A Week at the Lake (23 page)

“I wasn't counting on it, no.” He gave her a rueful smile that was almost as devastating as the fiery melting one. “But it is almost criminal to sleep in that suite alone.” He did the crinkly-eye thing. “Did I mention there's a two-person hot tub next to the fireplace and overlooking the lake?”

“That's it.” She moved to scrape back her chair prepared to stand, deliver the devastating monologue that she'd been composing in her head for the last two decades, and leave him in a pool of regret.

His hand encircled her wrist. The touch sent sparks shooting inside her that she wanted to believe were sparks of anger.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Don't go. I guess I'm nervous and I—I—just wanted to lighten the mood.”

She stayed put, but she could feel her muscles tighten in their eagerness to flee. She tried to remember the first name she'd wanted to call him.

“The sole purpose of tonight was supposed to be a sincere apology for my behavior all those years ago. At which point I'd sit quietly while you told me off for being such an . . . imbecile.”

Imbecile had definitely been on her list, but nowhere near the top.

“So you were just going to apologize for being
stupid
?” His apology had thrown off her timing. As had his manner. But the time had come. He made no move to stop her.

“You broke my heart. You went back on everything you promised. Everything we'd dreamed about. One minute you loved me, the next you loved someone else. You've left me all
these years wondering what I did wrong.” She was whispering where she'd planned to shout. Exposing herself in ways she hadn't meant to. She had planned to call him all kinds of ugly things, not reveal her own vulnerability.

“You were far more than stupid. You were cruel and—and—cruel.” She tried to call up all the names she'd been hoarding, but every one of them had fled in the face of the emotions that she'd believed she had exorcised but which now churned inside her. “Shit.” She closed her eyes, opened them.

His eyes had lost their sparkle, but not their warmth.

“Why are you here and what do you want from me?” she asked finally.

“I don't know exactly. Except that it seems that my marriage is over. With the kids gone we're, well, there's nothing really holding me there.” He looked into her eyes in a way she'd only dreamed about, and said words she'd never expected to hear. “And I've always wanted to know what my life would have been like if I'd spent it married to you.”

E
mma sat propped up, her back against her bed pillows. Zoe lay beside her, a onetime regular occurrence that had disappeared when Zoe became a teenager and had only now resurfaced. Her long legs were bare beneath the oversized
As the World Churns
T-shirt Ethan Miller had given her after her recording session, and which she'd slept in every night since. In the morning sunlight with her long red-gold hair splayed across her slim shoulders, she looked so much like her aunt Regan it almost took Emma's breath away. Except that Regan had never smiled anywhere near as sunnily as Zoe was now. Nor did Emma have one single memory of herself, Nash, or Regan, ever the favorite, in any bed anywhere near this close to their mother. Unable to let go of this train of thought, she closed her eyes for a moment trying hard to remember if she'd ever witnessed a single informal or spontaneous gesture between Rex and Eve and barely came up with a handful.

“Is Ryan coming to my birthday?” Zoe asked. Emma noticed she made no mention of Ryan's father and suspected they could all probably sit this one out as long as Ryan Richards was there. But both Richards men had accepted and Jake had insisted on bringing his specially marinated baby back ribs to cook on the grill. “I know it's a cliché,” he'd said. “But I cooked every meal on the grill the first year after my divorce. So if Zoe's not up for ribs, we can have pretty much anything she can come up with. I even have a recipe for barbecue birthday cake, though it doesn't look all that impressive.”

“You know Jake offered to grill you a birthday cake,” Emma said, smiling over the memory.

“Uh, pass.”

“Can't say that I blame you.” The ancient memories seemed so much easier to retrieve, and Emma thought back to the birthday cakes of her childhood. They'd always been served at restaurants and not necessarily on her actual birthday but rather when Rex, Eve, Regan, and Nash could fit it into their schedules. Affection wasn't the only thing reserved for the cameras. Birthday celebrations had been public affairs as well, played out with lots of happy emoting, candle blowing, and professionally wrapped gifts that Eve's latest assistant had purchased.

