One morning while Carley was tucked up on the sofa with the infant sleeping in her arms, Annabel curled up in the chair opposite and gazed upon mother and child, her face radiant with adoration.
“You are a clever girl,” Annabel praised Carley. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful child in my life. Carley, please forgive me for being so damnably mean when we first heard you were pregnant. I had no idea how much I would adore this little child, and you brought her to us.”
“Thanks, Annabel.” Carley shifted on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. “I had no idea how much I’d love her, either.”
“She’s just so completely bewitching.” Annabel leaned forward, love-struck.
Carley chuckled. “I don’t suppose your opinion has anything to do with the fact that Cisco has the black hair and eyes and pale skin of the Winsted clan, does it?”
Annabel pressed her hand to her chest in mock surprise. “How could you suggest such a thing?” she teased lightly, then admitted, “Of course it does. I’m wild about Russell’s coloring, and thrilled that Gus has it, and over the moon that my granddaughter has it.” She cocked her head and offered brightly, “I do think Cisco has your nose.”
After that, Carley and Annabel became comrades, devoted to the baby, satellites revolving around the sun that was Cisco. When Carley was pregnant again, she and Gus learned from the ultrasound the baby was female. When they told Russell and Annabel, Carley sensed the very slightest moment of disappointment that the baby was not a boy. At once, Annabel lightened the atmosphere, crying out, “Oh, thank heavens! I have so much fun buying little-girl clothing!” And when Margaret arrived, she and Russell both adored the new girl as much as they adored Cisco.
Annabel was a forceful personality. Yet over the years, Annabel managed to be available for emergencies, parties, little treats and surprises, without ever intruding on Gus and Carley, without ever attempting to manipulate or steer their lives. Carley sensed this took some amount of self-restraint on Annabel’s part, and she was grateful.
4
• • • • •
Gus had died, quickly, one evening in his office. The small law firm was housed in a handsome old brick Greek Revival house on Centre Street. Russell usually walked there from his brick home a few blocks away on Main Street, stopping to chat with shopkeepers along the way. It was a fifteen-minute walk for Gus from his house, but it was cold the day he died, so he’d driven. When he hadn’t come home for dinner that terrible night, Carley had called Russell, who had returned to the building and found his body.
Carley had already fed the girls and sent them off to their rooms. She’d been mildly anxious about Gus but more pissed off that he’d be so late for dinner. She paced the house, waiting for Russell to call. Instead, there was a knock on the door.
Carley found her father-in-law standing there, pale, confused.
“Gus.” Russell could scarcely speak.
Behind him, a police car pulled up to the curb and the police chief, a friend of the Winsteds, stepped out.
“Heart attack,” Russell gasped.
Her first reaction was a rush of adrenaline, a frantic sense of dread and urgency, a need to move, as if she could still prevent it if only she did something. She wanted to push Russell aside, to rush down to the office, to get to her husband.
“I’ll go to the office.” She tried to pass Russell, who blocked the doorway.
“Honey, we’ve already phoned an ambulance and the coroner.” Russell stood very straight in his suit and dark wool coat, but he was trembling.
Carley bit her lip to hold back her anger. Gus belonged to her and her daughters! How dare Russell—her thoughts derailed. Oh, her daughters, whose father was gone! She slammed to her knees with terror.
Kellogg, the police chief, approached through the darkness into the light of the front hall. His uniform and grizzled face provided a welcome sense of authority. Bending, he took Carley’s shoulders and gently helped her stand. “I’m sorry, Carley. This is a terrible thing. Let’s get Russell inside. Let’s all have some brandy.”
Numbed, grateful to be told what to do, Carley led Russell into the living room. They sat on the sofa while Russell spoke about finding Gus dead at his desk. Chief Kellogg brought them each a glass of brandy. Carley could only stare at hers.
“Mommy?” Cisco and Margaret had come downstairs and stood in the doorway to the living room, looking curious and so vulnerable in their pajamas that Carley’s heart broke for them.
