“It is so nice to finally meet you. I’m Louisa, Max’s older, bitchy sister,” she said, still clutching my shoulders to take in my face and hair, and repeating my name until she got the pronunciation right. “And this is my first husband, Jonah.”
“She’s been saying that for twenty-six years. Someone should break it to her that I’m as good as it gets.” Jonah hugged me, too, adding, “You’re a slip of a thing. It’s a wonder you don’t float away in a storm.”
Louisa hooked her arm in Max’s and then mine and we drifted into the dining room, following the smell of coffee.
“Max, I’ve had it,” she said. “That kid thinks she can just bolt from people to cross the Atlantic or wander around New York all by herself like a stray cat. You have to have a talk with her or I can’t take her places anymore. I’m old. I get nervous.”
“When she gets kidnapped, don’t pay the ransom,” Jonah offered. “That’ll teach her. In fact, I know a guy who can arrange a lesson.”
The dining room table was the size of a small pool, and on the sideboard a breakfast buffet, not unlike the ones at the club, awaited us. I was drawn to the window, needing a glimpse of Asherley’s grounds in the daytime to orient myself. I still felt stuck in that vague in-between place. I wasn’t in the Caymans anymore, but I was not fully here yet either.
A snow-covered lawn sloped down to a stand of spindly black trees. Beyond that was Gardiners Bay, a greener, angrier version of the ocean I grew up looking at. Gray clouds hung low at the horizon. As I stepped closer to the window I spotted an icy spire poking above the treetops. Its incongruity gave me a little jump.
Louisa joined me at the window. “I have always hated that god-awful thing. Rebekah was the only one who understood the greenhouse. I still think it’s a stain on the whole aesthetic.”
“It is riveting, though.”
“So are mushroom clouds. And I don’t want to see one of those on my lawn, either.”
Over breakfast, I could feel my shoulders start to drop as a part of myself I’d stifled around Dani began to surface—a confidence, I guess, at least in showing my affection for Max. I let my hand graze his forearm now and again. I laughed a little too loud at his and Louisa’s stories about growing up on the island. The conversation between Louisa and me was easy, chatty, and light. She asked all the usual questions a sister might ask of her brother’s new love: where was I born, who were my parents, what was my schooling, the broader strokes of my life that eventually led to meeting Max and ending up here, ensconced on Long Island and betrothed in a little more than a month. Every new detail I offered seemed to delight rather than disgust Louisa.
Dani, thankfully, slept through breakfast, as was, apparently, her habit. And if Katya was the one responsible for cooking the delicious spread—bacon, scrambled eggs, a quiche—we didn’t see her. The only person who made an appearance was a rather sullen Gus, who came in from time to time to take away the dirty plates and cups or bring in a freshly filled coffee carafe.
“I thought he just worked in the barn,” Louisa whispered.
“Katya doesn’t think he has enough to do in the winter,” Max replied. with a shrug. “And he’ll have less to do once the rest of the horses go.”
Louisa said how sad she was that most of the horses had been sold, the final two retiring to a stable in Montauk soon. Max reminded her that they were Rebekah’s passion, one that Dani didn’t share.
“She’s got to find something to do, something to care about,” Louisa said.
“She likes playing with makeup and clothes,” Max said, sneering a little. “And her phone, of course.”
“Like every single fifteen-year-old girl on the planet,” Louisa said. Max seemed on the cusp of a testy rebuttal, until a look passed between them.
“Yes, that’s true. She is still a teenager, still quite young,” he said, fussing with his fork. “But I do expect a little bit more from her. She’s got privileges when it comes to her education. I want her to take advantage of them.”
Louisa abruptly stood and asked me if I wanted to take a tour around the property with her. I looked at Max. This was something he’d said he wanted to do today.
“Go. Jonah and I have some business to catch up on,” he said. “Louisa’s just as qualified as I am to be your guide.”
We bundled up and headed out back through the breezeway off the kitchen. When we passed the door that led to the greenhouse, I couldn’t help but try the handle. It was locked, so I peered through the dirty glass. Everything inside looked slightly ransacked, as if it’d been abandoned in a hurry. Tipped-over chairs, rows of misaligned tables covered with dried bags of dirt and stacks of green plastic starter pots scattered throughout. Along the highest wall were the remnants of dead rosebushes, now whacked back to stumps.
“Rebekah had two green thumbs. Do you garden at all?” She caught herself before I could answer. “What am I saying? You were born on a boat, for God’s sake! You must sail then.”
“A little. I mostly operated fishing boats. Small yachts and such. Will the greenhouse stay shut up like this?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. It’s an astounding feat of architecture, I’ll give it that. And you don’t rip something like this down just because you’re sad. But Max seems intent to lock it up and leave it to rot. Do you want me to talk to him?”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”
Or reason.
The air had a snap to it, the new snow quite deep in spots. Louisa had a natural athleticism, her legs all sinew and muscle in the manner of women who grew up on acreages, surrounded by horses and water. She was nearly twice my age, yet keeping up with her left me feeling breathless and ungainly in my new boots.
