by Luanne Rice
“Is this true?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Alexander said.
“Are you lying to me?” Griffin asked.
“No, Dad. I knew he was upset, but he didn’t tell me the whole story.”
“Wait,” Griffin said. “You didn’t know the whole story, but you knew some of the story?”
“That’s right,” Alexander said, sounding nervous.
“You knew that he planned to visit the Bensons and make a scene?” Griffin asked. “You came here at six this morning, worried about your brother, and you knew that the whole time but didn’t see fit to tell me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is there something else you’re keeping from me?” Griffin asked.
“Dad,” Alexander said. “She asked about the girls, the old girls . . .”
“What old girls?” I asked.
“A case I once worked on,” Griffin snapped, before Alexander could reply. “And I shared the details with my sons—because I don’t like secrets in the family. Meanwhile, one of my sons is having an affair with a married woman who’s fucking one of our neighbors, and the other is raising secret keeping to a high art.” He glared at Alexander.
“You knew? About Ford and Sallie?” I asked. Griffin’s cell phone buzzed, and without responding, he walked into the kitchen to take the call.
“He knows everything,” Alexander said, sounding miserable. “The security guards spy for him. Markham is always looking around. Plus, the men talk at the Last Monday Club. Edward probably bragged about it now that Dan stopped going. I don’t know why Ford wants to join that stupid club so much.”
“You don’t want to join?” I asked, wondering how he would know whether Dan Benson went or not.
Alexander shook his head. “I wouldn’t belong to a club that doesn’t take women. I wouldn’t do that to Emily. We don’t want a life like her parents’. Or yours and Dad’s.” He gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”
“I try not to let you see it,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I do see it.” He took a deep breath. “Ford is so fucked up. He won’t let anyone be on his side—it’s like he feels he doesn’t deserve it. And now, all I can think of is him seeing that little kid, Sallie’s son—” Alexander shook his head hard as if to dislodge the image. “Hurting a little boy just like we were hurt.” He lowered his voice. “My father sucks. It’s his fault Ford’s the way he is.”
Griffin came back into the hall. “That was Wade. Ford’s been sleeping it off over there, but he’s awake now.”
It didn’t surprise me that Ford would go to the Lockwoods’ house. Wade and Leonora were practically grandparents to the boys.
“He could have called,” Alexander said.
“Well, we know where he is,” Griffin said. “Let him vent to Wade, as long as he doesn’t go out of the inner circle. We have to know who to trust in this world. Sallie Benson and her husband are not among them. I’ll deal with this later.”
Griffin headed back into the kitchen, and Alexander rushed to his car, keys out.
“Where are you going?” I called to Alexander.
“To get Ford,” he said. “Dad sounds calm, but he’s not. He’s going to head to the Lockwoods’ in two minutes, I guarantee, and yank Ford out of bed, and who knows what he’ll do. I don’t want that to happen. Will you stall him, Claire?”
“No,” I said.
“What?” Alexander asked.
“Ford brought this on himself, Alexander,” I said. “Your brother needs rehab, some kind of intervention, before he hurts someone—or himself. He could have killed someone, driving drunk.”
“Please, Claire,” Alexander said. “Don’t turn on him—you’ve always been good to us. He’s going to need it even more now.”
Just then the garage door began to open, and I heard Griffin’s car start up. Alexander was so agitated that he fumbled the car keys, dropped them, practically fell as he got into his car.
Alexander started the Porsche, gunned it, and sped through the turnaround. As he entered the Catamount Road tunnel of trees, dark in morning shadow, I saw something dark yellow flash in front of his car. Alexander braked, skidded sideways, and fighting the wheel, crashed into the stone wall.
Griffin and I tore across the driveway. The car’s front end had crumpled like an accordion. The airbag had deployed, and Alexander was slumped into it. Griffin yanked at Alexander’s door, but it was out of whack from the impact and wouldn’t open. We ran to the passenger side—same thing. Griffin grabbed a rock from the old wall and smashed the car window. He reached in and, working the inside handle as I pulled from outside, we got the door open.