Cisco asked, “What’s going on?”
“Oh, girls …” Carley set her glass on the coffee table and walked over to her daughters. She knelt before them, taking their hands in hers. She looked into their deep, beautiful eyes, their ebony Winsted eyes. Their father’s eyes. “Daddy died. He had a heart attack. He was in his office. Your grandfather found him. Chief—”
“No!” Cisco wrenched her hand away from her mother’s. “I don’t believe you! I want to see him! Where is he?”
Chief Kellogg answered, his voice low. “He’s at the hospital now.”
“Let’s go there!” Cisco’s eyes were wide. “Maybe they’ve done CPR.”
Russell rose from the couch and approached his granddaughters. He bent toward them. “Cisco. Honey, I found your daddy. I saw him. I called an ambulance and the police. They did try to resuscitate him. They tried all possible means.”
“Mommy.” Margaret’s high voice trembled. “I don’t want Daddy to be dead.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Carley pulled Margaret against her. Her younger daughter was crying, obviously frightened and confused, but also seeking and receiving the consolation of her mother’s embrace. Cisco, Carley feared, was going into shock. Her fists were clenched, and her jaw shuddered.
Carley looked at Chief Kellogg. “Could we phone Dr. Kunadra and ask him to come over?”
Kellogg nodded once, abruptly, and pulled out his cell.
Russell offered, “Cisco, come sit with me.”
Cisco didn’t move. She couldn’t seem to move.
Kellogg said to Carley’s father-in-law, “Russell. We have to tell Annabel.”
“Dear God.” Russell’s face sagged. He staggered backward, just slightly, and Carley reached out for him.
“Cisco, take Granddad’s hand,” Carley quietly demanded.
Cisco’s paralysis broke. She took Russell’s hand and led him into the living room. Carley followed, settling on the sofa, holding Margaret on her lap, and wrapping her free arm around Cisco.
“Shall I go get Annabel?” Kellogg asked.
“I’ll go,” Russell said. “I have to be the one to tell her. Then we’ll come back here.”
“I don’t think you should drive,” Kellogg warned. “I’ll take you.”
Russell looked at Carley and the girls.
“We’ll be all right,” she said, just as a knock sounded on the door and Sunjay Kunadra, their physician, entered.
Russell and Chief Kellogg left. With infinitely soft hands, Sunjay took Carley’s pulse and ordered her to drink some of the brandy. Margaret asked him to take her pulse, too, and he did, pronouncing her perfect. Sunjay took a seat, pinching the crease in his expensive trousers as he did, and in a gentle voice, asked who he could call. Carley had trouble thinking, but Cisco said at once, “Maud. Vanessa.”
Margaret added, “And Wyatt. He’s Daddy’s best friend.”
Sunjay made the calls. He sat across from Carley and her daughters and explained in his mild, scientific manner that Gus had had a heart attack. They would do an autopsy to find out the cause. Sometimes these things just happened.
Time lurched forward. Chief Kellogg, Russell, and Annabel came into the house. Annabel, elegant in a blue sweater and slacks, was rigid with self-control, but when she saw her granddaughters, a small cry burst from her throat and she stumbled. Her husband helped her to the sofa.
“Go to her,” Carley whispered to her daughters. Cisco and Margaret obeyed, wrapping their grandmother tightly in thei
r arms.
Wyatt arrived from his house in Madaket. He made more phone calls. Vanessa and Maud came, hugging Carley and the girls. Everyone was weeping. The immediate protection of shock faded; the air of the room was thick with grief, with misery. Annabel’s self-restraint dissolved, and a terrible wail broke from her. Margaret fled back to Carley’s arms and even Cisco looked frightened.
“Let’s make hot chocolate for everyone,” Carley told her girls, leading them from the room as Russell cradled his wife against him. The three went into the kitchen together and with an almost ceremonial rhythm measured the milk, stirred in the cocoa and sugar, heated the pan, and poured the liquid into the cups. Cisco, older and stronger, carried in the tray with the cups. Margaret carried her favorite bunny teapot full of hot chocolate.
