Chapter 17

July 2023

Inside, after I flee from Fred, I find Lucy talking to Charlotte and Sophie in the drawing room.

"Did I miss a meeting?" I say in the entranceway. Sophie and Charlotte are sitting on the old pink brocade couch, and Lucy is perched on a flower-covered wing chair. They're leaning in conspiratorially, like they're discussing a surprise party. They snap back at the sound of my voice.

"No, no," Lucy says graciously. She stands and invites me in. She's wearing black linen pants that stop at her ankles, and a loose-fitting white blazer. She's always had an effortless style. "I was just telling your sisters about that thing we discussed—the estate sale."

Sophie gives me a guilty look. "It would make everything so much easier."

"For who?"

"For all of us."

I know she's right, but I feel angry anyway. Charlotte and Sophie put me in charge of something I didn't want to do, and now they seemed to be revoking that license.

"And we could do a charity too," Charlotte says. "Sounds like the perfect solution."

"I agree," Ann says.

I didn't see her, tucked in the corner behind the door. She gives me a wide smile, like we're old friends, even though we've only just met.

"It sounds like it's all decided. I'll leave you to sort out the details."

"Don't be that way, Olivia," Sophie says. She stands and walks toward me, yoking her arm around my waist. "We still need you to run everything, obviously. We'd be lost without you."

Even though she's obviously buttering me up, I feel myself softening. "Can you put together a proposal?" I say to Lucy. "The cost, the timing, etcetera?"

"Of course." She stands and Ann does the same. "Why don't we leave you three to discuss it and I'll get you that proposal tomorrow?"

"Thanks."

Charlotte rises. "I'll just walk Ann out. And Lucy too, of course."

The three of them leave, and I sit next to Sophie on the couch.

"Is she going to tell us, or …?" Sophie says.

"Why would today be any different?"

"I don't get it. It's not like we'd care. Scratch that—I'd be happy for her."

"Me too," I say.

"Me too what?" Charlotte says, returning to the room. She reaches up and smooths her hair back, letting its dark curtain fall into place. She's dressed for tennis, though I can't remember the last time she played.

"Getting this done," I say. "I need a shower and a long bath."

"Shouldn't you pick one?"

"Nope."

Sophie laughs. "We should do this, yes? An estate sale and give the money to charity?"

"Ann can arrange everything for us," Charlotte says, taking a seat. "Pro bono."

"I should hope so after the fee she's going to get on the house transaction," I say.

Charlotte frowns. "She did great work for us."

"Do I want to know what her fee is?" Sophie asks.

"I doubt it." I lean back on the couch. It's never been comfortable, and age hasn't helped it. "Fred offered to have his lawyers set up the trust."

"Did he?" Charlotte says.

"Don't look at me like that. He and Lucy were talking about it."

Sophie leans forward eagerly. "I think they're cute together."

Charlotte watches me as I take in this information. "Why have Fred do it and not Ann?"

I try to keep my voice nonchalant. "Because he set up something similar for his uncle when he died. And he offered. But I don't care. You guys decide."

"I think we should keep it in the family," Sophie says.

Charlotte gives a satisfied smile. "I'll tell Ann."

"I meant Fred."

My throat goes dry. "Fred's in the family now?"

"If things work out with him and Lucy …"

"Work out how?" I say. I don't want to know, but I don't have the strength to avoid asking.

"He said he bought this place because he wants to settle down. Why not with Lucy? She's great."

"Wait, what?"

"You told me that, right, Charlotte? Or maybe Lucy did? Anyway, they've been dating—a few dinners, and I think they played golf once."

I thought they'd had one dinner after meeting at the garden party. Clearly not. "That's hardly wedding bells."

"Didn't you announce your engagement after, like, a month?"

"That's not a recommendation for a quick romance, surely."

Charlotte makes a noise in her throat that's like a growl. "This is stupid. We'll use Ann."

"No," I insist. "I want to keep this separate. We'll use Fred's team."

