The Lake House Read Online Free PDF Page B

she’d worried about wrinkles, gray hairs, and hormonal fluctuations, but it wasn’t until her late sixties that the texture and thickness of her hair became soft and fine. Aging, she thought, was not for the weak of heart.
    From her makeup case, she pulled out bottles and jars. She applied moisturizer and a thin layer of foundation and blush. With a light hand she swept soft blue powder across her lids and then applied mascara. As Victoria took up her favorite soft berry lipstick, she remembered her mother saying that a lady never forgot to wear lipstick, even around the house.
    Back in the bedroom, she lifted the largest suitcase and placed it on the bed. She unzipped the garment bag’s sides, unfolded the heavy case, and opened the middle zipper. She removed the items that were already on hangers and placed them in the closet: designer silk blouses in a myriad of colors, tailored pantsuits, and cocktail dresses. All had been bought in fancy boutiques in Beverly Hills, London, and New York. Now she wondered if she’d have a reason to wear the fancy clothing here.
    She pulled out a quilted leather box from the small suitcase and walked to the vanity. Her hand ran along the smoothness of her mother’s antique rosewood jewelry box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She lifted the lid and filled the empty box with her jewelry: five pairs of diamond earrings; the diamond necklace her ex-husband, Devon, had given her for their anniversary; the tennis bracelet from her father; gold hoop earrings, chains, and assorted pieces she’d collected over the years when she traveled.
    She opened the secret compartment in the bottom of the travel jewelry box. Inside was a pearl ring Annabelle had givenher. She slid it onto her finger and rubbed the white gold that swirled around the smooth pink pearl.
    Annabelle had curly, golden locks that flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her high cheekbones curved under bright, blue eyes. Always lost in her imagination, the girl would twirl the hair strand behind her ear until it became a tight ringlet. Victoria had always commanded men’s attention in the past, but when she walked next to Annabelle, she knew it was her granddaughter who caused men to stumble over trash cans and walk into doorways, unable to take their eyes off of her.
    Victoria continued to unpack, placing items in drawers that contained articles she’d left behind when she fled Nagog after Annabelle’s death. The way she’d run from the community five years ago hadn’t been so different from the first time she’d left home—she’d barely packed a bag.
    Downstairs, the smell of coffee filled the kitchen. Victoria placed the breakfast tray on the wooden butcher-block counter of the island. Through the glass panels in the whitewashed cabinets she could see the dozens of plates and bowls that filled the cupboards ready for the meals she’d planned to fix her family. One cabinet contained wineglasses that now looked smoky with years of disuse. Each one would need to be washed.
    She pulled a dusty red mug from the cabinet and turned on the tap to clean it. Once it dried, she filled it with coffee and curled it to her chest, pulling in its warmth as she looked out the window above the sink. By now there should’ve been Sunday dinners here, children playing in the sunroom. Victoria would’ve stood at this sink, its white porcelain front against her waist as she peeled carrots and chatted with Annabelle.
    Victoria knew that an apron that read World’s Greatest Grandmother hung inside the pantry door. Unopened cookbooks lined the shelves. Victoria wasn’t a great cook, but she’d thought she might spend her golden years learning the skill. After dinner the children would’ve curled up on the old couches in the sunroom and watched movies, their heavy eyes trying to stay awake past their bedtimes.
    Outside the window, black-and-white chickadees landed in the empty bird feeder and searched for food, then flew to the melted