Page 167 of Summer After Summer

“Wandering around with his phone, scanning things.”

“That’s odd,” Sophie says. “Why didn’t he just bid on the house with the furniture?”

“I’ve given up trying to figure out what Fred was up to a long time ago,” I say. But that’s not true. I’m deeply curious about what it is that he’s interested in buying, and why. “Has anyone seen Wes?”

“He’s here,” Ann says, drifting over. She’s dressed in a bright green dress with pretty flowers on it, an intricate, metal-clasped belt cinched at the waist. “I was speaking to him a couple of minutes ago.”

I feel a prick of jealousy, then quash it. Wes moved into the house for the last week, but he’s been staying in a guest room because I’m still not ready to let him back into my bed.

“What about?”

“Nothing much. Charlotte, did you want to bid on anything?”

“Lord, no,” Charlotte says, putting her arm around Ann’s waist and looping her fingers through the belt. Letting go of all of her possessions is proving good for Charlotte, at least. “Do you mind if I go, Olivia? I’m finding this more emotional than I thought I would.”

“Sure, sure.”

“The caterers will be here at five to set up for the party. After the signing.”

“Is Aunt Tracy supervising that?”

“I think so.”

I sigh. Do I have to do everything myself? “I’ll go check.”

I leave them and go to the kitchen, the back of my neck prickling like it does when I’ve forgotten something. But what?

Tracy’s there, pulling cookies out of the oven, and Fred’s standing next to her, his hands in oven mitts, ready to accept the tray.

Did I have some premonition he’d be here? Is that what’s bugging me?

“What do we have here?”

Aunt Tracy turns around, her face full of guilt. “Fred came looking for you and offered to help.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I was in the living room.”

“It’s a bit of a madhouse in there,” Fred says, raising his shoulders.

“You ready for this?” Aunt Tracy says, pulling out the first tray.

Fred takes it from her, putting it on the island. They quickly remove three other trays, and then Tracy starts piling the cookies on plates.

“You know the house is already sold, right, Aunt Tracy?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“The baking cookies thing. That’s for open houses.”

“It’s an open house of sorts.”

“You didn’t—”

Tracy picks up a cookie and holds it out to me. “I needed something to do, didn’t I? I couldn’t just sit here and watch everything get sold.”

Guilt flashes over Fred’s face, and he busies himself with putting the remaining cookies on a pretty flowered plate.

“I’ll just take these out to the buyers,” Tracy says.

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