Chapter 27

July 2023

The weeks roll by slowly, that uncertainty of summer settling in, where you never know what day it is unless you check.

Wes and I have dinner at Bonne Amie. I tell him about Ash's and my discovery about Claude, once again attentive with his "oui, ouis" and zero French behind it. He tries to keep the evening light, but it feels heavy.

Not enough time has passed for me to forget the images I saw on his phone. That perfect breast, cupped in an elegant hand. That metal-clasped belt around her waist, with nothing else adorning her delicate body.

I didn't want to know who it was, and Wes didn't volunteer. I didn't press it. The details weren't going to help me; they'd only make me feel worse.

I haven't forgotten, though. I don't know yet if I can.

So I drink the expensive wine Claude brings us and distract us both by telling Wes about some of the early entries I found in my mother's journal.

I've been reading them at night before I go to sleep, loving falling asleep with her voice in my head. She had a deft hand describing the parties they went to in New York and Southampton, gently poking fun at William and his obsession with beautiful people. It feels like it came from love, and it's a nice window into their life together. I haven't found any other revelations. Not yet.

After dinner, Wes drives me home, and I trip out of the car before he can say whatever it is that's playing across his face.

The next morning, I go to the club, play, have a late breakfast with him, and return to the house to spend the afternoon entering data for the auction, cursing my parents for every knickknack and side table they'd collected.

Another week evaporates, and now it's the third week of July. Wes and I are in stasis, but everyone else's life seems to be moving along smoothly. Ann is a constant presence at the house, and Lucy and Fred make regular appearances at cocktails with Colin and Sophie. Colin's parents are finally in town and are more than happy to babysit. The talk often turns to the trip to Sag Harbor, one I don't want to take and I doubt will happen. But I underestimate both Sophie and Charlotte and their determination, and in the end we all go.

Fred and Lucy, Sophie and Colin, Charlotte and Ann, and Wes and me. A foursome. No, that's a golf term. I don't know what a four-couple date is where more than one couple has history with another person in the party, but that's what I'm on.

Sophie took charge of the details, renting one of those large, black SUVs, with a driver, that seats twelve. But even though there are extra seats, we all sit by couple, Wes and I in the front, Fred and Lucy all the way at the back. The drive is uneventful, and Wes does his ingratiating act, telling stories and getting everyone laughing. Everyone but Fred, who simply frowns at Wes every time he looks at him, then brings his eyes back to the road. But Lucy and Ann, especially, are in his thrall, and I feel a prick of jealousy, like I always used to when Wes plied his charm on someone other than me.

I can't decide if it's a reflex, like how seeing Lucy and Fred makes me feel, or if it's a sign that I want to forgive Wes and try to move on.

I'm not going to solve that today, though, so I laugh with everyone else and watch the scenery unfold and try not to remember that summer Fred and I spent roaming these roads.

Our first stop is a house tour so Charlotte can check out the house Lucy decorated. It's a cute beach cottage twenty minutes outside of town. Two bedrooms, a generous living room and dining room, updated bathrooms, airy and light. I can see Charlotte living here. Lucy was right about it being exactly to her taste, all soft hues of gray and taupe, with linen fabrics and a sea glass color on the walls.

Charlotte lights up when she sees it, touching the back of the couch, running her hand along the quartz countertop. In the backyard, there's a firepit and an outdoor kitchen, and part of me starts to imagine living here too, not with Charlotte, obviously, but in a place like this, smaller, cozy. Our apartment in the city, which was Wes's before we met, is all cold surfaces and hard colors, like a magazine piece of a bachelor pad for a man with taste and sophistication.

"You like it," Wes says, coming up to me in the backyard. I'm standing under a grape arbor, and I can smell the ocean, a few blocks away. Even with all the money we're getting, a place right on the beach would be irresponsible, and I'm glad Charlotte seems to be realistic in what she should buy.

"I do. It's great."

"We could get a place like this."