By midnight, everyone left. Carley brought the girls into her bed, and watched them until they fell asleep, which wasn’t long, because they were completely exhausted with grief. She took the sleep medication Sunjay had given her.
Over the next few days, the world went on.
Her family had come up to help, all of them, her father, mother, sister, and Sarah’s partner, Sue. They’d been efficient and loving. They’d taken Cisco and Margaret off to the beach or to the library or simply for a walk, to get them away from the suddenly saddened house. They made coffee and food for the many good friends who showed up to express their surprise and their sorrow, to offer help. They arranged the funeral, talked with the minister, cooked for the reception, thanked those who brought hams and quiches and desserts, lugged in cases of sparkling water and juice and wine, and cleaned up the explosion of glasses and plates left scattered around the house afterward.
When her parents returned to their home in East Laurence, they took Carley and her daughters with them for the Christmas season. It was the custom for Carley and her family to go to her parents’ every other year, and this year they did as always, driving into Manhattan to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, strolling the streets to gaze in the amazing shop windows. This year, of course, the holiday was muted for them, surreal, uncomfortable. They felt awkward together, awkward alone. They gave presents, but didn’t know whether to be happy about them. They didn’t know how to have Christmas dinner without Gus at the table. They didn’t know how to be.
It was good to return home at the end of December. Just unpacking in their own rooms brought a sense of normality to Carley and her daughters. They still mourned and talked daily of missing Daddy, but their lives were going on. Cisco continued with ballet. Margaret played dolls with Molly. Carley said prayers of thanks every day to Gus, for her daughters, and for their home, their true shelter against the storm.
Their house, which had once been Annabel’s family’s house, was large and built to last where it stood on a cliff overlooking Nantucket Sound. The front and back gardens were spacious, fenced, and planted with climbing roses, honeysuckle, hydrangea, and lots of bushes for hiding behind. Her friends liked gathering at Carley’s, to sit on her wide porch while the children played games in the garden. In rainy or cold weather, the children could run shrieking up and down the stairs and especially into the attic, while the mommies sat in the kitchen drinking tea or wine, telling secrets.
This house was hers, free and clear. The mortgage was paid off. With her father at her side, she had attended the reading of Gus’s will, the contents of which she already knew, since Gus had talked it over with her when he made it. He left everything to her, the house, his money, his life insurance.
So why had her father-in-law asked her to come into his office for a “little talk”? When Russell phoned her yesterday, he’d been silky smooth as always, but firm and more businesslike than she’d ever heard him. Her appointment was for eleven o’clock. Her father-in-law had seen her in jeans and tee shirt, in a bikini, even in a hospital gown after giving birth. For this appointment, Carley wore makeup, neat and light. She felt an instinctive need to appear mature, capable, responsible. Inside, her heart quivered with fear, though she didn’t know why.
But she did know. She was certain that Russell was going to talk with her about financial matters. That was why he wanted to meet in the office rather than in her home.
Leaving her bedroom, she clattered down the stairs to the first floor, into the large room that had once been Gus’s office.
For a moment she stood in the doorway, looking into the room the way tourists view a museum setting: Gus Winsted’s office. The room had a fireplace. The mantel held sailing trophies and pictures of the girls. Gus’s desk was directly across from the fireplace, the handsome old mahogany desk of his grandfather’s. One wall was lined with shelves for his books and photos. He had a leather sofa facing a television set.
A comfortable executive leather chair towered behind the desk. Carley had sat in it before, but not often. Gingerly, she lowered herself into its depths. She’d opened some of Gus’s desk drawers before, too. The middle drawer held pens, rubber bands, scissors, Post-it notes.
The left drawer held the checkbooks. And his computer was angled toward him from the left.
Carley looked around the room. It was daylight. No shadows.
“Gus,” she said aloud, “I have to do this. I don’t want to intrude, but I’ve got to take charge of our lives.”
