Life and Other Inconveniences(131)

Knowing my father, he’d find someone else to pick up his tabs. He’d marry a wealthy woman and keep living his life.

But once, I’d loved him, even if I didn’t really know him. “Take care of yourself.” We looked at each other for a long moment. “I mean it, Dad,” I added.

“You too.” He stepped toward me, and for a second, I thought he would hug me, but he didn’t. “I . . . I hope things work out for you.”

“They will. You should go now.”

He nodded and left the room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door open and close, then the purr of an expensive car engine, and my father was gone.





CHAPTER 40


    Genevieve


I’m in the backyard of Sheerwater, and the grass is so green. The air smells divine, rich with the scent of lilacs and wisteria. The Sound is brilliant and sparkling, the flag waving cheerfully in the breeze. I’m dressed in a green and blue dress, and it flutters around my legs.

I’m waiting for someone . . . but I don’t know who. Something wonderful is going to happen, though. I can feel it.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” Emma says, smiling, and Riley is there, too, looking so lovely. She squeezes my hand.

Then, down by the rock wall, where Garrison and I sit each night, the gate opens of its own volition.

A boy comes running through it, his hair white blond, his arms stretched open, and his eyes . . . his eyes are so blue! He laughs as he runs, runs right toward me, and I drop to my knees as finally, finally, my boy is back. He pulls back and looks at me, his face just as I remembered, and the feeling of him in my arms is everything. Everything.

Then Garrison comes through the gate, so handsome, grinning, striding across the lawn, wearing his linen suit and red tie, and I can tell he was in on the surprise.

“Is this real?” I ask Emma.

“It is, Gigi. It finally is.”

Then Garrison has Sheppard and me both in his strong arms, and I can feel us lifting, lifting away, and the sun is so bright and warm, and finally, finally, I am home.





CHAPTER 41


    Emma


Genevieve died that night just before midnight, with Riley and me holding her hands, and Donelle crying softly at her side. Mac let out a mournful howl, and Minuet put her head on her paws and sighed.

We covered her in a sky-blue cashmere blanket and fixed her hair, crossed her hands. Then I took my daughter in my arms, and we cried for the loss of our Gigi.



* * *




*

A month after she died, we had the memorial service.

It had taken some time, because we wanted to put together a proper tribute . . . and because we wanted Sheppard to be buried with her.

The day after his visit, my father had sent a letter to the Connecticut State Police, detailing what had happened that day, all those years before. My heart actually ached for him, bearing that burden alone for so long. I knew there was no coming back from that kind of accident and subsequent trauma when it happens to a small child who doesn’t tell anyone about it. Tragedy and fear had been carved into my father’s soul, ruining him.

It explained so much, though.

He was in Europe now. No charges would be pressed, but he said he didn’t want to be around. His letter had told the police exactly where he’d pushed Sheppard into the water. Three days later, the bones of my uncle were brought up from under four feet of silt.

An accident. A five-year-old pushed his brother and the brother fell. My poor father. If he had told, what a different life he might have had.

But he hadn’t, and here we were. He didn’t come for the funeral, and I was glad.

The church was standing room only. The Metropolitan Opera, one of the recipients of Genevieve’s generosity over the years, sent a soprano to sing from Verdi’s Requiem. Pop was one of the pallbearers, and so was Miller . . . and so was I.

Riley gave the eulogy, and it was beautiful and funny and moving.

The luncheon was held at Sheerwater, and I think the entire population of Stoningham came. Riley and I had till the end of the week to stay, and then Sotheby’s would come for the art and some furniture, and the bank would evict us. We’d be moving to one of the condos Miller was renovating in the old prison, living just the two of us for the first time ever, because Pop had decided to go back to Downers Grove . . . but only to sell the house and come back east.

“Why would I live a thousand miles away from my girls?” he’d said.

Miller stayed by my side the whole day, and when the last of the guests had left and Riley had gone to bed, we sat in the conservatory and he rubbed my feet.

“You were a good daughter,” he said, and I burst into tears, because in a way, it was true. Genevieve was my mother. And in her last hours, I had been hers.

On our final night in Sheerwater, Riley and I walked the grounds for the last time. Under the wisteria bower, now just vines for the winter, through the patio and the rose garden, past the pool. We went to the two Adirondack chairs where Gigi and Garrison used to sit, and I left a yellow rose on each seat, and one more for Sheppard. It brought a lump to my throat, thinking of them together at last with their son, lost no more.

I put a bouquet of calla lilies on Ashley’s grave—the bank had promised to stipulate that the new owners would have to allow Miller access to that spot forever.