“After you went over to the house last night, Henry remembered one more thing about the conversation. He said your mom told the person that if they didn’t do the right thing, she would. How does that jibe with your mom catching a girl stealing bottles of wine?”
“Hmm. Well, I doubt Henry’s memory of the exchange is a hundred percent accurate—especially if he fell asleep right after. And my mother could have meant she wanted the girl to tell Bonnie what had happened—or she would.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” I say, even though it seems like a stretch.
“By the way, my mom wants to keep this low-profile, so don’t mention it to anyone, okay?”
“Got it.”
Gabe grabs a plum and leans over to kiss me on the lips. “I figured we’d get out of your hair for a while today so you can work on your play,” he adds.
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Gabe, I’m happy to see, seems to be doing his best to bring us back on an even keel. “Shall we meet up before lunch?”
“Maybe at lunch. Marcus and I are going to talk shop with Dad before then.”
“Wait,” I say, remembering something else as he starts to rise from the table. “Are you planning to ask your dad for a loan?”
His brow wrinkles. “Who told you that?”
“Keira mentioned it last night. I felt stupid not knowing.”
“She’s clearly misunderstood what Marcus told her,” Gabe says, obviously frustrated by Keira getting it wrong. “No, we don’t need money at the moment, but Dad’s been promising some investment funds and we have to nail down the details if we want to expand going forward.”
“Okay, that’s what I figured it might be.” I’m relieved not only that Gabe’s business is okay but also that he hasn’t hidden any problems from me.
After they take off, I serve myself a bowl of yogurt from the fridge and open my laptop on the kitchen table, thinking there’ll be fewer distractions in here than out on the patio. But before long I’m groaning in frustration. I just can’t concentrate.
My mind keeps replaying the events of last night. Not only Henry bursting in from the dark like a scene out of a Harry Potter movie, but all the tension that preceded it: the engagement announcement, Gabe complaining about my behavior, Claire sharing her concern.
And as I sit there, a spoon dangling in my hand, a memory rushes into my brain like an animal suddenly darting across the road at night: Claire and me in the kitchen, speaking quietly, the rhythmic calls of katydids and crickets coming through the windows. Voices, too. Bonnie and her helper chatting as they dropped a trash bag into the bin outside, and then the firing of their car engines as they departed for the night. All before we went in to admire Henry’s magic tricks.
Which means the pink-haired helper was long gone by the time he went up to bed. Which means she wasn’t the person Claire confronted.
Who was she talking to then? And why would she concoct a story for Gabe?
I replay the fragments of conversation that Henry claimed to have overheard: I know what you’re up to . . . . You’d better do the right thing . . . . And if you don’t, I will.
So what “right thing” could she be referring to? For Hannah to confess to Nick? And possibly back out of her engagement?
I’m too antsy now to look at my computer, so I decide simply to make some notes about how to clarify the arc of my story and the question it involves. I grab my notebook and start up the path to the house, in search of an espresso and a spot where I can sit and scribble, maybe the boxwood glade.
To my surprise, I seem to have the entire grounds to myself. Granted, it’s early still, but I’d expect on a Sunday to hear sounds of people playing tennis or someone splashing in the pool, but there aren’t any. And the table under the pergola is abandoned. It feels as if I’ve showed up at an event on the wrong day or at the wrong time.
But clearly people have been here earlier—the croissant basket on the sideboard, I notice, is only half full.
“Morning,” I call out, stepping into the kitchen. But no one’s in there.
I enter the dining room next, as the swinging door yawns behind me. The space has been tidied up from last night, and the living room is pristine, too. You’d hardly know we’d been gathered there.
Curious, I begin to wander, from room to room, corridor to corridor, practically the length of the house, and the quiet is almost eerie.
Finally, back in the living room, I glance into the adjoining study, a room I think of as mostly Ash’s turf. Though the fireplace probably hasn’t been used in months, I can pick up the lingering hint of woodsmoke even from the doorway. I don’t see anyone in here, either, but as I turn to leave, I sense a motion on the other end of the room and spin quickly to the right. Wendy’s standing by the wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and I’ve clearly surprised her, too.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I say.
“No problem. I was just looking for something to read. My iPad seems to have died.”
“You’ve got your choice of classics here, I guess, but there are a couple of thrillers in the cottage bookshelf if you want more options . . . . Where is everyone, do you know? It’s like a ghost town this morning.”
“Blake went for a drive along the river, and Nick and Hannah haven’t emerged from their room yet.”
She says the last part with a faint smirk on her face.
“What about Claire and Ash? And Bonnie?”
“Bonnie’s at church apparently and not due until later. I saw Ash leave with his bike about ten minutes ago. He said Claire had gone to the farmers’ market.”
“Sounds like there might be more corn on the cob in our future.” I step a little closer to her. “Wendy, I have to say again how thrilled I am for you and Blake. You must be in seventh heaven.”
“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.”