The Guest Cottage (12 page)

Quietly, Trevor said, “It must have been awful.”

“Yes. Awful. I finally stood up without looking at the audience and walked offstage. I can still feel that walk in my bones and muscles. I held my head high. I could see other competitors in the wings watching me with wide eyes. The stage seemed to stretch out into eternity. The walk took forever. When I was behind the curtains, I heard a couple of girls giggling with their hands over their mouths, and I knew they were both thrilled at my failure and horrified. I just kept walking. My mother was in the audience. She rose and came to find me where I ended up, standing outside the backstage door, hugging myself, rocking myself, afraid I would shatter and fly apart.”

“Was she nice about it?”

Sophie hesitated. “Yes. Yes, she was exceptionally kind that day. But she and my father were both devastated. They were furious with me when I told them I was through competing. My father’s been dead for a few years. He died without forgiving me.” She lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Trevor was silent for a while, letting Sophie decompress before asking gently, “And then?”

Sophie nodded, once. “It was the end of the spring semester, so I didn’t have to return to school. I went home—we lived in a Boston suburb—and stayed there for a couple of weeks, sleeping and watching television constantly. My parents pestered me, wanting me to get up and practice, but I refused.” Sophie looked down at her hands, gently swiveling them palm up, palm down. “Then Zack phoned. He had just graduated from Harvard. We had met at a wedding about a month before. He asked me for dinner and I went.” With a wry smile, Sophie held up her hands and said, “And that’s the end of the story. I guess now I’m trying to figure out whether or not it was a happy ending.”

“Are you saying you think you might have rushed into marriage?” Trevor asked.

“Rushed? I bolted. I
flew.
But to be honest, I was in love with him. Zack is a great guy—smart, articulate, charming, and handsome.”

“Sounds like the perfect man.”

“I thought he was, for a while. He had a vision and he needed me to help him fulfill it. He was a talented architect who wanted to run his own firm. I helped him in all the little ways a wife could. I kept his clothes immaculate. I haunted the sales for classy shirts and suits. We had rented one of the furnished houses on the market. When he invited clients home for dinner, I made gourmet meals. It was fun, actually, helping someone else achieve his dream. Then I had Jonah and we were a family and Zack was doing really well, so we bought our own house…”

“And what about the piano?”

“I never played again. Of course when Jonah was born and later when Lacey came along, music returned to my life in the form of children’s songs, but it didn’t bother me. It didn’t hurt. I was happy to be simply normal. I never wanted to buy a piano for our home.”

“And now?” Trevor prompted.

Sophie tapped her lip, thinking. “Well, now, first of all, I’m beginning to understand that a person can love playing music without tying it to ambition. I guess what started all this was you asking if your son could be
talented.
It’s too soon to tell, I think, and I’m not the right person to make that decision. But I can say that I hope if Leo plays, he plays for pleasure, for the joy of it, not as some kind of goal. It’s not necessary to be the
best.
Sometimes it’s quite enough simply to be happy.”

“I get what you’re saying.”

“Do you? Good. Because I hardly do.” Sophie laughed and rose suddenly. “And now, Dr. Black, it’s time for our therapy session to end.” She hurried from the room.

L
ater that afternoon, Trevor sat at the top of the stairs listening to his son learning from Sophie. He sensed that Leo would be braver without his father watching, so he didn’t go into the music room. But even though Leo’s attempt at melodic playing was hardly easy listening, Trevor was fascinated.

When would he have a chance for another intimate conversation with Sophie? He had so much he wanted to ask her and so much he wanted to tell her. He wanted also, fiercely, simply to be around her, to watch her whisk eggs or brush her blond hair off her forehead or kiss Jonah’s cheek. He admired the easy communication she shared with her children. Often if the kids were dawdling or arguing with one another, Sophie had only to say their names in a certain tone—
Jonah—
and the behavior would change. But she also took the time to listen to their explanations if they were arguing for something they really wanted: to go off biking with the other guys, to go back into town for more books from the library even though they had been there only two days ago.

Once again, he wondered if he was falling in love with her.
What a ridiculous thought,
he told himself, but over the years he had met plenty of attractive women, including gorgeous aspiring starlet friends of Tallulah’s, and he’d never had this reaction. It wasn’t mere lust, as it had been for Tallulah, although there was plenty of lust mixed in with the confusing jumble of emotions he felt when he saw Sophie. It wasn’t simply that she was so kind to his son, helping him discover a love for music Trevor had never known existed within his child. Perhaps it was partly the complexity of the woman. She intrigued him.

But she was older than he was and more mature. He didn’t want to come on to her like some pickup artist at a bar. She was elegant, and Trevor wondered if he could behave with enough elegance to be attractive to her.