“You know, when Max called and told me he’d met someone special, I didn’t think he was ready. But that’s often when it happens, isn’t it? When you least expect it, there is love.”
“I’m still stunned. I really never thought that something like this would happen to someone like me.” I wanted to add that I still didn’t believe it was happening, that a little over a month ago I was dropping fish carcasses off Rum Point Beach and cutting my own hair. But to say this out loud would be to conjure my recent past, which I worried would resurface and cancel out all this good fortune.
“What do you mean, someone like me?” she asked with a laugh. “You’re perfectly primed for this sort of thing. You’re young, open-hearted. And lovely to look at.”
“Ha. Thank you. Lovely is a nice word for not exactly the bombshell people expect Max to be with. Especially after Rebekah,” I said. “I think I’ve already disappointed Dani. She’s used to having a glamorous mother.”
“Has she been that bad?”
“I wouldn’t describe it like that. She’s just—I’d find it difficult to be welcoming, too, if I were her.”
“You can’t let Dani interfere with what you have with Max. She’ll come around eventually. She’s got a lot of good qualities, you know. She’s gutsy, vivacious, has a big appetite for life. I’ve always said she’s fascinating and frustrating by equal measure. Besides, bombshells are overrated. I can see what Max sees in you. I know my brother. He brought you home for a reason.”
She sounded sincere, which made me blush. I quickly changed the subject.
“Does Dani do that often, run away like she did from Paris?”
“Well, technically she’s not running away. She’s usually running back to Asherley. She’s flagged cabs in Manhattan and convinced them to drive her out here, and she has the number of every water taxi company up and down the Eastern Seaboard. She’s quite handy with a boat, too. Maybe that’s an interest you two can cultivate. She’s a hell of a sailor. Just like Rebekah. Proves talent isn’t always genetic. Interesting how that works. I once knew of a child who, despite also being adopted, had the identical gait of—” Louisa stopp
ed and placed a hand on my forearm. “Are you all right?”
“I—I didn’t know. Did you say Dani was adopted?”
“Yes. Max didn’t tell you?”
“But . . . the resemblance between her and Rebekah.”
“An illusion. Pull back the hair and there is no resemblance. She dyes and cuts it to look just like Rebekah. Has since she was eleven. Far too young to start but Rebekah never said no to her. None of us has, sadly. But anyway, Max has never thought of her as less than his own flesh and blood. That’s probably why he hadn’t mentioned it. From the day they brought her home, I don’t think I knew a more wanted thing in my life than that baby . . .”
It didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t matter. But why hadn’t Max told me? I didn’t have a chance to ask Louisa more questions, because we’d reached the barn, where, centered on the lintel, there was an ornate R.
Inside, we stomped the snow from our boots and I was hit with the smell of animals and damp hay, a nauseating sweet fecundity that reminded me of both life and death. Around a corner scurried the pale fluffy cat I had seen in the house the night before. The way its flesh swung beneath it indicated to me that it might be a she and that she might even be pregnant. Gus soon followed, rubbing an eye.
“Sorry to bother you, Gus,” Louisa said. “It’s always tricky to know when to come by when one lives where one works.”
He barely looked at me, offering another shy nod while wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Where are you keeping Isabel these days?” She turned to me. “Such a gentle thing. I wish Dani would take up riding her again. When’s she moving, Gus?”
“April, I think. Her and Dorian go once the snow melts.”
We followed him down the long hallway past the horse heads bobbing in the dim light and stopped in front of the last stall. There, Louisa introduced me to Isabel, a penny-colored mare with a crooked white diamond between her eyes. When I nervously attempted to touch it, she flinched with a whinny, returning her nose to Louisa’s hand.
“Don’t take it personally,” Louisa said, caressing Isabel’s neck with assertive strokes. “She’s like that with everyone. She was Rebekah’s favorite. You can’t be nervous with these animals. If they sense any weakness they won’t trust you to handle them.”
While Gus cleaned the stall and Louisa cooed loving words into Isabel’s ear, I wandered into the tack room next door. I let my hand caress several worn saddles astride a rough-hewn rack and thought about why the news of Dani’s adoption unsettled me. Of course it made no conceivable difference to my feelings for Max, but it might have prompted an important conversation between two people poised to spend their lives together, who might perhaps have children. I would have asked, for instance, if Max and Rebekah had adopted because of medical reasons or simply because they wanted to. And what if Dani’s problems stemmed from mental illness? Surely information about her birth parents might help with a diagnosis and my ability to parent her. I was entitled to know these things.
Louisa joined me in the tack room, guessing at what preoccupied me.
“Look, I don’t know how Max would forget something like this,” she said. “It’s not some deep, dark family secret.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “It’s just a reminder, I guess, that we haven’t really known each other very long.”
We left the barn without saying goodbye to Gus and headed to the boathouse, built with the same gray stones and brown fish-scale siding as Asherley. A large balcony cantilevered over the bay, below which were two slips poking out from under heavy doors, like a cat stretching its front legs into the water.