Gran hadn't exactly been a cook, either, but the celebrations she threw for Emma after she'd come to live with her had been joyous and sincere. Milestones had been formally celebrated. Her Sweet Sixteen took place in Bemelmans Bar, downstairs from Gran's apartment at the Carlyle, where she and her school friends had eaten cake surrounded by the large murals of Madeline in Central Park created by Ludwig Bemelmans, creator of the
Madeline
children's book series.

Her twenty-first birthday to which she'd invited Serena, Mackenzie, and Adam Russell, had been held in the Café Carlyle, where Woody Allen and his jazz band often performed and Gran's famous friends stopped by to sing “Happy Birthday” to her and share a slice of cake.

But the majority of Emma's birthdays were celebrated in private at the lake house—just her and Gran. When Gran was still performing, she'd had time off to observe Emma's birthday written into her contracts.

“Okay,” Emma said. “Scratch the grilled birthday cake.” She pretended to ponder. “I could bake you a cake with my own two hands.”

“Oh, no, I . . .” Zoe sat up straighter. “I don't think you're strong enough for that yet. Please don't feel like you have to go to all that trouble.”

Emma bit back a smile. She'd attempted a homemade birthday cake exactly twice. Both had been hugely unattractive and largely inedible. “It's all right. I wouldn't eat one of my cakes, either. Besides, I've had enough of hospitals. And I wouldn't want to put anybody else in one.”

Zoe laughed.

“I'm thinking we should ask Martha to bake one to your specifications,” Emma said.

“Good plan.”

“So what kind of cake would you like?” she asked Zoe now.

“How about chocolate?”

“That goes without saying.”

“And chocolate raspberry filling and topped with chocolate fudge icing.”

Emma smiled. “When I was pregnant with you I managed to cut out coffee, but I craved chocolate so much I considered it the fifth food group. I feel terribly guilty about that sweet tooth you got from me.”

“I might forgive you. But only if we get to eat my cake for breakfast like you and Mackenzie and Serena used to when you lived in New York.”

“Done. There's nothing more decadent than chocolate cake for breakfast, but I think sixteen is old enough that I won't feel like a completely crappy mother for giving you that much chocolate first thing in the morning.” Emma ruffled Zoe's hair and when Zoe reached up to stop her, she got a good couple of tickles in on her belly.

M
ackenzie followed the sound of Zoe's laughter into Emma's bedroom. She walked in without knocking but stopped in the doorway at her first sight of Emma and Zoe tickling and laughing with huge identical grins on their faces. She felt a physical stab of envy at this demonstration of the mother-daughter bond she would never experience.

Emma looked up, a smile lighting her face even as Mackenzie's smile faltered. It was the most animated she'd seen Emma since she'd been released from the hospital. Mackenzie hated that her first thought was to crush that smile rather than applaud it.

Zoe looked up and spotted her. “Guess what, Mac? We're going to have birthday cake for breakfast. And it's going to be totally chocolate.”

“That's great.” Mackenzie forced a smile to her lips. Then she stepped forward.

She knew the minute Emma recognized the expression on her face for what it was, because Emma got out of bed, walked over to grab Mackenzie's hand, and pulled her toward the bed. “Here,” she said. “Slide over, Zoe. We're giving Mackenzie a Michaels sandwich whether she wants one or not.”

They pushed tight to either side of her, laughing eerily similar laughs. Mackenzie felt their warm skin press against hers, felt them intentionally include her in their warmth. She breathed deeply, their scents so similar and yet so different, then willed herself to let go, to let herself join in their laughter, not to hold her hurts and disappointments against them. It wasn't Emma's fault she'd miscarried while Emma had carried Zoe full term. And it sure as hell wasn't Emma's fault that she and Adam hadn't been able to have a child.

“Frankly,” she said when she'd regained her equilibrium, “I think we should call this a reverse
ham
sandwich, since the actresses are on the outside and my poor little white bread self is smooshed in the middle.”

