears.” He shifted around to face her.
She wondered if he actually cared about her tears. Unlikely. He was simply trying to make sure he hadn’t engaged an unstable person as his mother’s caregiver.
“Like I said, it was a rare meltdown. Nothing to worry about. You didn’t hire a wacko.”
“I’m already convinced of that. You said you were feeling relief. Because...?”
“The past few months have been a tough spell for us. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the placement agency I’d been working for. Just before you got in touch with me, I was looking at having to move right at the end of the school year. The idea of uprooting the girls yet again was awful.”
“Your daughters like it here in Avalon, then.”
“We all do. Small town, good schools, beautiful area. But I think they would like anywhere that feels stable to them. We’ve had a lot of upheaval since their dad died. Sometimes I think most of my life has been spent in some sort of upheaval or other.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He added a tiny splash more Scotch to her glass. “Care to talk about it?”
She smiled shakily into the glass and took another sip. “Depends on which upheaval you’re talking about.” She fell silent, traveling back through the years to the first big shock of her life. When she was just a schoolgirl, her grandparents both died in a single, tragic moment, leaving behind their only daughter—Faith’s mother. The tragedy had occurred in Lockerbie, Scotland. They had not been on the tragic Pan Am flight that day in 1988, but on the ground, visiting friends in the town, on a tiny loop of a street called Sherwood Crescent.
Faith’s grandparents had saved for months for their overseas visit, planning to spend Christmas with the Henrys, whom they knew through an international church group.
It would have been long dark when they sat down for dinner on that dreary December eve, but inside, there would have been a cheery fire in the grate