Page 19 of These Summer Storms

Yes.

But the Storms together like this, in whatever feeling this was—was it grief yet? It still felt like something else. Like Franklin was about to walk in the back door with his boots full of mud and throw them allinto competition with one another—the first one to reach the north end of the island, the one who climbed to the highest branch of the red oak, the one who could name the painters on the walls of the library, the one who knew the Storm Inc. stock price at the opening bell. So maybe it was denial. But whatever it was—calling in reinforcements this soon would be admitting she couldn’t hack it. Embarrassing.

A small white skiff cut across the Bay in the distance, nearly identical to the one she’d taken that morning. Alice raised a hand, her fingers dancing over the trail of white waves in its wake. “My mom invited people here for Monday. I don’t know what it is. A memorial of some kind, ostensibly, but knowing my mom it will be an open bar and a string quartet or something. My dad wasn’t religious, so I’m not even sure what we’re doing with…” She didn’t want to saythe body. “Anyway. You don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there,” Gabi said, unequivocal. Like their friendship. “Text me the details.”

“You should bring Roxanne. It’s a nice time of year.”

“Oh, cool, because I was planning to bookend my best friend’s father’s funeral with some casual leaf peeping.”

Alice couldn’t hold back her laugh, returning to her suitcase and sorting through the contents. A black hoodie. A pair of ripped jeans. Two black tank tops. “Okay. Well bring her anyway.”

Why so many bras? Why so few socks?

Why paintbrushes, but no paint?

“I will. How’s your mom?”

A black dress, at least. A pair of heels.

“The same, but with additional unresolved anxiety.”

“Fun! And everyone else is there?”

“Oh yes. The whole gang. Sam’s being an asshole, Greta is fretting about my mom. I haven’t seen the kids. Or Sam’s wife, but I’m sure she’s still terrible.” The product of a billionaire father who’d spoiled her rotten before landing in prison for a few decades, Sila lacked capacity for change.

“Emily?” Alice’s younger sister, the baby of the family. Ran a crystal shop in Wickford, burned sage like it meant something, and despitebeing the flake of the family, was everyone’s favorite Storm…even Alice’s.

The feeling was no longer mutual. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

“I thought everyone was there?”

“She’s here, but I only got here this morning.” Alice opened a dresser drawer and shoved everything inside.

“Didn’t you leave last night?”

“I”—the words stuck in her throat as she realized where the line of questioning was going, and she closed the drawer with a smooththud—“did.”

“Where’d you stay last night?”

“At a motel near the train station.”

“How come?” A pause. Then, sharply, “Holy shit, is Griffin there?” Gabi saidGriffinlike other people saycockroach. “That fucking guy. We all do things in the throes of grief, Alice, but surely we could avoid doing those things with that bridge troll.”

Alice laughed. The problem was, Griffin wasn’t a bridge troll. He was handsome and warm and funny and disarmingly honest (at least, he’d seemed to be)—exactly the opposite of everything Alice had been raised to want, which was enough for her to ignore all the reasons he was wrong for her, especially once her father had made his disapproval clear.

And then he’d dumped her with no explanation (so, maybe he was a little bit of a bridge troll).

“Do I have to remind you that you liked him?”

“Exactly why I loathe him now—I had to fully recalibrate my asshole meter after he—” A beat while Gabi collected herself. “God. Is heback?”

“You could have more faith in me, you know.”

“I have endless faith in you in all things but this. My god, you’re growing outbangsbecause of him.Ipractically got bangs because of him.”

“Okay, first, that is a low blow; I was in a place. And second, I wasn’t with Griffin last night.” The words were barely out of her mouth when she realized what she’d given away.