The House of Dreams (41 page)

 

FIFTY-SIX

F
LYING
P
OINT
, L
ONG
I
SLAND

2000

S
OPHIE

An old red truck pulls up in front of the beach house, and Marv clambers out. “Hey, Tommy,” he says.

“Hey, Marv, how are you doing?” Tom lifts the last of the boxes into the back of the station wagon. “Who's this?” He squints his eyes in the sunlight.

“Pleased to meet you.” Sophie steps forward and offers her his hand. “I think you're expecting me? Sophie Cass.”

“This is Tom Lambert, Gabe's eldest,” Marv says. “This here's the girl Gabe's been talking to himself about for the last few weeks.”

“I know who you are,” Tom says. “We tried to cancel a hundred times, but you wouldn't listen. When your mother rang, the only reason I agreed to see you was to tell you face-to-face. Gabe doesn't need this. Dad is … well, he's not been well for some time, but the last few days he's grown more confused. It's like he's lost in his own world. He really doesn't need you dragging up all this stuff about the war, and Vita, not now. It's all so long ago—what does any of it matter anymore?”

“I promise, I won't take up much—”

“Anyway,” Tom says, stepping toward her, “it's too late. You've missed your appointment, and we have to get going.”

“Look, I've walked for miles.” Sophie folds her arms. Her skin is tanned, her hair windblown. “I wouldn't have been late if Harry hadn't dumped me on the wrong beach.”

“I found her thumbing a lift on the road to town.” Marv leans in to Tom. “Did I do the right thing bringing her here?” he whispers too loudly. “Gabe was talking to himself again, earlier on in the café—well, it was like he was talking to her.” He points at Sophie. “I thought it might be important.”

Tom throws a tarpaulin over the boxes. “Sure you did right,” he says clearly, angling his head toward Marv's good ear. “What does it matter anymore?”

“Talk of the devil,” Sophie says as Harry's pickup bounces along the dirt road and pulls to a stop beside Marv's.

“I'm sorry,” Harry says, holding up his hands as he walks toward Sophie. “I felt bad and I went back to find you, but you'd gone already.” He glances at his father. “We'd decided this morning we were going to send you on a wild-goose chase, and hoped you'd just give up if Gabe had gone by the time you found the house.” His eyes are clear and blue as he looks at Sophie. “I was just trying to protect Gabe. He's not been that strong lately, especially since Grandma died.”

“Annie died?” Sophie's eyes widen. “Oh God, when?”

“We lost her a few days ago—” Tom kicks at the ground, his voice breaks. “We haven't made it public knowledge yet. She was only diagnosed a few months ago, and she went downhill fast. Gabe … he's taken it pretty hard.”

“I just can't imagine Gabe without her,” Harry says. Sophie looks across at him, holds his gaze, tears pricking her eyes. “He's not well himself, but he was with her every moment she was awake, right up to the end.”

“I'm so sorry.” Sophie's throat is tight. “Why didn't someone tell me? I would never have—” She looks up at a sound from the house, her eyes glistening. Some of the great-grandchildren are playing in the garden, the flames of a last bonfire sparking into the sky. “Excuse me.” Sophie walks toward the fire. Her hand shakes as she reaches for her phone.

“Honey?” Paige picks up on the first ring. “Are you okay? I saw you'd tried to call.”

“I'm here, finally.”

“Have you seen Gabe?”

“Not yet.” Sophie closes her eyes. “She died, Mom, Annie died.”

“Oh God, when?”

“A few days ago. I feel terrible for pushing and pushing to see Gabriel over the last few months. No wonder they were trying to keep me away. I don't know what to do—” She sensed something and glanced back at Harry, who was leaning against his truck, watching her. “I can't put him through this when he's just lost the love of his life.”

“Do the right thing, Sophie.”

“Mom, I'm so confused. And Jess told me…”

“What's he done now?” Sophie hears the edge in her mother's voice.

“He's just told me that Dad was illegitimate.”

“Oh, that?”

“Mom, what do you mean, ‘Oh, that?'” Sophie's voice rises. “Why didn't any of you tell me?”

