Page 59 of Summer After Summer

“What?”

“Lucy told me that you were thinking of having an estate sale?”

“Lucy told you?”

He has the good sense to look sheepish. “At dinner last night.”

I want to sink into the ground. He’s dating Lucy.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you had any plans for the proceeds?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You know there’s a charity for my uncle. I thought you might want to set up something similar in your mother’s name? There are some nice pieces in the house that might bring in a tidy sum.”

I’m stuck between being angry at the thought that he was appraising the furniture when he was visiting the house, and the happiness of being able to honor my mother the way she should be. “Oh, I … I’d have to talk to Charlotte and Sophie. And my father, of course.”

“Of course. Let me know what you decide, and I’ll set everything up.”

“You don’t—”

“It would be my pleasure. I have lawyers on staff who can do it, no problem. Decide who you want the recipients to be, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Okay, I will.”

He stares at me, and for a moment the world slows down like it did on the tennis court, like I’m living in the past and I know what my body wants to do, but just like on the court with Cindy, my brain is screaming, No!

And then the moment passes, and I step onto the driveway, fighting as hard as I can not to break into a run.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

June 2008

“What are you doing here?” I ask Fred on the train platform, my hands shaking.

His face falls. The last time I saw him, he was still a boy, but he’s a man now. His shoulders are squared, his hair is short and a bit darker, and there’s a definition to his features that was missing before. I can’t believe this is happening. I was just dreaming about him on the train, and now here he is, in front of me, wearing chino shorts and a polo shirt—not so different from his old uniform at the beach.

“Ashley didn’t tell you?”

Oh no. Oh, Ash. “She said she was picking me up.”

“I should’ve known.”

“It’s not your fault. But … why are you in Southampton?”

“My uncle died last week.”

“I’m so sorry, Fred.”

“Thank you.” He reaches down and picks up my bag. It’s light in his hands, like it’s nothing.

“When’s the funeral?”

“Tomorrow.”

I don’t know what to say. My heart is beating too fast, and my palms feel sweaty. Part of me is glad to see him and part of me is furious. “You never called.”

“We said we wouldn’t.”

---