A Week at the Lake Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF WENDY WAX

  The House on Mermaid Point

  “Will be hungrily devoured by readers.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Romance, celebrity, friendships, and mother-daughter relationships all play key roles in this quick summer read.”

  —Library Journal Xpress Reviews

  “This is a great summer read of friendship, family and transformation. It begs to be read at the beach.”

  —Parkersburg News

  “Ms. Wax gives you everything you want in this warm and witty novel.”

  —The Free Lance-Star

  While We Were Watching Downton Abbey

  “While We Were Watching Downton Abbey is a tribute to the transformative power of female friendship, and reading Wendy Wax is like discovering a witty, wise, and wonderful new friend.”

  —Claire Cook, bestselling author of Must Love Dogs and Time Flies

  “Quite a clever, fun little novel . . . If you’re a sucker for plucky women who rise to the occasion, this is for you.”

  —USA Today

  “Wax’s trendy premise makes for a surprisingly poignant and enjoyable story about friendship.”

  —Booklist

  “In the style of Karen Joy Fowler’s The Jane Austen Book Club . . . The book engrosses its reader in the drama of these women’s love lives and emotional struggles.”

  —Deseret News

  “You needn’t be a fan of Downton Abbey to enjoy While We Were Watching—the show is simply the pop-culture hook that gives the main characters an excuse to ‘meet cute’ but nevertheless create a realistic friendship of such depth and strength, even the Dowager Countess would approve.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Ocean Beach

  “Just the right amount of suspense and drama for a beach read.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Wax does a wonderful job of carrying new readers into the story and all the many characters she juggles so well . . . The plot raises both questions and deep emotions to keep readers racing to the end to find out what happens.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Wax puts on display what most would expect when this many women live and work together in the same environment: laughs, tears, anger, occasional cattiness, and every emotion in between.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Beautifully written and constructed by an author who evidently knows what she is doing . . . One fantastic read.”

  —Book Binge

  “[A] very talented writer who knows how to craft a great story with complex characters [and] a great plot, and plug in just enough steamy romance to satisfy everyone. Finely done!”

  —The Best Reviews

  Ten Beach Road

  “Great escape reading, perfect for the beach.”

  —Library Journal

  “If you loved Jennifer Weiner’s Fly Away Home for its wise and witty look at the lives of people grappling with personal setbacks . . . then try Ten Beach Road . . . [a] warm, wry novel.”

  —St. Petersburg Times

  “Showcases three women who rise above their shattered realities with grace, determination, and a little elbow grease.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Fun . . . heartwarming . . . A loving tribute to friendship and the power of the female spirit.”

  —Las Vegas Review-Journal

  “A lovely story that recognizes the power of the female spirit, while being fun, emotional, and a little romantic.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Funny, heartbreaking, romantic, and so much more . . . This story about recovery and restoration on so many levels is just delightful!”

  —The Best Reviews

  Magnolia Wednesdays

  “Wax, the author of The Accidental Bestseller, writes with breezy wit and keen insight into family relations.”

  —The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

  “An honest, realistic story of family, love, and priorities, with genuine characters.”

  —Booklist

  “Bittersweet . . . Vivien’s an easy protagonist to love; she’s plucky, resourceful, and witty.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Atlanta-based novelist Wendy Wax spins yet another captivating tale of life and love in this wonderfully entertaining book.”

  —Southern Seasons Magazine

  The Accidental Bestseller

  “It’s a definite must for any beach bag this summer . . . Wax does a fantastic job giving readers insight into the cutthroat world of New York publishing, and the story provides inspiration to budding novelists.”

  —Sacramento Book Review

  “A warm, triumphant tale of female friendship and the lessons learned when life doesn’t turn out as planned . . . Sure to appeal.”

  —Library Journal

  “A wise and witty foray into the hearts of four amazing women and the publishing world they inhabit. This is a beautiful book about loyalty, courage, and pursuing your dreams with a little help from your friends. I loved this book!”

  —Karen White, New York Times bestselling author of The Time Between

  “A terrific story brimming with wit, warmth, and good humor. I loved it!”

  —Jane Porter, author of The Good Wife

  “A wry, revealing tell-all about friendship and surviving the world of publishing.”

  —Haywood Smith, New York Times bestselling author of Out of Warranty

  “Entertaining . . . Provides a lot of insight into the book business, collected, no doubt, from Wax’s own experiences.”

