On Mystic Lake Part 1

On Mystic Lake.

by Kristin Hannah.

Acknowledgments.

Some books are battles. Others are wars. To my generals- Ann Patty, Jane Berkey, and Linda Grey-thanks for always demanding my very best; to Stephanie Tade, thanks for believing in this book from the very beginning; to Elisa Wares and the wonderful team at Ballantine Books, thanks for your continued support and encouragement along the way; to my comrades-Megan Chance, Jill Marie Landis, Jill Barnett, Penelope Williamson, and Susan Wiggs-thanks for always being there, for listening and laughing and everything in between; and to my guardian angel, my uber uber-agent, mentor, and friend, Andrea Cirillo, thanks for everything.

Part One

The true voyage of self-discovery lies not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.-MARCEL PROUST

Chapter 1.

Rain fell like tiny silver teardrops from the tired sky. Somewhere behind a bank of clouds lay the sun, too weak to cast a shadow on the ground below.

It was March, the doldrums of the year, still and quiet and gray, but the wind had already begun to warm, bringing with it the promise of spring. Trees that only last week had been naked and brittle seemed to have grown six inches over the span of a single, moonless night, and sometimes, if the sunlight hit a limb just so, you could see the red bud of new life stirring at the tips of the crackly brown bark. Any day, the hills behind Malibu would blossom, and for a few short weeks this would be the prettiest place on Earth.

Like the plants and animals, the children of Southern California sensed the coming of the sun. They had begun to dream of ice cream and Popsicles and last year's cutoffs. Even determined city dwellers, who lived in gla.s.s and concrete high-rises in places with pretentious names like Century City, found themselves veering into the nursery aisles of their local supermarkets. Small, potted geraniums began appearing in the metal shopping carts, alongside the sun-dried tomatoes and the bottles of Evian water.

For nineteen years, Annie Colwater had awaited spring with the breathless antic.i.p.ation of a young girl at her first dance. She ordered bulbs from distant lands and shopped for hand-painted ceramic pots to hold her favorite annuals.

But now, all she felt was dread, and a vague, formless panic. After today, nothing in her well-ordered life would remain the same, and she was not a woman who liked the sharp, jagged edges of change. She preferred things to run smoothly, down the middle of the road. That was where she felt safest-in the center of the ordinary, with her family gathered close around her.

Wife.

Mother.

These were the roles that defined her, that gave her life meaning. It was what she'd always been, and now, as she warily approached her fortieth birthday, it was all she could remember ever wanting to be. She had gotten married right after college and been pregnant within that same year. Her husband and daughter were her anchors; without Blake and Natalie, she had often thought that she might float out to sea, a ship without captain or destination.

But what did a mother do when her only child left home?

She shifted uneasily in the front seat of the Cadillac. The clothes she'd chosen with such care this morning, navy wool pants and a pale rose silk blouse, felt wrong. Usually she could take refuge in fashionable camouflage, by pretending to be a woman she wasn't. Designer clothes and carefully applied makeup could make her look look like the high-powered corporate wife she was supposed to be. But not today. Today, the waist-length brown hair she'd drawn back from her face in a chignon-the way her husband liked it, the way she always wore it-was giving her a headache. like the high-powered corporate wife she was supposed to be. But not today. Today, the waist-length brown hair she'd drawn back from her face in a chignon-the way her husband liked it, the way she always wore it-was giving her a headache.

She drummed her manicured fingernails on the armrest and glanced at Blake, who was settled comfortably in the driver's seat. He looked completely relaxed, as if this were a normal afternoon instead of the day their seventeen-year-old daughter was leaving for London.

It was childish to be so scared, she knew that, but knowing didn't ease the pain. When Natalie had first told them that she wanted to graduate early and spend her last quarter in London, Annie had been proud of her daughter's independence. It was the sort of thing that seniors at the expensive prep school often did, and precisely the sophisticated sort of adventure Annie had wanted for her daughter.