“Darling, what does it matter? Of course, it was still a big deal in the fifties. You know what your grandmother was like, she always was independent, said she didn't want Sam to think she was trapping him into marriage. But Sam made her see sense in the end. They married after your dad was born. My guess is your grandmother was so stuck on the idea of doing it all herself that she wouldn't give Sam's name when she registered the birth. Simple as that. Maybe they never bothered changing the certificate later. You know what they were like, always so focused on the day. My bet is they just didn't look back. I promise you, your grandparents had one of the best relationships I've ever come across.”

“Thank God. Vita, the story…”
My story,
Sophie suddenly realizes. She feels like she is watching a carefully constructed puzzle slot into place. “I thought … I thought it meant we weren't related. Dad always loved telling me the stories about her.”

“Honey, you only have to look at you. You're the spitting image of her—Jack always said you reminded him of the paintings he'd seen of her.”

“I know.”

Paige clicks her tongue. “Typical, Jess couldn't even let you have that, could he? Just like that control freak to think he can destroy that link to your dad. Forgive me, darling, but I always said Jess is a narcissist. Love isn't about what you take from someone, it's about what you give.”

“I was just … I was thinking about Dad.” Sophie sits down by the bonfire, hugs her knees. “I wish—”

“Sophie, it was just his time.”

“He died because of me.” Her fingertips tremble, running across her right collarbone, searching for the indentation, the daily reminder of where the bullet nicked her shoulder. She had told Jess it was from a broken collarbone—described the pony, the fall, in vivid detail.

“He died protecting you,” Paige says gently. “I know you never talk to me about your work lately, because you think it will upset me, but you don't have anything to prove. You don't have to pick up where he left off.”

“If I hadn't insisted we go to the drugstore, he would still be alive. Think of everything he would have written.”

“Sophie, you can't think like that. It was your dad's choice. He tried to talk the gunman out of holding up the drugstore, and he protected you when the guy started shooting.”

Sophie closes her eyes. She hears the crackle of the bonfire, and her nostrils flare at the acrid smoke. She remembers it all. The sound of her father's voice, calm and sure, telling the guy to hand over the gun. She remembers his silhouette blocking the light. Then the screams as the shots rang out, the weight of her father's body, shielding her. How the bullet nicked her shoulder as he slumped down. “He died in my arms.”

“I know, honey, I know.” Paige falls silent. “You have to let go of this and move on, live your own life.” She laughs softly. “Your dad was no angel, trust me, and he'd be the last person who would have wanted you to think that. He died as he lived, doing what was right, standing up to the bad guys. It's as simple as that. He was doing the right thing, the brave thing.” She pauses. “I was just thinking about you out there today, about Gabe and Annie.”

“What about them?”

“It's nuts—I've never admitted this to anyone before, but your dad had a huge crush on Annie. Every man who met her did—she was like the Long Island Bardot. You know that photo I gave you, of Annie and Gabe?”

Sophie searches in her bag. “It looks like she's in her thirties?”

“I hadn't even met your dad yet, when he took that. I found his journals after he died, and that was tucked in there.”

“Did he and Annie—”

“God, no!” Paige laughs. “Not for want of trying on his part. It may have been the swinging sixties, but there was only one guy for Annie. Gabe didn't like it one little bit, though. Well, just look at his expression in the photograph.”

Sophie smiles. “It looks like Annie's holding him back.”

“Gave your dad his first black eye, just after that photo was taken.” Sophie hears her mother sigh. “First of many.”

“Did you know Gabriel well?”

“No, I never could understand why he wasn't friendlier—I mean, with the connection to Vita and all.” Paige thinks for a moment. “Maybe like your grandparents, he just didn't want to look back. A lot of that generation just wanted to put the war and all the losses behind them. But I'm convinced that's why they ended up out here—Vita's mother was from East Hampton originally. Maybe after he lost Vita and his son during the war, it was a way of being close to them.”

“His son?” Sophie hesitates. It is on the tip of her tongue to tell her mother about her doubts. “What about Annie?”

