The house felt enormous and empty. Even the sound of Bear barking for his dinner couldn’t fill the void that the kids and Whit left. There were days when the twins were little that Liza would dream about a moment like this: alone in her own house for weeks. She would have settled for a few hours.

But between Whit’s nonstop travel, the constant coming and going of the kids and their playmates, the breakneck activity schedule, the household help in and out, and the ever-present contractors or painters or drywallers, Liza barely managed a few hours alone, never mind weeks. But this was not how she thought it would feel when she daydreamed. She thought she would feel satisfied, at ease. Instead, she was exhausted, anxious, lonely, and, yes, hostile. She was the entire Signs of Grief list in one human being.

“Come on, Bear. Let’s get you supper.”

Please don’t die, Bear, Liza thought, looking at the sweet old boy. That would be the end of me.

Gray Cunningham. Goddamn Gray Cunningham. He had ripped her confidence to shreds at twenty-one. It seemed so stupid now that she put so much time and energy into a guy who used her and treated her like an accessory, helpful to have around to deflect trouble but easily forgotten if he wanted to get high with his buddies, none of whom were really his buddies, just guys in it for Gray’s stash. It blew Liza’s mind to think that she was only five years older than Vivi when she had fallen for Gray one night at that old bar Sidetracks, the only place where her fake ID fooled the guy at the door. Or maybe it was the extra-big smile she’d employ. She’d spotted Gray throwing darts in the corner, surrounded by people laughing at his jokes, and that was it. Long before, they’d seen each other at tennis tournaments or country club dances, but Gray, a few years older, had headed to prep school, failing from one to another, and disappeared from the proper Southport social scenes.

That night, Gray had told Liza that he was “between educational institutions” and Liza thought it was the funniest line she’d ever heard.

Over the next four years of a volatile romance, Gray used that line a

hundred times on different people, mainly his clientele and the occasional mother. Somehow, he got a laugh every time.

But not from William Sweeney. Her father had never fallen for Gray, never shared a beer and a joke with him. Liza flashed back to the scene at three in the morning in the driveway at Willow Lane, the worst night of her life. Liza and Gray pulling up on his motorcycle and her father storming out of the house with a baseball bat. Gray didn’t yield at all to Bill Sweeney and that enraged her father. Both men had had too much to drink. Both men had enormous egos. And both men felt they had a claim on Liza. It was lucky no one got hurt or worse. The sight of Maeve, so sick and thin she could barely walk, standing in the doorway in her nightgown, pleading for them to stop fighting was the image Liza still couldn’t get out of her head. She’d never gotten over the guilt.

Maeve had stopped Bill Sweeney from killing Gray Cunningham. Such an old-fashioned territorial and pointless scene, father versus boyfriend, but it sent Gray packing. And Liza married Whit for what? Penance?

Liza poured herself a glass of white wine and rummaged through the fridge for some food. She grabbed some olives, cheese, and prosciutto that still looked edible. She sliced some apples and made herself a plate. She always joked with Whit that she really wasn’t an entrée person, preferring three square meals a day of hors d’oeuvres. But Whit liked a plate of meat and potatoes, so that’s what she had cooked for years. Well, now I can eat olives all day long, she thought. One upside to being alone.

She thought of something else, too. I could sleep with Gray if I wanted.

Nothing’s stopping me. Whit had all but asked for permission on his end; why should the rules be any different for her?

It was too quiet here. Liza picked up her phone and sent a text.

Chapter 17

“You’re up late.”

Tricia looked up from her laptop as Maggie, covered in paint, came into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. “So are you.”

“Where’s the hot librarian? I saw you two headed off for a sail. The old

‘trapped in a boat’ scenario. Very clever. I thought for sure you’d be in the boathouse doing some late-night archiving.” Maggie was delighted with herself.

“Just stop. He’d never sailed before and tonight I realized how much I miss it. It’s relaxing, being out on the water. That’s all it was.” That wasn’t all it was, but Tricia wanted to keep the details to herself for a while longer.