Annie herself would never have had the courage for so bold a move-not at seventeen, not even now at thirty-nine. Travel had always intimidated her. Although she loved seeing new places and meeting new people, she always felt an underlying discomfort when she left home.

She knew this weakness was a remnant of her youth, a normal by-product of the tragedy that had tainted her childhood, but understanding her fear didn't alleviate it. On every family vacation, Annie had suffered from nightmares-dark, twisted visions in which she was alone in a foreign land without money or direction. Lost, she wandered through unfamiliar streets, searching for the family that was her safety net, until, finally, sobbing in her sleep, she awoke. Then, she would curl into her husband's sleeping body and, at last, relax.

She had been proud of her daughter's independence and courage in choosing to go all the way to England by herself, but she hadn't realized how hard it would be to watch Natalie leave. They'd been like best friends, she and her daughter, ever since Natalie had emerged from the angry, sullen rubble of the early teen years. They'd had hard times, sure, and fights and hurt feelings, and they'd each said things that shouldn't have been said, but all that had only made their bond stronger. They were a unit, the "girls" in a household where the only man worked eighty hours a week and sometimes went whole days without remembering to smile.

She stared out the car window. The concrete-encrusted canyons of downtown Los Angeles were a blur of high-rise buildings, graffiti, and neon lights that left streaking reflections in the misty rain. They were getting closer and closer to the airport.

She reached for her husband, touched the pale blue cashmere of his sleeve. "Let's fly to London with Nana and get her settled with her host family. I know-"

"Mom," Natalie said sharply from the backseat. "Get real. It would be, like, Natalie said sharply from the backseat. "Get real. It would be, like, so so humiliating for you to show up." humiliating for you to show up."

Annie drew her hand back and plucked a tiny lint ball from her expensive wool pants. "It was just an idea," she said softly. "Your dad has been trying to get me to England for ages. I thought . . . maybe we could go now."

Blake gave her a quick look, one she couldn't quite read. "I haven't mentioned England in years." Then he muttered something about the traffic and slammed his hand on the horn.

"I guess you won't miss the California traffic," Annie said into the awkward silence that followed.

In the backseat, Natalie laughed. "No way. Sally Pritchart-you remember her, Mom, she went to London last year-anyway, Sally said it was way cool. Not like California, where you need a car to go anywhere. In London, all you do is get on the Underground." She poked her blond head into the opening between the two front seats. "Did you take the Underground when you were in London last year, Dad?"

Blake slammed on the horn again. With an irritated sigh, he flicked on his turn signal and jerked the car into the fast lane. "Huh? What was that?"

Natalie sighed. "Nothing."

Annie squeezed Blake's shoulder in a gentle reminder. These were precious moments-the last they'd see their daughter for months-and, as usual, he was missing them. She started to say something to fill the silence, something to keep from thinking about the loneliness of a house without Natalie, but then she saw the sign, LAX, and she couldn't say anything at all.

Blake pulled onto the exit ramp and drove into the dark silence of the underground parking lot, killing the engine. For a long moment, they all sat there. Annie waited for him to say something fatherly and important, something to mark the occasion. He was so good with words, but he merely opened his door.

As always, Annie followed his lead. She got out of the car and stood beside her door, twirling her sungla.s.ses in her cold, cold fingers. She looked down at Natalie's luggage- a single gray duffle bag and a green canvas Eddie Bauer backpack.

She worried that it wasn't enough, that it was too unwieldy . . . she worried about everything. Her daughter looked so young suddenly, her tall, thin body swamped by a baggy denim dress that stopped an inch above her scuffed black combat boots. Two metal clips held her long, silver-blond hair away from her pale face. Three silver earrings formed a curved ladder up her left ear.

Annie wanted to manufacture a conversation-toss out bits of advice about money and pa.s.sports and the importance of always being in a group of kids-but she couldn't do it.