“She was older than me, obviously, but she was lovely, very down-to-earth. We'd see them both at parties and gallery openings occasionally. I lost touch with her when your dad convinced me to move to the city.” Paige hesitates. “I don't know why I never looked them up again, when I moved back to Montauk. Maybe … maybe I was a little jealous of her, if I'm honest. It all seemed so natural and easy with them. The success, the troop of beautiful kids, that gorgeous house.” Paige laughs sadly. “She was so kind to me, but I couldn't help envying her. After I lost your dad, I just couldn't face seeing all … well, all that happiness when I was trying to cope raising you by myself. Even you've been won over by Gabe and Annie's love story, haven't you?”

“I guess I have.” The knowledge settles in her, strong and true. “I want that, you know?”

“I know,” Paige says. “If I've learned anything, you have to fight for it. Sure, they made it look easy, but marriage is as much about sacrifice and compromise and forgiveness as moons in June.” She laughs softly. “Maybe if each of you is willing to give more than you get, you stand a chance.”

“Was it like that with Dad?”

“When I first met Jack, I thought we'd set the night on fire, we loved one another so much.” She pauses. “Oh, God, it goes by too fast. What a fool I've been. I wish I'd seen Annie again.”

“I'll tell Gabriel you say hi.”

“You will be careful, won't you? I know he's what—ninety-something, now? He had a hell of a temper on him in the old days, though.”

“I'll be careful, I promise.”

“See you soon?”

“Sooner than you think. I've decided to take you up on the offer of the barn.”

“Seriously? That's wonderful.”

“I've even found a contractor.” She glances back at Harry, who is watching her. “I don't need much—just water and electric.”

“All mod cons? We can do better than that.” Paige laughs. “It's the right decision, take your time and find your feet. You're always happy when you're out here, and Mutt will love it.”

“I've got to go.”

“Sure. And Sophie…”

“Yes?”

“It's just beginning, you know. Forget about all the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens.” Sophie hears the love in her mother's voice. “Your story's just begun.”

 

FIFTY-SEVEN

F
LYING
P
OINT
, L
ONG
I
SLAND

2000

G
ABRIEL

I lie back on the sand and close my eyes, listening to the surf. I try to push that anxiety from me, the bittersweet relief of seeing Annie leave Marseille. I'm there, on the docks again, seeing the only sure light in my world sailing away.

“Don't go.” I'm floundering, caught in nets I wove myself.

“Go? I'm not going anywhere.”

I blink, shield my eyes from the overhead sun. The girl is above me now, her blond hair ablaze in the light.

“You?”

She comes closer so I can see her face.

“What is it, Gabriel? It's like you've seen a ghost.”

Someone is crying out, a strangled whimper. It's me, I'm frozen like a dreamer caught in a nightmare, stifled and mute.

“Hush,” she says, brushing the hair back from my brow. “Don't fight it now.”

“You?” The breath is tight in me now, no respite. “Vita?”

“Sophie? Vita? What's the difference? Names are irrelevant.” Her face hovers over mine, and I see, I see. Those lips, the pillow crease, her golden hair tumbling around me like flames.

“No, not you,” I say, blinking away tears. “I don't want you here.”

“Tell me the end of the story, Gabriel.”

“I can't. I'm tired … It's too long ago.”

“It's important,” she insists. “You need to remember it all.” She shakes me so my head rolls from side to side. “Did you do it, Gabriel? Did you kill Quimby?”

“I lied to Annie, one last time. I did it. I did it for her.” My voice is a whisper. I never meant to kill him. I followed him down from our last meeting at the cathedral on the hill to the city, to the Vieux-Port. I just wanted to find out where he was staying, so I could get back as much of the money as I could for Annie and destroy the photos. I saw him go into some seedy hotel, and I waited until nightfall. As I waited, I got angry, thinking of everything he had done to me. I didn't trust him to leave me and Annie alone. Then I remembered he had a photo in his wallet, too. I decided I'd follow him and rough him up a bit, scare him away. If Varian and his guys could get tough with the gangsters and bullies, then so could I. He came out just after six. He must have realized he was being followed. I saw him go into the alley behind the café Au Brûleur de Loups. He was hiding in a doorway. For years, the memory of his face looming at me out of the darkness has haunted my nightmares. Quimby had a blade, and he jumped me, slashed at my face. I saw the surprise on his face when he saw it was me, and then he went for me. He had me backed into a dead end, waving that knife around. He wanted me dead, he said. I had no choice but to fight him. I knew he'd never let me go.