Chapter 39

August 2023

Today's is the last day in the house—the auction, the closing, the party. And then back to New York in the morning, back to my life.

The day is gray and cool, and I wake up nervous, like I've forgotten to do something. I push the feeling down as I get ready. It's been a hectic few days, finalizing everything. Lucy has been around to help, but the concussion meant that she couldn't look at screens. So, I became her assistant, making a list of suggested prices, looking up the history of some of the older items.

Things were weird between us. I tried to bring it up a few times, and then finally, yesterday, when we were in the dining room, cataloging the china, Lucy closed her eyes and leaned her head back on a chair that I'd just learned was a Biedermeier.

"Your head okay?" I asked.

She was pale and thinner than earlier in the summer. "Just a dizzy spell. They happen."

"We can stop for the day."

"It's fine. I'll be okay in a minute."

"How long do they say that you'll have symptoms?"

"They're not sure. Maybe as long as six months."

"That long?"

She opened her eyes slowly. "Stupid me. Showing off."

"Fred should've caught you."

"It's not Fred's fault."

"Sorry, is it weird talking about him?"

She smiled. "Not at all. It was never serious between us. Not like with James."

"Serious already?"

"Yes, it is."

I reached out and touched her hand. "I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. James is fond of you."

"I like him too."

"And Fred?"

I looked away. "What about Fred?"

"I know you guys have a history."

"We do. But that's what it is."

"Not for Fred, I don't think."

My heart started to trill. Would I never not respond to the idea that Fred might want me?

"Why do you say that?"

"The way he looked at you. And talked about you."

"That's all in the past."

"You say so."

A lumped formed in my throat, and I coughed it away. "Speaking of Fred … shouldn't we get back to this?"

Lucy rubbed her eyes. "He never would tell me why he wanted this house so badly."

"That makes two of us." I held up a chipped coffee cup. "Worth logging? Yes or no?"

She laughed and we spent the next hour finishing the job.

Now, everything in the house has a bar code on it. If it all sells for the prices listed, there will be a tidy sum for the charity.

I look around my bedroom, that feeling of something undone niggling at me again. I'm all packed up, everything personal but the things I need for the night in my car. In the morning, all I'll need to do is clean out one drawer and the vanity where I've shoved my phone and makeup bag. Nothing's out of place.

I'm the one who doesn't belong here anymore.

I go downstairs, where Sophie and Charlotte are waiting. We've somehow all managed to dress in black, like we're attending a funeral for the house.

And maybe we are.

William's gone off to the club for the day, and Aunt Tracy is in the kitchen, hiding, though she says she's baking cookies to encourage people to buy more.

There's a line of people forming outside the front door on the gravel. One of Lucy's assistants opens the door and starts to hand out programs. We stand there at the bottom of the stairs, watching them file in. Neighbors, old friends, strangers. It feels like the whole town is here.

"The house smells amazing, anyway," Sophie says twisting her hands nervously. "I think I gained three pounds just walking in here."

"Oh stop, you look great."

"You do too, Olivia." She hugs me and steps back. "Honestly, when you got here in June you looked like you hadn't seen sunlight in a couple of years."

"I was just tired."

"Well, this place agrees with you."

Tears spring to my eyes. "It does. Why did it take me a lifetime to realize that?"

"Everywhere you run, there you are."

"Yes." I hug her. "Everything okay with you and Colin?"

"Fred gave him a job."

"He did?"

"Fred is everywhere, it seems," Charlotte says, and though the tone is biting, she's smiling. "Even at the auction."

"He's here?"

"Wandering around with his phone, scanning things."

"That's odd," Sophie says. "Why didn't he just bid on the house with the furniture?"

"I've given up trying to figure out what Fred was up to a long time ago," I say. But that's not true. I'm deeply curious about what it is that he's interested in buying, and why. "Has anyone seen Wes?"

"He's here," Ann says, drifting over. She's dressed in a bright green dress with pretty flowers on it, an intricate, metal-clasped belt cinched at the waist. "I was speaking to him a couple of minutes ago."

