The Lake Season by Hannah McKinnon Page B

uncomfortably quiet dinner, for which Leah did not join them, Iris gave in to her concern and went upstairs to check on her sister. She was halfway down the hall when she heard the weeping, muffled at first.
    â€œLeah?” Iris knocked on her door. “Are you all right?”
    After a heavy pause, there was movement on the other side of the door.
    â€œJust taking a nap,” she replied hoarsely.
    Iris pressed her forehead against the door. “You’ve been napping all day. Come down and eat something.”
    When there was no reply, Iris tried the door handle. It was locked.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    â€œNo!” Leah answered firmly. Then, “Wait.”
    Iris heard the scrape of furniture. Finally, the lock clicked and Leah filled the doorway.
    â€œWhat are you doing up here?” Iris asked. “The day’s over.”
    The shades were drawn, casting the room in shadows. Iris took in Leah’s swollen eyes.
    â€œYou’re crying?”
    â€œNo, just tired.” She did not move aside to let Iris in.
    It was then Iris saw the pill bottles, a cluster of orange plastic, on the bedside table behind her.
    â€œWhat is all that?”
    Leah followed Iris’s gaze and quickly stepped back, blocking her view of the nightstand.
    â€œThey’re Stephen’s. He has allergies. And trouble sleeping sometimes.” Before Iris could ask anything else, she turned away, tugged open the table drawer, and swept the bottles into its depths.
    â€œWell, Mom has a plate for you in the fridge,” Iris said, her eyes fixed on the drawer.
    â€œI’m not hungry,” Leah whispered, shutting the door between them.
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    Downstairs Iris found Millie reclining on the couch with a book. She plucked the book from Millie’s hands, standing over her. “Is she sick?”
    Millie rose up, her jaw flexed. “What are you talking about?” Then, “Why would you say such a thing?”
    â€œMom, she’s practically running her own damn pharmacy up there. Did you know that?”
    â€œWatch your language,” Millie said, as if any of that mattered. Her mother glanced out at the kitchen, where Bill was now puttering around, looking for dinner leftovers. She lowered her voice. “Your sister has trouble sleeping. It’s no big deal.”
    â€œThen why’d she say it was for Stephen? Come on, Mom. There are enough bottles on her nightstand to put an elephant under.”
    Millie shook her head. “Iris. Leah is under a lot of stress right now. And Stephen just left.”
    â€œAt least he’s coming back.” She tossed the book on the couch.
    â€œIris, I didn’t mean . . .”
    Iris spun around to face her mother. “Things are not exactly easy for me right now, either.”
    Millie stood. “Iris. I don’t know exactly what is going on with you, but I’m sorry.”
    Her words caught Iris off guard. There was no tender gesture, no hug, but it was at least an acknowledgment. And that was more than she’d gotten in the past.
    â€œAnd just the same, there are some things you don’t understand around here,” Millie added quietly.
    â€œMeaning what?”
    Millie wagged her head, as if shaking the thought away. Having said too much already, she turned for the stairs. “I’ll try to get her to eat something.”
    â€œMom. I’m sorry.” She threw up her hands and sat on the couch. “Make me understand. Tell me what’s going on with Leah.”
    But Millie was already halfway up the stairs. “She just needs our patience, Iris. It’s nothing to worry about.”
    â€œMom.”
    But Millie did not answer.
    Iris watched her move away from her. For sixty-five, her mother maintainted a lean and strong physique, equal to her zest. Unlike other women her age, Millie wasn’t fading into the recesses of a floral couch or