by Kate White
“We are, thank you.”
A rogue lock of blond hair has fallen in her eyes, and as she sweeps it back, I notice something vexed about her expression. Maybe more perturbed than vexed, actually.
“Is everything all right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you feeling okay? You look . . .”
“Oh, sorry . . . . It’s just, you know, sometimes things don’t turn out exactly as you hope they will.”
My heart skips. “Is there something wrong with the baby?”
“God, no—sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I was talking about the announcement. We were so looking forward to telling everyone. I mean, it’s taken us so many years to get to this place. And to be honest, it felt kind of lousy to have Nick share his big news right after.”
Of course. I wasn’t the only one struck by the poor timing of the second announcement.
“I have to admit, it surprised me. They could have waited until another night this week.”
Wendy shrugs. “I don’t think Nick was given much of a choice.”
“How so?”
“He apologized to Blake later, saying he got caught up in the happy family moment, but I think he was actually pushed into doing it.” She leans toward me as if to share a secret. “When we were answering questions about the due date and sex, I felt Hannah give Nick a kick under the table. Like she was urging him to speak up.”
What a brat, I think. But since I’m still trying to be a good girl, I don’t utter it aloud.
“That’s a shame. But we’re all so excited for you and Blake, Wendy, and nothing could overshadow that.”
“Thanks, that means a lot,” she tells me. “Actually, instead of reading, I think I’ll hit some tennis balls against the backboard.”
Wow, I think, as she hurries off. What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four hours ago, I figured I was the only one with a distaste for Hannah, but now there are three of us.
After exiting the house and fixing an espresso to go on the sideboard, I make my way across the yard toward the boxwoods, planning to finally park myself on the bench inside the glade. But someone’s already inside, I realize. At least two someones actually. I hear a male voice—and though it’s too low for me to make out the words, his tone seems very hostile.
Instinctively, I freeze and take a step backward. As I shift positions, I’m suddenly able to see into the glade through a small, open space in one of the boxwoods. It’s Nick in there—and he’s with Hannah. They’re standing only a few inches apart from each other, and though he’s in profile, I can see enough of his mouth to know it’s twisted in anger.
Are things between them beginning to unravel? Maybe Hannah’s responded to Claire’s ultimatum and revealed a truth about herself that Nick can’t accept. In that case, she may be in our rearview mirror before the day’s over.
I watch as she reaches up and lays a hand gently on Nick’s cheek. He attempts to shrug it off with a flick of his head, but she places it there again, and this time he doesn’t resist.
Move, I command myself. However intense my curiosity, I know it’s inappropriate for me to be watching this. Before I can inch backward, though, Nick shifts slightly so I can see more of his face. And I realize that it’s not Nick standing there with Hannah’s hand resting on his cheek.
It’s Marcus.
8
Oh boy. I turn away immediately, being careful not to slosh my espresso onto the grass, and start toward the path, still holding my breath. I’m in such a discombobulated state that I soon realize I’m heading back to the house even though that wasn’t my intention.
What the hell did I just witness? I’ve wondered since Friday night whether Marcus has a lingering romantic interest in Hannah, and their heated conversation and body language suggest my instinct was right.
And it doesn’t appear to be a one-way street. The way Hannah laid her hand on Marcus’s cheek looked very intimate.
When I reach the patio, I set my notebook and cup on the table, so lost in thought it takes a minute to notice that Keira’s appeared, dressed in a bathing suit and cover-up.
“Morning,” she says.
“Oh, hi, good morning.” I swallow hard, thinking about the scene playing out not all that far from us. “Going for a swim?”
“In a minute, yes. It’s so warm today. Have you seen Marcus, by the way? He came downstairs earlier, saying he was headed to the pool.”
My heart sinks. Should I tell her what her husband is up to? I’d certainly want her to clue me in if she spotted Gabe in a tête-à-tête with a woman he used to have sex with.
Before I can respond, she moves her gaze over my shoulder toward the cottage path, as if her attention’s being drawn there by an unseen force.
“Um, I thought I saw him a minute or two ago,” I blurt out. “Near the boxwood grove.”
“Over there?” she says. “Okay, I’ll track him down. See you in a bit.”
She crosses the patio and steps off onto the path in that direction, and I stay glued to the spot, stunned by what I’ve done. Yes, it’s only fair that my sister-in-law know the truth, but it’s really not my business to orchestrate the revelation, especially in a way that could humiliate her. I have to catch her before she walks into the glade.
I rush across the patio and hurry up the path, trying to come up with a little white lie to tell her, maybe that I think I just heard Marcus’s voice coming from the pool area.
But I’m too late.
When I spot Keira, she’s many yards ahead of me and walking purposely toward the grove, her ponytail bouncing. Before I can call to her, she disappears into the center of the boxwoods. I feel like I’ve pulled the pin from a hand grenade and it’s about to explode.
But a second later, she emerges, her expression intent rather than crushed or livid. Marcus and Hannah must have moved on. I exhale with relief. Maybe I won’t burn in hell after all.
“No luck?” I call out from the path.
She shakes her head as she strides in my direction. “How long ago did you see him?” she asks.