I feel a prick of jealousy, then quash it. Wes moved into the house for the last week, but he's been staying in a guest room because I'm still not ready to let him back into my bed.

"What about?"

"Nothing much. Charlotte, did you want to bid on anything?"

"Lord, no," Charlotte says, putting her arm around Ann's waist and looping her fingers through the belt. Letting go of all of her possessions is proving good for Charlotte, at least. "Do you mind if I go, Olivia? I'm finding this more emotional than I thought I would."

"Sure, sure."

"The caterers will be here at five to set up for the party. After the signing."

"Is Aunt Tracy supervising that?"

"I think so."

I sigh. Do I have to do everything myself? "I'll go check."

I leave them and go to the kitchen, the back of my neck prickling like it does when I've forgotten something. But what?

Tracy's there, pulling cookies out of the oven, and Fred's standing next to her, his hands in oven mitts, ready to accept the tray.

Did I have some premonition he'd be here? Is that what's bugging me?

"What do we have here?"

Aunt Tracy turns around, her face full of guilt. "Fred came looking for you and offered to help."

I cross my arms over my chest. "I was in the living room."

"It's a bit of a madhouse in there," Fred says, raising his shoulders.

"You ready for this?" Aunt Tracy says, pulling out the first tray.

Fred takes it from her, putting it on the island. They quickly remove three other trays, and then Tracy starts piling the cookies on plates.

"You know the house is already sold, right, Aunt Tracy?"

"What's that, dear?"

"The baking cookies thing. That's for open houses."

"It's an open house of sorts."

"You didn't—"

Tracy picks up a cookie and holds it out to me. "I needed something to do, didn't I? I couldn't just sit here and watch everything get sold."

Guilt flashes over Fred's face, and he busies himself with putting the remaining cookies on a pretty flowered plate.

"I'll just take these out to the buyers," Tracy says.

"I can help."

"No, you stay here. Find out what Fred wants."

She pats me on the arm, then disappears through the swinging door with the plates in hand.

I worry about Tracy. What is she going to do when she won't have us all to fuss over all of the time?

"These are good," Fred says. "Amazing, really."

"She's the best. Why didn't you want to talk to me in the living room?"

"Everyone was around."

"Buying all our stuff so you can have an empty house."

He holds his hand up in surrender, a half-eaten cookie in the left. "I offered to take it as is."

"You … what?"

"I was happy to take care of all of this. But Ann said the family didn't want that."

"Ann said?"

"She wasn't speaking for you?"

"No. I didn't even know … No."

"I should've asked you directly."

"Yes. About a lot of things."

"Olivia …"

"No, no, don't use my name like that. Nothing good ever comes of it."

"I'm sorry. I wanted … I was going to offer to check the transfer papers and make sure everything's in order."

The transfer papers for the house sale, he means. Ann's assistant had sent them to me weeks ago, and I'd let them sit in my inbox, unread.

"No, thank you. I'm going to go now. Don't follow me, okay?"

"Okay."

I walk out of the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door, that feeling of something out of place dogging me. I stop in the crowd and try to think, but my mind won't go there, like a name I can't quite remember of some celebrity on screen.

I shake the thought away. It will come to me if I don't worry about it too much.

I go to the dining room and then out onto the veranda, where I find Wes talking with Ash.

"Olivia!" Ash says. "We were looking for you."

"Here I am."

"Everything okay?" Wes puts his arm around my waist and kisses me on the cheek.

"Yes, fine I think." I lean into him briefly, then pull away, the feeling I've been pushing down even stronger. "I have a few things I need to do before the signing. Can I meet you there?"

"You don't want me to drive you?"

"No, I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Sure enough."

I squeeze his hand, then let go. "I'll see you later, Ash?"

I walk away without waiting for her answer, but she comes after me.

"Olivia, what is it?"

My eyes search the crowd frantically. What is it?

