Gabe unwinds the white beach towel around his waist, yanks off his suit, and digs a pair of boxer briefs out of his duffel bag. Ordinarily I’d feel a swell of desire at a moment like this, simply from catching a glimpse of his tanned, toned body, but I’m too scared and unsettled to experience even a twinge of lust.
As the three of us prepare to leave the cottage a few minutes later, I glance toward the French doors leading out to the patio.
“Did you close the drapes in here?” I ask Gabe.
“No, I thought you did. It must have been Bonnie. I noticed she emptied the wastebaskets earlier.”
Bonnie might have dealt with the wastebaskets, but my money’s on Hannah having closed the drapes so that no one would spot her moving around in here.
When we arrive on the patio for dinner, everyone’s already gathered, slowly taking their seats, and I make a point of picking one as far away from Hannah as possible.
Most of us seem less shell-shocked at this meal than we were at lunch, and even Ash appears more himself. There’s a bit of friendly chatter as the wine is poured, and Blake, his voice cracking, offers a toast to his mother’s memory. Over crab cakes and salad, Nick, with tears in his eyes, tells us several laugh-out-loud stories about Claire, one involving her teaching him the names of the constellations as they wandered around the pool deck one night. She became so caught up in the lesson that she accidentally stepped off into the water, dressed in pants, a button-down sweater, and her favorite pair of Tod’s suede loafers—but resumed the lesson as soon as she emerged, as if nothing had happened.
The chatter continues, but my focus shifts to the right, as if pulled by a magnetic force, and suddenly I’m staring right into Hannah’s eyes. The edges of her mouth turn upward into a tiny, mischievous smile. She knows I found the blossom—and that I’m rattled.Stay scared, I warn myself, as I quickly glance away.
Toward the end of the meal, I manage to snag Wendy’s attention. I cock my head as if to ask,Find anything?, and she gives me a tiny nod. Thank god.
By the time Bonnie and Jake are clearing the plates, Ash looks distracted and restless again, and he excuses himself before dessert is served. Blake and Wendy soon make motions to leave, too, and I realize I need to act fast. As Gabe helps Henry select a brownie from the platter on the table, I rise and edge over to her.
“Do you have a sec?” I say casually, careful not to pique anyone’s interest. “I’d love your advice on something for tomorrow.”
She turns to Blake. “You go back to the carriage house,” she tells him. “I’ll walk over in a minute once I’ve spoken to Summer.”
He cups the side of her head with his hand, lacing his fingers through some of the silky strands.
“No, no, I’ll wait.”
“Blake, I’ll be fine, I swear. I’m not the first woman on the planet to have a baby.”
“I don’t mind hanging here. I’ll grab a brandy and sit with the others for a while.”
She shrugs, rises, and takes my arm, and as the two of us walk onto the lawn in the direction of the Adirondack chairs, I can almost feel Hannah’s eyes on my back.
“Blake mentioned you’re planning to read a Mary Oliver poem tomorrow,” Wendy says. “That’s such a thoughtful idea.”
I realize with a stab of guilt that I should have given Wendy and Keira a heads-up that I intended to speak. At least Gabe has spread the word.
“It’s just a short one, but Claire mentioned once she loved it. Are you going to say anything?”
“I considered it—and I know Blake would be pleased if I did—but I get really teary at funerals, and I don’t want to distract from the service by blubbering all over the place.”
It’s hard to imagine Wendy blubbering, but I know funerals can bring out extreme emotions.
“I’m also trying to keep my stress level down,” she adds. “I generally don’t mind public speaking, but tomorrow will be intense.”
“Sounds like a smart decision.”
We reach the chairs and sink into them. Fireflies havebegun to blink their lights all around us, and the delicious scent of honeysuckle clings to the air. It could almost seem like just another summer evening here, but, of course, it isn’t.
“So, tell me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You found something?”
“Keep in mind I only had time to make a superficial request, but yes, I had a bit of luck. And you’re not going to believe it.”
I hold my breath for a couple of seconds. “What?” I finally ask.
“Things checked out. She definitely went to USC. And she’s from Miami, exactly as she told us. Her parents died a short time apart several years ago, in their fifties and both from illnesses. She’s never been arrested and doesn’t have any debt to speak of. Of course, as I said, this is only the top-line stuff.”
I can almost feel myself deflating, like a beach ball that’s been popped with a fork.
