Page 107 of Summer After Summer

The next morning, I go to the club, play, have a late breakfast with him, and return to the house to spend the afternoon entering data for the auction, cursing my parents for every knickknack and side table they’d collected.

Another week evaporates, and now it’s the third week of July. Wes and I are in stasis, but everyone else’s life seems to be moving along smoothly. Ann is a constant presence at the house, and Lucy and Fred make regular appearances at cocktails with Colin and Sophie. Colin’s parents are finally in town and are more than happy to babysit. The talk often turns to the trip to Sag Harbor, one I don’t want to take and I doubt will happen. But I underestimate both Sophie and Charlotte and their determination, and in the end we all go.

Fred and Lucy, Sophie and Colin, Charlotte and Ann, and Wes and me. A foursome. No, that’s a golf term. I don’t know what a four-couple date is where more than one couple has history with another person in the party, but that’s what I’m on.

Sophie took charge of the details, renting one of those large, black SUVs, with a driver, that seats twelve. But even though there are extra seats, we all sit by couple, Wes and I in the front, Fred and Lucy all the way at the back. The drive is uneventful, and Wes does his ingratiating act, telling stories and getting everyone laughing. Everyone but Fred, who simply frowns at Wes every time he looks at him, then brings his eyes back to the road. But Lucy and Ann, especially, are in his thrall, and I feel a prick of jealousy, like I always used to when Wes plied his charm on someone other than me.

I can’t decide if it’s a reflex, like how seeing Lucy and Fred makes me feel, or if it’s a sign that I want to forgive Wes and try to move on.

I’m not going to solve that today, though, so I laugh with everyone else and watch the scenery unfold and try not to remember that summer Fred and I spent roaming these roads.

Our first stop is a house tour so Charlotte can check out the house Lucy decorated. It’s a cute beach cottage twenty minutes outside of town. Two bedrooms, a generous living room and dining room, updated bathrooms, airy and light. I can see Charlotte living here. Lucy was right about it being exactly to her taste, all soft hues of gray and taupe, with linen fabrics and a sea glass color on the walls.

Charlotte lights up when she sees it, touching the back of the couch, running her hand along the quartz countertop. In the backyard, there’s a firepit and an outdoor kitchen, and part of me starts to imagine living here too, not with Charlotte, obviously, but in a place like this, smaller, cozy. Our apartment in the city, which was Wes’s before we met, is all cold surfaces and hard colors, like a magazine piece of a bachelor pad for a man with taste and sophistication.

“You like it,” Wes says, coming up to me in the backyard. I’m standing under a grape arbor, and I can smell the ocean, a few blocks away. Even with all the money we’re getting, a place right on the beach would be irresponsible, and I’m glad Charlotte seems to be realistic in what she should buy.

“I do. It’s great.”

“We could get a place like this.”

“Could we?” I turn my eyes to him. His hair is curling in the heat, it’s ends blonder than when he arrived. His eyes are so open and guileless, I could believe anything he says when he looks at me like that.

I did.

“If that’s what you want.”

“We can’t afford it.”

“But we can. Now, with the money … and this new job, it’s working out. I’m going to be more cautious in the future. Less …”

“Cavalier?”

“Exactly.”

“Will you be happy, being safe?”

“I will, Olivia. I will.”

I wish what he’s saying were true, rather than believing it. Wes is a risk taker, always has been, and thinking of him taking the safe path for the rest of his life doesn’t fit.

“We don’t have to decide anything now,” I say.

“No, you’re right. But I want you to know that I’m listening to you. I’m paying attention. You don’t like the apartment—I know that. We can get something that’s more your taste. We can do whatever you want.”

He’s so earnest, and I want to tell him that it doesn’t have to be all about me. It’s supposed to be about us. What we want. But that’s never been the way we worked. Mostly, we did what Wes wanted because I thought I wanted that too. Our relationship never felt like a democracy. But I can’t say all that in someone else’s back garden on a house tour, so instead I say, “Thank you.”

“So,” Charlotte says coming up to me and linking her arm through mine, “what do we think?”

“I love it, Charlotte.”

“I do too.”

“Will you put an offer in?”

At that word, offer, Ann and Lucy appear at her side. Charlotte laughs at their eagerness, a loose, happy laugh, and I’m so glad for my sister in that moment, I almost start to cry.

“Yes, I think I will. It’s still not on the market, Lucy?”

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