"Could we?" I turn my eyes to him. His hair is curling in the heat, it's ends blonder than when he arrived. His eyes are so open and guileless, I could believe anything he says when he looks at me like that.

I did.

"If that's what you want."

"We can't afford it."

"But we can. Now, with the money … and this new job, it's working out. I'm going to be more cautious in the future. Less …"

"Cavalier?"

"Exactly."

"Will you be happy, being safe?"

"I will, Olivia. I will."

I wish what he's saying were true, rather than believing it. Wes is a risk taker, always has been, and thinking of him taking the safe path for the rest of his life doesn't fit.

"We don't have to decide anything now," I say.

"No, you're right. But I want you to know that I'm listening to you. I'm paying attention. You don't like the apartment—I know that. We can get something that's more your taste. We can do whatever you want."

He's so earnest, and I want to tell him that it doesn't have to be all about me. It's supposed to be about us. What we want. But that's never been the way we worked. Mostly, we did what Wes wanted because I thought I wanted that too. Our relationship never felt like a democracy. But I can't say all that in someone else's back garden on a house tour, so instead I say, "Thank you."

"So," Charlotte says coming up to me and linking her arm through mine, "what do we think?"

"I love it, Charlotte."

"I do too."

"Will you put an offer in?"

At that word, offer, Ann and Lucy appear at her side. Charlotte laughs at their eagerness, a loose, happy laugh, and I'm so glad for my sister in that moment, I almost start to cry.

"Yes, I think I will. It's still not on the market, Lucy?"

"Not until Monday. I'll make a call and we can do the paperwork tomorrow." She pulls her phone out and ducks away. Wes and Ann drift away from us, walking further into the garden.

"Where's Sophie and Colin?" I ask.

"Arguing in the living room."

"Ah."

"She wants them to buy a place."

"I know."

Charlotte shakes her head. "They need their own life."

I throw my head back and laugh.

"What?"

"You've been living with William this whole time."

"That's not the same thing at all."

"No?"

"All right, all right. But I'm not moving with him now, am I?"

"You're not. I'm happy for you."

"Ann changed my life."

I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her to me. "I'm so glad for you."

She smiles, then glances toward where Wes and Ann are walking in the garden. "What do you think they're talking about?"

"How fabulous you are."

"Wes didn't think so when we dated."

"You're not still mad about that, are you?"

Charlotte lifts her chin. "No, of course not. But Olivia … are you sure you can trust him?"

"No," I say. "I'm not."

And then, like Wes knows we're talking about him, he turns and grins at me in this way he has, like a sunbeam, then puts his hand on his chest, our special way of saying I love you, and my heart skips a beat.

I can't trust him, but we don't feel over yet.

Our next stop is the vineyard, and it's out of this world. Fred's friend, James Benedict, who he met in the Navy, bought the five hundred acres from the previous owner in a fire sale and has spent the last year updating it with all of the latest technology, making the old winery modern.

He takes us on a personal tour, limping along next to me as he supports himself on a beautiful carved cane. A "war injury" he calls it, and Fred lets us know quietly about James's act of bravery when they were both in the Navy, saving someone who'd been swept overboard during a bad storm, and how a rope got caught around his leg like a snake and snapped it in two.

The grape fields, the harvesting tents, the manglers, and vast vats where the wine ages—all of it is fascinating to me. James is a good, gentle explainer, and we get along immediately. We have a certain complicity, he and I, and it's nice to have an uncomplicated conversation with a man.

After the tour, he takes us into the restaurant and tasting room that's finished, but not yet open, and we're treated to an amazing five-course lunch with wine pairings.

We're sitting at two round tables, the group divided in two, with James going back and forth between us. Unlike the bus, where we were divided into couples, I'm sitting with Fred, Sophie, and Ann, Fred to my right and Sophie to my left.

"Wasn't this a good idea?" Sophie says as she unfolds her cloth napkin and takes in the room around us. It's a glass box, with two walls made up of enormous wine storage rooms. In front of us lie the grape fields. Behind us an apple orchard. At capacity, the room could hold a hundred and fifty people, James tells us, and its main use will be for weddings.

