First Scene

Summer 1982, New Hampshire

The lake's tranquility exploded with a prelude of July fourth firecrackers and bottle rockets echoing into the cove, drowning out the ringing telephone. As the sulfur smoke dissipated, Leila’s nerves settled. The phone rang again. She startled, springing to her feet, praying it would be Clarence calling from Cricenti’s Market. The screen door slammed as she picked up on the next ring.

“Hello,” she said, winded.

“Hi—” his voice trailed with hesitation.

Her heart withered. “You’re not coming….”

“I’m so sorry, Leila. I would have called sooner, but I was holding off until Bonnie got word from the specialist. He’s willing to fit Peter in early on Monday morning. His next available slot wouldn’t be for over three months.”

“Oh well….”

“Bonnie really wants me to be there.”

“No, you should definitely go with them.” She stifled unjustifiable resentment—after all, an only daughter and grandson ranked higher than friend, even if exceptional.

“I could still come this weekend,” his words lacked conviction, “but I could stay only one night.”

Leila pulled the phone cord out through the back door onto the deck. Birch leaves fluttered, launching a dragonfly. “No, that’s crazy. It’s an eight-hour drive and on a holiday weekend—that’s too much. You have enough stress without cramming all that in.”

“It’s just that of all weekends….” Worry laced his voice. She pictured him raking fingers through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair.

“You know me. I’ll be fine….” She sat on the top step of the deck, swatting a mosquito. “I’ll go see the fireworks or just hang out at the movies or something.”

“Please don’t stay holed up in a theater all weekend.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. And honestly, don’t worry. You can come up when things settle down a little. Maybe in a few weeks or sometime next month, before school starts.”

“I will. Let me get through this next week and see what this shrink has to offer. Then we’ll put something on the calendar.”

“Okay, then. I’ll let you go.”

“Oh, by the way, Bonnie sends her regards and apologies for detaining me.”

Leila’s pulse flared. “Tell her it’s fine. I just want what’s best for Peter, too.”

“I will, but she knows it’s not easy for you, either.”

“It’s not easy for any of us.”

“Well, I’ll let you go.”

“We’ll talk soon.” Leila clicked the receiver and sat for a moment, playing with the end of her long braid like a fine-point sable brush, painting imaginary circles on her knee. An early firefly blinked in the cove, its light diffuse in the humid evening air.

Resigned, she stood, her steps heavy as she padded her way to the screen door. Its creak grated her nerves as she stepped back into the kitchen. She hung up the phone beside the butcher-block island and then paced the span of windows overlooking the lake. Standing before her gleaming appliances, she wiped down the granite counters one more time, draped the folded dishtowel over its rack, and returned to the deck. She rocked on the gliding settee until the moon rose and mosquitoes became as unbearable as the bottle rockets and firecrackers splintering the lake’s calm. There would be no escaping the stomach-churning sounds of it all. Perhaps the basement cinder block might baffle the noise and provide relief.

From the kitchen, she descended the stairs and landed in her husband’s photography studio, imagining Ian might return home at any moment—that she should dust so he wouldn’t think she had been idle in his absence. Ian had always been one to spring a surprise on her. Without more than a glance, she slipped on past into her own little studio.

The nearly full moon washed her room in an ethereal blue and dissolved with a flip of the light switch. She stood before the one large window looking out onto the little sandy spot they called ‘the beach.’ She turned to face her room. Tidy and predictable as always. Her controlled environment. The taut quilt of the bed Clarence was to sleep on beckoned. She dropped to the mattress and lay down.