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“No, he chose his own path… And now he’s doing it again.”
There’s more here than he’s saying. More pain, perhaps, or struggles than he’s willing to share. I try to imagine losing my eyesight—losing the sense I use every moment of every day—and feel a shudder of fear.
“Is there nothing to be done?”
“No,” Isaac says. His voice is tight. “Mitigation, adaptation, research, yes. There might be exercises to delay the degeneration. He could live for thirty years without losing it entirely, and from what I’ve understood, it’s rare that you lose all light perception.”
Anthony Winter,I think. That’s his name. Married to Summer Davis, father to a new baby boy. They must have kept this under wraps for it to have been left out of my briefing on the Winter family.
“Anyway,” Isaac says, “we don’t have to stay long.”
“I’m happy to stay for as long as you want.” The words come out with more force than I’d anticipated. His brother’s losing his eyesight and raising money for charity. “I’ll stay way past midnight if you’d like, and I promise I’ll act like the perfect date. Won’t be able to take my eyes off you.”
Isaac glances my way. “Thank you,” he says, and there’s warmth in his voice.
We reach the small town of Montauk. He drives the car down Main Street and then turns onto an adjoining road, heading toward the ocean. The street is lined with cars. One after the other, all parked along the street.
“It’s already started?” I ask.
“It’s a day party. My brother made it very clear to his wife that everyone had to be out by nine p.m.”
I laugh. “He’s not fond of parties?”
“That’s an understatement.”
We drive past the cars and turn onto the property. Two cars are parked side by side on the driveway, and beside them is space for one more. They’d kept a family spot open for Isaac.
The house is gorgeous. White and huge, blending into the surroundings seamlessly in a way that’s so common with the rich. Giant hydrangeas erupt from white pots on either side of the porch steps.
From the back comes the sound of a live band.
Isaac gestures to a path between the house and the garage. He looks right at home, tall and well-dressed, standing on a stone path half-overgrown with well-cut grass. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I say. “Your family must be really intense about your dating habits for you to want them to meet me.”
“You have no idea,” he mutters. “My sister-in-law co-owns an elite dating service.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Really,” he says.
“And you’ve never been the least bit curious to try it?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “Would you be?”
I shake my head. “Gosh, that sounds like the complete opposite of what I’d want.”
“Right. You’re done with men like Percy Browne, right?”
“Yes,” I say and chuckle. “My sister is actually trying to set me up with my old high school boyfriend back in Marhill.”
“Is she?” He pauses just before the gate. Behind it, I can hear the sound of laughter and conversation. “And are you interested in your high school ex?”
“God, no. Robbie is a great guy, and he was exactly what I needed at seventeen. But we live completely different lives. No, I think I need someone in between.”
“In between?” Isaac asks. “Not a client of an elite dating service, and not your hometown sweetheart?”
“Exactly,” I say, smiling up at him. “Like a nice, respectable math teacher who lives in Brooklyn.”