The rain stopped. The sun came out. Monday and Tuesday were spectacular beach days with low humidity, clear skies, warm water, and mild surf. Monday night Trevor barbecued hamburgers on the grill while Sophie made a tomato-mozzarella salad, corn on the cob, and small red potatoes drizzled with butter and rosemary.
This is what a family is like,
Trevor thought, as they sat around the dining room table eating, chatting, laughing—even Leo was laughing. If only it could go on forever.

If only after the children were in bed Trevor could go up to bed with Sophie.

Tuesday when they came home from the beach, Trevor received a rude surprise. Once again they would have to have dinner without Sophie. She was going out with Hristo.

“Really? Where is he taking you?” asked Trevor casually as the two adults unpacked and rinsed out the sandy insulated beach coolers.

“To the yacht club, I think.” The back of Sophie’s neck was red and so were her shoulders. “I’ve got to get some lotion on my shoulders and nose. I got too much sun today.”

Of course he belongs to the yacht club,
Trevor thought snidely. “I’ll put lotion on your shoulders,” he offered.

Sophie was on her way out of the kitchen. “Thanks, Trevor, but I’ll have Lacey do it after I have a quick shower.” Then she was gone.

Trevor got himself a beer out of the refrigerator, slammed the door, and leaned against the kitchen counter. Why hadn’t she told him earlier she had a date tonight with that Bulgarian dude? On the other hand, why
should
she tell him? He wasn’t her father. He wasn’t her brother. He was only some random man who through the
unpredictability
of fate ended up in the same house with her.

Screaming interrupted his thoughts. He went to the patio, where he saw Lacey and Leo running through the sprinkler. All that energy! Returning to the house, he wandered around aimlessly, trying to decide what to do with himself before dinner. Jonah was in the family room watching an action DVD.

“Jonah, I’m going to take a quick shower. Keep your eye on the kids for me, will you? They’re playing in the sprinkler.”

Jonah nodded. As Trevor showered, he reflected that he should be in a better mood. There his little boy was, running and laughing and playing, forgetting the loss of his mother in the immediacy of hot sun and cold water. This was a good thing and Trevor had to stop focusing on Sophie. The world wasn’t about Sophie.

Dressing quickly, he went down to the kitchen to see what he could conjure up for dinner for everyone. The answer was easy: the refrigerator was filled with leftovers of every kind. He would simply set them out on the table and hand out fruit for dessert.

Sophie returned to the kitchen, this time wearing a skimpy blue dress that fit her far too nicely. She’d done something to her eyes so that they looked larger, and her lips looked pinker and puffier. Kissable.

Trevor cleared his throat. “You look nice.”

Sophia laughed. “You sound just like my husband. I think that was the only adjective he knew, at least when it came to me. No matter what I wore, he thought I looked
nice.
”

Horrified at being compared to her husband, Trevor’s mind went blank. “I don’t mean—I mean—”

“You look
nice
yourself, Trevor,” Sophie told him. “In that ruby-red shirt, you look absolutely—” She blushed as red as his shirt and stopped talking.

“Absolutely what?” He took a step toward her.

For a long moment they stared at each other, hardly breathing. What could he say that would make her cancel this date with Hristo and stay here, with him?

Sophie broke the spell, moving away, digging in her purse, placing a piece of paper on the table. Her hands were shaking. Probably, Trevor thought, she was just excited to see Hristo. She was breathless when she said, “Here’s the phone number where we’ll be. My cell phone number is on the refrigerator door. Jonah can stay up as late as he wants. Actually, Lacey can stay up as late as she wants, too, as long as they are in the house when it gets dark.” Before Trevor could answer, she said, “Oh! I think that’s his car now.” She did a twinkling thing with her fingers to say goodbye and practically ran out of the house.

“Have fun,” Trevor said, not meaning it at all. She didn’t hear him, anyway.

He gave the kids fifteen more minutes, then called them in for dinner. He knew that Leo would get exhausted and cranky if allowed to play too long.

“Connor says we can come watch him carve,” announced Lacey around a mouthful of tomato and cold corn salad.

“That’s nice,” Trevor responded automatically. “When?”

“After dinner. He’s sitting outside. There’s still plenty of light.”

“I’m going, too,” Leo announced.

“Well,” Trevor said, “be careful to stay away from the knife.”

“Duh, Dad,” Leo said.

Trevor opened his mouth and shut it. Leo had sassed him—a good sign of healing for sure.

After dinner, Trevor sat on the patio, working on his laptop and keeping an eye on Leo and Lacey. Connor sat in a lawn chair, carefully working on a block of wood, and speaking in a low voice to the children. Trevor didn’t join the group. He didn’t want to interfere. He liked it that Leo was so involved, so attentive.