Raj’s nervousness that turned to laughter and joy. Her own confidence with the tiller in hand. Catching Raj staring at her while she washed the salt off the sails and the rudder after putting the boat away. Then Raj asking her to dinner tomorrow night at her favorite place and nodding seriously when she said yes and then saying, “Good. Very good. Tomorrow night, then.”

Maggie didn’t deserve those details quite yet, so Tricia repeated to Maggie,

“A short sail. That’s all it was.”

“That is not true. I’ve seen him look at you. He’s very handsome. I’m just saying, you could stand to cut loose a little.”

“I’m not you, Mags. Cutting loose is not my thing.”

“One day, you’re going to discover the joy of not being so goal-oriented.

At the party on the Fourth, I’m going to dress you up in one of my sundresses and you’ll be halfway there. Loose, flowing, sending out those good vibes to Raj.”

Tricia laughed. “I wish it was that simple. Put on a magic dress, change your personality.”

“It works for me!” Maggie handed Tricia a beer. “You had it rough, Trish.”

They weren’t talking about boys and boats now. “I’m not even over missing Mom. And now I have to add in missing Dad, too?”

“I was thinking about Mom all day. Being in her studio, it’s like her ghost is there inspiring me. I know you don’t believe in all that woo-woo stuff, but I feel like she had all these things to say still and didn’t get the chance.”

“I believe that Mom sacrificed her career for us. It’s the ghosts I don’t really believe in.”

“She was so amazing and we never appreciated it. Why were we so awful to her? Remember that time Mom told us she was taking us to a surprise concert and we were so excited because we thought it was the Spice World tour and it turned out to be an acoustic Ani DiFranco show and we were such assholes the entire night?”

“You and Liza were assholes. I was ten. I was happy to be included in the big night out. I had no idea what was happening at the concert.”

Maggie took a sip of beer. “Why do you think he did it, Tricia?”

“What, hide the manuscript or die suddenly?”

“Sleep with Birdie Tucker. I can’t stop thinking about the why. I mean, I know why, but why?”

“Ego. Both his enormous public ego and his fragile private ego. He spent his whole life answering to both those extremes.”

“Maybe. I’ve been wondering if it was something else. Like a sticking-it-to-the-Man kinda thing. And by the Man, I mean those WASPs. I’ve been rereading Never Not Nothing and Dad did not like those super-preppy types.

Those were not his people. Other than Cap, there’s a lot of hostility toward the ruling class from the poor Irish kid from Hamden. Maybe Birdie Tucker was some sort of revenge relationship.”

“Wow! You have a theory and literary supporting evidence. You’re halfway to a master’s.”

“That’s what I need, a career change and student debt. Are you mocking me?”

“No. I assumed it was all about wanting something that minute and not being willing to wait. But you have a point. Sometimes I would see that underlying mistrust when he talked to Whit. It was more than a personal

issue. It was about class and background. You know, like how he liked Whit, but didn’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust Whit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s spending the entire summer in North Carolina? No wife, no kids, no Bear. Leaving Liza alone weeks after her dad dies. Now he’s going to Maine for the Fourth by himself? I don’t feel good about it. To me, Whit has classic narcissistic personality disorder.”

“Did they teach you about that at yoga school?”

“That’s not what yoga teacher training is about. I took an online psychology course at UCLA when I was with Darren because I wanted to know why he cheated on me all the time. Why he thought an open relationship was a super idea for him, but not for me. And it’s because he’s a narcissist. Lack of empathy, needs attention, above the rules, exaggerating talents. Doesn’t that sound like Whit?”

“Not at all. It totally sounds like Darren, but not Whit. Whit is a pretty straight shooter. Isn’t that kind of the problem? Super predictable. He didn’t even like his name in the local paper. Liza told me he stopped coming to art openings because he didn’t like the publicity. He may not be the guy for you, Maggie, but he was decent to Dad, he loves his kids, and he and Liza have made their relationship work.”