Alexander tried to wriggle free of the airbag as Griffin leaned in.
“Jesus,” Griffin said.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Alexander said.
“Are you okay?” I asked over Griffin’s shoulder.
Alexander didn’t answer me—he was staring at his father. “Something ran in front of the car—an animal. A big cat, I think. I didn’t want to hit it.”
“You swerved to avoid a cat?” Griffin asked.
“Yes,” Alexander said. His voice broke, and he tried to struggle free of the airbag.
“You crashed a hundred-thousand-dollar car for a cat?” Griffin asked. “Next time, Alexander, hit the goddamned animal.” He shook his head at me—disgust at Alexander? At me? I heard voices coming from down the road—Wade and Ford were walking toward our house. Griffin stalked over.
Alexander climbed across the front seats; I helped him get out, and he leaned unsteadily against the car.
“Are you okay?” I asked again.
“My chest hurts,” he said. “The airbag really got me.”
“I’m going to call 911,” I said.
“No,” he said quickly, grabbing my wrist as I pulled my phone from my pocket. “It’s nothing, seriously.”
“Alexander, sit down. You’re in shock,” I said.
But he wouldn’t sit. “It’s the car that’s wrecked, not me.” He glanced over at Griffin, who was talking to Wade, as if he thought his father wouldn’t approve of an ambulance. Wade had his arm around Ford’s shoulders, one hand on Griffin’s shoulder. I could see our neighbor was defusing the situation, and I turned back to Alexander.
“I would have done the same thing,” I said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to hit the animal either.”
He didn’t reply but sank to sit on the ground, as if standing took too much effort.
I called 911, then sat down beside Alexander to wait for help to arrive. I thought of the big cat Alexander had swerved to avoid and the myth of mountain lions—somewhere in the woods between Catamount Bluff and Hubbard’s Point, amber-eyed shadows more sensed than seen.
28
SALLIE
When Sallie got home, Dan’s car was in the driveway—he had left work early. She entered the house, found him sitting in the living room. Not reading, not watching TV, just sitting there. Maggie was curled up at his feet, but she bounded to the door to greet Sallie. Sallie scooped her up and held her.
“I want to ask you where you were,” he said, “but I don’t want to hear the answer. Maybe you were with Edward. Maybe you were with Ford. What I’m most afraid of is that you’ll tell me you were with a client.”
“I wasn’t with anyone,” she said. “I went for a drive.”
“That’s a good excuse too,” he said. “Right up there with how you’d always say you were working. When really you were with one of them. Now I want to know, and you’ll tell me the truth for once. Where did you take the drive?”
She took a deep breath. “To the Chases’ house.”
“Griffin Chase?”
“Yes. I wanted to let Ford know what he’d done—how wrong it was to come here.”
“Did you see him?”
“No, he wasn’t there. Just his brother and parents. I just wanted to set him straight and ask him . . .” She trailed off, regrouped. “Maybe it was a mista
ke to go at all.”
“Yes, it was a mistake for you to go there. You have no idea who Griffin Chase really is.” He closed his mouth tight; Sallie thought he looked scared.
“Dan, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“One thing we’re not going to do is sit here while you apologize. There’s no point in that.”
“Okay,” she said. She stared across the room at Dan, sitting in one of the armchairs flanking the fireplace. His expression was nearly blank, as if he were feeling no emotion at all. “But I have a question for you too,” she said. “Who is Ellen Fielding?”
“What’s the difference? She has nothing to do with us,” he said.
“Maybe she does! Ford mentioned her when he was here. And another girl who drowned.”
“A case of Griffin’s,” he said.
“No,” Sallie said. “He made it sound like something long ago—spring break. Was he talking about you? College?”
“Look, don’t try to change the subject—you had an affair.”
“And you haven’t been honest with me! Don’t you think that might be part of what’s wrong between us?”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, ignoring her question. “I’m going to get the boat ready for tomorrow. Buy the provisions, get them aboard. You’re going to pack for the weekend. Everything the kids will need for three days.”
