Yes, it was clear he was still a little shell-shocked from his divorce and struggling at moments with being a single dad, but after meeting Henry and seeing how sweet Gabe was with him, I was smitten. And so when he went down on one knee with a big grin six months later, right here in this spot, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
The sudden sound of a branch cracking in the woods startles me, and I spin around. Probably just a deer or groundhog rooting around the undergrowth, I decide, but it’s time for me to get back anyway. I retrace my steps to the house, concentrating on the minty smell of the ornamental grasses, the swish of my boots through the meadows, and the sight of two bluebirds darting above the flowers. When I reach the start of the trellis-covered path, I notice Nick up ahead, walking in my direction.
He spots me at the same moment and lifts his hand in a wave, which I return. Where’s Hannah? I wonder, snidely. Maybe she’s busy coming up with fresh, toady ways to preserve her standing as everyone’s favorite houseguest.
By the time I near the middle of the path, I realize that it’s actually Marcus coming toward me. I’ve made this mistake in the past since the twins look so much alike.
“Morning,” he calls out as he closes the gap between us.
“Hi there. Just doing a walkabout?”
“Sort of. I heard something fairly noisy prowling around outside my window last night, and I figured it was a raccoon or a fox, but my father got an email from a neighbor on the road this morning saying he’d spotted a coywolf in the area. I thought I’d have a look around.”
“A coywolf? Is that a real animal?”
“It’s an eastern coyote. They’ve bred with gray wolves over time, so they’re a little larger, more the size of a German shepherd.”
“Yikes. Do they attack humans?”
“Not unless provoked, but we should all keep an eye out. And be extra careful with the dogs.”
“Good to know. Are you really thinking you might come across one now?”
“No, fortunately coyotes aren’t usually out in the daytime. I’m just on the lookout for any signs one’s been around.”
Ever since he was a little kid, Marcus has apparently been a nut about nature. Claire once told me that while the other three boys were devoting their summers out here to tennis, swimming, and Wiffle ball, Marcus would be memorizing the names of tree species, hunting for owl pellets, and identifying animal droppings—earning him the name Scat Man from Nick.
“Let me know what you find, will you?” I say. “How’s your weekend going anyway?”
I’m trying to make the question sound casual, but I’m curious if he’d ever admit how he feels about Nick dating Hannah. Because of the wine business, I’ve spent more time with Marcus than my other brothers-in-law, and sometimes with me he’ll lower the cards he so often plays close to the vest.
“It’s okay. Yours?”
“Good. You excited to be here with the whole gang?”
“Yup.”
Well, I guess he’s not going to cough up much today. As I observe him, something crystallizes for me. Though he and his twin have similar features, on Marcus they come together in a less compelling way than they do on Nick, almost like a piece of fabric faded by the sun. Nick’s jaw is a little stronger, his eyes more vivid, his hair more golden, or maybe you just think that because of the sheer force of his personality.
“Sorry to hear Keira can’t stay for the full week,” I say.
“Yeah, you know, new job stuff. And it’s probably for the best. Unlike you, she always finds these vacations a bit overwhelming.”
I smile. “It’s a lot of people in one place, and she didn’t grow up in a big family.”
“No, I mean more the whole country estate thing. The decor, the gardens, the fancy-pants lettuces for dinner, the guest suites with sheets that cost as much as a used car.”
I get it. The Keatons aren’t billionaires, but they’ve clearly got plenty of millions, and their apartment in New York and their estate here are both spectacular. They also have a winter home in Palm Beach, a small but stunning house landscaped with saw grasses, cactus, and a gorgeous selection of palms. There’s an incredible easy, natural feel to all three places, and to the way the Keatons live, which is a trick in itself. Not everyone with big bucks is able to pull it off.
“Well, you guys have only been together a couple of years. The more she visits here, the more comfortable she’ll be.”
He shrugs. “I hope you’re right. I should get moving, Summer. Lunch is in less than an hour.”
“See you then.”
As I head back to the house, I find myself mulling over Marcus’s comment about how Keira feels being here. This spread certainly bears no resemblance to what I experienced growing up. My father has a small accounting firm and my mom’s a social worker, and we were brought up in a comfortable ranch-style house with a cute backyard in West Hartford, Connecticut, but we certainly didn’t have a full-time housekeeper or landscapers, bartenders, and cooks around.
And yet I’ve never felt ill at ease with Gabe’s parents. The first time I met them was at their sprawling Park Avenue apartment, which they’d gutted in the center to make it feel like a loft, wowing you the moment you open the door. But both Ash and Claire were warm and welcoming, seemingly eager to put me at ease with wine and appetizers on their terrace. As I commented on how much I liked the artichoke dip, his mother told a funny story about how once, as a young hostess, she served whole artichokes without realizing they needed to be steamed first. Everything about their world had the potential to be intimidating, but somehow I managed to find it enchanting instead, like I’d been cast in a play that involved performing on an enthralling stage set.
I return to the cottage, where I exchange my hiking boots for sandals, and then make my way to the main house. I can hear someone splashing in the pool, but Gabe, Henry, Blake, Nick, and Hannah are all sitting under the pergola, playing cards. Sidling up to the table, I see they’re still in swimsuits, though Hannah’s got a flowy vermillion cover-up over hers. She’s wearing makeup, too, applied in that artful way that probably makes even smart guys stupidly think she’s totally barefaced, sporting that natural look they claim to love.
“Summer,” Henry calls out, “come play B.S. with us, okay?”
Henry knows it’s really called Bullshit, but Gabe won’t let him use that word in mixed company.
“You’re not in the middle of a game?” I ask.
“No, we just finished a hand,” Gabe says. “Can I deal you in?”
“Sure,” I respond and slip into an empty spot next to my husband.
“I hear you’ve been working on your play this morning,” Blake says to me. “You’re making the rest of us look like slackers.”
“Blake, you couldn’t look like a slacker if you tried,” Nick says good-naturedly.
“Well, my goal for my forties is to tap into my inner lazy guy. Lots of golf and long walks.”
“Just so you know, I squeezed in a walk myself this morning,” I say, feeling a twinge of guilt over abandoning my play.
After an adroit shuffle, Gabe delivers everyone a hand. The goal of the game is to end up with no cards, and the action moves around the table, starting with the number two and requiring players to place a card or cards facedown in sequence while announcing what they’ve played—such as “four threes” and “one four.” You’re supposed to put down something, which means you have to fib at certain points if you don’t have a card with the right denomination or face, and you can even lie and add more cards to the pile than you’re admitting. If someone suspects you’re bluffing, he can call out “B.S.,” which obligates you to turn over the cards you played. If they’re indeed what you claimed, the person who called B.S. must add the entire discard pile to his or her hand. If you were lying, though, you inherit the entire pile.