A Week at the Lake (16 page)

Emma sighed in pleasure, accepting the nurse's help up the stone front steps to the large covered porch with its uninterrupted view. There she sank gratefully into a cushioned wicker chair.

“Do you want to wait here while we get things stowed inside?” Serena asked.

“Thanks.” Emma nodded. Her face looked haggard and the look in her eyes made Mackenzie think of the photos she'd seen of wounded soldiers who'd recently come back from places and horrors they might never fully forget or completely remember.

“Where do you want us?” Serena asked after she and Zoe had deposited Emma's things in the master bedroom.

“Where you've always stayed,” she said as if there had been no five-year gap since their last visit. “Unless you want to . . . change?”

They looked at each other then shook their heads. There were three more bedrooms and two baths upstairs, one a Jack and Jill that stretched between the two guest rooms that had been Serena's and Mackenzie's. Zoe had what was once Emma's room.

“Those rooms . . .” Emma swallowed. “Always yours. Still the same.”

Mackenzie noticed that the first floor was also reassuringly the same. Original plank floors throughout the downstairs, a light golden anchor to the whitewashed walls that surrounded them. While the exterior footprint of the five-thousand-square-foot cottage had never been changed, its interior had been carefully updated over the years so that it maintained its period charm with none of the inconvenience.

Stack stone fireplaces anchored the northern and southern ends of the house. A central foyer opened to a huge U-shaped
eat-in kitchen and dining room with a farm table that seated twelve running perpendicular to the fireplace. A screened porch off the kitchen was a preferred summer dining spot.

On the northern end lay a massive great room with walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that framed the fireplace while a cushioned window seat stretched beneath a bank of windows that overlooked the lake. A former sunroom on the western end of the house had been turned into a den with a flat-screen TV and an impressive sound system. French sliders allowed the room to be closed off or opened to the rest of the space. A small hallway led to what had once been servants' quarters and was now a guest suite.

They stowed their things and came downstairs to wave off the ambulance. But the nurse, a large, almost mountainous woman with a head of spiky bleached-blond hair, refused to leave.

“I am Nadia. I am paid for month by mother of patient,” she said in an accent straight out of
Rocky and Bullwinkle.
“I'm not take money for job I don't perform.” She crossed large, muscular arms across her massive chest. “Miz Mickhels need help. Take time build strength. Who help her to bathroom in middle of night? Who dress and undress her? Carry where she needs go? Make sure she get nutrients for put back on weight?” She stared at Mackenzie and Serena out of eyes that were a blue so dark they looked black.

Mackenzie glanced at Serena, relieved she wasn't the only one who squirmed.

“We assumed we'd take care of her,” Serena said.

“So. You stay here the twenty-four/seven for next month?” Nadia's crisp white uniform pulled tight against her rock-hard bosom. Like her body, the planes and angles of her face appeared carved from granite, but her pale skin was surprisingly unlined. She might have been anywhere from forty to sixty, and her dark eyes crackled with intelligence and determination. When she'd introduced herself, she'd scoffed at Serena's joke about the only
other Nadia they'd ever heard of. “I am not the Comaneech,” she said dismissively. “She too tiny, too delicate.” It was clear Nadia considered these lamentable defects. “I am Kochenkov. Am not gymnast. Am weight lifter. A champion. I lift you both with one arm and not break sweat.”

Mackenzie and Serena took a small step back. “You think it'll be a whole month before she can be on her own?” Mackenzie had already been away two full weeks when she'd planned on one. Serena's show was not on hiatus. Could either of them stay that long? Would Emma even want them to? And who was going to tell her it was Eve who'd retained this weight lifter turned RN?

“Six to eight weeks most realistic,” the nurse said. “But stronger in four.” Nadia placed ham-sized fists on her hips. “Miz Mickhels should be in rehab facility. It big thing recovering from coma and blood clot and sepsis. You two can be responsible for her?” One excruciatingly thin eyebrow went up.

Mackenzie and Serena winced in unison.

“I stay. I be bad cop. You good ones. I bully her when needing it.” Her look said this would not be a problem. “You and the daughter give emotional support. She going to need it.”

Nadia looked like a woman who knew when she'd won a match and didn't waste breath confirming her victory. “I put things in room down here. Then I make Miz Mickhels's room ready. I sleep on sofa in dressing room so I be there when she needs me.”

T
he floorboards groaned and the mountain named Nadia was standing over her bed when Emma opened her eyes.

The woman had only smiled when Emma attempted to inform her that she didn't want some stranger watching her sleep in her own bed, not after all the nights of observation in the hospital, but had given up for lack of energy and a fuzzy brain. At which point the nurse had pretty much carried her up the stairs in her arms, put her gently but firmly into her pajamas, and tucked her into her bed while Serena, Mackenzie, and Zoe made themselves scarce.

When she'd awoken in the middle of the night needing to pee, Nadia had been there to help her, silent and efficient.

