Page 147 of These Summer Storms

Emily’s heart pounded at the words, at the truth in them, unflagging. Undoubtable. Healing. She smiled and lifted herself toward Claudia’s kiss. “I love you, too, forever.”

And she did. She’d loved Claudia almost from the moment they’d met, in a philosophy class at Smith (yes, they were aware of the cliché). They’d been assigned a group project that had turned into a violent crush on Emily’s part, helped in no small amount by Claudia being captain of the rugby team (yes, she was aware of the cliché).

Claudia was the opposite of the Storms, quiet and steady. Thoughtful and measured. And endlessly kind. Emily had set her sights, and within a month, they were inseparable. They hadn’t spent more than two nights apart since graduation.

Growing up with Elisabeth and Franklin Storm made a person deeply question the existence of true partnership, but Claudia had changed all that. And Emily thanked the universe for her daily.

“Ugh. Get a room,” Alice retorted. “I cannot face your relationship goals right now.”

They all laughed, and Emily reached for the ice cream.

Silence fell, companionable. Like when they were kids,Alice and Emily.

Finally, Alice said, “Jeez, Em.”

It was as good a thing to say as anything else. “Right?” Emily took a bite of ice cream, memories flooding through her as the familiar flavor burst on her tongue. Cherry vanilla, Franklin’s favorite. She let it melt on her tongue before she said, “It’s weird to think that his ice cream is still in the house.”

Alice nodded. “He loved you.” A pause, then an urgent, “You know that, right? That he loved you?”

Emily smiled. “I do. Don’t worry.”

“Good,” Alice said, and she meant it. “More than he loved the rest of us, I think.”

It wasn’t true, of course. Emily didn’t have children—it was a maybe, on the list to discuss down the road, once she’d finished processing thefamily she already had—but she understood love. Maybe better than everyone else in the family. “Parents don’t love some kids more than others.”

Alice took another bite of ice cream. “Even ours?”

“Even ours,” she replied, turning back to the candle.Peace.“Though…maybe ourslikedsome of us more than others.”

“That’s definitely true.” The fog bell rang in the distance, and thunder crashed, loud and impossibly close, startling them.

Claudia sprang out of her chair, and went to the kitchen door, staring into the pitch-black night. “This is a huge storm.”

Alice nodded. “Franklin had one last point to make.”

Lightning flashed, throwing the kitchen into stark light for a split second before it went dark again, Alice’s lantern on the counter, that candle flickering on the table.

“I knew,” Emily said to the candle. “I knew he wasn’t my father.”

Across the table, Alice froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. She set it back into the container. “You mean, like, before?”

“Maybe always.” Emily had always felt out of place in the constellation of the family, telling herself it was for any number of reasons—being youngest, and by so many years, never having Greta’s compulsive instinct to keep their parents happy, or Sam’s rich-kid swagger, or Alice’s disinterest in the whole thing.

Emily had been different. No one else seemed to think twice about it, so she’d ignored it, and played her role as the quirky one, who meditated and ran a holistic healing shop on the mainland that their father paid for, obviously, because Emily was very sweet but not ever to be taken too seriously.

Only Franklin had known the truth—that Emily had paid back his investment in the shop in full (with interest) only two years after he’d put up the capital. No one needed to know about the time she’d met him for lunch at the taco place he loved in Union Square and presented him with a check. He’d flashed her a bright smile and told her he was so proud. She’d never seen him more delighted than when she paid for lunch.

And no one needed to know that nine months before he died, he’dreciprocated—taking her to lunch, and offering up different truths. Different secrets, which belonged to them both. Secrets that Emily had kept with Franklin, heavy on her heart, as time had marched, knowing there would come a time when she would be responsible for keeping them alone. Or revealing them.

“I just knew,” she said, looking to Alice, the sibling closest to her in age, and the one she’d claimed first as a child, whenever a teacher or a friend would ask about her family, it wasAliceshe’d talk about. Because of this. The two of them, here, at this table. On each other’s side.

“It’s all bullshit, though,” Alice said, before she shot forward, like they were kids again. “But can we talk about Mike Haskins? AndMom?”

Emily laughed. “Weird, right?”

“Is this too soon?”

“No!” Emily said, loving the release of it. “I have wanted to talk about it with someone forso long,and Claudia is great but—”