We have to sell this house.
The beat of her sneakers on asphalt steadied Lauren’s nerves. Still, the run over to Nora’s wasn’t something Lauren had thought through very well. It was, after all, Memorial Day weekend. And sure enough, when she arrived, sweaty and anxious, on the doorstep, she found a house overflowing with guests.
Nora clapped in delight to see her. “You came after all!”
Her party. Lauren had completely forgotten.
Taking in Lauren’s running clothes and less-than-festive expression, Nora said, “What’s the matter? Come get a drink. Or, better yet, eat your drink. April made her famous watermelon balls.” Every summer party, Nora’s friend April showed up with vodka-infused fruit.
“I’m good. Thanks. I just need some quiet, so this was probably not the best place—”
“Come on upstairs.”
Across the hall, her friend Henny Boutine waved at her. Lauren raised her hand in response, trying to muster some enthusiasm, then followed Nora to the second floor.
Nora’s room overlooked the bay. Two of her three cats—Nadia, the Russian blue, and Benson, the tabby—had taken up residence on the bed. Both were sprawled out, reveling in the late-day sun streaming through the window. The felines were so large, she had no room to sit without encountering a paw or a sleepy cat’s head.
Above the bed, a wooden sign read CATS WELCOME; PEOPLE TOLERATED.
It was one of Henny’s handmade signs; she displayed them on the walls of Nora’s restaurant and sold them for twenty-five dollars each. It was apparently not much of a moneymaker; she’d decided to list her house on Airbnb for the first time. Henny was nervous about it. All of her friends except Lauren were nervous about it. She figured it was a generational thing. At the book club last month, April said to Henny, “I hope you’re careful. I don’t know how y’all let strangers in your houses.”
April, a widow, was living off the estate of her fifth and final husband. Her hair was silvery blond, her mouth never without matte red lipstick, and her cheeks always powdered. She was a throwback to a time Lauren could scarcely imagine and never would have survived.
“Some of us have to work for a living, Miss America,” Henny had replied. Indeed, April had been a Miss America pageant contestant circa 1964.
Lauren looked out the window. The back deck was packed with people.
“I feel bad keeping you from the party. Go on—I’m fine.”
“The party is fine. You still upset about that guy at the restaurant? I’ll make sure he doesn’t get a table ever again, I’ll tell you that.”
“No. I mean, yeah, I’m freaked out about that.” It unnerved Lauren that he had tracked her down at Nora’s. She felt her privacy had been invaded, the security of her protected island breached. As for the film itself, well, what could the guy possibly have except what the world already knew? She wouldn’t speak to him. Rory’s mother was gone. Who was the guy talking to? Former teammates? Someone from his battalion? She’d been going over and over it in her mind. Would probably still have been obsessing about it if it weren’t for the bombshell her mom had dropped. “But that’s not it. My mother’s selling the house.”
“The Green Gable?”
Lauren nodded, tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe it. I never thought this day would come. Never. My grandparents bought that house in 1965. It’s like, the one thing I have, the one thing I can count on.”
“Hon, you’ve got your parents here. Your sister. You’re surrounded by people who love you. You can count on that.”
It was such a simple sentiment. And she wanted so much to believe it.
Matt told himself he hadn’t lied to Craig when he’d implied that Lauren Kincaid had agreed to be interviewed. In just a day or two, Matt was sure he would be able to turn that into reality.
The important thing was that Craig was excited about the project.
When he returned Matt’s call, he’d said he had just been thinking about him.
“The story stayed with me since we last spoke. I think you’re onto something, but like I said, without talking to the widow, you’re missing a major piece of the puzzle.”
“Yes. But I found her.”
“And she’s willing to talk to you.”
Matt, reaching for the project’s lifeline, said yes. Craig asked if his budget was still the same, and again Matt said yes, this time truthfully.
“All right, I’m in,” Craig said.
Now all Matt had to do was actually get Lauren to talk. For years, Matt had accepted the fact that the Adelmans had closed ranks around Lauren. But last night, in her drunken rambling, Stephanie had revealed that there was a crack in the wall of silence. Lauren was the direct route to finishing this film, and although it had been blocked, there was now a detour that just might work.
Matt grabbed his wallet and rushed out of the house, checking his phone for the time. Wondering how crowded it would be at Robert’s Place on Memorial Day evening.
And then he realized he’d done exactly what Ms. Boutine had warned him not to do: he’d left his keys inside. He turned back and tried the door, though he already knew it would be locked.
“Damn it!” He paced impotently for a few minutes before calling Ms. Boutine. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. It was so loud wherever she was, he could barely hear her response. “I seem to have locked myself out.”