Page 144 of These Summer Storms

No one could argue with that.

Except Sam, apparently. “You can’t leave.”

“Of course we can.” Claudia had lost her patience, and honestly, it was a miracle it had taken so long. But apparently, when she decided to make herself known, she did it with impressive power. “You all may be prisoners on this island, but I’m not. And I’ll make damn sure Emily isn’t, either.”

“Claudia. It’sokay.” Emily turned to face her wife.

“No. It’s not. No one deserves this. Can’t you people see what this place, that man, this family has made you? This money? You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Listen, you’re not wrong,” Sam said. “But you literally can’t leave. Even if there wasn’t a storm, there’s no way off the island. We can call you a skiff in the morning.”

“Where are the boats?” Claudia asked.

“They’re gone,” Sam said.

“Gone where?”

“They came unmoored in the storm.” The answer, from Elisabeth, who had never cared one way or another about the workings of the island, roused suspicion in them all.

“Three boats don’t just come unmoored at the same time,” Sam said.

“Then someone must have untied them, Samuel. And whomever it was, you should thank them. Because now Alice can’t leave.”

“We were talking about Emily leaving, actually,” Alice said.

“Fine,” Claudia said, no longer caring one way or another; whatever Elisabeth had done prior to the events of the last few minutes was nothing compared to the breaking of her wife’s heart. “The helicopter, then.”

“Claudia.”

“Don’t tell me it’s okay, Em,” Claudia said, her voice shaking with care and no small amount of anger. Good. Emily needed someone always in her corner.

“The helicopter left with Sila and the kids and—” Sam looked to Greta, who had gone full statue during the chaos. Tony had taken the helicopter back to New York.

Thunder crashed outside, startling everyone. Except Emily, who seemed remarkably serene (was this what meditation did for a person?). “It doesn’t matter,” she said, softly, to Claudia. “Love, we couldn’t have flown in this, anyway.”

“Okay, but we can leave this room still, right? Our feet still work?”

Emily gave her wife a little smile. “Yes.”

Claudia snatched a candle off the table strewn with cards—another game in shambles—and reached out a hand. “Then let’s do that.”

“I suppose I’m the bad guy again,” Elisabeth said, a truly unhinged response to the situation at hand. She plucked the lemon twist from her gin and took a bite out of it, and for a wild moment, Alice considered ripping the glass from her mother’s hand and throwing it into her face.

“Good night, Elisabeth,” Claudia said, the words sounding more likeGo straight to hell,and they left the room, Claudia taking palpable joy in slamming the door behind them, the house groaning under the weight of her ire. Without thinking, Alice followed, wanting to get to Emily before she and Claudia closed themselves away. Wanting to apologize. Wanting to tell her she was loved. That she was essential.

Wanting to be her sister.

She’d just opened the door when she heard it, the sharp crack. For a moment, she thought it was the house. Ancient rafters unable to keepanother secret. But when she looked back on the tableau, lit only by the candles around the room, it was clear that it was worse than the house breaking.

It was Greta breaking.

Elisabeth had a hand to her cheek, her eyes enormous with shock that was, for once, not feigned, her mouth hanging open.

“Greta, what the hell?” Sam said, coming around the table as Alice took a step toward them. “We’re all pissed but—”

“You manipulativemonster.”

Sam and Alice froze. Whatever this was, it was big.