Eight Hundred Grapes (17)

“I see what you’re doing. Don’t try to guess which one I am,” he said.

“Any other players I need to know for your story?”

“Just Daisy,” he said. Then he sighed, Finn actually sighed out loud. “Daisy is this woman that Jesse met when he was really young. Daisy. And he loved her since he was very young. But he’s a guy. And guys are stupid. Sixteen-year-old guys are so stupid they don’t know yet what stupid even means. So he decided he shouldn’t have anything to do with her. He met someone else . . . Lana.”

“Bobby is cheating on Margaret?”

“How did you get there?”

“It’s obvious.”

“Except you’re wrong.” He looked at me. “I’m Jesse. Bobby is Mark.”

“And who is Lana?”

“Lana is Annabelle Lawrence.”

I looked at him, confused. Annabelle Lawrence was a girl that Finn had dated in high school. She was short, with tons of freckles and a big laugh, the kind of laugh that made you want to be around her all the time. I cried when Finn broke up with her. And I remembered what he’d said. He’d said there were going to be many Annabelles. He hadn’t been kidding.

Finn picked up his fork, taking two big bites in quick succession. “I can’t help how I feel and I can’t do anything about it. And that’s not new.”

“What is?”

“She has feelings for me too.”

Which was when I knew what he was saying. I knew the people who were in love here and who were being kept apart. “Margaret.”

He nodded. “Margaret. Me and Margaret.”

My heart dropped. How had I not known this? How had it not occurred to me, ever? The summer before Bobby and Margaret had started dating, she had been at the house all the time. She and Finn had been lifeguards together at the Ives pool. She had been Finn’s friend first, before she was Bobby’s wife.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Finn, are you sleeping with her?”

Finn shook his head. “That’s your question?”

“Hey.”

We looked up, the sound of a voice shocking us. It was Bobby, standing in the kitchen doorway. Bobby, who, if he’d heard the end of our conversation, certainly seemed to have no idea it was about him.

He walked in, an overnight bag in his hand.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Lasagna!”

He made a beeline for the table, not even dropping his bag as he reached for a bite. Finn leaned back, not fighting him.

It seemed fair: Something was going on between Margaret and Finn. Bobby should have as much of the lasagna as he wanted.

“What are you doing here?” Finn said.

Finn’s tone was less than welcoming.

“Mom called for reinforcements,” he said, slightly taken aback. “You too?”

“Yep,” he said.

I looked up at Bobby. “So you know about Mom and Dad too?”

Bobby nodded, took another bite. “It’s my second lasagna this week.”

This was when Margaret walked in, a twin on each hip, Peter and Josh Ford, dressed in matching firefighter uniforms complete with enormous red pants, suspenders, and fireman hats. Margaret was that way: five foot ten, long, blond hair, beautiful. And able to carry matching five-year-old firefighters on each hip and make it look easy.

Margaret forced a smile. “If someone’s drinking already, I want in,” she said.

She moved toward the counter, coming over and giving me a kiss. “Say hello to your awesome aunt!” she said, shoving the twins in my direction.

The twins reached in for a hug, their fireman hardhats falling off. They were the hardest part of not living near home, these little versions of their father: blond curls, strong smiles, adorable little boys. I loved them from five hundred miles away, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them more often than that, and I felt it when I squeezed them, thinking how that five hundred miles was about to get exponentially larger.

I wrapped my arms around the twins, nuzzling into them. “What are you guys wearing?”

“We’re firefighters,” Josh said.

Margaret touched the top of Josh’s head. “A fireman came to the boys’ kindergarten to do a presentation,” she said. “It’s their chosen career path for the week.”

Peter looked at her with disdain. “You mean, forever.”

Margaret touched his cheek. “Yes, love, I mean forever.”

I nodded, letting them know that I believed them. But they were already squirming away, starting their fire truck engines and running out the back door to the vineyard to play, to get the kind of love only my mom could provide for them.

“I guess I should go too,” Margaret said. “We’ll catch up later?”

I nodded. “Sounds good, Margaret.”

It did not sound good.

She looked over at Finn. “Hey, Finn,” she said.

Finn looked up, right at her, but only after she looked away. “Hey,” he said.

And it was impossible to ignore what was between them—like it was taking everything they had to avoid looking at each other at the same time.

The room was silent. Margaret followed the twins outside. Bobby moved toward the doorway awkwardly, standing there, biting his nails.