"A great idea, Sophie," I say. "Thank you."

A waiter bustles around us, pouring us all a glass of white wine to go with our first appetizer of white fish carpaccio with jalape?o and locally pressed olive oil. "All the ingredients are local," James says. "And seasonal if possible. That fish was caught this morning, as was all of the seafood."

"And the beef was slaughtered yesterday," Fred says, lifting his glass, amused.

James gives a belly laugh, and the two grin at each other.

Fred is happier now, his gloom from the house tour and bus ride lifted. He has an easy way with James, I've noticed, and I wonder if he was the one that James saved out there in the ocean.

"How have you not been here before?" I ask Fred, taking a sip from my glass and sighing in pleasure. The wine is excellent—light, effervescent, refreshing. I could drink a whole bottle, but I remind myself that there are four more glasses coming, which is about three past my normal limit and certainly way past my limit for day drinking.

"I kept meaning to."

"I was about to disown him," James says at his elbow. "Can you blame me, Olivia?"

"Not at all. If it were me, you'd have trouble keeping me away."

"You're welcome any time."

"Thank you."

"And maybe you can convince Fred to make it more than a yearly visit?"

"Oh, I …" I feel a blush creeping up my cheek as I take a longer drink from my flute.

"You're bugging the wrong woman," Sophie says, a catch in her voice. "Lucy's the one who has to remind him."

A shadow passes over Fred's face.

"Whoever can persuade Fred is a friend of mine," James says lightly. "Now, taste your food and tell me, is it divine?"

We obey, picking up our forks and trying the delicate fish. It melts in my mouth. "It's fantastic, James. Thank you so much for this."

"It's only the beginning." He flits off to the other table, his cane clacking on the floor.

"He's great," I say to Fred.

"I agree."

"Was it you he saved?"

"It was. A stupid training accident."

"I'm glad."

His features soften, but then Ann says something to him, and he turns away. I eat the rest of my food in silence while Sophie chatters away next to me, intent on keeping me from speaking to Fred. I want to tell her to relax, that he's safe for Lucy, if he's interested, but there's no point when Sophie gets this way. Instead, I guide her gently toward real estate, and over the next course of salad and a delicate sauvignon blanc, she tells me that she and Colin are in a fight over whether to buy something or wait.

"He wants to see if he gets a new job first."

"That seems reasonable. And the money hasn't even been transferred yet." I try the delicate greens and strawberries. I'm not a salad fan, having had to eat too much of it in training, but this one is fantastic. "When is that supposed to happen?"

"End of August, I think, on the same day as the transfer."

So, I'm stuck here until then. Or I could leave and come back. I'm not sure why it's so hard to make the decision, only every time I think about leaving, I feel so incredibly sad. It's going to be harder than I thought, saying goodbye to Taylor House for good.

"Charlotte didn't tell me the date."

"Me neither, but I dragged the information out of Ann."

"What's that?" Ann says, raising her head up from her conversation with Fred.

"We were just talking about the transfer. Has a date been set?" I ask.

"August eighteenth, I believe."

"Can you let me know what you need from me before then?"

"Of course. I'm surprised my assistant hasn't already been in touch. I'll write her right now." She takes out her phone and taps at it quickly while Fred eats his salad between us. I can feel his awkward energy, and I wish I'd waited to bring it up. "And done."

"Thank you."

Lucy puts her phone down. "I wonder what the next course is?"

"Lobster bisque," James says, his ear attuned to every conversation about food. "It's exquisite."

Fred turns in his chair and puts his hand on James's arm. "Thank you for this, old friend."

"It's no trouble at all."

"I know that's not true." He stands. "Now, please take my chair and eat some of this delicious meal. I insist."

He leads James into his chair, almost pressing him down into it. Then he pushes it in like he's a waiter, and walks to another table, picks up a chair, and puts it down next to Lucy.

He doesn't look at me as he does this, but I get the message.

One hour beside me is enough.

Too long in fact.