"Fine. Whatever. I have a match to get to." She flounces out of the room, and we watch her leave.

"She's playing tennis now?" Sophie asks.

"Apparently, she's full of secrets. Like this house."

"What do you mean?"

"I've just been thinking about Mom a lot … Do you think she was happy?"

"With what?"

"Her life. William."

Sophie's mouth turns down. "I remember her being happy. Don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. But we were kids …"

"Maybe ask Aunt Tracy? She'd know if anyone did."

"Good idea."

"You don't have to dig up the past, you know. You can just recycle it."

"You'd be okay with that?"

"Mom died a long time ago."

"You're right. She did." I stand. "I'm going to take my shower. And then maybe a nap."

"Aunt Tracy said there were workmen up in your room? Something about installing air-conditioning."

Ash had come through. Thank God. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time."

When I get upstairs, the workmen are just leaving, and I can already feel the cold air spreading like a welcome storm. I strip out of my clothes and take a long bath, stretching in the heat, then rinse off in the shower. By the time I get back to my room, it's almost cold. I decide to succumb to the exhaustion I feel and take a nap, snuggling into my blankets, leaving the air on high.

When I wake up hours later, I'm starving, and it's the middle of the afternoon. I feel disoriented, and when I check my phone, I've slept until almost three.

I change into some clothes that will do for the five PM drinks and resolve to unpack the rest of my things. Everything in my bags is a jumble, and I need to put some order to it.

But first I need something to eat.

I find Aunt Tracy in the kitchen, kneading a loaf of bread on the counter.

She smiles at me like the proud parent she is. "You must be hungry."

"I'll get something. Keep making your bread."

I open one of the fridges, rooting around until I find some sandwich things. I pull them out and line them up on the counter: whole grain bread, shaved turkey, cheese, mustard, mayo, lettuce. My comfort sandwich from childhood.

"Do you want one?"

She comes over to stand next to me. She's wearing a linen shift dress and Roman-inspired sandals, her hair flowing loosely. "That is tempting."

"Consider it done."

She kisses me on the cheek. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"Did you hear about the air-conditioning?" She nods. "It was heaven." I pull out four slices of bread and start assembling the sandwiches. My mouth is already watering. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

"I mean, for the usual reasons, but also because I had a question."

"Anything, my love."

"Was Mom happy? I mean before she got sick."

"Why do you ask?" Tracy walks back to her bread and starts to kneed it again.

"I guess it's going through her things … She and William were so young when they got married …"

"Is this about Fred?"

"What? No. Not directly anyway."

"It must be discomfiting to have him back here. And for him to be buying the house."

I slather mayo on all four pieces of bread, then follow it up with grain mustard. "Yes, but that's not why I'm asking."

"Everyone's unhappy sometimes." Tracy pulls a bowl toward her, oiling it quickly and loading the dough into it.

I add the insides to the sandwiches and put the top on. I cut them in two on the diagonal. I put Tracy's on a plate and don't even bother with one for me. I bite into it, almost groaning in pleasure. It's been way too many hours since I ate anything.

"It's not good to dig around in the past," Tracy says. "You never know what you might turn up."

"You know something."

"I don't. I'm speaking generally." She sprinkles cornmeal over the top of the dough and makes two slashes in it. Then she covers it with a tea towel. "What happens between two people is between them." Tracy crosses the kitchen and puts her arms around me. She smells like yeast. "That sandwich looks great—thank you."

"It's pretty basic."

"So, I'm basic. Kill me. Wait. Basic is bad, right?"

"Basic is bad. But also good."

Tracy shakes her head. "I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"If your mom were here, she'd be so proud of you." She gives me one of those looks again, like it's parent–teacher night, and I've won the top prize.

And maybe I have. Despite everything and the mess my life is in currently, I've had more good than bad, overall. Not right now, but most of the time. And, like Anne of Green Gables used to say, tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it yet.

Or something like that.