The Winters(28)

“April, I think. Her and Dorian go once the snow melts.”

We followed him down the long hallway past the horse heads bobbing in the dim light and stopped in front of the last stall. There, Louisa introduced me to Isabel, a penny-colored mare with a crooked white diamond between her eyes. When I nervously attempted to touch it, she flinched with a whinny, returning her nose to Louisa’s hand.

“Don’t take it personally,” Louisa said, caressing Isabel’s neck with assertive strokes. “She’s like that with everyone. She was Rebekah’s favorite. You can’t be nervous with these animals. If they sense any weakness they won’t trust you to handle them.”

While Gus cleaned the stall and Louisa cooed loving words into Isabel’s ear, I wandered into the tack room next door. I let my hand caress several worn saddles astride a rough-hewn rack and thought about why the news of Dani’s adoption unsettled me. Of course it made no conceivable difference to my feelings for Max, but it might have prompted an important conversation between two people poised to spend their lives together, who might perhaps have children. I would have asked, for instance, if Max and Rebekah had adopted because of medical reasons or simply because they wanted to. And what if Dani’s problems stemmed from mental illness? Surely information about her birth parents might help with a diagnosis and my ability to parent her. I was entitled to know these things.

Louisa joined me in the tack room, guessing at what preoccupied me.

“Look, I don’t know how Max would forget something like this,” she said. “It’s not some deep, dark family secret.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “It’s just a reminder, I guess, that we haven’t really known each other very long.”

We left the barn without saying goodbye to Gus and headed to the boathouse, built with the same gray stones and brown fish-scale siding as Asherley. A large balcony cantilevered over the bay, below which were two slips poking out from under heavy doors, like a cat stretching its front legs into the water.

I was surprised to find that the air was colder inside than out, our breath escaping in small, white bursts. Louisa flicked a switch and turned on the ground lights that lit the room’s perimeter, giving the cavernous A-frame the feel of an abandoned lodge. There was a small, well-equipped gym behind a glass wall on a riser, along with a pool table and a well-worn leather sectional facing a walk-in fireplace big enough to heat the entire space. We were eye level to what looked like a fifty-foot sea carcass, wrapped in a tarp and suspended above the larger slip.

“What sort of boat is this?” I asked, tracing my hand along its covered hull with more confidence than I’d handled the horse.

“To me it’s just ‘big.’”

By its shape, I thought it could be a Dufour or perhaps an Odyssey. I loosened the tarp where it puckered at the transom to reveal the name: Winter’s Girl.

“I believe this was the last thing Rebekah gave to Max before she died,” Louisa said.

“Great name for a boat,” I said, feeling tired suddenly.

“Yes, Rebekah was the cleverest thing.”

Suspended a few feet above the other bay was a smaller antique speedboat, sleek and wood-hulled, with what looked to be a newer motor. I recognized the model from its low-slung aft, like an empty hot tub, padded in robin’s-egg-blue vinyl.

“Is this an Aquarama?” I asked, grasping its Bakelite wheel, thick and cold and pleasing to the touch.

“Good eye. Yes, one of the smaller models. My grandfather bought it new but never named it. I had always hoped Dani would claim it.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, caressing the aged, puckered varnish.

“Yes,” she said, “yet another thing at Asherley that could use a little TLC. You got here just in time.”

Louisa suggested we make our way back to the house, leaving the rest of the beach for a less blustery day. The air felt tinged with an unease I could not name. I reminded myself, again, that Max and I had only known each other for just over a month. Gaps in information were to be expected. Dani’s adoption would have eventually come out in conversation. It’s not like I’d had a list of questions for Max, ticking them off one by one until I was satisfied enough to make this leap. That’s the thrill of whirlwind romances: not knowing exactly where you’ll land once the storm subsides.





ELEVEN


It was almost lunch by the time we returned to the house. Louisa led me through a wing I hadn’t toured yet, knowing we’d find Max and Jonah, and now Elias, holed up in the study. It was a man’s room, designed by a man, no doubt, and for men. The brown paneling extended across the ceiling, and the walls were embedded with hundreds of books, leather-bound, their titles etched in gold. We entered quietly, so as not to interrupt Elias, who was talking about Max’s reelection campaign the coming fall. Max had mentioned to me the possibility of another run, but little about what that entailed. Louisa took the armchair next to Jonah, while Max extended his arm, beckoning me over to the couch where he held court. Walking across the oceanic rug to take my spot next to him, I was filled with a self-conscious pride that was both female and unfamiliar.

“Do I have realistic competition?” Max asked Elias.

“Yes, but this time you have a machine behind you. And your numbers are good. Plus, now that you don’t have to win a primary, campaigning should be cheaper, but we’ll still have to cash in some bonds, unless you get over your aversion to fund-raising.”