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I eye her curiously. “Why, are you thinking of making an offer?”
“It’s a beautiful spot, and my retirement is coming up soon. Wouldn’t be the worst place in the world to enjoy all that free time, and I have some money saved.” She shrugs, fidgeting with the lace-trimmed sleeves of her dress. “Would you listen to me? Pay me no mind, Summer. I’m just daydreaming, is all.”
But I can’t help but heed the gentle excitement that filled her voice, not a moment ago. It’s not like I know what to do with the cottage, and it does seem a shame to let it sit there, unoccupied and unloved.
“Can I think about it?” I say, and Mae’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Think about what?”
I smile. “Giving the cottage to you as a retirement gift.”
“Now, Summer, don’t you dare! I wouldn’t dream of taking such a—”
I cut her off, pointing out of the terrace door. “I think I see Lyndsey over there. You go and have yourself a celebratory glass of champagne and keep dreaming about all of the things you’ll do to the place when it’s yours. Of course, I’ll want visiting rights, but only to see you.” I’ve already decided, it seems. “I didn’t know it until you said it, Mae, but… no solution to my cottage problem could be more perfect.”
“Summer, you mustn’t take any notice of me!” Mae urges, as I walk away, glancing back at her. “It’s a beautiful, beautiful place, but—”
I grin. “Come by next week, while I’m still around. We’ll talk about the details then.”
“Summer!” Mae cries, exasperated, but there’s the faintest hint of the most wonderful smile, turning up the corners of her lips. Her eyes shine as if they’re filling with happy tears, and I know in my heart, seeing that expression on her face, that this is the right choice. Ben would certainly approve, and since he tried to buy it for me and Cybil completed the purchase and put it in my name without my say-so, it’s only fair that I pass on the gift of that house to someone truly deserving. Someone who served Ben’s family for his entire life. Someone who will cherish that slice of paradise in a way that I can’t anymore. I tried to love it again, spending the night there and this morning, but the bags under my eyes are evidence enough that the relationship is over.
“Well, don’t you look like the best-dressed dame here!” I put on my best southern drawl, and scoop Grace into my arms. The flouncy dress is definitely a Cybil selection, and Grace looks awkward as hell in it. Cybil would probably love her to be a society-style girl, but I’ve got a feeling that’s just not going to be Gracie, now or ever.
Grace pulls a face. “It itches. I’m too hot.”
“You just have to wear it for another hour,” Lyndsey tells her daughter, and casts me a weary look. Evidently, there’s been an ongoing disagreement. Oscar seems to be staying out of it, since he’s not standing with his girls.
“You want some lemonade?” I offer.
Grace nods, smiling. “Lots of ice.”
“Lots of ice,” I confirm. “Anything for you, Lynds?”
She shakes her head and raises the half-empty wine glass in her hand. “This will tide me over.”
Chuckling, I wander off in search of the refreshments table, my stomach growling as I pass the casual buffet that’s lined up along the front terrace. There are towers of shrimp surrounding pools of Marie Rose sauce, pyramids of oysters alongside little pewter jugs that hold mignonette, neat bowls of mussels in a white wine sauce, trays of plump, white scallops and a giant pot of bright red crawfish. My mouth waters at the scent of Cajun spice, my mind tussling with new memories and old. Ben and Rowan. Rowan and Ben.
I pick up a solitary summer roll, packed tight with leafy greens, purple radish, julienned carrots, and curled-up shrimp, and keep searching for the drinks table. I eat as I go, avoiding the curious gaze of guests who don’t know me yet, or haven’t been properly introduced to the prodigal widow.
Heading down the curving stone steps that join the front terrace to the middle terrace, I spot the white cloth and gleam of silver and glass that signals the refreshment table. Servers in sharp penguin suits stand by with white-gloved hands, ready to pour and mix for what they’re likely hoping will be big tips, considering it’s a free bar.
I’m halfway to the pitchers of lemonade when a voice grinds me to a halt.
“Even in a three-piece suit, I’d feel underdressed,” he says, my head whipping this way and that, trying to find where it’s coming from.
Oscar laughs. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to these fancy parties, but it’s part of marrying into the family. I usually keep out of the way until Lyndsey comes looking for me, asking me to take everyone home.”
“You don’t stay at this… beast of a place?” It’s definitelyhisvoice. Rowan’s voice.
“Fifty-fifty. We’re staying this time, since we’re here ‘til Tuesday,” Oscar replies. “Comfiest beds you’ll ever sleep in, but the worst night’s sleep you’ll ever have. I’ll never understand it.”
Rowan’s laughter makes my heart twinge. “Maybe, the bedsheets know whether you’ve got money or not. Only those with a truly vast bank account are allowed to sleep peacefully.”
I can’t see them. They’re here—he’s here—but I can’t see them.
Forgetting the lemonade altogether, I creep around the descending line of topiaries that lead to the main stretch of the garden, down another curving set of steps. Peeking out from behind the freshly trimmed fronds, I see him at last. He’s standing with Oscar, between two of the topiaries, shaped like upside down exclamation points. The two men have their backs to me, leaning against the stone balustrade that stops anyone falling off the steps on their way down to the very last terrace.
What are you doing?I scold myself.He’s going to see you and think you’re the biggest weirdo in town.
