Page 119 of These Summer Storms

But in that moment, hearing it from Mike, her father’s friend, a man who knew him, who had stood in Franklin’s shoes (albeit, without a child of his own, perhaps the Storm kids were good birth control), it didn’t feel wrong. It felt like, maybe, Franklin had seen her. And maybe he’d felt something more for her than disappointment.

Even if it wasn’t true, it was kind of Mike to say. “Thanks.” She extended his handkerchief, and he accepted it, sliding it into his trouser pocket.

Moss gray. Glen check. She knew those pants. Knew that suit.

He’d been in the greenhouse with her mother.Why?

Well. She certainly couldn’t ask.

This place. Full of ever more secrets.

Unaware of her thoughts, Mike filled the silence. “I was really happy to get to talk to him before—” He stopped. Cleared his throat. Shook his head. Changed the topic. “I hope we see each other more. Come see me. With Emily sometime, maybe. It goes without saying, if you need anything…”

She nodded. “I will.”

He turned away, toward the north end of the island, to the helipad,and she watched him go, a little slower than she remembered. A little slimmer. Had her father been that way? She’d never know.

Add that to all the rest she wouldn’t know. All the rest she would have to cobble together from people like Mike, who were willing to speak to her. To tell her their truths—things she could choose to believe.

You did the right thing.

The right thing. It seemed impossible, considering all the wrong things that had happened this week. All the backbiting and infighting and arguing and jockeying for position. All the ways they’d hurt each other.Greta.And others.Tony.

And for what?

She inhaled, sharply, returning her attention to Mike, farther away. Almost to the house.

“Mike!” she called, and he turned around to face her as she jogged toward him. “Actually, there is something you can do.”

Twenty minutes later, Alice was descending the main stairs of the manor, suitcase in hand, satchel slung over her shoulder, full of clothes and toiletries haphazardly shoved inside.

Once on the main floor, she turned away from the front door of the house, heading down the dark hallway toward the kitchen—the exit closest to the helipad, where Mike and Twyla Haskins were waiting for her.

She moved quickly, feeling like a criminal, skulking through the halls, eager to leave without being caught. And she almost did it.

“Aunt Alice?” Saoirse met her as she entered the foyer, a few feet from the kitchen.

Alice froze. “Hey you.”

“Are you leaving?”

For a moment, she considered lying. But, god, this family lied enough, to themselves and each other. With a deep breath, she said, “Yes.”

“But if you leave—doesn’t that—” She paused. “If you leave, what will happen to us?”

“You’re going to be okay,” Alice said, setting her bags down. Sherepeated herself. “Saoirse, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to have a life with a family who loves you, and parents who choose your happiness and a brother who isn’t constantly looking for ways to sabotage you.”

“Is this because Dad locked you in the pantry?” It was such a strange question—asked from such a distance, a lifetime ago, and Alice’s confusion made her silent for a moment. Before she could answer, Saoirse jumped to add, “Because it wasn’t him. It was me.”

It took Alice a moment to understand. “What? Why?”

“Oliver and I thought you were going to leave. We heard you say it, and everyone was freaking out. Like we were going to be poor.”

Alice resisted the roll of her eyes at the words. She could hear Sila, furious with panic, screaming that at Sam, like it was his fault, not thinking for a moment that her children were there, listening. That they’d panic, too, and not with anger, but with fear.

And then Saoirse confirmed it. “Aunt Alice—Mom is going to divorce Dad if we don’t have any money.”

Alice couldn’t hide her shock at the words, so matter-of-fact. “What? Honey—” she started. Not knowing how to finish a denial of something that seemed so true.