I get that Gabe, the perennial peacekeeper, doesn’t want any friction. He’s always been the one, for instance, to smooth over the occasional issues that arise between Marcus and Nick, and this is our hard-earned vacation week, after all.
But something just doesn’t feel right about Hannah. I know it. And I hate that I seem to be the only one who does.
4
Instead of trying to focus on my play any longer, I decide to head outside now and come back to it later in the day when my mind is clearer. I collect my hiking boots and lace them up, then leave the cottage, veering off the flagstone path and moving north across the expanse of sloping lawn. Eventually, it gives way to a wide grass path flanked and topped by rustic trellises and running through a lightly wooded area. Though I appreciate the manicured parts of the property, this is where the real magic happens for me. Relishing the stillness, I walk at a moderate pace, and after a couple of minutes I emerge from between the trellises into a meadow of riotously colored wildflowers. When she designed it, Claire meant for it to be a total surprise to the eye, and no matter how many times I come upon it, it always makes me smile.
I traipse through the meadow, admiring the endless mix of pink, red, blue, orange, and yellow. At the far side, a totally different meadow begins, this one consisting of various wild grasses, some of them really high. There’s a distinct paththrough it, but one Claire designed in an enchanting, serpentine way, so that when you meander along, you almost feel as if you’re in a maze.
Finally, I reach the far side and after tramping a bit farther come to the stream that gushes along the border of a heavily wooded area, a continuation of the woods behind our cottage. I hadn’t planned to be gone for too long, but I lower myself onto a rock beside the gurgling stream and savor the sound of it. There’s an old bird blind a few yards ahead of me and to the right of the stream. Sometimes Henry and I will brush away the cobwebs inside and sit for a while, watching and waiting. Or we’ll search the nearby area for deer antlers or abandoned box turtle shells. I’ve made many happy memories with him here.
But mostly I love this spot because it’s where Gabe proposed to me.
We’d met around six years ago in a wine bar in the city, where I’d gone with several nonactor friends to celebrate one girl’s acceptance to business school. The wine bar owner was Gabe’s client, I later learned, and he’d only stopped by that evening to say hello. My friends and I were clustered by the bar and Gabe was sitting on a stool behind me. At some point I turned, as if drawn by a force field, and when I met his gaze, I felt as if I’d been struck by the proverbial thunderbolt. Maybe it was those slate-blue eyes, or hawk nose, or fetching dark scruff, or the way he held his wineglass like such a pro. We chatted for a couple of minutes, exchanging first names and a little bit about our professional lives, and what was so special about the Bordeaux he was drinking—hehad the bartender pour me a taste—but then my friends were dragging me off to another location, and I couldn’t think of a slick way to say, “Here’s my number.”
I went back to the wine bar twice, hoping he’d be there, but no such luck. Two weeks later, though, I spotted him in the audience at the tiny theater where I was performing in the play I’d mentioned to him. I was so stunned by the sight, I almost dropped a line, but managed to keep it together. And when I left the theater, he was waiting outside and invited me for a late pasta dinner.
That night I discovered there was even more to like than the blue eyes and hawk nose: his wit, his thoughtfulness, his straightforward style, his passion for his work, and his evident devotion to his toddler son. To say nothing of the fact that he’d remembered the name of the play I was in, tracked down a ticket, and actually showed up.
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 reachthe 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 otherthree 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.
