“Cold roast turkey?” she says with a wrinkle of her nose after I run through the menu.
“Bonnie does a great aioli sauce on the side. It’s a really delicious combo.”
Her expression is unchanged. “You know what might be lovely to add?” She taps her perfectly manicured nails on the wood table twice for emphasis. “Cold-poached salmon.”
That seems like a pain for Bonnie, but Jillian works for Ash so I have to act reasonably receptive.
“I’ll see if there’s time for Bonnie to order or prepare one.”
“Good. As for the event tomorrow afternoon, there’s no need to make a fuss. But it might be nice to have coffee in the room.”
“What’s tomorrow afternoon?”
“When the lawyer reads the will. It needs to happen this week, and Ash prefers to have the reading done here at the house rather than making people troop into Manhattan and convene at the law office.”
“Sure, we’ll put coffee out,” I say casually, though she’s actually thrown me for a loop. This is the first I’ve heard about a will being read. Doesn’t Claire’s half of the estate simply go to Ash?
“Well, I think that’s it then,” Jillian says, all efficient again, and we rise in unison. “I should see what else Ash needs.”
“Thanks for filling me in.”
After she leaves, I survey the lawn per Bonnie’s request, and as I’m deciding on the best spot to put the tables tomorrow, Keira and Henry come trudging toward me along the patio, Henry dragging his tennis racket so that it scrapes loudly on the flagstone. His cheeks are red, suggesting Gabe’s forgotten to apply sunscreen. He looks a little sullen, too, as does Keira, making me wonder if he’s not been his usual winning self with her on the court. She confided in me once that she and Marcus aren’t planning to have kids, and she might not have had the patience to deal with Henry today.
“Hi guys,” I call out. “Henry, please don’t let your racket drag like that. It’s not good for it.”
“Where’s Dad?” he asks.
“He’s talking to your uncles and grandfather. Why don’t you take a seat? Lunch should be out before long.” I turn to Keira. “Thanks so much for lending a hand.”
“Happy to,” she says, staring over my shoulder. She’s got that worried look again, though it suddenly dissolves. I follow her gaze to see Marcus rounding the house from the side, followed by Gabe and Nick. I try to catch my husband’s eye, but he focuses all his attention on Henry.
“You okay, buddy?” Gabe asks him.
“I’m thirsty,” he whines, sounding ready to bawl. “And hungry.”
“Well, let’s get you something to drink for starters.”
People glumly begin serving themselves drinks from the sideboard, and moments later Bonnie and Jake emerge from the kitchen with a platter of sandwiches and wraps as well as bowls of pickles, olives, and fancy potato chips. When Bonnie’s hands are free, I take her aside and suggest setting the tables under the maple trees tomorrow, since they’ll provide shade while people are eating. I also mention Jillian’s salmon idea. She nods, but looks understandably annoyed.
We take turns grabbing food and are soon joined by Blake and Wendy. Bonnie lingers to make plates for Ash and Jillian, who plan to eat while working in the study, she reports. And Nick mentions that Hannah won’t be joining us. Apparently she’s on a long call with her agent that couldn’t be rescheduled.
I feel relieved to have a meal without her, and yet I can’t help but wonder if the agent call is real. Maybe she’s actually in hiding, agitated with worry. Could my comment about foxgloves have alerted her to my suspicions?
Stop, I chide myself once again. I have no proof whatsoever that Hannah’s done anything wrong.
The group is smaller than usual and we make a stab at conversation—about how hot it is, about an article in the New York Times, about Claire’s cousin from Pittsburgh whom only Blake remembers. But beneath the desultory chatter, I sense tension, a tautness that practically hums. Nick, I realize, barely glances in my direction. Is he sorry he shared his concerns with me earlier? And there’s a chill coming off Gabe, as well. He could still be upset with Marcus about the vineyard news—and with Nick, too, as Nick himself suggested.
But halfway through the meal, I begin to suspect that some of the chill is directed my way. Each time I attempt to make eye contact with Gabe, his gaze pings off a split second later. Is he annoyed that I disappeared earlier, feeling that I’m not helping him enough?
Wendy excuses herself to call a client and for the first time it registers that this is Monday, a workday to the rest of the world. I haven’t checked texts or emails today, and I need to do that. I can’t afford to respond late if my agent has tried to book me for a voice-over job.
“Excuse me, too,” I announce. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
I’m halfway to the cottage when I hear footsteps from behind, and I turn to discover Gabe trying to catch up with me.
“Where are you off to?” he asks, slightly out of breath and not very friendly. Maybe it’s grief that’s making him act sullen toward me.
“I’m just grabbing my phone to check messages. I won’t be more than a minute.”
He studies me, his brow wrinkled.
“And then I’ll be glad to watch Henry as much as you need,” I add. “Tomorrow morning, too, during the service. And later, when the meeting happens.”
“Meeting?”
“Jillian said a lawyer is coming. To talk about the will.”
“Oh, that. Right.”
“There’s not some issue, is there? I was kind of surprised when she brought it up.”
“There’s no issue,” he says, brusquely. “My parents have a will in which the person who dies first leaves his or her half of the estate in trust to the surviving spouse. It’s always been that way.”
“Gabe, what’s the matter? You seem, I don’t know, slightly perturbed.”
He folds his arms against his chest, briefly looks off, and then returns his gaze to me. This time he doesn’t let go.
“Tell me honestly,” he says. “Did you really sneak into Nick and Hannah’s room this morning?”
14
Oh my god, Hannah tattled on me. What a bitch.
“Yes, I did go into their room,” I tell him. “Well, not into it. I opened the door in order to set a vase of flowers on the floor . . . . Did she say something to you about it?”
“Nick did. Hannah found it really disturbing, and so did he. I don’t get it, Summer.”
“I was only trying to be nice, Gabe. No one answered my knock, and I decided to leave the vase in the room rather than lug it back downstairs.” I hate being untruthful with Gabe, but I don’t want to tell him why I was on a quest to find the missing foxgloves.
“Why not leave them outside the room?”
“I guess I didn’t see any harm in opening the door for two seconds. It wasn’t as if I expected to see bondage equipment in there, or bags of heroin.”
I can tell from his expression that he doesn’t appreciate my attempt at humor. And this isn’t the time for it anyway.