The Lake

Hell, they’re young. Damn young to have a thirty-seven-year-old daughter and a granddaughter who will be starting college in the fall. They’re both in good health. They’ve got plenty to be happy about.

Me, too.

She took her time pouring the drinks.

I’ve got two great parents, a beautiful, intelligent daughter, a thriving restaurant considered the finest place to dine in Tiburon. Not to mention the house. Fabulous house.

So what’s this jittery feeling in my stomach like something’s wrong? Nothing is wrong. Probably just that Deana’s out. It’s impossible to relax completely when she’s gone at night. So much could happen. A breakdown…

Allan seems reliable, though. He’ll take care of her.

That amused Leigh.

Other way around: Deana would be the one to take charge if a problem came up. Nothing will come up. She’ll waltz through the door around one o’clock—after the movies are over.

If they went to the movies at all.

Leigh set the glasses on a silver serving tray. She knew she was a bit tipsy, so she concentrated on holding the tray steady as she carried it past the dining area and down the single step to the living room. Mom was in the stuffed chair, Dad standing by the glass wall staring out at the view. He turned around as Leigh set the tray on a low table in front of the sofa.

“I can’t get over your view,” he said.

“Me, either.” Leigh had lived in this house for eight years and still found herself staring out at it daily.

“That was a lovely dinner,” Mom said.

Leigh handed her a snifter of Irish cream. “Beef Willington is Nelson’s specialty.”

“It’s such a shame that Deana had to leave early.”

Leigh smiled and fought an urge to roll her eyes upward. Mom had to start on that. Well, she could be counted upon to start on something, especially after a few drinks. “Mom, she and Allan canceled a dinner reservation so she could be here.”

“Why would she have a dinner reservation for tonight? Didn’t you tell her…?”

“We originally asked you over for last night, remember? But you and Dad had the club banquet.”

“It still wouldn’t have killed her to stay.”

“She has a life of her own,” Dad said. He took his Scotch and water from the tray and sat on the sofa. Leigh lifted her glass of Chablis off the tray. Holding it carefully, she lowered herself onto the sofa beside Dad. “I’m sure she has better things to do,” he continued, “than spend Friday night with a bunch of old fogeys.”

“We’re hardly old fogeys,” Mom pointed out. “It wouldn’t have killed her to spend one evening with her family.”

“She sees you all the time,” Leigh said. “It’s not as if you live in Timbuktu.”

“Wherever the hell that is,” Dad said. Smiling, he took a drink.

“What do you know about this Allan?” Mom asked.

“She’s been going with him for a couple of months. She met him in drama class.”

“He’s an actor?”

“I think he intends to be an attorney.”

“Great,” Dad said. “We could use a lawyer in the family. You know what they say—every family needs a lawyer, a doctor, and a plumber.” He grinned. “And a restaurateur, of course.”

“He’s hardly part of the family.”

“I don’t know, Helen, they looked pretty serious to me.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“And it is probably no coincidence,” he added, “that they both plan to attend Berkeley in the fall.”

“Berkeley,” Mom muttered. She rolled her eyes upward. “Don’t talk to me about Berkeley.”

“I don’t think it’s the same as when I was there,” Leigh told her.

“Well, thank God for that.”

Dad settled back against the cushion and crossed his legs. He looked at Leigh. “You turned out pretty well for a radical hippie chick.”

“Let’s drop this subject,” Mom said. “Uhhh. The absolute hell you put us through. Do you have any idea of the hell you put us through?”

Leigh sighed. She didn’t need this. “It was a long time ago,” she said.

“Your senior year in high school. That’s when it all started. You were just Deana’s age. She’s such a fine young lady. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“We’re all pretty lucky,” Dad said. He patted Leigh’s knee and gave her one of those looks that said, Sorry about this. You know how Mom gets.

“How do you think you’d feel if Deana came home one fine day, dressed up like one of those ‘punks’ you see on the street corners in the city? How would that make you feel if her lovely hair was all chopped off and spiky like a bed of nails, and green? Or orange! Or maybe she comes home with a Mohawk, looking like Mr. T!”

Leigh couldn’t hold back her smile.

“You’d be smiling out of the other side of your face, young lady. Suppose she had a safety pin in her cheek?”

“I never did any of that,” Leigh told her.

“Only because it didn’t happen to be ‘in’ at the time.”

“What movies did they go to?” Dad asked.

“I’m not sure. A double feature in San Anselmo, I think.”

“We went to see—”

“You should’ve seen yourself,” Mom interrupted. “You looked like one of those Manson girls.”

“Mom.”

“Helen.”

“God only knows what might’ve become of you if we hadn’t shipped you off to Uncle Mike’s.” A pause. “And then look what happened.”