"I can't explain right now."

"Is this about Fred?"

"Not directly."

"You sure you don't want to tell me?"

"I can't right now, okay?"

"Okay." She hugs me tightly. "I love you."

"I know."

I squeeze her tight, then let her go.

I don't why I feel so panicked or what's pushing me away from everyone who wants to help me.

I just know I'm not going to figure it out in this crowd full of strangers pointing their phones at my family's history.

In a minute, I'm up the stairs, headed toward my bedroom, when something makes me stop on the second floor.

Some instinct draws me to the room Wes's staying in.

I find a couple in there, arguing over the bedframe and whether their daughter will like it.

I shoo them out, and close the door behind them, turning the lock for effect.

There's nothing much personal in here—Wes's suitcase, his laptop on the desk, his toiletries in the bathroom, zipped into a small black bag. It smells like his aftershave, and the bed is made neatly like he always does, but something feels out of place.

I fling open the closet—it's full of empty hangers and some dry cleaning wrapping dumped in the corner.

I close the door, feeling insane.

I go to the bathroom to put some water on my face. I look at myself in the mirror, the years this summer has peeled away. I might not have looked like the girl Fred remembered when I got here, but I am her now.

I need to pull it together and get through today. It's just the auction, I tell myself, all these people, Fred.

But the anxiety won't leave. I need something to take the edge off.

Wes usually has some Ativan to help him sleep. Half of one would do.

I unzip the black bag, running my fingers through it, searching for the pill bottle but coming up against something else.

A small velvet box.

I open it, my hands shaking, not sure what to expect. A ring? Some apology gift from Wes that he changed his mind about giving me?

Instead, I find a charm nestled against the satin lining. It's a small plate, painted in vibrant yellows, blues, and reds, like the plate on the wall at the restaurant where I had dinner with Fred in London, the place we ate our last night together. It's beautiful and personal and exactly the sort of thing Fred would remember and memorialize.

But not Wes.

I examine the box and find a folded piece of paper in the lid. I open it, Fred's handwriting staring back at me.

Olivia,

I wanted to give you this in London two years ago, but my pride got in the way. But now that the world is torn apart, when we don't know what will come tomorrow, I regret that I let my hurt feelings rule my actions. Because all my thoughts and plans–they're for you. Tell me I'm not too late. That you still love me like I love you. Give me a sign, and I'll be at your side in an instant, no matter what it takes. But if you want me to stay away, if your feelings aren't what they once were, then say nothing, and I'll suffer in silence forever.

I'm half agony, half hope.

Love, Fred

It's dated March 17, 2020, the day the world shut down. I try to think back to where I was that day, how I missed receiving this.

School was closed—everything was—and Wes and I had an argument about whether to go to the Hamptons or stay in the city. He wanted to go, I wanted to stay, and when our words turned angry, I went for a long walk through my oddly silent city, feeling scared.

When I got back that night, Wes was conciliatory and agreed to stay in town. But he was keeping something from me, this message from Fred, and it all makes sense now. How watchful he became, how irritable. I thought it was just his business failing, our forced confinement, but no. He thought that if I got this note from Fred, I'd leave.

And I can't deny that he might've been right.

Was that why he was with that girl, whoever she is? Because he thought I had one foot out the door? He'd said as much when he came here on my birthday. That I was always in love with someone else.

Can I blame him for thinking that?

Can I blame him for doing what I was about to do with Fred when he interrupted us in London five years ago?

Yes, I can.

I can because I didn't do anything with Fred. He's the one who broke the promises we made, who broke us. And knowing what he's held back from me, this note, this charm, so many things, probably, can I trust anything he told me about his affair? That it was nothing. That it's over?

If I hadn't found those photos, that curved waist, that golden skin, that belt slung low …

Oh no, no, no, no—it couldn't be.

I unlock my phone and scroll through my pictures until I find it. I almost drop my phone, but there I have it.

The answer to the questions I never even bothered to ask.