  —St. Petersburg Times

  Books by Wendy Wax

  A WEEK AT THE LAKE

  WHILE WE WERE WATCHING DOWNTON ABBEY

  MAGNOLIA WEDNESDAYS

  THE ACCIDENTAL BESTSELLER

  SINGLE IN SUBURBIA

  HOSTILE MAKEOVER

  LEAVE IT TO CLEAVAGE

  7 DAYS AND 7 NIGHTS

  Ten Beach Road Titles by Wendy Wax

  TEN BEACH ROAD

  OCEAN BEACH

  CHRISTMAS AT THE BEACH (novella)

  THE HOUSE ON MERMAID POINT

  An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  This book is an original publication of the Berkley Publishing Group.

  Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Wax.

  “Christmas at the Beach” copyright © 2014 by Wendy Wax.

  “Readers Guide” copyright © 2015 by Penguin Random House LLC.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY® and the “B” design are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-15716-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wax, Wendy.

  A week at the lake / Wendy Wax.—Berkley trade paperback edition

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-425-27447-7 (paperback)

  1. Female friendship—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.A893W44 2015

  813'.6—dc23

  2015003722

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  B
erkley trade paperback edition / June 2015

  Cover photo by Maxim Blinkov / Shutterstock.

  Cover design by Rita Frangie.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Version_1

  Acknowledgments

  Every book leads in many directions and can require a surprising amount of information. This time, I’d like to thank:

  Nettleton Payne II, MD FAANS for not running in horror when I (who barely made it through math and science) asked for help and for patiently (and repeatedly) explaining the brain and its reaction to trauma. He did his best. Any mistakes are my own. This might be the place to mention that this is a work of fiction.

  Mary Alice Kellogg who shared her slice of New York courtesy of Big Apple Greeter, a network of more than three hundred volunteer Greeters who will show you New York’s diverse neighborhoods through the eyes of someone who lives there.

  The staff at the Inn at Erlowest, former Millionaires’ Row mansion turned spectacular B-and-B, where I had the great fortune to stay while researching this book. I hope you enjoy the scenes that take place there.

  Area native Nancy Jefts of Davis Realty for showing me some great houses, helping me pinpoint Valburn’s location on Lake George, and for answering questions as I wrote. This might be the place to mention once again that this is a work of fiction as are the characters who appear in it.

  Marcia and Sam Kublanow for sharing their love of New York and drinks at the Carlyle.

  My critique partners and BFFs Karen White and Susan Crandall, charter members of The Nittie Club, who understand that sometimes you just have to “cue the tarantulas. . . .”

  Thanks, too, to Wendy McCurdy for her ongoing editorial input and to my agent Stephanie Rostan for her ability to explain a business that defies explanation and for always telling it like it is.

  Contents

  Praise for the novels of Wendy Wax

  Books by Wendy Wax

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Readers Guide

  Prologue

  The thirty-room mansion that had once stood at the center of twenty acres overlooking six hundred feet of prime waterfront along Lake George’s famed Millionaires’ Row was long gone. Built by a young financier named Michaels as a testament to his success and a proclamation of his love for the young actress with whom he was besotted, Valburn had once sparkled as brightly as the young Valia’s diamonds. A perfect stone in a perfect setting, it had glittered in the summer sunshine and glowed under the moonlight. A beacon that attracted others with talent and/or money up from New York City.

  But great houses, like great loves, don’t always stand the test of time. Valburn survived fires and infidelities, but was ultimately done in by indifferent heirs. More exotic locales. Descendants who “trod the boards” and preferred spending money to sitting in wood-paneled offices making it. Over time its wooded acres were divided up and sold off until only the guest cottage remained.

  Of course, “cottage” is a relative term; in certain circles it has nothing to do with square footage and everything to do with feigned modesty. The Michaels cottage, which sat atop a lush rise of land and overlooked its own small beach in a quiet rocky-edged cove, was far from tiny and it most definitely was not roughhewn. A sprawling white clapboard, it had walls of windows that framed the deep blues of the spring-fed waters of Lake George, the green tree-covered tip of Hemlock Point, and the rocky shoals that were all that remained of Rush Island. Pilot Knob sat on the eastern shore, wrapped in soft blue sky. Its roof was pitched, its gables peaked, its shutters black. Stacked stone fireplaces rose from either end.

