Free Lost Lake by Sarah Addison Allen Page B

her mom, and she missed her dad, but it took losing Matt for her to finally see just how isolated she’d been, like running out of rope. Cricket had stepped in and had filled that part of her daily existence for the past year, but they were each poor substitutes for what the other really wanted. But it was better than nothing. If Kate messed up, if she forgot something, there was backup. What if she fell asleep again for a year? What if she couldn’t be the parent she needed to be for Devin? What if she couldn’t do it alone?
    She reached for a biscuit. She didn’t want to think of that. For now, she and Devin would enjoy this place with its lackadaisical proprietor, its mute French cook, and guests with marriage charms and plans for a farewell party.
    For now, they would enjoy their last best summer, which somehow felt like saying good-bye to a lot more than just the lake.
    *   *   *
    Jack Humphry sat alone in the dining room in the main house. The local newspaper was folded on the table in front of him. He’d read it through twice.
    It was mid-morning now, and he could tell Lisette had begun to make lunch in the kitchen, something involving cinnamon. It was a calming scent, reminding him of mulled wine, baked apples, and winter nights.
    He heard voices coming from outside, voices he didn’t recognize.
    Curious, he walked to the window and looked out.
    Bulahdeen was sitting at a picnic table, scribbling in a notebook. She’d mentioned something about a farewell party that morning at breakfast, a party that would include just the lake guests, which Jack thought was okay. Bulahdeen was a sweet woman. She’d been a college literature professor long ago. Jack thought anyone who read couldn’t be all bad. He had assumed that she would rather have her nose in a book than talk, but he’d been wrong. Sometimes she would walk up to him while he was sitting in the dining room and just talk and talk. Once he’d asked, “Don’t you want to read? There are hundreds of books in the sitting room.”
    She had laughed and said, “I’ve read them all. I want to remember them the way they were. If I read them now, the endings will have changed.”
    He didn’t understand that, but then English hadn’t been his favorite subject.
    Selma was sitting at the picnic table behind Bulahdeen. She was giving herself a manicure. Jack stepped back a little, hoping she wouldn’t see him. He’d known Selma for thirty years, and he still couldn’t figure out whether or not she was serious with her flirtations. This seemed to amuse her. He always tried to avoid her. But that had been easier to do when there had been more men around.
    They weren’t talking, so he didn’t know where the voices were coming from. Then he saw a tall young woman in a short floral sundress and flip-flops walking toward the house. There was a little girl with her, wearing a tutu and a pink bicycle helmet. She was talking loudly as she ran circles around the young woman. The little girl looked over at Bulahdeen and Selma, then asked her mother something. The young woman nodded, and the little girl ran over and sat by Bulahdeen.
    It took Jack a moment to realize the young woman was still heading this way, that she was actually going to come into the house.
    He ran back to his table and sat down.
    Jack was not a social man.
    Coming from an old family of dynamic Richmond southerners, he should have been. He had three older brothers—a lawyer, a television news anchor, and a horse breeder. He’d grown up overwhelmed by the noise of their booming voices. Sometimes, all Jack had wanted to do was cover his ears. He would slink around, looking for quiet corners. His parents had simply shaken their heads, figuring three confident sons were enough. Oh, he knew his parents had loved him fiercely, and even his brothers had had their share of bruises from defending him from kids who had made fun of him at school. But they hadn’t expected much of him. He hadn’t known