“Gabe, please....” I look at him, imploring. “Can’tyoutry to see it from another perspective? You seem so... so quick to come to Hannah’s defense.”
“I’m not,” he snaps. “There’s simply no evidence she’s done anything wrong.”
As I search desperately for a response, I notice that his eyes are now glistening with tears. In the moment, I’ve lost sight of the fact that Gabe is distraught and grief-stricken, and this conversation is only making him feel worse.
“Gabe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you today. But I had to tell you all this. How could I forgive myself if I didn’t?”
“Fine, and thank you. You’ve told me. But now you have to let it go, okay? My mother’s dead, dead from a massive heart attack, and supporting my dad and Henry is what I need to focus on.”
“Of course,” I say, chastened. “And I want to be there for you, and your dad, and Henry.”
“Great, so let’s move on. Seriously, Summer, I can’t have another crazy conversation like this. You have to figure out a way to stop obsessing about Hannah.”
So that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what he thinks this is all about. Me crazily fixated on Hannah and her success. Jealous and unable to stop trash-talking. I feel an urge to hurl something at the wall, but instead I smother my anger. More talk or flying objects won’t open his eyes, and I need to stop exacerbating his distress over his mother’s death.
“I hear you,” I say, probably a little too brightly. “I do. And you’re right, let’s move on.”
He eyes me quizzically, his tan brow wrinkled, as if he’s not sure if I’m sincere or giving a Drama-Desk-Award-caliber performance. But I sense a resignation beneath the surface, that he’s going to take me at my word.
“I should check on Henry,” he says, rising and raking both hands through his hair.
“I’ll watch him during the meeting with the lawyer, of course,” I volunteer. “Maybe fix him an early dinner.”
“But you’re supposed to be at the meeting, too.”
“I am? I thought only you and your brothers were invited.”
“Well, wives, too. Dad’s expecting you.”
“Sure, I’m happy to be included. It’s just a formality, right?”
“That’s what I hear.” He’s moving toward the stairwell, his face still tense.
“Okay, why don’t I go over to the house and see if Henry can hang in the kitchen with Bonnie during the meeting, then?”
Gabe’s lips part, as if he’s about to suggestHannah could always watch him, but in the end he just nods.
I don’t head directly to the house, though. Instead I wander halfway down the path, veer off toward the cloud boxwood grove, and slip into the glade. This was another one of Claire’s sanctuaries, and it’s not hard to understand why. The space is so serene and Zen-like, a spot where the rest of the world can feel completely removed.
But it doesn’t today. As I lower myself onto one of the two weathered benches, my problems seem to bulldoze their way through the boxwoods. Hannah’s out there someplace, a potential danger to me and to others. And my conversation with Gabe has only intensified the big, fat wedge between us.
Something else is churning in me, too, something besides frustration and anguish. I feel...pissed, I realize. I didn’t expect Gabe to leap from his seat like Dr. Watson and shout,My god, you’re right, why didn’t I see it?But I expected him to at least listen carefully, consider my points, and accept that though all I had was circumstantial evidence, it warranted investigation.
Instead, he completely dismissed my theory. And chalked it all up to a personal issue. But I’mnotobsessed with Hannah’scareer. Yes, I want what she has, havealwayswanted it, but I’m opening other doors for myself. No, this is simply about the truth and trying to convince Gabe to see it, too.
What I need is an ally, I decide. Not Wendy, obviously, since she now seems to be cozying up to Hannah. No, it has to be someone else, someone receptive.
Marcus.There’s a chance he’s still lusting for Hannah, of course, but based on how he looked at her right here in this spot, I think that he’s feeling anger, too. And perhaps, as I once considered, he might be privy to details about her that make him want to prevent a marriage between her and Nick. I can also probably count on Marcus to be discreet, since the two of us are sharing another secret.
With my mind made up, I leave the grove and hurry to the house. The tables and chairs have been carted off, and the sole reminders of the service that took place are the indentations in the grass. As I round the house toward the pool, I can hear a Rihanna song playing faintly from the kitchen. Claire’s not even buried yet and her “only classical music in the kitchen” policy has already bitten the dust.
Marcus isn’t at the pool, nor is anyone else, hardly a surprise. Chances are he’s in the guest suite, resting or steeling himself for the next gathering. I make my way to the eastern end of the house, knowing that the door to the screened-in porch is always unlocked. There’s a back stairway in this section of the house that will take me right to the guest suite.
Several large fir trees shade the porch, keeping the light in there dim, and it isn’t until I’m a few feet into the space that I notice someone lying faceup on the wicker couch. Wendy. Like me, she’s still in the clothes she wore to the service, andher hand is pressed against her forehead. I’m shocked to see a goblet of what might be chardonnay parked on the coffee table beside her.
“Oh, hi,” she mutters, scooting up a little. Her face is as white as candle wax.
“Is everything okay?”