Blake walked on ahead, carrying the two lonely pieces of luggage, as Natalie and Annie followed silently in his wake. She wished he'd slow down and walk with them, but she didn't say anything-just in case Natalie hadn't noticed that her dad seemed to be in a rush. At the ticket counter, he handled everything, and then the three of them headed for the international terminal.

At the gate, Annie clung to her navy handbag as if it were a shield. Alone, she walked to the huge, dirty window. For a split second, she saw herself reflected in the gla.s.s, a thin, flawlessly dressed housewife standing by herself.

"Don't be so quiet, Mom. I can't take it." The words contained a tiny wobble of anxiety that only a mother would hear.

Annie forced a laugh. "Usually you guys are begging me to keep quiet. And it's not like I can't think of a million things to say right now. Why, just yesterday I was looking at your baby picture, and I thought-"

"I love you, too, Mom," Natalie whispered.

Annie grabbed her daughter's hand and held on. She didn't dare turn toward Natalie, afraid that her heartache would show. It was definitely not the image she wanted her child to carry like a bit of too-heavy baggage onto the plane.

Blake came up beside them. "I wish you had let us get you first-cla.s.s tickets. It's such a long flight, and the food in coach is horrible. Christ, you'll probably have to a.s.semble your own beef pot pie."

Natalie laughed. "Like you would know about the food in coach, Dad."

Blake grinned. "Well, it's certainly more comfortable."

"This isn't about comfort," Natalie answered. "It's about adventure adventure."

"Ah, adventure," Annie said, finding her voice at last. She wondered how it felt to have such big dreams, and once again she was envious of her daughter's independence. Natalie was always so sure of who she was and what she wanted.

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker. "We will now begin boarding flight three-five-seven, with service to London."

"I'm going to miss you guys," Natalie said softly. She glanced at the plane, chewing nervously on her thumbnail.

Annie placed a hand on Natalie's soft cheek, trying to memorize everything about this moment, the tiny mole beside her daughter's left earlobe, the exact hue of her straight blond hair and blue eyes, the cinnamon sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

Annie wanted to implant it all into her memory so she could pull it out like a treasured photograph over the next three months. "Remember, we'll call every Monday- seven o'clock your time. You're going to have a great time, Nana."

Blake opened his arms. "Give your old dad a hug."

Natalie hurled herself into her father's arms.

Too soon, the voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing the boarding of Natalie's row.

Annie gave Natalie one last long, desperate hug-not nearly long enough-then, slowly, she drew back. Blinking away tears, she watched Natalie give her ticket to the woman at the doorway, and then, with a last, hurried wave, her daughter disappeared into the jetway.

"She'll be fine, Annie."

She stared at the empty doorway. "I know."

One tear, that's how long it took. One tear, sliding down Annie's face, and her daughter was gone.

Annie stood there long after the plane had left, long after the white trail of exhaust had melted into the somber sky. She could feel Blake beside her. She wished he'd take her hand or squeeze her shoulder or pull her into his arms- any of the things he would have done five years ago.

She turned. In his eyes, she saw her own reflection, and the misty mirror of their life together. She'd first kissed him when she was eighteen years old-almost Natalie's age-and there'd never been another man for her in all the years since.

His handsome face was as serious as she'd ever seen it. "Ah, Annie . . ." His voice was a cracked whisper of breath. "What will you do now?"

She was in danger of crumbling, right here in this sterile, crowded airport. "Take me home, Blake," she whispered unevenly. She wanted her things around her now, all the reminders of who she was.

"Of course." He grabbed her hand and led her through the terminal and into the garage. Wordlessly, they got into the Cadillac and slammed the doors shut. The air-conditioning came on instantly.

