Even in the dusky light, I see the muscles of his face tense.
“Summer, let’s not get into that again, okay? Like I told you before, I’m not giving any credence to something based on hearsay . . . . I think we’d better show our faces in there or else we’re going to seem totally rude.”
I’m still bristling, but I don’t want to make things any worse tonight than they already are, so I nod and start for the interior of the house. Gabe suddenly pulls me close and kisses the top of my head.
“Babe, I know you care about Nick, and you don’t want anything bad to happen to him. But let’s give them a chance, okay?”
“Sure.”
I follow him back down the corridor toward the sound of voices, ending up in the dining room this time. Everyone’s milling around the table, where there are two large stoneware baking dishes with blueberry crumble and a huge bowl of vanilla ice cream for topping. Claire still seems to be in the kitchen, though, and I don’t see Marcus, either.
By now I’ve lost my appetite, and fruit crumble sounds about as appealing as a plateful of hair, but I join Gabe at the table, where a short line has formed. Henry’s at the front and has already managed to secure himself a piece of the crumble and top it with a giant mound of ice cream.
“Buddy, let me help you carry that into the living room,” Gabe tells him.
As they depart the room, I drift toward the coffee carafes on the sideboard. Hannah, I notice, is already serving herself a tiny sliver of crumble. As she rounds the far end of the table, dessert plate in one hand and coffee mug in the other, she glances backward and for the first time since the announcement, we make eye contact. She stares, as if daring me to look away—which I finally do—before she goes to sit with her fiancé.
Soon, Keira and I are the only ones left in the dining room, both serving ourselves coffee. She looks even more pensive than normal.
“Where’s Marcus?” I ask.
“Already in bed. He felt a cold coming on, and he wants to see if he can nip it in the bud.”
“Good idea,” I say, though I can’t help but wonder if what’s really bothering him is the idea of his twin marrying a woman he might still have the hots for.
“Of course,” Keira says, lowering her voice, “if there are any more big announcements, I’ll have to run up and get him.”
“I think two is all I can handle in one evening.”
“I’m thrilled for Wendy, of course. But I don’t know what to make about the other . . . thing. Do you?”
“No,” I tell her. “But they seem really happy so hopefully it will all work out.”
See, I can behave. And when I want to be, I’m a damn good actress.
“What worries me, though, is that it’s a distraction,” Keira says. The thin fissure above the bridge of her nose deepens. “And Marcus and Gabe need to have Ash in full focus mode.”
“You think it will get in the way of them talking business?”
“I’m sure Ash will sit down with them—he promised he would—but if he’s preoccupied with all this family stuff, he may not want to discuss the loan.”
The loan? This is total news to me. Gabe’s assured me that the business is nicely in the black these days, so I don’t know why there’d be any need for a loan. Maybe they’re just trying to secure a promise of investment money down the road. Either way, I haven’t heard a word about it and I don’t know why.
“Right, the loan,” I say. “Well, I’m sure Ash will be able to focus. That’s his middle name.”
She nods and glances into the living room, where Henry is now demonstrating one of his dozen or so card tricks. “I guess we should join them.”
“I’ll be right in,” I tell her, but after she leaves, I linger, slowly stirring my coffee and hoping Claire might emerge shortly. Is she as upset as she looked?
She doesn’t appear, but the clanging sounds coming from the kitchen have subsided, meaning the cleanup must be nearly complete. I push open the swinging door and step in to find my mother-in-law by herself, sitting at the island and scribbling on a pad. The rain’s stopped by now, and through the screened windows I hear the thud of a garbage bag being dropped into the big trash bin, followed by the murmur of voices. Bonnie and her helper must be headed out for the night.
“Hello, darling,” Claire says, glancing up. “Do you need something?”
“No, I was just wondering where you were. Are you going to join us?”
“In a minute, yes. I need to make a few notes for tomorrow.”
There’s nothing about her tone or demeanor to suggest that she’s particularly distressed, though I spot the same tension in her face I noticed earlier, and the rims of her eyes seem pinker than usual, not quite as if she’s been crying but like she’s on high alert. And of course, there’s the fact that she’s in here, and not with the rest of the family.
“Notes?”
“Just some reminders for Bonnie tomorrow. Everything going smoothly in the other room?”
“It seems so. Henry’s entertaining the troops with sleights of hand.”
She sets down the pen and smiles again, this time with her eyes, too, like she’s finally registering that I’m in the room.
“Nick introduced Henry to magic, of course,” she says, “but I know you’re the one who bought him those books and really encouraged his interest. That was so great of you to do.”
“It was my pleasure—and Gabe and I get such a kick out of watching him.”
“It’s exactly what we need tonight, isn’t it? A bit of misdirection.”
Is she hinting that she wants to be distracted from the surprise engagement? Sounds like it.
“I certainly need it,” I say, despite my promise to Gabe to cease and desist about Hannah. “I . . . I feel worried about Nick. Making such a, you know, hasty decision.”
She sighs, without losing her smile. “I so appreciate your concern, Summer dear. That’s one of the many things I love about you. But no need to worry. I think this will—how shall I put it?—run its course.”
“You don’t think they’ll get married?” I say, surprised by her comment.
“I don’t. Just between us, I have Hannah’s number. I’ve had it almost since the moment our little USC graduate arrived.”
I stare at her, shocked by the revelation. I also note the emphasis she put on USC. What could she mean by that?
“So . . . ?”
“Let’s just bide our time for the moment, shall we?” She scoots her stool back so that it makes a scraping sound on the wooden floor. “Now, why don’t we go see some magic?”
Claire and I watch with the others. Thank god for the show. Because other than Henry’s instructions and the “oohs” and “aahs” from the crowd when he completes each trick, no one is saying a word.
“Okay, Hen, let’s save a few for the rest of the week,” Gabe tells him eventually.
The performer takes his leave, accepting a final round of applause, before Gabe ushers him upstairs, with me tagging along.
After tucking Henry into bed, we return downstairs, bid the others good night, and set off on the path to the cottage. It’s wet and shiny from the rain and glows here and there where the toadstool-shaped fixtures along the way reflect light onto the flagstone.