This got the laugh she was hoping for. By the time Nadia had come in to see what was going on, Mackenzie had joined in.

“So,” she said to Zoe. “How would you like an ‘original' creation for your birthday? We've got almost ten days to design and sew it.”

“You can do that?”

“We can,” Mackenzie said. “Because I'm not going to be doing this alone. It'll be a lot more fun if we do this together.”

Zoe appeared stunned. “Seriously?”

“You're really in luck now,” Emma said. “Mackenzie's one of the most talented designers I've ever known.”

“I think that might be a slight exaggeration,” Mackenzie protested, but she felt a warm glow at the praise and the certainty with which it was delivered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd thought of herself in terms of talent.

“Gosh, I don't even know what to ask for.” But Zoe was already looking at her phone screen, typing in fashion sites.

“You can take a day or two to think about it,” Mackenzie said. “Then we can go into town and pick up some fashion magazines to look over if you want to.”

“That would be cool!”

Mackenzie was puzzled by Zoe's excitement. The girl had grown up in Hollywood. She and Emma probably could and did buy designer clothing all the time. Yet Zoe threw her arms around Mackenzie and hugged her with all of her might. “This is going to be so awesome. Can we go pick up those magazines this afternoon?”

Mackenzie nodded, smiled, and once again pushed away the envy. This at least was something she could give Zoe that Emma could not.

T
he rain started late that afternoon and didn't let up. After dinner when the table was cleared, Serena watched Zoe and Mackenzie begin to pore over a collection of glossy magazines that included
Vogue
,
Elle
,
In Style
, and
Seventeen
. They'd found and set up a small corkboard on an easel they'd unearthed, and Mackenzie had started pinning pictures of things Zoe had torn out of the magazines.

“I don't know which of these I like better,” Zoe said,
pointing to photos of everything from capris to gauzy midlength skirts.

“Remember, we don't have to choose anything in its entirety. We can take elements you really like and then design an article of clothing, or an outfit, that will make those elements work together.”

Emma was sitting on the window seat staring out through the sheet of rain as it fell from the dark sky. A novel lay open in her lap. Serena sat at the kitchen counter watching Nadia build a smoothie for Emma's dessert.

Zoe had decided she wanted something that she could wear for the birthday cookout. Something casual but special and attention getting. She didn't come out and say that its sole purpose was to make sure Ryan Richards couldn't take his eyes off her, but then she didn't have to. Mackenzie had appeared surprised that Zoe didn't want something more elaborate to wear to some dressy awards ceremony or party, but Serena understood completely. Because at this particular moment she would have traded her entire wardrobe and any wardrobe she might own in the future, for one thing that would ensnare and entrance Brooks Anderson.
Brooks.
The man she'd just barely managed to resist after their dinner at Erlowest. And whom she'd spent the whole next day thinking about, a day in which she'd seriously considered tying herself to the hammock, the dock, and even briefly, to Nadia, in order to prevent herself from returning to the historic inn in order to try out the double Jacuzzi and the tester bed.
Brooks
. Whom she'd ultimately agreed to see in Manhattan.

“So, can someone drop me at the car rental agency tomorrow morning?” she asked casually. “I need to go into the city.”

She waited for the third degree or at least a few pointed questions, but Mackenzie and Zoe were immersed in clipping pages and sticking things up on the board, then arranging and rearranging them. Emma continued to stare out the window. Serena had prepared answers to a wide array of potential
questions including why, after she'd said she didn't feel like going into the city and would probably record from here, she was now going into the city. But no one asked that question. No one asked anything.

“I thought I'd go in tomorrow so I can take care of some things in the afternoon,” she explained as if someone had questioned her. “I have shopping to do and a, um, a doctor's appointment,” she expounded, although she'd already canceled her standing appointments with Dr. Grant. “I'll spend the night and record the following morning and, you know, then I'll head back.”