Page 170 of Summer After Summer

Instead, I find a charm nestled against the satin lining. It’s a small plate, painted in vibrant yellows, blues, and reds, like the plate on the wall at the restaurant where I had dinner with Fred in London, the place we ate our last night together. It’s beautiful and personal and exactly the sort of thing Fred would remember and memorialize.

But not Wes.

I examine the box and find a folded piece of paper in the lid. I open it, Fred’s handwriting staring back at me.

Olivia,

I wanted to give you this in London two years ago, but my pride got in the way. But now that the world is torn apart, when we don’t know what will come tomorrow, I regret that I let my hurt feelings rule my actions. Because all my thoughts and plans–they’re for you. Tell me I’m not too late. That you still love me like I love you. Give me a sign, and I’ll be at your side in an instant, no matter what it takes. But if you want me to stay away, if your feelings aren’t what they once were, then say nothing, and I’ll suffer in silence forever.

I’m half agony, half hope.

Love, Fred

It’s dated March 17, 2020, the day the world shut down. I try to think back to where I was that day, how I missed receiving this.

School was closed—everything was—and Wes and I had an argument about whether to go to the Hamptons or stay in the city. He wanted to go, I wanted to stay, and when our words turned angry, I went for a long walk through my oddly silent city, feeling scared.

When I got back that night, Wes was conciliatory and agreed to stay in town. But he was keeping something from me, this message from Fred, and it all makes sense now. How watchful he became, how irritable. I thought it was just his business failing, our forced confinement, but no. He thought that if I got this note from Fred, I’d leave.

And I can’t deny that he might’ve been right.

Was that why he was with that girl, whoever she is? Because he thought I had one foot out the door? He’d said as much when he came here on my birthday. That I was always in love with someone else.

Can I blame him for thinking that?

Can I blame him for doing what I was about to do with Fred when he interrupted us in London five years ago?

Yes, I can.

I can because I didn’t do anything with Fred. He’s the one who broke the promises we made, who broke us. And knowing what he’s held back from me, this note, this charm, so many things, probably, can I trust anything he told me about his affair? That it was nothing. That it’s over?

If I hadn’t found those photos, that curved waist, that golden skin, that belt slung low …

Oh no, no, no, no—it couldn’t be.

I unlock my phone and scroll through my pictures until I find it. I almost drop my phone, but there I have it.

The answer to the questions I never even bothered to ask.

CHAPTER FORTY

August 2023

After two hours on my laptop, back in my own room, I feel ready for the closing.

The house is empty now, the smell of freshly baked cookies barely lingering. There’s a certain kind of peace that falls over a house after a large party. Like the memory of the chatter makes the silence sharper.

I check in with Aunt Tracy, who’s moved into party prep mode, then drive myself to the lawyer’s office.

They’re gathered in a large conference room. Ann’s father, Barry, is there, as are Ann, William, Charlotte, Sophie, Colin, Lucy, Wes, and Fred.

“Olivia,” Charlotte says, “you’re late.”

“Sorry.” I take the only empty seat. It’s next to Wes.

“Shall we begin?” Barry says.

“Why doesn’t Lucy tell us what the total is first?” I say. “From the auction?”

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