I was surprised to find that the air was colder inside than out, our breath escaping in small, white bursts. Louisa flicked a switch and turned on the ground lights that lit the room’s perimeter, giving the cavernous A-frame the feel of an abandoned lodge. There was a small, well-equipped gym behind a glass wall on a riser, along with a pool table and a well-worn leather sectional facing a walk-in fireplace big enough to heat the entire space. We were eye level to what looked like a fifty-foot sea carcass, wrapped in a tarp and suspended above the larger slip.
“What sort of boat is this?” I asked, tracing my hand along its covered hull with more confidence than I’d handled the horse.
“To me it’s just ‘big.’”
By its shape, I thought it could be a Dufour or perhaps an Odyssey. I loosened the tarp where it puckered at the transom to reveal the name: Winter’s Girl.
“I believe this was the last thing Rebekah gave to Max before she died,” Louisa said.
“Great name for a boat,” I said, feeling tired suddenly.
“Yes, Rebekah was the cleverest thing.”
Suspended a few feet above the other bay was a smaller antique speedboat, sleek and wood-hulled, with what looked to be a newer motor. I recognized the model from its low-slung aft, like an empty hot tub, padded in robin’s-egg-blue vinyl.
“Is this an Aquarama?” I asked, grasping its Bakelite wheel, thick and cold and pleasing to the touch.
“Good eye. Yes, one of the smaller models. My grandfather bought it new but never named it. I had always hoped Dani would claim it.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, caressing the aged, puckered varnish.
“Yes,” she said, “yet another thing at Asherley that could use a little TLC. You got here just in time.”
Louisa suggested we make our way back to the house, leaving the rest of the beach for a less blustery day. The air felt tinged with an unease I could not name. I reminded myself, again, that Max and I had only known each other for just over a month. Gaps in information were to be expected. Dani’s adoption would have eventually come out in conversation. It’s not like I’d had a list of questions for Max, ticking them off one by one until I was satisfied enough to make this leap. That’s the thrill of whirlwind romances: not knowing exactly where you’ll land once the storm subsides.
ELEVEN
It was almost lunch by the time we returned to the house. Louisa led me through a wing I hadn’t toured yet, knowing we’d find Max and Jonah, and now Elias, holed up in the study. It was a man’s room, designed by a man, no doubt, and for men. The brown paneling extended across the ceiling, and the walls were embedded with hundreds of books, leather-bound, their titles etched in gold. We entered quietly, so as not to interrupt Elias, who was talking about Max’s reelection campaign the coming fall. Max had mentioned to me the possibility of another run, but little about what that entailed. Louisa took the armchair next to Jonah, while Max extended his arm, beckoning me over to the couch where he held court. Walking across the oceanic rug to take my spot next to him, I was filled with a self-conscious pride that was both female and unfamiliar.
“Do I have realistic competition?” Max asked Elias.
“Yes, but this time you have a machine behind you. And your numbers are good. Plus, now that you don’t have to win a primary, campaigning should be cheaper, but we’ll still have to cash in some bonds, unless you get over your aversion to fund-raising.”
Max gave me a squeeze. “Who are the Dems putting forward, do we know yet?”
“Guy named Tom Armstrong,” Jonah said. “Sells trucks out on the bypass. County executive in the nineties. Man of the people, blah, blah, blah.” Jonah looked at me now. “Bet you didn’t bargain on hitting the hustings when you left paradise.”
“We haven’t really talked about it,” I answered, glancing sideways at Max. “We haven’t talked about a lot of things.”
Louisa pointed to her watch. “Husband, let us be off.”
“You’re not staying for lunch?” I asked, conscious of sounding needy. I had hoped Louisa would be around when Dani finally came downstairs so I could take notes on how she handled her.
“Two meals in a row will put Max and me over our limit,” she said. “We love each other, but we don’t
really like each other that much.”
“Elias?” I asked.
“No. I’m only dragging work here because you kept Max away for so long. But I swear, from now on, work talk only at the office.”
Before they left, Louisa promised to take me around East Hampton, to shop for a few more things and introduce me to some of their friends. “We can surprise those two at the constituency office. See if they’re really working,” she said. She lowered her voice. “And don’t let that little brat steamroll over you. You’re the grown-up, she’s the kid. Remember that.”
Max and I stood shivering at the front door, waving away both cars. When we turned around, there stood Dani, barefoot, wearing shorts, her belly exposed in the winter. She was chomping on a celery stick. I jumped.
“Whoa, take a Xannie,” she said.
“Good morn—I mean afternoon,” Max said.
“Auntie Louisa pissed at me?”
“Well, she said she doesn’t want to take you to Paris anymore.”
She shrugged. “Oh well. Paris is boring anyway.”
“Will you deign to join us at lunch?”
I regarded her anew, my eyes drawn to her hair, the thin line of dark roots growing in, the faded pencil reimagining her brows. She seemed to be wearing yesterday’s makeup.
“I already ate. Gus is going to drive me over to Claire’s.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know. Go tobogganing?”
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
She gave me a tight smile. “Yeah. And after that we’re going to set our hair in rollers and then make crank calls to boys.” She headed back up the stairs.
“Dani,” Max called after her, watching her take the steps in twos. “Come here, please!”
She kept on climbing.
“I have to nip this in the bud,” he said, about to follow her.
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