“Just means you must feel at home,” Lisbeth said.
“And you’ve been working so hard and pouring your heart into this house,” Mary Stanton said.
“It’s been a busy time.” Caroline nodded. “And there’s a lot more to do.”
“And you like it up here, too, Ben?” Henry asked. “You don’t miss the city?”
“Sometimes.” He thought back to New York: drinking coffee on marble steps while reading the paper, lowering Charlie’s feet into fountains, drinking beer with friends on rooftops. His memory of the city was frozen in spring and sunlight. “That life seems like a long time gone.”
“That’s ’cause this is where you belong,” Lisbeth said. “Place wasn’t right without any Lowells.” She turned to the chief. “Isn’t that right, Bill?”
“Lisbeth has it right. The village is small and gets smaller all the time. We’ve lost a lot of good people, and it’s a nice change to have some of them come back. And it’s good to have a family at the Crofts again.”
“And doing so right by it,” Mary said. “How you turned this old place into something like from out of a magazine, I’ll never know.”
“We’re so pleased you like it,” Caroline said. “It means a lot to hear it from you. Ben’s been reading up on the history of the place, so we know it’s important to the village.”
“Not writing a book on us, I hope,” Henry said.
“From the moment I saw this place, I knew it had a story,” Ben said. This was a chance for him to change the subject, put his guests more at ease, and possibly even stop lying to them for a minute. “Actually, Chief, you were there. Remember? We were at the old Lowell farm, and Hank Seward called the station on us for the first time.”
“That grass-eater,” Henry said.
“Then you told me the place between the mountains was for sale.”
“Did I?” the chief asked.
“You did. You’re the reason we’re all here,” Ben said. He raised his glass.
“Oh, you don’t need to.” The chief held up a hand. Ben toasted him anyway, and the rest of the table joined him.
—
After they’d finished their meal, Ben led the guests into the library. This wasn’t a room Ben had spent much time in, but the new couches made it a comfortable place. He had bottles of port, sambuca, and brandy waiting, and he offered glasses to everyone. The fire here had burned down to embers, and he threw another log on.
“Do you think Caroline needs any help with the dishes?” Mary Stanton asked from the couch. “I feel like a heel, living it up in here while she’s in the kitchen.” She gave Ben a nervous smile that showed her incisors.
“She’s just clearing the table for dessert,” Ben said. “And don’t worry about it; you’re our guest.” He filled her glass with sambuca. “I’m going to check on the coffee. I’ll be right back.”
“I thought they’d eat more,” Caroline said when he got to the kitchen. There were mountains of leftovers on the counter, but Caroline always made too much.
“But they definitely liked it. Everything was fantastic.” He began slotting glasses into the dishwasher.
“Well, I hope they brought their appetite for this,” Caroline said. She opened a cabinet to reveal the dessert: a huge two-tiered cake iced with dark chocolate. Its sides were decorated with a pattern made from gold leaf.
“Each tier is three layers. White cake with whipped ganache filling,” Caroline said. “I made it for you.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
She’d outdone herself with this one. Even among the spectacular cakes she’d made for his birthdays, this was a standout. He remembered how he used to look at those birthday cakes and feel the time and love that had gone into their perfection.
“I’m so sorry about Hudson, Ben. I really am.”
He turned to Caroline and saw her eyes brimming with tears. There was a time not long ago when this would have filled him with sympathy, but now he felt something closer to disgust.
“You didn’t have to bake me a cake,” Ben said. He turned away from her and the dessert. Why she thought this was a good time to mention Hudson, he had no idea. “Do you want me to make the coffee?”
“I almost forgot,” she said.
“I’ll take care of it.” He wanted a few minutes to himself. He was so tired of pretending. “Have some port and sit by the fire. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
While Ben’s hands were busy with the coffee brewer, he felt Caroline watching him from the doorway. A moment later he felt her lips on his cheek. Months ago, his heart would have hummed at such spontaneous affection, but it was not that kind of kiss. Long after her footsteps faded down the hall, the feel of her mouth lingered alongside his, sitting there like an exhausted goodbye.
—
Ben picked at the cake as he emptied tumbler after tumbler of brandy. This evening could not end soon enough. His thoughts had turned as dark as his mood.
“The Swanns didn’t drink, you know,” Henry said.
“I’d heard that,” Caroline said.
“It must be about two years,” Ben said.
They turned to him.
“Since the Swann sisters died,” he said.
“Shame the aunties couldn’t see the place like this,” Lisbeth said. “Doubt it looked this fine even when they were children.” She shook her head. “There were times when the wind was howling that I was afraid the roof would fall in on them while they slept. But two nicer ladies you couldn’t find.”
“Everyone has very nice things to say about them,” Caroline said. “Jake told us how they died. Such a tragic accident.”
“It was their time,” Mary said.
“And we can’t go around second-guessing God’s plan,” the chief said. “Isn’t that right, Father?”