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“And yet, one did.”
“That was the Ministry of Defence’s call, not ours.”
“So why are you here now?” Noah asked. “Another bomb threat? Because I know you don’t do vacations.”
“No, it was a miracle,” Ava said, opening the french doors to the patio. She gave him a playful elbow to the ribs. “Someone told me my brother had returned from the Land of the Dickheads, and I had to see for myself if it were true.”
We arrived at the patio. Lucien and Mr. and Mrs. Lake had moved to a covered table near the pool while the three of us set up camp on lounge chairs. Noah took off his shirt and I slathered sunscreen on his back.
“They’re staring at my scars, aren’t they?” Noah murmured under his breath.
I glanced to where his parents and Lucien sat. Mrs. Lake had her fingertips pressed to her mouth. “Yes,” I murmured back.
“I shouldn’t have shown them,” Noah said. “It’ll only upset her. Is she upset?”
I glanced again. “I think she looks grateful. She’s smiling. She’s just glad you’re here.”
He turned and kissed me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I returned his kiss, feeling Ava’s eyes on us all the while.
Swimming proved to be easier for Noah than I think even he could have guessed. Once he had the dimensions of the pool in mind—gigantic by gigantic—I watched him hurl himself off the low diving board, flipping and rolling and diving with reckless abandon. I’d never seen him laugh or smile so much. He and Ava and I swam and cavorted like kids while the elder Lakes and Lucien sipped cocktails and watched.
“We used to play Marco Polo with the neighbor kids at the house in Florida,” Ava told me while the three of us clung to the wall in the deep end, taking a breather. “You know that game? Where one person keeps their eyes closed while the others try to swim away?”
“Oh sure,” I said. “I think it’s mandatory if three or more kids gather at a pool.”
“We played that constantly, only Noah was a terrible cheat.”
“Liar,” Noah said.
“No, it’s true,” Ava told me, ignoring the little splashes Noah sent her way as she talked. “I’d get out of the pool and Noah—cheater that he was—would call fish-out-of-water instantly.”
“Lies and slander,” Noah said, splashing more water now.
“I could even see the little shit squinting his eyes while pretending to feel around,” Ava told me and then spit out a deluge Noah sent crashing toward her.
“You’re dragging my good Marco Polo name through the mud.”
“We should play that now and Noah should be It,” she continued and shrieked laughter as Noah surged toward her, “because for the first time we can absolutely guarantee he won’t cheat.”
Noah caught Ava and dunked her under. She came up sputtering, wiping streaks of dark hair out of her eyes. She splashed him, catching him full in the face as he didn’t know it was coming. I hung back, watching them, as they laughed and bickered and splashed at each other like kids again.
I thought I’d be overjoyed to see Noah reunited with his family, and I was happy for him. But an ache of nostalgia gripped my heart. Watching Ava and Noah was like watching the ghosts of Chris and myself playing at our community pool or at a neighbor’s house. Inexplicably, the more I thought of Chris, the more I thought of my lost violin, and I felt as if a shadow were cast over the brilliant sunshine of the day, and it followed me around all through the afternoon.
We washed up for dinner, and I put on my nicest dress—a violet-colored sheath with turquoise beading along the bodice. It took me three tries to get the little laces up front to tie. I guessed the horror of the mugging was finally catching up to me. But Noah needed me to get through dinner, so I plastered on my best smile and went down with him.
A small, sudden storm had rolled in while we readied for dinner, scuttling our plans to eat outside. Instead, we sat in the formal dining room while light rain spattered the windows overlooking Mrs. Lake’s rose garden. Mr. and Mrs. Lake bookended the table while Noah and I sat to one side, Ava and Lucien across from us. Ramona, the housekeeper, served us grilled swordfish and roasted stuffed bell peppers, and the entire table watched, little smiles on their faces, as I described the table to Noah so that he was able to eat without incident.
As the main course was being cleared away, Mrs. Lake turned to me, a warm, grateful smile on her face. “Now, Charlotte, Lucien told us you are a Juilliard graduate. That is quite an accomplishment.”
I tried to muster a word of thanks to Mrs. Lake, but my tongue suddenly felt too thick for my mouth. I nodded and smiled, unable to meet her eye. Some ugly heaviness was unspooling in my gut, and I wished mightily someone would change the subject.
Mr. Lake nodded from the other end of the table. “Juilliard, indeed. You must be quite a talented young lady.”
“She’s a virtuoso,” Noah stated, venturing carefully to find his water glass.
“Really?” Mrs. Lake clapped her hands. “How lovely. I have always adored the violin. Such a gorgeous instrument.”