After a while, Lacey drifted over to her fairy house, kneeling among the hostas and hydrangeas, arranging pebbles and shells. Leo remained by Connor’s side. They seemed to be enjoying a conversation, a slow, unanimated chat.

He allowed Lacey and Leo to stay outside later than usual, oddly reluctant to put them to bed and be on his own on this soft summer night. It was Lacey who finally chose to come in, calling good night as she went upstairs to crawl into bed with one of her books. Trevor bathed Leo, read him a good-night story, and watched his son fall asleep at once. He wished his sleep could be as easy.

He didn’t want to stand at the window watching for Sophie’s return, so he ended up playing ridiculous computer games until one in the morning, when he finally heard the door open and close and Sophie’s gentle tiptoeing up the stairs and into her room.

In her bedroom, Sophie simply slipped off her blue dress and let it lie where it fell at her feet. She kicked off her heels, removed her earrings, carelessly dropping them on the bureau, and collapsed into bed without brushing her teeth or doing anything else sensible and routine. She curled on her side, closed her eyes, and as if in a dream, replayed this evening with Hristo.

The yacht club was elegant, posh, and formal. They had a table by the window overlooking the harbor, a breathtaking view. At first their conversation was light, two friends sharing anecdotes of how their children had spent the day. Hristo ordered wine for them, and an appetizer of oysters Rockefeller. A group of teenagers ran up from the docks, still wearing their life vests, giggling, chatting, bronzed and ebullient after a day on the water. Sophie sensed a kind of melancholy pass over Hristo.

She said, “Tell me about your summers as a child. Did you go to Bulgaria?”

Her companion’s melancholy lifted like a mist. He smiled. “Oh, yes, we were allowed to spend a great part of our summers in Bulgaria. This was in the Rhodope Mountains. You can see the Black Sea from there. The air is clear and fresh as ice.”

“Did you stay in a hotel?”

“No, no, we stayed with family. Always. Our uncle had a small house on a large plot of land. Many cousins came; we all ran in a pack together. We used to pick wild strawberries and blackberries with my aunt. She made jam that would last the whole year. On rainy days we helped her. But on sunny days, we roamed like wild creatures. The land has such variety—there are caves, waterfalls, and strange rock formations. You see, this was the birthplace of the musician Orpheus. With his orphic music, he charmed all living things. Even stones could not resist him.” As he spoke, Hristo’s face seemed younger, less serious, less responsible.

“It sounds enchanting.”

“Enchanting, yes. That is the word.” Hristo fell silent. “The landscape remains. Someday I’ll take Desi there.”

The waiter appeared with their entrees. They focused on their delicious meals, commenting on the delicate flavors, enjoying a complementing wine. Hristo said, “Now you must tell me about
your
childhood summers.”

Sophie laughed. “They were not as heavenly as yours, that’s for sure. My parents were very busy, very important, so they sent me away to a series of camps from the time I was five.”

“Day camps?”

“Oh, no.
Stay-away
camps, I used to think of them. They would pack me up with a sleeping bag and a duffel bag and I would be gone for a month or more at a time. We were allowed to write letters home and talk to our parents on the phone once a week, but that was the only contact we had. Not that it was terrible—it wasn’t. I made some good friends and learned all sorts of skills.” Laughing, she asked, “Would you like to see me start a fire with a stick and some leaves?”

“Thank you, no. I will trust your word.” Hristo smiled. He prompted, “So you learned early to be independent.”

“I don’t suppose I ever thought of it that way.” Sophie chewed her lip, remembering. “I still had my parents, and they were still together. That means something.”

“You are thinking of your own marriage, now.”

“I am thinking of my own
family
now,” Sophie specified. “To be honest, I haven’t been thinking much at all while I’ve been on the island. It’s been so pleasant to focus simply on every day. To choose fresh new lettuces I’ve never tried before. To try new recipes with fish that my children might actually deign to eat. Of course, lying on the beach, swimming in the ocean—that has for me a kind of magic. As you felt in the mountains, I feel transformed.”

Hristo nodded. “I understand.”

“I’ve been reading light novels. Playing silly board games with my children. It’s good to get away from real life.”

The waiter appeared again to take their orders—coffee, no dessert—and went away.

“And what will you do when you return to your home in Boston?” Hristo inquired gently.

“I haven’t thought much about that.” Sophie shook herself as if waking from a dream. “I suppose I don’t want to think about it, about the future. Also, I don’t really have control of it. I’ve told you, my husband’s in love with another woman. He moved in with her this summer. When we last talked, before I came here, before I even made the arrangements to come here, he said he wanted a divorce. For the children’s sake, I’m hoping he’ll change his mind.”