She opened the desk. Gus had been secretive about money. When she asked him for details, he only told her, not quite condescendingly, “Honey, don’t worry. We have enough.”
Now she found files about house insurance, health insurance, car insurance. No life insurance file. That was odd. Files about investments, savings, loans, stocks and bonds. She booted up the computer and lost herself in the maze of Gus’s financial dealings. Two years ago, the amount in the various accounts had been substantial. Now it looked as though most accounts were closed. She couldn’t find any sign of a savings account, or a money market account. Gus and Carley shared a checking account, and over the past few months she’d withdrawn just enough to pay the household bills. She’d intended to transfer money from the savings account into the checking account when she had time—but where was the savings account?
Desperately, she scrolled and clicked through his computer. She turned to the deep drawer on the right side of the desk and clawed through the files. It didn’t make sense.
Her heart raced. So this was what Russell was going to talk about with her.
She had no money.
5
• • • • •
Forewarned is forearmed, Carley told herself, although she wasn’t certain what she was armed with. She did feel less frightened. Money matters were scary, but they weren’t death. They could be dealt with.
She pulled on her favorite coat—a light wool, very chic—then took it off. It had a swing cut, which seemed frivolous. She pulled on her good old black wool coat, grabbed her purse, and left the house. She would walk to the law firm. Fifteen minutes of fresh air and deep breathing would do her good. She set off toward town.
Nantucket seldom got as much snow as the mainland, and as she walked along, she found the sidewalks dry and clear even though a dusting of white scattered over the yards. Close to town, a white gravel drive circled in front of the law offices, providing parking space for their clients or the Winsteds. She climbed the steps to the handsome black door and turned the knob. She stepped inside.
The reception room was empty. Claudia, their secretary, was absent, her computer off, her desk tidied.
Carley peeked into the other downstairs room. Dick, their paralegal, was gone, too, and the kitchen/storage area where they made their coffee and kept their supplies was vacant. But she heard footsteps upstairs.
The offices and long conference room were on the second floor. From force of habit, she turned right, toward Gus’s office, before correcting herself and turning left.
Russell’s door was open. As Carley entered, he rose, smiling.
“Carley, my dear.”
“Hello, Russell.” She went around the desk an
d kissed his cheek.
“Hello, Carley.”
Her nerves already on edge, Carley flinched at the unexpected sound of Annabel’s voice. Spinning around, she saw her mother-in-law perched on the leather sofa, elegant in a suit and Hermès scarf.
“Hello, Annabel. I didn’t realize you were going to be here.” Crossing the room, she bent to kiss Annabel’s cheek. Thank heavens I wore a suit, she thought, settling herself on the other end of the sofa.
Russell lowered himself into his desk chair and sat for a moment, staring down at a pile of folders in front of him.
“Carley, it’s often hard to discuss money, especially during times of such sorrow. I’m not sure how much you understood during the reading of Gus’s will.”
Carley nodded. She’d been lost in a blur of distress that day. Numbers had melted and slid away in her mind.
But she was firm when she answered, “I know Gus left me the house. Free and clear.”
Annabel made a sudden little sound, a whimper of pain.
Russell continued pleasantly, “Of course. We are well aware of that. We have a copy of the will. He left you all his money, too, except as you will find out, and I apologize for bringing this up at this difficult time …” Russell took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before continuing. “Gus made some bad investments last year.”
“I’m aware of that,” Carley told him.
Russell raised his eyebrows. “You are? Well. Well, then, perhaps all this won’t come as such a shock to you.” He cleared his throat. “I have no idea about how much of the financial aspect of running this house Gus shared with you, but it’s a huge house, and it requires a lot of maintenance. Also, of course, for your family, there is the basic cost of living, groceries, clothing, car insurance—” He stopped suddenly. His face caved in. He looked old and very sad. “Carley, my dear. Gus left you no money. Well, enough, I suppose, for a month or two, if you’re careful.”
“The insurance policy?” Carley began.
“It appears he was unwise. He cashed it in.”
Summer Beach Reads Page 39