The Last September: A Novel

I wondered where Daniel kept his wedding photos and imagined what that day would have been like: here at the beach house, Sylvia looking like a photo out of Town & Country, Daniel looking wholly adoring. Somewhere, there must have been a picture. I strode past the many drawers where Sarah had already made her discoveries and went into his study, opening the door very carefully, even though I knew he wasn’t home. I found three different pictures of Sylvia in his desk, but none of them were wedding photos.

I headed down the hall, the part of the house I’d never visited. His bedroom smelled of expensive soap, and old wood, and the musty scent that clung to all Cape houses, especially the ones by the water. On the floor lay a worn blue rug with swirly white flowers. I imagined Sylvia picking out the furniture—good oak dresser and nightstands, a blue bureau that looked so heavy you might have to chop it into firewood before ever trying to move it again. My eyes searched all the surfaces as I walked into the bathroom. I should have known there wouldn’t be a picture in plain view. Hadn’t he told me that he didn’t like her face to take him by surprise? He needed to prepare himself before seeing her again. He needed to take a deep breath, decide which image of her he most wanted to see, and deliberately go to the place he’d stashed it.

I went back to the bedroom and started opening drawers. Both bureaus—I slid open drawer after drawer, each one relinquishing itself without so much as a squeak or whoosh, each one containing neatly stacked and folded clothing. Between the two windows that looked out onto the ocean sat a beautiful antique secretary. It had the good manners to protest with age as I opened the front, but everything was as neatly arranged as the drawers had been. Letter openers and rolls of stamps. Envelopes and stationery plus a small pile of yellow legal pads. I closed the front and knelt, opening the drawers to the desk, finding nothing but files and papers.

Who knows how long Daniel stood in the doorway, watching me root through his things? He hadn’t made a sound entering the house or coming down the hall. And he didn’t make a sound now, not even when I finally closed the last drawer and got to my feet. It was me who made noise, when I saw him, an intake of breath so sharp it sounded like a little shriek.

Daniel wore khakis and a polo shirt. Maybe he had gone for a haircut, it looked particularly neat and boyish. His face, watching me gravely, looked impassive enough that the only thing I could do was tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling my face turn bright red. “I was looking for a wedding picture.”

He stood silent a moment, then walked over to the heavy blue dresser. The drawer he chose was cracked just the tiniest bit open from my earlier invasion. It bulged with polo shirts, different colors. Daniel reached under the clothes and pulled out an eight-by-ten-inch silver frame. Then he stood, holding it to his chest. I walked over to the bed and perched on the edge. He sat next to me and lowered the photo into my hands.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

“This is the first picture I’ve seen of you two together.”

“Well. She was the main attraction.” Daniel reached across my lap. He let his fingers graze Sylvia’s face, which smiled underneath an antique veil. On my wedding day, I hadn’t worn a veil, just a white sheath dress, my hair down. Casual compared to these two—despite their youth, with a formality that belonged to another age, a hundred years ago instead of forty. Daniel’s hair was fairer than I would have thought, less like Ladd’s. In his twenties, he hadn’t looked like his nephew but insistently like himself. Handsome, I thought. He drew his hand away from the photo, as if he’d heard the word in my head.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “You’ve been so kind to me, and this is what I do.”

“No,” Daniel said. “It’s all right. You can’t be expected to behave normally. I understand. We’ve both lost something, you and I.”

Outside, a car rumbled up over the driveway. We heard a door slam shut, and I stood. Too early for Rebecca to be coming back with Sarah. It could be Ladd, and he could be coming into the house, and I didn’t want him to find me sitting here on the bed with his uncle.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” Daniel said. “And it may take a long while. But it will be better one day. I promise.”