Before the Lake House Door Closed, Everyone Had Chosen a Side

Claire had accepted hundreds of new beginnings that required her to forget the ending that came before them.

Mara leaned into her.

Claire turned toward the SUV.

They stepped into the daylight.

The brightness made her eyes water. A cold wind slid under the hem of her pale gray sweater and lifted Mara’s loosened hair. The gravel at the edge of the drive shifted beneath their shoes.

“Careful,” Claire said.

Mara nodded.

They moved quickly but not gracefully.

Mara’s pregnancy changed her balance. Claire kept one arm around her waist while using the other to steady her own steps. Their pace was faster than a walk but slower than a run, the awkward speed of people trying not to reveal how badly they wanted distance.

Behind them, Grant’s voice followed from the doorway.

“You’re taking my car.”

Claire did not turn.

The SUV was titled in both their names, though Grant always called it his when angry and hers when maintenance was due.

She reached into her pocket and closed her hand around the keys.

“Claire, stop for one second.”

The lock chirped.

The sound carried across the lawn.

Mara exhaled.

They had covered perhaps half the distance.

Claire looked toward the road.

No vehicles passed.

The neighboring properties were hidden behind trees and stone walls. On summer weekends, the lake was crowded with boats and voices. In late winter, it belonged to wind, birds, and people wealthy enough to prefer solitude.

She had once loved the quiet.

Grant purchased the house during their third year of marriage. He brought Claire to see it in November, when the previous owners had already drained the fountain and covered the outdoor furniture with gray tarps. The dining room walls were yellow then. The floors needed refinishing. A dead moth lay inside the kitchen sink.

Claire walked from room to room imagining family holidays.

They had been trying to have a child, though neither of them said trying. Grant preferred the phrase not preventing. It made disappointment sound accidental.

At the divided windows, Claire looked across the lake and pictured a little girl pressing both palms to the glass. She imagined pancake mornings, wet towels, crayons left uncapped on the table. She imagined noise.

Grant stood behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist.

“You like it,” he said.

It was not a question.

She told him yes.

The pregnancy never came.

The house remained quiet.

Over time, Claire began to wonder whether Grant had wanted children or merely the completed image of them. He stopped attending appointments after the first year. He said the clinics made him feel like a customer. When Claire suggested adoption, he accused her of deciding he was defective.

They never spoke about it again.

Mara became pregnant three years later.

Claire loved her sister’s child before the first ultrasound and hated herself for the grief that arrived with the love. She cried in the shower after Mara announced the pregnancy, then drove to her apartment with flowers and a bag of ginger candy.

Mara opened the door and looked at Claire for a long time.

“You can be sad,” she said.

Claire had nearly left.

Instead, Mara pulled her inside.

Grant never forgave Mara for naming the grief he preferred not to acknowledge.

Now the child shifted again beneath Mara’s dress as they crossed the drive.

Mara pressed a hand to her belly.

“He’s moving a lot.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Pressure?”

“No. Just moving.”

“Tell me if anything changes.”

“I will.”

Grant called from the doorway. “She should not be in a car if she’s having symptoms.”

Mara glanced back.

Claire tightened her hold.

“He wants you to answer.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to.”

Mara faced forward again.

“I know.”

The words sounded uncertain, but they were hers.

At the dining-room windows, figures had appeared.

Evelyn stood behind the glass. Anne was beside her. Michael remained farther back, his face partly obscured by the reflection of the brass lights.

Kate was not with them.

Claire looked toward the front door.

The assistant stood several feet behind Grant, still holding the black phone vertically. She had followed them into the foyer without lowering it.

Grant seemed not to realize she was there.

His attention remained on Claire.

“You don’t have your purse,” he said.

She kept walking.

“Your medication is inside.”

Claire almost stopped.

Her migraine tablets were in the bathroom upstairs. So was her wallet. Her passport was in Grant’s office safe, where he had placed it after their trip to Montreal because, he said, she always misplaced important documents.

She had not misplaced a passport in her life.

“You don’t have your charger,” he continued. “You don’t have a coat. You don’t have anything.”

Each fact was true.

The truth of them pressed against her resolve.

Claire pictured the upstairs bedroom, her clothes arranged by color, her mother’s silver brush in the top dresser drawer, the folder of medical records in the cabinet, the half-read novel on the nightstand. Twelve years of life remained inside the house.

Grant’s voice softened.

“Come back in. Mara can leave if she wants.”

Mara stumbled.

Claire caught her.

For one second, fear scattered every thought. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. The gravel.”

“Ankle?”

“It’s fine.”

“Put your weight on me.”

Mara did.

The SUV was ten yards away.

Grant’s offer followed them.

Mara can leave if she wants.

It was designed for Claire, not Mara.

He was giving her a path back that could be called reasonable. Her sister would be allowed to go. Grant would become cooperative. Claire could return inside and explain that she had overreacted because of stress.

By evening, the relatives would agree the situation had been complicated.

By tomorrow, the recording might disappear.

By next week, Claire would apologize to Kate for involving her.

Grant knew exactly how much easier surrender could be made to look.

Claire felt Mara’s weight against her side.