“A minute or two before you and I spoke. He might have gone back to your room since then—or he’s down by the pool now.”
I realize as I’m standing there that I’m barely thinking straight and left my notebook on the patio. “Are you going that way?” I add. “I need to get something.”
She nods, but now she looks puzzled. Has she grown suspicious of Marcus this weekend?
“Or maybe he went to look for Gabe?” I volunteer as we start up the path. “To connect before the meeting with Ash?”
She doesn’t answer but abruptly stops and cocks her head.
“Marcus wasn’t in the glade, but Hannah was.”
“Huh,” is all I manage.
“Do you think they’d been in there together?” she asks.
“Together?” I decide I need to quit while I’m ahead and not admit to what I saw. “Why would they be together?”
“I don’t know.” She scrunches her mouth. “But it’s kind of a weird coincidence, don’t you think? That they were both there in the last few minutes? It’s not like the boxwoods are a spot people tend to congregate in.”
“Keira, are you worried about Marcus and Hannah?”
She shrugs halfheartedly. “No. I mean, he hasn’t done anything to make me worry. But you always feel vulnerable when you’re married, don’t you? There are so many distractions for guys, and so many women who operate like predators.”
“Even though Marcus dated Hannah for only a short time, it might be weird for him to have his brother engaged to her,” I say carefully. “Why don’t you talk to him and see what’s on his mind?”
“When Nick first called and said he was dating Hannah, Marcus told me that he didn’t exactly end things well with her. He ghosted her, just stopped calling, and she later sent him a kind of pissy text. Do you think being with Nick is her way of getting back at Marcus?”
“Marrying someone’s
brother seems like a pretty drastic way to get even, but who knows. Either way, Keira, the person you really need to talk to is Marcus.”
She nods. “You’re right.”
We reach the patio, where I grab my notebook and say good-bye. Abandoning the idea of trying to work outside—too many land mines at the moment—I return to the cottage. After making a cup of tea, I settle at the table in the sitting room, which is cooler than outside thanks to the stone walls and closed drapes.
I manage to scribble down only a couple of notes because by now my mind is a jumble of thoughts and emotions. I’m ashamed of myself for almost sending Keira into an ambush. I’m also angry at both Marcus and Hannah for whatever that conversation was about. But most of all, I can’t stand the idea of Hannah invading this family. She’s already messing with our dynamic and throwing the whole ecosystem out of whack.
As I attempt to force my attention back to my play, I hear the faint buzz of bees permeating the glass of the French doors, and then a few moments later the snip, snip of flowers being cut. Claire must be back from her trip to the farmers’ market and collecting stems from the garden. Briefly, life here feels back to normal.
And then, as if confirming that thought, Henry bounds into the cottage with a grin on his face.
“How was the dog walk?” I ask.
“Good. Dad had to hold Bella’s leash because she kept wanting to run off the road and into the woods.”
“Where is Dad, anyway?”
“He’s in the house talking to Grandpa and Uncle Marcus. Can I go to the pool? Uncle Blake’s gonna swim with me.”
“Okay, but you can only go in the water if he’s in there with you or watching, okay?”
He shoots me a look that says, I hate being treated like a baby, but then dashes upstairs to change into his trunks.
I deliberate following him to the pool myself, but as soon as Henry’s out the door, I’m nailed by a wave of fatigue, the result of how few hours of sleep I clocked last night. I shift to the couch and stretch out, closing my eyes.
The slam of the front door wakes me. I blink a couple of times and sit up slowly to see Gabe standing in the entranceway.
“So how’d it go? Did—?”
And then I take him in more fully. He looks stricken.
“Gabe, what’s the matter?”
“It’s a fucking mess.”
My heart jumps. “What is?”
Rather than join me, he strides into the kitchen, where I hear him yank open the refrigerator. “Is it too early for a beer?” he calls out. He obviously decides it is because by the time I join him in the kitchen, he’s chugging seltzer water from a liter bottle.
“Gabe, please,” I urge. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“That vineyard in Spain that Marcus and I invested so much in? It’s going bankrupt.”
“No,” I say, trying to keep panic out of my voice. “And you just found this out today?”
“I did, but Marcus has known for over a week.”
That explains why Keira seemed so concerned about the meeting.
“Here, sit,” I say, motioning to a chair at the kitchen table and taking a seat across from it. “How much will this set you back?” What I’m not asking but, of course, also wondering is how much will this set us back.
“We’re not in danger of going under, but we lose all our investment in the vineyard, plus anything we expected to draw from it. And now there won’t be money for the initiatives we planned for next year. Marcus and I will both probably have to take a pay cut.”
“But what about the money your dad was going to invest?”
He sighs in frustration. “That’s not happening apparently.”
“What?”
“Despite his hints otherwise, he’s decided not to give us any more money, at least for a while.”
I’m flabbergasted. Ash has seemed so eager to help with Gabe’s business.
“Maybe he needs time to think about it?” I ask.
“He’s had time. Turns out, Marcus called him last week and gave him a heads-up so he’d have the chance to look over the paperwork before we met. Again, all unbeknownst to me.”
