Page 162 of These Summer Storms

“God, I bet he was brutal,” she said. “And I don’t deny that what he did with that ambition—he changed the world.” It was a wild thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that before. I don’t think I’ve ever even really considered what it means to change the world. I mean, I grew up in a household—in a world—that was shaped by Franklin Storm. And I knew he’d done all that, but…”

She trailed off, and he was patient with her, waiting for her to find the rest of her words.

They had reached the tree at that point, and she set her hand to the enormous trunk, on its side, reaching nearly to her chest. Tracing over the rough bark, she said, “But it was hard to care about any of it when it felt like he’d done so little for us.” He settled next to her, leaning back against the trunk, watching. Listening.

Making it easy for her to go on. “I’m angry with him,” she confessed. “I miss him, of course, but I’m really, really angry with him. All that money. All that power. And he used it to buy friends and influence and thirty-foot yawls and helicopters and private islands…but he couldn’t find his way to having enough grace to tell Greta she should be with theman she loved. Or enough understanding to see he’d been too hard on Sam. Or enough strength to tell us the truth about his future. Or enough courage to call me and tell me to come home.”

A tear rolled down Alice’s cheek, and he reached for her, pulling her between his thighs and whispering her name as he wiped her tear away. “Alice. Love.”

She shook her head. “And now he’s gone. And I can’t come home.”

“Maybe you can, though,” he said. “Maybe that was the point of all this. Maybe you can find home again.”

Home.

It felt like something she hadn’t had in years. Not with her family, not with Griffin, not there, on the island. In the years since she’d fallen out of Franklin’s favor, she’d lost the thread of home and what it was. Or maybe she’d never really had the thread to begin with. But now, after a week on the island, strangely, after the events of the night before, she could imagine it.

It was hazy and sweet, like the deep of summer, but she could imagine it. They made their way around the tree, past the broken windows, heading for the great lawn, rolling out lush and green to the sparkling sea.

They stood on the rise and took in the view—sky and sea and land, no evidence of what had come the day before. Of what it had done. The storm was past.

In nature, at least.

In the distance, a sleek, white boat approached with two people inside—one at the helm, the other looking severely out of place in a gray suit.

“I guess corporate has returned to a post–Labor Day wardrobe.” She looked to Jack’s linen trousers. “You’re out of uniform, Mr. Dean.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be corporate anymore.”

She caught her breath. “Really?”

“It’s a thing I’ve been thinking about.” He looked at her, and she would have done anything to see his eyes through his mirrored sunglasses.

Returning her attention to the boat, ever closer, she said, “So this is it. The last part of the game.”

He nodded. “This is it.”

“Do you know what happens now?”

“I don’t.” He took his sunglasses off, turning to face her, eyes serious. Honest. He reached for her hand. Squeezed it. “Wave to Larry.”

She did as she was told, waving as Larry Manford, Storm Inc. board member and one of her father’s oldest friends, stepped off the boat, ominous leather briefcase in hand. Tall, gray-haired, and absolutely handsome enough in his youth to have earned the descriptordistinguishednow, Larry was the kind of person who made everyone feel at ease. Franklin had always deployed him in particularly difficult negotiations, a fact not lost on Alice or Jack.

“I told you there was another shoe,” she said.

“I thought Class A stock was the other shoe.”

She slid him a look. “That was a good shoe—”

“A great shoe,” he corrected.

She flashed a little smile. “This is the other shoe. The not-great one.”

“Maybe not.”

She cut him a look as Larry began the climb up the slate steps from the docks. “Pretty Pollyanna for a fixer, Jack.”

“I’m not a fixer anymore,” Jack said.

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