As the car hurtled down one freeway after another, Annie felt exhausted. She leaned back heavily in her seat and stared out the window at this city that had never become her city, although she and Blake had moved here right after college. It was a sprawling labyrinth of a town, where gorgeous, elaborately appointed dowager buildings were demolished daily by a few well-placed charges, where men and women with no appreciation for art or beauty or constancy set fire to fuses that blasted tons of sculptured marble and gla.s.s into piles of smoking, belching rubble. In this city of angels, too few noticed the loss of one more landmark. Before the collapsed building had even cooled, developers swarmed City Hall, climbing over one another like black ants for permits and eas.e.m.e.nts. Within months, a sleek, gla.s.s-faced child of a building would rise higher and higher into the smoggy brown sky, so high that Annie often wondered if these builders thought they could access heaven with their leveraged millions.

She was seized by a fierce, unexpected longing to return home. Not to the crowded, affluent beauty of Malibu, but to the moist green landscape of her youth, that wild part of western Washington State where mushrooms grew to the size of dinner plates and water rushed in silver threads along every roadside, where fat, glossy racc.o.o.ns came out in the light of a full moon and drank from mud puddles in the middle of the road. To Mystic-where the only skysc.r.a.pers were Douglas firs that had been growing since the American Revolution. It had been almost ten years since she'd been back. Perhaps she could finally talk Blake into a trip now that they were no longer tethered to Southern California by Natalie's school schedule.

"What do you think about planning a trip to Mystic?" she asked her husband.

He didn't look at her, didn't respond to her question, and it made her feel stupid and small. She pulled at the large diamond stud in her ear and stared outside. "I was thinking about joining the Club. G.o.d knows I'll have more time on my hands now. You're always saying I don't get out of the house enough. Aerobics would be fun, don't you think?"

"I haven't said that in years."

"Oh. Well . . . there's always tennis. I used to love tennis. Remember when we used to play doubles?"

He turned off the freeway and eased onto the twisting, traffic-clogged Pacific Coast Highway. At the gated entrance to their road, he waved to the guard and pa.s.sed into the Colony, the beachfront jewel of Malibu. Rain beaded the windshield and blurred the world for a split second, before the wipers swept the water away.

At their house, he slowed, inching down the brick-paved driveway. He stopped in front of the garage.

Annie glanced at him. It was odd that he hadn't pulled into the garage. Odd that he hadn't even hit the door's remote control. Odder still that he'd left the car running. He hated to leave the Cadillac out in the rain. . . .

He's not himself.

The realization sanded the hard edges from her anxiety, reminded her that she wasn't as alone as she felt. Her high-powered, ultra-competent husband was as fragile as she was right now.

They would do it together, she and Blake. They would get each other through this day, and all the empty-nest days and nights to come. They had been a family before Natalie, and they would be one again, just the two of them. It might even be fun, like the old days when they had been best friends and partners and lovers . . . the days when they went out dancing and didn't come home until the sun was peeking up from the horizon.

She twisted around to face him, and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "I love you. We'll get each other through this."

He didn't answer.

She hadn't really expected him to, but still the awkward silence stung. She tucked the disappointment away and opened the car door. Tiny shards of rain slipped through the opening, mottling her sleeve. "It's going to be a lonely spring. Maybe we should talk to Lupita about planning a barbecue. We haven't had an old-fashioned beach party in years. It'd be good for us. G.o.d knows it's going to be weird walking around the house without-"

"Annie." He said her name so sharply that she bit her tongue in the middle of her sentence.

He turned to her, and she saw that there were tears in his eyes.

She leaned over and touched his cheek in a fleeting, tender caress. "I'm going to miss her, too."

He looked away and sighed heavily. "You don't understand. I want a divorce."

Chapter 2.

"I meant to wait to tell you . . . at least until next week. But the thought of coming home tonight . . ." Blake shook his head and let the sentence trail off.

Very slowly, Annie closed the car door. Rain hit the windshield and ran in streaks down the windows, obscuring the world outside the car.

She couldn't have heard right. Frowning, she reached for him. "What are you talking about . . ."

He lurched against the window, as if her touch-the touch he'd known for so long-were now repugnant.

It all became real suddenly, with that gesture he wouldn't allow. Her husband was asking for a divorce. She drew back her hand and found that it was trembling.