I was not cut out to be a mother, Daphne said. I want to put her up for adoption.

Lock had laughed. He thought Daphne was kidding. We’re not going to do that, he said.

Well, you don’t get a vote, Daphne said, BECAUSE YOU’RE NEVER HOME!

Those days had been hard, but they’d survived. Lock bought the company with Gus MacEvoy’s blessing; Heather grew quickly into a charming little girl—for a while there, her mother’s best friend.

And, Lock told himself, he would survive this summer. The gala would make them enough money to fund all of their programs and initiatives and start an endowment, and he and Claire would be able to get back on track.

Right now, however, the relationship was floundering. Claire blamed him, and to avoid further arguing, he accepted the blame. He apologized; there was little he could do.

What had happened was this: He and Daphne had been eating dinner on their deck. It was hot, so they’d ordered sushi, washing it down with silver gin fizzes. This sounded pleasant in the telling, but Daphne was growing more belligerent and demeaning with each sip of her drink, talking about this person and that person, wondering aloud about the sexual preferences of these near strangers, and then, ultimately, wondering about Lock’s sexual practices with Isabelle French. Rather than engage Daphne in that fight once again, Lock stood up to clear the dishes. And there, ascending the stairs from the front door, was his daughter, Heather. Lock nearly dropped the plates. She had come home.

The Vineyard, Heather said, was crowded and noisy, there was traffic, there wasn’t anything for teenagers to do, and Désirée’s parents never wanted to drive them anywhere because of the traffic, so they sat in the house, bored, and they bickered. Désirée said, If you hate it here so much, why don’t you just go home? So . . . here she was.

Lock hugged her. “You can always come home, sweetie. Your rooms are all ready for you. God, am I glad to see you!” Daphne was still on the deck, possibly carrying on her invective with herself. Lock didn’t want her to see Heather yet; he didn’t want her to ruin it. Heather might leave as suddenly as she’d come. As it was, she would be here for more than four weeks. It was a gift he’d never expected.

It did not sit well with Claire. She was, naturally, happy for Lock, happy that Lock was happy. But Heather’s presence put a limit on when they could see each other. Now, after work, Lock went right home. He and Heather drove to the beach and they swam. Lock was teaching Heather to surf cast; she caught a bluefish on the second night. Heather had to train for field hockey, which would begin as soon as she went back to school, so she rose early and went running, but Lock didn’t like to think of her out on the dirt roads around their house alone—the roads where Daphne had had her accident. So Lock began getting up early and going with her; he needed to lose weight, anyway. He couldn’t meet Claire late at night when he had to get up at six in the morning to go running. He couldn’t meet Claire because he and Heather were surf casting or he and Heather were renting Night at the Museum or he was taking Heather to the Pearl for dinner. Or Heather was at the movies with her friends and from there was going to the Juice Bar for ice cream and from there was going to hang out on the strip. When the hanging out was over (eleven o’clock, her curfew), Lock had to pick her up.

“That’s perfect,” Claire said. “You can stay with me until eleven. Tell Daphne we’re working on the seating chart.”

“Right,” said Lock. “But Heather might need me before eleven. If she wants to go home early.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Claire said.

He had expected her to be more understanding. She had four children; she was a slave to their schedules as much as he was to Heather’s.

“I have to be available for her,” Lock said. He was terrified that Heather would get bored and take off, that she would find fault with him or with Daphne and leave. Claire’s kids were younger; they were not at the point yet where they could use their own wings. But just wait until they do, Lock said. It will throw you for a loop. You will understand, then, where I’m coming from.

Claire said, “I feel like I’ve been replaced.”

“I feel funny doing this when Heather’s on the island,” he said. “She’s always been away—at school, or on the Vineyard. Now that she’s here, I feel worse about it somehow, like I’m betraying her.”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “How dare you say that.”

“What?”

“I have children, too. I have four sweet, adorable children at home, but I don’t throw them down in your path to make you feel guilty, do I? I leave the kids out of it. Heather isn’t any different because she’s yours; she’s not better or more special than my children.”

“I wasn’t saying she was.”

“You were so. You said you felt like you were betraying her. All of the kids are getting betrayed, Lock—I’ve had to live with it since last fall.”

He kissed her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

She pulled away. “You are so hurtful. You are so arrogant. God, it infuriates me.”

He was tempted to let her go. Even a few weeks ago, this would have been unthinkable. He needed Claire; his happiness depended on her. But Heather was his daughter, his only child. Did he have to keep explaining it?

“I’m afraid she’s going to leave,” he said. “I have to do everything humanly possible to keep her here.”