Perri O’Shaughnessy - Breach Of Promise

Tucked into a clearing in the woods in a small wooden house with a stone fireplace that smoked for most of the year, they lived the way people had lived a hundred years ago at Tahoe, the only visible nod to suburbia being the struggling lawn that was now, with all the rain they had been having, a silky-looking iridescent green patch.

She pulled the Bronco up to the house, removed her shoes, and marched across the damp grass. Might as well enjoy it. Winter was just around the corner.

Andrea opened the door before she could knock. “Nina! We expected you for lunch,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I just got busy. Is Bob still here?”

“He and Troy are up in Troy’s room working on the computer.”

Nina reached out to squeeze Andrea’s arm. “How’s everyone doing? Have they been at it since they got home from school?”

“Pretty much.”

“Did Bob do any homework?”

“I doubt it.”

“Uh-oh. It’s going to be a long night.”

“They work awfully hard. He needed to do something besides the usual grind.”

“I wish he’d gone outside to play. It’s so beautiful this time of year,” Nina said, breathing in the pine air, feeling the kiss of a breeze.

“Like mother, like son,” said Andrea, leading her into the house. “Put ’em in a dark room with a computer and they’re as happy as Bill Gates.”

“We’re not going to hit you up for dinner. I’ve got to get him home.” Nina went upstairs to get Bob.

Other than the difference in size, Troy and Bob looked identical from the rear in their California boy uniforms, Van’s two-toned suede sneakers, emblemed T-shirts, baggy plaid shorts, hair a modified monk style. Troy, a year younger, turned around to say hi when she came in. Bob continued to stare hypnotically at the screen in front of him.

“Hey, Mom. Come and look.”

From the time he could talk, Bob had demanded that she witness and convey her blessing upon his every act. She wondered if this was unique to male children. Bob’s cousin Brianna, who was younger, seemed more self-contained than either of the boys. Nina applauded the improved Web page, then bribed and threatened him out the front door. “Where’s Matt?” she asked Andrea as they stood in the doorway and Bob ran down the path to the car.

“Packing up the last of the parasails, and if I know him, paying a final tribute to summer’s end with a little ride around Emerald Bay. Hey, isn’t that where you went on the Dixie Queen last weekend?”

“Yes, it is.” Nina gave her a brief rundown of the party and its grand finale without naming its participants.

“Did you see the little island in the middle, Fannette?”

“Yes.”

“I heard the most interesting gossip about that place last week from a woman whose grandfather created some of the handmade wrought iron light fixtures at Vikingsholm.”

“That’s the Scandinavian-looking mansion on the bay across from the island.”

“Right. Built by Lora Knight, who also built the teahouse on the island.”

“What gossip?”

“Before the teahouse was built, a sailor built a tomb in the rocks.”

“Who for?”

“Himself.”

“Is he buried there?”

“Nope. Drowned in the lake. His body was never recovered. You know Lake Tahoe,” she said. “It’s too cold for bodies to float.”

“So what happened to the tomb?”

“She said tourists used to visit it, but that by the time the teahouse was built, nobody knew where it was or what had happened to it.”

“You’re trying to spook me.”

“It’s the solemn truth.”

“Well, one fine day, let’s get Matt to load up the boat and check that place out. Can you go on the island?”

“There’s no dock anymore. You have to swim from a boat, or kayak there. Besides, his boat is chronically ailing.”

“First chance I get, I’m going.”

“You’re not going anywhere. I recognize that gleam in your eyes. Something wicked has come your way.” Andrea was looking at her appraisingly. “You always look happiest when you’ve got some horrible problem at work.”

“True,” Nina said. “Horrible problems are my beat.”

Andrea laughed in a girlish treble that went with the curly red hair and the blue jeans and the flannel shirt.

“Andrea, have you ever met Lindy Markov?” Nina asked.

“Of course. She’s involved in some charities and nonprofits around town. She gives fund-raisers at her house. Everybody comes, partly because of their curiosity about her home, which she’s happy to satisfy in the service of her pet causes.”

“Have you been there?”

“Yep. Cost me two hundred bucks, too. A worthy cause, but money we couldn’t afford.” Andrea made a face. “Oh, Lord, how Matt moaned. A dent in that untouchable college fund for the kids. He practically cried. But sometimes there are more immediate problems that need attending.”

“Andrea, you’re such a good soul.”

“No. I found help when I was desperate.” Andrea had weathered a rough relationship with her first husband, the father of her two children, and a shelter like the one she now managed had helped her get free. “This is just another token dime to the dollar.”

“Where do the Markovs live? What’s the house like?”

“Near Emerald Bay on Cascade Road, on one of the most magnificent estates on the lake, bar none. They must have acres of lakefront property. Mrs. Markov has been generous with the shelter. Wish we had more like her. She propped up a lot of women who needed help.”

“I wish I hadn’t asked. You make her sound like a saint.”

“She’s no saint. Just generous.”

Nina heard the horn on the Bronco. “I have to go.”

“Wait. Is Mrs. Markov in some kind of trouble? Anything to do with that scene on the boat you witnessed?”

“You know I couldn’t talk about it if she was.”

“Well, I just want to say, please let me know if there’s anything I can to do to help her. She’s one in a million.”

Bob honked the horn of the Bronco again and Nina trotted out to the car and caught sight of him in the driver’s seat. His head nearly scraped the ceiling. In three years he would be driving. The thought was appalling.

“Mom, Christmas is coming,” he said as they approached the corner of Kulow.

So it was. She hadn’t given it much thought, but like most kids, Bob had.

“There’s this program I want for the computer. Troy and I can use it on our website to make things three dimensional.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, swinging the Bronco into their driveway. “You be sure to ask Santa for it.” Bob knew the truth about Santa but liked keeping on with the fairy tale, protective of their few family traditions.

“It’s kind of expensive.”

“Oh?”

“About three hundred dollars.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll just hope Santa can bring it, and if he doesn’t, I won’t be disappointed.”

“Bob, since we bought the house, this year is going to be tight. Isn’t there anything else you want?”

“Just one thing. It’s what I really, really want.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t want to know.” He got out and slammed the door. Nina could see Hitchcock inside the house, scrabbling at the window and barking a greeting.

“I do. What do you really want?”

“I want to visit my dad.” He ran for the door, slipped his fingers under the potted plant to extricate the key, and unlocked the door while she stood on the driveway feeling as if she had been hit with a snowball the size of a snowman.

Bob’s father, Kurt, a man she had loved once but never married, now lived in Germany. A ticket to Germany would wipe her out.

So this would be one of those holidays where she would worry that she could not do right by Bob. She worked too hard, she worked long hours, she lived in a little cabin, and she couldn’t be both mother and father. And she couldn’t afford to give him what he really, really, wanted.