East Hope Read Free Page B

horticulture.” She glanced at her own centerpiece, a bouquet of lush peonies, their heavy blooms bowing toward the mahogany table. “Did you see Barbara’s arrangement?” Marjorie asked Julia, pouring them both more wine. “The worst container you ever saw.” Caroline was supposed to have chaired the daffodil show, but was excused after Harry’s death.
    â€œHow’s Rob doing?” Arthur asked Caroline.
    â€œBetter, thanks.” She made an effort to focus. The wine was going to her head. “It’s hard having him away this year, even though he doesn’t say much when he’s at home.”
    â€œYou don’t look old enough to have a boy in college,” Arthur said.
    The skin of Arthur’s neck was slack and overflowed onto his starched collar. Harry had not lived long enough for his facial muscles to soften. His death at fifty-three had shocked everyone. He had been a lifelong runner, a fit man, not a candidate for a heart attack.
    â€œBoys never talk about their feelings,” Marjorie said.
    â€œWith girls,” Julia said, “you hear more than you ever want to know.” She had three grown daughters.
    Caroline looked at her watch under the table. She didn’t want to share her concerns about Rob with either of these women.
    Julia turned to Marjorie. “Are you and Pete taking the same house in Nantucket this summer?”
    Marjorie dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Just the last two weeks in August. It’s appalling how the rents have gone up.” Her voice sounded thick. She seemed to be drinking more than usual. Caroline took a sip of water.
    Julia nodded consolingly. “We’ve taken the same house as last year. Lucy and her boys will join us for one week.”
    Caroline pushed the potatoes around her plate. It seemed too great an effort to join in the conversation. Eventually Marjorie brought in dessert, a strawberry tart glistening with a currant jelly glaze. Pete put his hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked.
    â€œSorry,” she said. “I’m fine.” The dining room had grown warmer. Wind rattled the windows, but the air inside was still.
    â€œBet we’re going to have a huge thunderstorm,” Arthur said.
    â€œDid you hear what the Petersons paid for that house out in Potomac?” Julia said.
    â€œJust where does he get his money, anyway?” Marjorie asked. She filled her wineglass once again. “People are saying his company has hit hard times.”
    The evening continued to play out like a drawing room drama in which Caroline had a small role. She was the odd guest, the one who didn’t fit in. Arthur and Julia balanced each other, their repartee easy and expected, finishing each other’s sentences and offering affectionate smiles at appropriate moments. They were the couple dancing cheek-to-cheek, a two-step. Pete and Marjorie artfully avoided each other, performing a formal minuet. Caroline thought back to earlier exchanges that evening, trying to remember any shared glances between them, even a brief touch. She could recall none. Had she and Harry become like that? Her memories of Harry had clouded.
    After dinner they moved to the living room for coffee. The storm finally broke. Quick flashes of lightning yielded to deep, rolling booms of thunder. Beyond the heavy folds of the curtains rain beat against the windows.
    â€œPete, go check the thermostat,” Marjorie said. “The air-conditioning hasn’t clicked on in a while.” Her face was flushed. The beautifully orchestrated dinner was taking its toll. Pete looked annoyed and disappeared into the hallway.
    Arthur shook his head. “I can’t believe it got hot this early in the season.”
    â€œIt won’t last,” Julia said. She turned to Marjorie. “This is decaf, isn’t it?”
    â€œOf course, Julia.” The central air-conditioning clicked on with a