“I can’t believe Marcus would keep this from you. What was he thinking?”
“Oh, he’s got this whole justification—I’m the front person for the company, doing sales and marketing, and he’s the numbers guy. He says he didn’t want to burden me until he had proof things were really coming undone.”
“You think that’s true?”
As smart as Marcus is, he apparently floundered a bit professionally in his early twenties, and it wasn’t until Gabe asked him to join the fledgling wine business that he seemed to find himself. He’s been a great partner, but Gabe is the face of the company and thus gets most of the attention. Maybe by attempting to solve the problem on his own, Marcus was trying to prove his own importance.
“Not sure why it wouldn’t be. He’s seemed a little moody over the past couple of weeks, but I guess it was probably from trying to handle this solo.”
I set my elbows on the table and sink my face into my hands, and another thought pushes into the front of my mind. “Do you think your dad could be having money troubles?”
Gabe shakes his head. “No, and he assured me this doesn’t affect anything for us personally. He and my mother are still going to be paying for Henry’s school and contributing to his college fund. And they’re still taking us skiing at Christmastime.”
“Then what’s the reason? I don’t get it.”
“It seems to be about spreading the wealth around when it comes to his investment dollars. Dad feels he’s been more than generous to Marcus and me for the time being, and of course, he helped Wendy start her gallery. And now he feels he should do something for Nick, who’s got some side real estate project he’s trying to launch. Dad has every right to turn us down, but I just didn’t see this coming.”
My stomach feels like a fist by now. I hate seeing Gabe unhappy for any reason, but this one’s especially troubling. It will surely cast a pall over the vacation, and it’ll ultimately have ramifications on the personal front. Should we really plan to try for a baby next year if his salary could be reduced? I’d been hoping to step back from any voice-over work while my play’s in the festival, but I realize I won’t be able to do that now. We have bills to pay and a mortgage on our loft, and that means we’ll have to continue to count on income from me every week.
“Gabe, I’m so sorry,” I say. “Are you going to be able to handle the week ahead out here?”
He shrugs with both shoulders, his expression defeated.
“I don’t have a choice. I’ll just have to suck it up.”
He takes another long swig of water from the bottle, and after wiping his mouth, says he’s going to take a short hike before lunch to burn off his agitation. Do I mind, he asks, keeping an eye on Henry for the next hour or so? Not at all, I say, and half jokingly urge him to steer clear of coywolves.
After he leaves, I flop back on the sofa, my whole body thrumming with dread. It’s hard to believe that two days ago I was nearly giddy over the idea of our vacation here. In our six years together, I’ve never seen Gabe face any issue this size with his family, and I have no idea how this might play out over the next days.
Desperate for a distraction myself, I set out in search of Henry and find him on the lawn finishing a game of horseshoes with Blake, his cherry red trunks still damp from the pool. I usher him back to the cottage, and an hour later, as we’re playing our thousandth hand of Uno, Gabe returns, lugging a wicker basket filled with sandwiches, chips, pickles, and soft drinks.
“Bonnie helped me put it together,” he says, with Henry out of range. “I just couldn’t face sitting around that table. I blamed it on Henry being up last night and us all being wiped.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “It’ll be nice to have one meal with only the three of us.”
I help Gabe set out the food and drinks on the kitchen table and
we eat there, a light breeze mercifully finding its way in through the window. By the time Henry’s finished his sandwich, he looks almost comatose with fatigue, so Gabe urges him upstairs, promising to read to him up there.
While they rest, I decide to make an appearance at the house. Though I’m unsettled by Ash’s decision, it won’t help anything if we seem to be sulking. Plus, I might have an opportunity to connect with Claire, and if she’s still in a sharing mood, maybe she’ll tell me who she was really confronting last night.
I grab the basket and go. The day’s really muggy now, and I’m sweating by the time I reach the patio, which turns out to be empty. No one down by the pool, either. I peer through a kitchen window, but the gauze curtain is drawn, so I tug open the door to find that the lights are off and the only sound is the faint hum of the dishwasher.
But there’s Claire sitting on a stool at the butcher-block-topped island. All by herself, in the dimness.
“Hello, darling,” she says softly.
“Claire, hi. Where is everyone?”
“I believe most people have opted for a short siesta this afternoon.”
“That makes sense in this heat . . . . Want me to turn a light on?”
“No, that’s all right, dear. It was feeling a little too bright . . . . Can I get you anything?”
“Thank you, I’m fine,” I say. “I just wanted to say hello.”
After setting down the basket, I step closer so I can see her better. Her hair’s pulled back today, with a few silvery-blond tendrils curled by her ears, and her face looks unusually shiny, probably from the humidity. In front of her on the island is an empty drinking glass, the jug she uses to make her special iced tea, and a plate with an untouched sandwich. She taps her index finger to her lips a few times, as if she’s sensing the start of a fever blister.
“You know what?” she says. “We should set aside a time this week to take a walk together. I feel like I haven’t had much chance to catch up with you yet.”
“Great thought. What about right now?” I ask.
“Would you mind waiting until later? I might take a siesta myself since I’m feeling slightly drained from the heat.”