“Good morning,” the nurse said now. “You get up now?” At Emma's nod, the massive blonde swept open the draperies, letting daylight into the room, then returned to Emma's side.

Mist clung to the lake and softened the early morning sky to a wispy gray. The sun was already on the rise as Nadia helped Emma out of the master bedroom's French doors. Barefoot and leaning heavily on the nurse, Emma stepped out onto the dew-covered deck, her bare feet growing damp as they slowly crossed to the railing.

It had been a relief to go to sleep in her own bed in the place that had always provided such comfort, and yet that sleep had been fitful, filled with yet another jumble of dreams she didn't understand. Gran had been there urging her on to something she couldn't quite make out. Eve had been there,
too, her smile enigmatic, her eyes hinting at something that was also unclear. Did any of it mean anything? Or was it all just random bits of imagined memory? Electrical impulses of long-ago impressions?

No matter where she tried to turn her thoughts, the blank of the last weeks loomed dark and cavernous, an empty void she wanted to sidestep and yet couldn't stop attempting to peer into. Its nothingness frightened her and so did the spottiness of her memory and the fuzziness of her thoughts. A fuzziness she prayed would ultimately pass.

Across the still waters of the lake, the first rays of sun rose above the mountains, announcing the day's arrival. She watched the red-rimmed yellow ball send shimmers of light dancing across the water's smooth surface as the lake came to life.

How many sunrises had she seen from this house? How many times had Gran told her each signified not only a new day, but also a new opportunity to be whoever she wanted to be? She felt a peace here she'd felt nowhere else. If the jumble of thoughts and emotions that filled her could coalesce anywhere, it would be here.

Just beyond the boathouse a family of ducks floated nonchalantly, occasionally bobbing their heads beneath the water to scoop up an interesting morsel. A platoon of gulls skimmed low over the surface scouting for breakfast. A dog's bark echoed in the quiet while an orchestra of insects tuned up for the day's performance. The breeze was gentle on her bare arms, the temperature mild. She thought of Gran, to whom this master suite, this private deck, and this home had once belonged. God, she wished she were here in all her no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners glory.

I'm always with you. And I'm quite relieved we've left that hospital behind.

The words that sounded in her head offered comfort, but at the moment Emma wanted her grandmother in the flesh. Wanted her elegant arms wrapped tight around her. Wanted
to bury her head in her grandmother's shoulder and inhale the mingled rose and jasmine of her Joy perfume.

Shoulders back, chin up, darling
.
You worry too much.

She leaned against the railing as Nadia wiped down the nearby wrought-iron dining set, then helped her into a chair.

Behind her the bedroom door creaked open, footsteps treaded on the wood floor. China clattered as something was set down.

“Em? I thought I heard you moving around. You didn't really eat last night, so I brought coffee and some of Martha's cinnamon buns.” Mackenzie came out onto the porch in shorts that revealed the long legs that Emma had always admired and an ancient New York Is for Lovers T-shirt. Her straight dark hair had been pulled up in a high ponytail and secured with a scrunchy. “God, it's gorgeous out,” she said. “Would you like to have coffee out here?”

Emma nodded.

Mackenzie placed the breakfast tray with its coffeepot, mugs, cream and sugar, and plate of iced cinnamon buns on the table.

“I straighten bed.” Nadia nodded, practically clicking her heels together and departing.

Mackenzie poured Emma a cup of coffee and pushed the plate of warm buns toward her. “Oops.” She patted her pockets. “Forgot my phone. I'll be right back.”

“Thanks.” Emma reached for the mug, shocked that she needed both hands to lift it to her lips and keep it there. She wanted to believe the mug was exceptionally heavy, but was forced to admit that she was just exceptionally weak.

Birds chirped on a nearby branch as she savored the first sips of coffee then carefully set down the mug in order to pinch off a bite of her cinnamon bun. It was warm, the melted icing sweet and gooey. She chewed slowly, glad that Serena and Mackenzie were here, grateful that they'd been with her and especially Zoe at the hospital, but she could not separate what,
if anything, she actually remembered, from what surely must have been dreams.

She felt a tug of anxiety as something flitted through her mind. Something she was meant to do or say. Something important that was supposed to happen here at the lake. She tried to focus, tried to call it back, but it was gone.

Serena wandered out in her nightgown over which she'd thrown a short white terrycloth robe. Her feet were also bare; her toenails had been painted a bright blue.

“Nice polish,” Emma said.

“Thanks.” Without asking, Serena turned the extra mug upright and poured herself a cup of coffee, which she loaded up with cream and sugar. She took a long sip. “Ahhhh, I love this place. Is there still a boat in the boathouse?”

“We're down to a canoe, a Jet Ski, and a paddleboard,” Emma replied, pleased that the memory came easily.

“And do we have a car?”

“The Jeep should be in the garage. Martha's son Jason drives it every once in a while to make sure it's still running. And we have a small motor scooter.”

Mackenzie returned, her eyes trained on the cell phone in her hand.

“Expecting a call?” Serena asked.

