Page 22 of Winter Sun

“You have to stop saying that,” he said simply. There was no malice in his voice.

“Oh, honey. It’s true,” Agatha said, her voice cracking. “Your father would be doubled over with pride! You know how much he loved movies.”

“I know how much he liked screaming at me after drinking an entire bottle of whiskey,” Norm offered. “In hindsight, it was a wonderful performance. He should have had a full stage.”

Katrina’s stomach dropped. She stared into her champagne, watching the bubbles trace their paths to the top.

“Your father gave you everything,” Agatha rasped. She clutched her mojito with her claw-like hands. “And if he needed to have a drink every now and again…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Norm said. “I’ve been through too much therapy and too many rounds of rehab to sit here and listen to this.”

“Therapy?” Agatha gasped.

Katrina placed her hands over her face. Terror rocketed through her.

“Yes, Mom. Therapy. Heard of it? I think you could use a few thousand rounds of therapy yourself,” Norm said. He burst to his feet and reached for his coat.

“Norm!” Katrina cried. “Don’t go.”

Norm glared down at Katrina with even more vitriol than he’d shown their mother.

“We don’t have to talk like this,” Katrina begged. “Come on. We were having such a nice time.”

Norm stuttered. “Why the heck are you so bent on forgiving them, Katrina? Come on. You were there, too.”

And with that, Norm turned on his heel and sped out of the hotel restaurant into the swirling city night. Agatha remained in stunned silence, gripping her mojito, eyes glazed. Katrina bit her tongue to avoid bursting into tears.

Chapter Eleven

Katrina and Agatha drove home from New York City without speaking. Agatha’s eyes were stormy, and she angrily put lotion on her hands, snapping her palms and the tops of her fingers. Katrina gripped the steering wheel with white fingers, her head awash with everything Norm told her during their brief trip to the city. That he’d confessed he’d gone to rehab, he’d told her to get Sophie help, and that he’d insinuated Katrina was a coward because she’d decided to remain in their mother and father’s lives rather than abandon them. “Why the heck are you so bent on forgiving them, Katrina?” The words had felt like a slap to the face.

Katrina dropped Agatha off at the Whittaker family home. Katrina carried Agatha’s suitcase inside and put it on the foyer floor. Agatha passed wordlessly into the kitchen. A moment later came the sound of the kettle on the stovetop. Katrina waited for a minute, expecting Agatha to return and invite her to stay for tea. She didn’t. Katrina rubbed her temples and left. All she wanted in the world was to drop into bed and sleep till tomorrow. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to tell Grant what had happened. Maybe she could pretend it had all been a dream.

But when Katrina got home, she found a mysterious Toyota in the driveway. She parked next to it, got out, and traced a path around it, peering into the tinted windows to try to make out who it belonged to. Nobody she knew drove this sort of car. Did Grant have someone visiting? They hadn’t spoken at all last night. Katrina hadn’t told him they were coming home early.

A horrible thought shot through her. What if Grant had taken Katrina’s trip as an opportunity to have a sordid affair?

But just as quickly as the thought sprang, Katrina killed it. If she could trust one thing in the world, it was Grant’s love for her.

Katrina walked to the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked. As quietly as she could, she slipped into the foyer, perking her ears up to hear a conversation from three rooms away. There seemed to be four voices. No, five. One of them was Grant, another was Ida, and then she heard Rick, Ida’s husband. But who were the other two?

And then, the sound of Sophie’s laughter swelled through the house. Katrina’s heart stopped beating. She touched the wall to balance herself. It had been ages since she’d heard that laugh, even longer since she’d actually recognized good humor and happiness in that sound. Even last Christmas, Sophie’s laughter had sounded tragic. Sophie had seemed half blacked out at the time.

Katrina tiptoed to the kitchen. All of the hairs on her arms stood up straight.

“I couldn’t believe when he got down on one knee,” Sophie was saying. “I was like, ‘Jared! Get back up!’”

“She really thought I was joking,” Jared said.

Katrina stopped short, her eyes widening. Jared! Jared was Sophie’s high school boyfriend, a handsome and intellectual young man with whom Sophie had always attended prom and beach parties. Because Katrina hadn’t seen him since Sophie’s high school graduation, she’d assumed they were broken up.She’d mourned the loss of that relationship far more than she should have. After all, Katrina had seen Jared as Sophie’s final link to Nantucket Island, future children, and a life she could be proud of.

Katrina had assumed, too, that Sophie had broken up with Jared to allow herself the freedom of partying and dating other men.

Was it possible Sophie was far healthier than Katrina thought? Was it possible she’d been incorrect about the severity of Sophie’s addiction?

Light flooded through Katrina’s chest. For the first time since last night at the hotel in Manhattan, she smiled. And then, she stepped into the kitchen to find her beautiful, clear-eyed Sophie holding hands with Jared, who was even more handsome than he’d been two years ago. His jawline was sharper and wider, his hair was curlier, and he’d developed biceps and muscular shoulders.

Already, Katrina was imagining the babies they would have. She couldn’t help it.

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