Page 138 of These Summer Storms

“No. I draw the line at locking you in the vault. And no one in the family would try sailing in this,” Sam said, waving a hand at the rain cloaking the house. “The Bay has to be churning.” He looked at Alice. “Someone cut the boats loose.”

She understood immediately. “To keep me here.” When Sam nodded, she added, “This family is one bad accident away from a true-crime podcast.”

“This fucking place,” Jack said, combing his fingers through his hair again, focused on Alice. “I thought you were in danger. I couldn’t get to you.”

Something went raw and tight in her chest at the words, and shestepped toward him, reaching out to grab his free hand. She squeezed it, reveling in the warm strength of the grip that met hers. “Jack,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “I’m here. I didn’t leave.”

The sound of the rain blocked out everything else, and for a heartbeat it was just the two of them. He’d worried about her. He’d seen she was gone and had come to find her. To protect her.

It was a real hero move, which made Alice—

She blocked out the rest of the sentence. The word that came to mind, a word that evoked thoughts of windswept islands and tempestuous seas and wild kisses and happily-ever-afters.

It wasn’t a word for that moment or that audience. The house. The island.

Sam’s phone, which broke the silence.

“Like. I. Said—Fucking. The. Help.”

Chapter

20

Alice didn’t understand fearof thunderstorms.

Maybe it was because she’d spent the summers of her childhood in her tower room on Storm Island, as close to the clouds as anyone could get, watching enormous storms sweep up Narragansett Bay from Long Island Sound only to be coaxed into staying there by the Atlantic Ocean to the east.

Maybe it was because of the way the rain tapped and sighed on the glass like an Edna St. Vincent Millay poem, or the way the clouds roiled above the sea, clearing the Bay, sending boats to harbor and birds to nest and people inside, leaving nothing but the magnificent drama of a summer storm.

The storm that raged atop Storm Island that day was pure spectacle, the largest Rhode Island had seen in years, drowning out everything, including the power, and leaving only the distant sound of Sam’s fog bell—it belonged to Sam now, not Franklin.

Lightning flashed again and again across the salt water, chased by thunder that didn’t roll so much as it tumbled, shouting over itself asthree different storms came together in one place, each fighting to be the biggest, the loudest, the most damaging. Together, they upended the Bay, pulling down long-dead branches and bringing up long-lost detritus from the ocean floor and depositing it to be cleared away, leaving what remained stronger and healthier than what it had been.

It was doing the job.

When Alice entered the library later that afternoon, the storm was still raging outside, notwithstanding the absolute stillness within.

Greta and Elisabeth were seated in wing chairs by the west-facing stained-glass windows that spread mottled light through the room on sunny days and an ethereal glow through the room on days like this one.

Greta had a book in her lap but didn’t seem to be reading, and Elisabeth was already drinking, a gin and tonic dangling from her hand (90percent gin, tonic for propriety, lemon twist). They were not speaking, which Alice supposed was to be expected.

She looked at her watch. Fourp.m.Whatever was going on here, it was going to be a treat.

“Hello, Alice,” her mother said. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

Alice didn’t miss the omission of the wordcelebration. Apparently Elisabeth hadn’t enjoyed the events of the preceding day any more than the rest of them.

“I’ve been helping out—Charlie needed the stuff from yesterday secured until it was safe for the planners to come pick it up; and I helped Sam reset the fog bell now that the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up.” She refrained from adding that she’d gone to the boathouse to tell Jack it wasn’t safe for sleeping with the storm roiling—and been distracted by not-sleeping for a while before they separated for the rest of the day.

“Good that Sam is keeping busy,” Elisabeth said, like they were discussing less-interesting weather. “I heard Sila left with the kids.”

Greta snapped to attention. “She did? When?”

“Last night. The helicopter took them back to the city before the rain started.”

Silence fell as Greta’s lips pressed into a thin line at the reference to the helicopter, piloted no doubt by Tony, whom Elisabeth had evicted from the island, like they were on some reality TV show.

Of course, their mother didn’t notice. “They couldn’t leave fast enough.”

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