“I was planning to do that anyway,” she said. “But I’m not going. I’m sure that will be a relief to you.”
“Yes, it would,” he said. “It one hundred percent would be a gigantic relief to me. But you are going, Sallie. For the kids’ sake. Did you see their faces last night? Did you see how destroyed they were?”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes filling. She held Maggie even closer. “And I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how bad I feel.”
“That’s nice,” he said. “But you saying ‘sorry’ and feeling bad won’t help them. That’s why we’re going on vacation as planned. They’re going to see Mommy and Daddy together, being happy and having fun. They’ve been looking forward to this, and we’re not going to take it away from them.”
Sallie buried her face in Maggie’s fur. She didn’t love Dan, but he was a good father; she knew he’d do anything for their children.
“I can’t,” she said, looking up.
“You will, though. Feel whatever you feel—stay in bed all day today—I don’t care. As long as you’re up and waiting for the school bus. And as long as we all have dinner together. And tomorrow we will leave for Block Island.”
Maggie barked. She wanted to go out, so Sallie put her down and followed her into the kitchen. She opened the back door, and Maggie ran into the yard. Sallie looked around at the flower beds, the swing set, the garden shed—signs of a happy suburban family.
There was no point in arguing with Dan. She’d do everything he asked. The idea of being confined on the Sallie B was almost unbearable. She couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to Dan—having him look at her with this blank stare.
Or wondering about Ellen Fielding, whoever she was.
Or being with herself.
Or being at all.
29
CLAIRE
Wade and Leonora Lockwood’s kindness and good humor got us through those tense moments of Griffin confronting Ford, Alexander wrecking the car, and the aftermath. The ambulance arrived along with a cluster of police cars and volunteer firefighters. Leonora came hurrying over to see what was happening.
I understood why Alexander had resisted my calling 911; once the call went out for an emergency at Griffin Chase’s house, all emergency personnel would mobilize. Griffin was so private about family problems that he wouldn’t want anyone to see that one of his sons had crashed his car, that the other one was halfway between smashed and hungover.
Griffin started to climb into Ben Markham’s car to follow the ambulance to Easterly Hospital. Wade caught him by the arm. “Want company?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Wade,” Griffin said.
“After your son crashes a car? I doubt it. I’m coming with you,” Wade said. He waved to Leonora, then got into the back seat of the squad car. The EMT vehicles pulled away, and a tow truck hauled off the totaled red Porsche.
Ford, Leonora, and I stood in the turnaround.
“I don’t get how Alexander managed to drive into the wall,” Ford said.
“He was worried about you,” I said. “He was going to the Lockwoods’ house to get you.”
“Well, obviously I walked home myself,” Ford said, glaring at me.
“Ford,” Leonora said. “None of that sarcasm, especially to Claire. You need to sober up. Black coffee, two Excedrin, a run along the beach, an ice-cold swim, and a hot shower. Trust me, I know. I’ve got sixty years of experience helping my husband and his band of merry drinking buddies.”
Ford nodded, and Leonora gave him a big hug. Ford disappeared into the house.
“Thanks, Leonora,” I said.
“Of course, sweetheart. Actually, coffee sounds good. May I invite myself in for some?” she asked, giving me a big smile. She was tall and just slightly stooped, with bright-blue eyes and pure-white hair pinned up in a French twist. She wore her customary pearls and a bright-yellow-and-pink caftan. In her seventies, she was still stunning.
“I’d love it,” I said.
We went into the kitchen, and she leaned against the counter while I measured coffee into the percolator. I knew from years of neighborhood brunches and meetings that Leonora liked cream and sugar. When it was ready, I poured two cups, and Leonora poured a third. She picked up one and started for the back stairs.
“Is that for Ford?” I asked. “Leonora, he can get it himself.”
“Dear, let me take it to him, so we can talk alone. I’ll be right down.”
