He’d never struck me before and he took an abrupt step back, as if he’d surprised himself. “You should be careful,” he warned, his voice steely soft. “You’ve always had too much of your mother in you. Too silly and sentimental for your own good. I suggest that in the future, you try to be more malleable. It’s spared your sister no end of heartache.”
“Is it silly to want to love the man I marry?”
“What you want is of no consequence to me. You have a duty to this family, and you’ll do it if you know what’s good for you. End of discussion.”
Only it wasn’t the end. Suddenly I blurted the question I’d always wanted to ask. “Is that the only reason you married Mother? Out of duty?”
I knew I was on dangerous ground, but I couldn’t help myself. For a moment, his eyes softened and slipped from mine, refocusing on the far end of the table, where my mother used to sit. But the softness vanished as abruptly as it had come, replaced by something ominous and rigid.
“You are never to speak of your mother to me again, do you understand? Not ever.” He brushed the toast crumbs from his vest front and cleared his throat. “As for the other business, it’s been decided. Your future in-laws are planning a dinner for the two of you next week. There will be no headaches, no scenes, no theatrics of any kind. You will be attentive and charming and keep his featherbrained mother entertained while her husband and I see to a bit of business. I don’t want to have to persuade you, but I will if you push me. Are we clear?”
I stared at him, stunned. That’s what my life was to him, my future. Business. There were a hundred things I longed to throw back at him. Instead, I nodded and looked away.
“I’m head of this house,” he continued, his tone milder, almost magnanimous: a man who knew he’d won. “We each have a role to play in this family. Yours is to marry the man I choose for you, and I’ve chosen Teddy. He’s made of the right stuff. Your children will be made of the right stuff.”
I was about to protest when Cee-Cee caught my eye, sending a silent warning. I bit my lip and said nothing, fuming as my father turned and walked out of the room.
When we were alone, Cee-Cee reached for the coffeepot, refilled her cup, and dropped in two cubes of sugar. “There now,” she said, stirring absently. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
I smothered a groan, her superior tone almost more than I could bear. “Do you never get tired of taking his side?”
“It’s the only side to take in this house. I’d have thought you’d understand that by now.”
“I won’t end up like you, a marionette who jumps every time Father pulls your strings.”
Cee-Cee sipped her coffee with infuriating nonchalance, then carefully set the cup back in its saucer. “I fear you’re in for a rude awakening, sister dear. You’ll end up exactly like me. You heard him. What you want doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you can do for him. You think you understand what’s happening here, that it’s about money and real estate—Father’s empire—but it’s bigger than that. And you need to watch your step.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?”
She shrugged off the question as she casually slathered a piece of toast with marmalade. “He was right, you know. You are just like her. And you’ll end up just like her if you’re not careful. Why keep bringing her up when you know he doesn’t want to hear it?”
“It’s as if he’s trying to pretend she never existed. To erase her. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“What do you expect him to do? Keep resurrecting her? Pretend she didn’t bring shame on this family with her histrionics?”
“She was sick!”
Cee-Cee rolled her eyes as she tossed the remnants of her toast onto her plate. “How can you be so naive? There’s a way things work in the real world. A harsh way, perhaps, but once you accept it, things get . . . easier. That’s what Father meant when he used the word malleable. Accepting the way things work.”
“What things?”
“Everything in life has a pecking order. The strong go to the head of the line, while the weak must give way. Helene was weak.”
Her response, so blank and cool, sickened me. “You call her Helene. Like she was some stranger who used to live in our house? She was our mother.”
Cee-Cee huffs and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Honestly, you never learn. Families like ours have a duty to future generations, to preserve our way of life, who we are, what we’ve built. Father has a plan for us. For all of us.”
“And if I choose not to be part of his plan?”
“Haven’t you been listening? There is no choosing. We’re pieces on a chessboard, you and I. Nothing more. He’ll move us wherever and however he likes, and he won’t stop until he has all the pieces.” She pushed back from the table and stood, then hesitated, pinning me with a frosty glare. “You should also know that on occasion, a few pieces have gone missing. Troublesome pieces that didn’t matter much to anyone. Don’t ever think he won’t do it to you.”
She walked out then, leaving me to ponder her warning.
A month later, I met you at the St. Regis. You with your slick smile and rented evening clothes. Even then, you were judging me, wondering how in God’s name I’d let it happen.
I was wondering too.
NINE
ASHLYN
To lose oneself in the pages of a book is often to find oneself.
—Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books
October 7, 1984
Rye, New Hampshire
Ashlyn slowed the car and turned onto Harbor Road, a narrow stretch of gravel and crushed oyster shells, curving toward the open harbor. There was a small wooden bridge and beyond, a scattering of rooftops, one of which belonged to Ethan Hillard.
She proceeded over the bridge, past a couple on matching bikes, and began looking for house numbers. The road went farther than she thought, winding along the rock-lined shore for more than a mile. The houses were all on her right and varied in size and style, all sharing an absolutely stunning view of the harbor.
Ashlyn tried to imagine waking up to that glorious vista each morning. Blue sky, silvered sea, the flash of sun on bright white wings. How different the world must look to those who woke to such things. How lovely and clean. How easy.
Suddenly she felt out of place, a trespasser in this idyllic seaside community, and she considered turning around. She’d heard nothing from Ethan since her last phone message a week ago. What did she hope to accomplish by ambushing him at his home? Then again, what did she have to lose?
She had just rounded a deep bend when she spotted a mailbox with the number 58 on the side. She let her foot off the gas, hesitating briefly before pulling into the drive.