“I've been waiting to hear from Adam. But the three-hour time difference is a killer.”

“What time is it?” Emma asked, realizing she had no idea.

“Almost ten,” Mackenzie said, glancing at the cell phone again. “I seriously doubt I'll hear from him until after seven his time.”

“In my experience a watched phone rings about as fast as a watched pot boils,” Serena said.

Mackenzie's head snapped up. “Maybe that depends on whether you're married to the pot you're waiting to hear from.” Mackenzie noted the cup of coffee in Serena's hand. “Nice,”
she said. “I guess I'm going down for another mug. Do we need anything else?” She aimed the question at Emma, who shook her head.

Emma and Serena sipped their coffees in a companionable silence. Emma eyed the cinnamon bun but didn't have the appetite or strength to reach for it. Mackenzie returned with another half pot of coffee and a third mug then pulled another chair over to the table. She set her cell phone on the table within easy reach. “Have I mentioned how much I love this place?”

Serena raised her mug of coffee to Mackenzie and Emma. “I will definitely drink to that.”

Mackenzie eyed the cinnamon buns as she sipped at her coffee.

“If anyone can afford to have a cinnamon bun, it's you.” Serena reached over and deposited one on Mackenzie's plate. “Seriously. You don't look like you've gained an ounce in the last five years. And it totally pisses me off.”

“Me too,” Emma said. “The tall and slim just get taller and slimmer. The round just get rounder.”

“Ha!” Mackenzie said but she reached for the pastry and took a large bite. Her eyes closed as she began to chew. She moaned in a paroxysm of ecstasy. “Oh. My. God. That's soooo good.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Serena bit out. “Give me one of those things.” She snatched up a bun and brought it to her lips. “At the moment I don't care how round I get. I told you I wasn't counting calories this trip and I don't see any attractive men hiding in the bushes. Plus my only on-camera opportunities are handled by a caricature of me.” The bun disappeared in a matter of bites.

They drank coffee and chatted idly while the sun continued to rise and the number of boats out on the lake multiplied. Zoe still hadn't appeared when they heard a car approach and pull into the drive.

Serena glanced down at her pajamas. “Are we expecting company?”

“Not that I know of.” Mackenzie looked to Emma.

“Nope,” Emma said. “Unless it's Martha. Or Jason checking on the Jeep.”

Serena got up and leaned out over the balcony railing as a car door slammed shut. “Whoever it is is kind of short and blond. And he's got equipment of some kind with him.”

“Well, whatever he's selling I'll get rid of him,” Mackenzie said, glancing down at her phone again then scooping it off the table. “Seeing as I'm the only one actually clothed.”

“Thanks.” Emma couldn't stop the yawn that followed. “I hate to say it, but I think I . . .”

Nadia was there before Emma had even made it to the edge of her chair. “You need nap.” She helped Emma to her feet. Waited for what felt like an eternity while she straightened.

Mackenzie stuffed the phone into her shorts pocket and headed downstairs, taking the breakfast tray with her as Emma moved slowly inside. Serena tagged behind Nadia. As if Emma might not be able to make it even with a former Soviet weight lifter supporting her.

She didn't protest as Serena bid her good night and Nadia helped her back into bed. Emma yawned, unable to believe she could be this tired, this soon, but she could already feel tendrils of sleep wrapping around her, ready to pull her under. There was a brief stab of fear that she might once again fail to wake up, but she pushed it aside. They wouldn't have let her out of the hospital if there were a chance that could happen. Emma settled onto her side and pulled the pillow closer. The morning coffee hadn't exactly roused or infused her with new energy, but she felt better, calmer, after the time with Mackenzie and Serena. Except for that thing, that thought, that disappeared each time she tried to grab it.

It's all right, darling
, Gran's voice said in her head as she began to doze
. See how much better you feel? Sometimes a coffee klatch is the answer.

Emma burrowed into the pillow. But her last thought as
she slipped back into sleep was,
Doesn't that depend on the question?

M
ackenzie snuck another peek at her silent cell phone before answering the front door to a stockily built man in his early thirties. Despite the heavy equipment bag looped over one muscled shoulder, he managed to hand her a business card. “Bob Fortson,” he said, his craggy face breaking into a smile. “I'm here for Ms. Michaels's first physical therapy session.”

“I'm sorry?” Mackenzie considered the man in front of her. He had a tanned face with a slight smattering of freckles, sun-streaked hair, and a friendly smile. His handshake was firm but not bone shattering.

“Where would you like me to set up?”

Mackenzie looked into his eyes and saw no subterfuge in them, but she had no idea how he'd gotten there.

“I think there's been some mistake,” she said, preparing to close the door.

“I was hired by Eve Michaels. Services paid in advance. The PT and OT were prescribed by a Dr. Markham. Two times a day, no more than thirty minutes per session.”

“Everything okay?” Dressed in shorts and an
As the World Churns
T-shirt, Serena came down the stairs to join Mackenzie at the door.