I heard her footsteps on the floorboards overhead, then muffled voices, and then she returned to the kitchen. She walked in chuckling.
“I shouldn’t laugh,” she said. “But he is green around the gills. I haven’t seen that kind of hangover in quite some time. Frankly, he reminds me of his father. Griffin had a few tough mornings along the way.”
“He almost never drinks now,” I said.
“Because of Margot,” Leonora said. “Griffin saw what booze did to her, and he wanted to be a good influence on the boys. I think he’s succeeded with Alexander. Ford’s going to need help. Years ago, Wade suggested military school, but he’s far too old for that now. And he’s too spoiled to join the navy, so I guess it’ll have to be a shrink.”
“Yes,” I said, but I must have sounded doubtful.
“You’re worried that Griffin won’t go for it? I can see that. His position makes him vulnerable—he’s afraid people will talk. Especially with the election coming up.”
I didn’t reply.
“Griffin talks to Wade,” Leonora said. “Not as much as to you, I’m sure. But we’re all family.” She sipped her coffee, watching me over the rim of the cup. “I’m not sure you knew what you were signing on for, my girl.”
“‘Signing on for’?”
“The Catamount Bluff madhouse. Too much money has done a real job out here. Wade was born into it, and the only way he escaped being spoiled rotten was by shaping up in the navy. When I first married him, I looked around and saw everyone having cocktails at noon, sneaking in and out of beds all around town. I wanted to go straight home to Maine—the lovely, innocent little lobster village where I grew up.”
“But you stayed,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “I adore my husband. And I’ve grown to love it here. When it comes to Catamount Bluff, home is home. Surely you feel it, too, at this point. And I’m sure you know how much we love you. And trust you.”
“Thank you, Leonora.”
“You know, it was Wade who first suggested Griffin run for office. That’s how much he believes in him.”
I didn’t reply and tried to keep my expression neutral. I didn’t want her t
o guess what I was thinking about Griffin running for office.
“We know he’ll make a marvelous governor,” she said. “Dear, may I have more coffee?”
Leonora was so warm; she and Wade had embraced me as one of their own. I stood up to get the coffee pot, to refill our cups. She obviously didn’t know the truth about Griffin, would never believe what he was really like.
“A lot of drama here today,” she said, holding up her cup while I poured. “Too much.”
“It was,” I agreed.
“I wish to God that Sallie Benson had never swept into our lives, with all her white paint and white tiles and enchanted white moon gardens. Wrecking a good family.”
“You know about Sallie and Edward?”
“Yes, dear. Word gets around. And Ford didn’t help, dashing about like an old gossip. But he’s in love with her, silly though it may be—and there’s nothing like a Chase man in love. Believe me, I saw it with Griffin, with you.”
“When we got married?”
“No, before. The first time. When you were just out of college. That summer you got together, I told Wade that Griffin was over-the-moon in love with you. I’m just sorry it didn’t last, that it took so long for you to get back together. Margot was a mess.” She sipped her coffee, added another teaspoon of sugar. “Of course, it didn’t help that Victoria didn’t like her.”
“Griffin’s mother?”
“Yes. She was impossible to please. I bet she would have loved you—being an artist, so talented. So good to Griffin. Between you and me, I think Victoria wanted the woman in Griffin’s life to make up for what she couldn’t do. I hate to speak ill of the dead, especially in her own kitchen, but she was a cold fish.”
“That must have been hard on Griffin.”
“It certainly was. She was a woman who never should have had a child. She had her own interests, and she loved her husband, but she neglected Griffin. So did his father. Wade says we were better parents to him than they were. And I’m talking about before his parents died. They were simply not present.”
“He was lucky to have you,” I said.
“We felt that way about him. No children of our own, so Griffin was it. Wade would make him get up at dawn, go surf casting with him off the beach. They would catch blues and stripers—they would clean them, and I’d cook them. Griffin loved it. He wanted to go after bigger game, so when he was a college senior, we gave him an early graduation present. Wade took him deep-sea fishing.”
