Page 92 of These Summer Storms

When Alice cast a look behind her to the path where the caterers were working, Sam said, “It’s okay. Think of us as the kids’ table.” He collected a glass of champagne (Greta), two rosés (Emily and Alice), and a white from the tray. “Keep those coming all afternoon.”

“What he meant to say was,thank you,” Alice called after the young woman.

“I’m not a dog, Alice. I don’t need correction,” he replied.

“You absolutely are, and you absolutely do, though,” she said.

“Can we get back to that lady and Mom sending her packing?” Emily asked. “What does that mean? Did Dad have an affair?”

“You guys,” Greta snapped. “It’s his funeral.”

“Exactly,” Sam said. “Our father’s funeral, filled with more than two hundred people, fewer than ten of whom we actually like. What are we supposed to be talking about?”

Greta opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. “I don’t really know.”

“Great. So did Dad bone Mrs. Austin or not?”

Alice burst out laughing at the rude question, drawing the attention of three men from the C-suite at Storm Inc. She raised a hand in greeting, and the trio shared a look among themselves that Alice did not miss. She turned back to her siblings. “Oh no. Quick. Look like we’re talking about something serious so they don’t come over.”

“How is this not serious?” Sam asked, smirk on his face, and Alice snickered.

“You’re both being inappropriate.” It was Greta’s turn to admonish. “We’re not kids anymore.”

“You guys,” Emily said, urgently. “DidDad have an affair?”

“You sound pretty shattered, considering this is Dad we’re talking about,” Sam said. “Alice isn’t the only one who knows about men and money and power.”

“Terrible combination,” she said into her wine.

“Ruins lives and companies, right?”

“Not companies run by our father, surprisingly,” Alice retorted.

“Hey!” Emily shouted for their attention, and got it, along with the attention of a half dozen other people at a distance. She lowered her voice and turned her back to them. “Did he have affairs or not?”

“What does it matter?” Sam shrugged. “Ask Alice.”

“Why not me?” Greta asked.

“Because you’ll never admit the truth.”

“Alice?” Emily did as she was told, her blond hair glistening in the sun, and Alice imagined her enormous blue eyes behind her mirrored sunglasses. Because it seemed important to Emily, she considered the question.

She was inundated with memories: her parents onThe Lizzie,laughing as they took her for her maiden voyage; Elisabeth and Franklin dancing at the Metropolitan Club on New Year’s Eve, kissing in the elevator as it zoomed to the penthouse apartment in New York City; his arm wrapped around her when they waved goodbye to Alice on her first day at Amherst.

And then, one weird, hazy conversation they’d had, at a diner uptown for some reason—just Alice and Franklin. He’d asked her if she was dating anyone, and she’d wrinkled her nose and bemoaned the stateof modern romance, reminding him that before Storm, people met in ordinary ways.

He’d thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’m putting that in themaybe I could have done bettercolumn. But someday, I hope you fall in love. It’s not always easy, but it is always worth it.”

Alice couldn’t remember where the diner had been, but she could remember the Formica tabletop and slow-moving ceiling fans, and the squeak of the worn blue vinyl seat beneath her. And the certainty that Franklin had been talking about Elisabeth.

And then he’d added, “Just make sure it’s with someone worthy of Class A stock.”

She’d smiled at the silly name—one he had used any number of times.You’re Class A stock,he’d say after dispatching boys he deemed unworthy of her.Too valuable for the general public. Strange, the things she remembered now that there was no time to make new memories.

She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Dad was a massive flirt, and for sure, plenty of women here have been the subject of speculation, at one point or another, as a possible mistress. But honestly? Though it is beyond my comprehension, I think he and Mom…worked. A case of them being perfect for each other because they were so totally wrong for anyone else. So, no. I do not believe he boned Mrs. Austin. Or anyone else.”

“For the love of God, everyone needs to stop sayingboned,” Greta said, waving over another waiter and plucking a tiny lobster roll from his tray.