  It had become a place of refuge for certain members of the Michaels family, whose DNA had been stamped more by the young wife’s talent for acting than by her husband’s for making money. They were almost never without means, but that desire for acclaim, the drive to perform ran thick through their veins for generations to come and through many branches of their family tree. The cottage now belonged to Emma Michaels, who had sought refuge there after both of her high-profile divorces. The last had taken place sixteen years before when she’d left her movie star husband and arrived with her newborn daughter in tow. The first had taken place long before that. When she was only fourteen. And the people she’d divorced were her parents.

  One

  During her formative years in the booming metropolis of Noblesville, Indiana, Mackenzie Hayes never once heard the term “love at first sight.” As a member of an extended family that prided itself on practicality, she had no doubt that if such a fanciful form of affection ever presented itself, she would be expected to stamp it out.

  Not that this was an issue when you were freakishly tall and skinny and shaped way more like a pillar than an hourglass. When boys called you beanpole and skyscraper, and you were expected to go out for girls’ basketball or track in order to utilize the ridiculously long legs and dangling arms that you would have happily traded in or had shortened if such things were possible. When you were plain and shy, it never occurred even to those who loved you that you might love pretty things, especially pretty clothes. Or that you might desperately wish you could wear them.

  Under the guise of practicality Mackenzie learned to sew. Then she learned to adapt patterns to fit and suit her. Though not strictly necessary, she began to sketch her own ideas and designs—beautiful things that flattered the figure or, in her case, created an impression of one. And while she never developed the kind of body or beauty that attracted male attention, becoming comfortable in her clothes helped her learn not to slouch quite so much and to at least pretend that her physical deficits didn’t bother her.

  Her parents applauded this practicality. Right up until the moment she announced that she was moving to New York City to pursue a degree and career in fashion design.

  No one scoffed at the idea of love at first sight in Mackenzie’s first heady year in New York. Which might explain why she succumbed to it so quickly. Why she was struck by a lightning bolt the moment she saw Adam Russell; zapped like a too-tall tree in a low-slung fiel
d, her bark singed, her trunk split in two. How one minute she was standing in a neighbor’s postage-stamp kitchen, the next she was toppling over, her entire root system ripped from the ground.

  It had been glorious to surrender so completely. To give up rational thought. To be so blatantly impractical. At the time it hadn’t occurred to her that love at first sight might not be mutual. That there could be a striker and a strikee. That the lightning bolt might not feel the same as the tree. That just because someone was your grand passion, it didn’t automatically make you his. And that you might have to work a bit too hard for far longer than you’d ever imagined to convince him you were meant for each other.

  “Are you ready?” Adam strode into the bedroom. Even now twenty-two years after that first strike, her husband’s physical beauty sliced through her. Five years her senior, his fifty-year-old body remained firm and well toned. The blond hair that skimmed his shoulders was still thick and luxurious—a person’s hands could definitely get lost in it—and only lightly threaded with gray. A spider web of smile lines radiated from the corners of the clear brown eyes that had first rendered her speechless. Adam Russell had that indefinable something that could light up a room, command complete attention, inspire adoration. To this day he looked as if he belonged on a stage or in front of a camera, not directing others or penning the words that would come out of others’ mouths. Certainly not running a very small community theater in Noblesville, Indiana.

  “Almost.” Butterflies flickered in Mackenzie’s stomach as she considered her slightly battered and rarely used suitcase. She was not a happy flyer, could not come to terms with the science that allowed something as massive as a 747 to reach thirty thousand feet and stay there. For a “practical” woman she had been saddled with a far too active imagination.

  Determined to squelch the butterflies, she refocused on the suitcase, which sat open on the bed, then surveyed the piles of clothing she’d stacked around it. There was underwear that looked nothing like the lacy things she’d worn the first time Adam undressed her. Capris. Shorts and T-shirts. Two bathing suits and a pair of flip-flops. Several sundresses she’d whipped up the year before. A dressier pair of black pants and a lacy camisole in case they ended up at one of the fancier restaurants near Lake George that hadn’t even existed when she, Emma, and Serena had first started going to Emma’s grandmother’s summer cottage there. A couple of long-sleeved tops. A sweatshirt.