The Color of Water in July Read Free Page B

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    “Why, Jess Carpenter, welcome to Wequetona.” Jess looked out and saw May Lewis, tiny and hunched over, dwarfed by a woolen suit in a bright shade of robin’s-egg blue, coming along the walk.
    Jess was startled to see Mamie’s friend. It made her grandmother seem closer, the fact of her passing more real.
    Jess climbed out of the hammock and walked out to say hello. “Mrs. Lewis. How nice to see you. I’m surprised you recognized me after all this time.”
    “Why, you look exactly the same, Jess. I’m so sorry about your grandmother. Miss Mamie is missed.” Her face was wrinkled, but she had a sharp look in her eye. Jess squirmed under her gaze, wondering if Mrs. Lewis knew that Jess hadn’t seen her grandmother for many years before she died.
    But Mrs. Lewis was poised, and her friendly smile gave no hints.
    “You must stop by The Rafters sometime. You can tell me all about your medical practice.”
    Jess flushed in spite of herself.
    “Oh, I . . . I never did go to medical school . . . ” It was half a lie and she stammered through it.
    “Well, I’d love to hear what you are doing now,” Mrs. Lewis said, smiling. “You were always such a bright girl—you must have accomplished great things.”
    “Oh, nothing special,” Jess said. Nothing that really helped people, as she had once dreamed of doing.
    “Well, you be sure to stop by. I’d love to hear all about it.”
    Mrs. Lewis continued along the walkway until she reached the woods, and then she circled back.
    Back up on the porch, Jess turned her face away from the lake and tried not to think about her grandmother.

    The sun began to set over Pine Lake, turning the water to a silvery sheen. Russ and Jess sat on the front porch drinking white wine.
    “They want it to be a kitchen and solarium focus.” Russ’s sharp voice intruded upon the silence.
    “What?” Jess said absently.
    “For the magazine.”
    “That ratty old kitchen?” Jess was surprised. “Why would they want to do a story on that?”
    “Well, of course, it’s a makeover story, and those usually have the kitchen as an important focus.”
    “A makeover story?”
    “You know, beautiful old cottage brought up to date, with Sub-Zero appliances and stuff.”
    “I thought you said the best thing about this place is that it’s never been tinkered with.”
    “That’s right,” said Russ. “It’s a designer’s dream. You can leave the authentic look and just improve upon it. That gives it a kind of ‘old money’ look that’s hard to fake.”
    “Russ, this place is going to be sold this week. How on earth are you talking about remodeling?”
    “I’ve got some of the best people in New York who’ll work on it. I think I have a real shot at getting it on the cover of the magazine.”
    “On the cover?” Jess said, honestly surprised.
    “An original Gaines? Jess, this will be a real coup. Couldn’t we just sit tight while I try to pull this together? The place will be twice as valuable when we’re done.”
    Jess looked at Russ’s boyish, eager face. He was a bit thinner than the average guy, wore little intellectual glasses, and had a nervous way of leaning forward and barely resting in his seat. His jeans were jet black—she had seen him turn them inside out before he washed them so they wouldn’t fade. And those fancy leather cowboy boots, hand tooled, were clearly designed for walking on cement. Everything about him said city boy. Not the kind of guy who had spent time poking sticks in the mud as a kid. Not the kind of kid who knew the names of birds and trees. Unbidden, the names of birds that someone had once taught her came back: kingfisher, pileated woodpecker, pine warbler, golden loon. Stop , Jess thought. Just stop .
    She looked out at the lake again—there was something about being here that was bringing the past into sharp and uncomfortable focus. As though her life was a continuum of connected parts—not a past life and a present that had been