The Summer House (40 page)

Evelyn was dead. Shot by her own hand, shot because she’d been caught in her own trap of lies and deceptions.

But, thanks to her, Josh had tracked Danny down on Cuttyhunk. He had tracked Danny down to see if he was okay, then told him his Aunt Evelyn had leaked to him—and the media—the information that Danny was missing. Josh had warned him that Evelyn might be out to “cause trouble” and they all had better beware.

He’d also said that Evelyn had told him with a chuckle of sarcasm that Danny’s “other aunt” was in jail in Edgartown, wanted for questioning in the death of Ruiz Arroyo. She’d admitted to Josh that she’d done that, too—“For the good of the family, not that they’d cared.”

Josh was leaving it to Danny to contact the police: he said he felt it should be between them—without any public
connection to Josh—without any proverbial Pandora’s box to spring open.

Then Josh had told Danny that no matter what the outcome of the election, he would be there to talk to Danny whenever Danny wanted or needed; that he would not interfere in his life or with the lives of Liz and Michael, but that he would be there, and would consider it an honor to know him when, if, he ever wanted.

Then he added that he thought Danny was the most courageous man he’d ever known, to be willing to share with the nation—thanks to Michael’s high profile—the pain and the honesty of being handicapped.

“Your visibility alone will help more people than you will ever know,” Josh had told Danny. “I will keep our secret to protect both our families, but if you ever choose to speak out, I will say I am proud that you are of my blood. That you are my son.”

Liz stood in the quiet, in the dark now. In the distance, the gentle surf touched the shore. In the distance, she knew, would be Josh … the faraway distance, not here. He would be in San Francisco tonight, maybe, or Seattle, or Salt Lake. He would be where his road was taking him, but he would not be here.

She looked up into the sky, at the stars that dotted the blackness. She thought about Anastasia, and youth, and love. She thought about how lucky she had been to have had it all.

And then Liz turned and left the cove, walking toward her life that maybe never would be perfect, but was rich and full and good.

Epilogue

The room was a sea of red, white, and blue, alive with the cheers of a thundering crowd, charged with an energy that could be felt even as it was framed by the big-screen TV.

Liz sat in the living room of the hotel suite and watched the early returns, thinking how much Father had loved this—the action of the game—sometimes even more than the outcome.

She wondered what he would have thought of the game now, and of the price of it all: that the secrets of his children he’d tried so hard to protect had been too great to shield against the heartbreak of life.

Liz had seen Josh again, at the presidential debates, from a safe distance. She knew that time would find the right place in her heart to put his memory; she hoped it would work for him, too.

But, best of all, through Michael’s forgiveness, through her children’s patient attempts at understanding, Liz had been able, at last, to forgive herself.

Roger’s and BeBe’s support had helped, too.

After tonight, Roger would be leaving to build a new life. He’d been offered a coveted position at the
Smithsonian, where he would, Liz knew, be respected for his knowledge and his talents, where he would be able to find a place where he alone could shine, where he would emerge from the shadows of his brother and his brother-in-law before him, and from the stronghold of a marriage that was never meant to be. Liz hoped they would see him often, and that he would, in time, be able to forgive Evelyn, and come to peace with her agony, and with her death. She also hoped he would find someone—someone he could truly love, someone who would love him in return, the way she loved Michael, the way Michael loved her.

BeBe had cleaned out the house in Palm Beach and was in the process of moving her business to Boston. “I’m not going to sell out,” she’d announced to Liz one day over the phone. “But I’m coming home. I’ve decided the winters in Boston are more agreeable than the summers in Florida. And besides,” she added, “my family is there. Or, at least, closer.”

She did not have to add that Boston was also closer to the Secret Service headquarters, closer to Keith.

BeBe had also decided what to do with her inheritance. “I’m blowing it on the kids,” she said, then explained. For Mags, BeBe was starting a new division of French Country, a boutique line of French-inspired country apparel that she would train Mags to run after Mags was finished with college; for Greg, BeBe started a private fund, a savings account for his presidential campaign, which everyone figured would be around the year 2036.

BeBe also replaced Reggie and LeeAnn’s catamaran with her cash and her thanks. Then she announced she was turning the house on the Vineyard over to Danny, as long as he promised to always leave room for the family.

So the summer house had been put into Danny’s name, then closed for the season: next year, they’d return, as usual, as always.

Liz watched now as the TV screen cut to a picture of a map, enlarged with some states shaded in red, some in blue. Then the camera moved to a group of great-looking children—young adults, really, Liz realized—who sat at campaign headquarters, smiling and happy.

There was Greg, practicing a white-toothed politician’s smile. Next to him was Mags, dressed like SoHo royalty, right down to the handmade silver hair clips BeBe had suggested that she wear. Then there was Danny, looking more handsome than ever, more like Will Adams than any of Will’s children or grandchildren, yet with darker hair and a softer spirit—softer, more gentle, with the lines of despair now lifted from his brow, thanks, Liz knew, in part to the young woman, LeeAnn, whose hand he now held.

Maybe there would be a White House wedding.

“Come on, sister of mine,” BeBe called as she entered the room carrying a red suit on a hanger. “Time to get dressed and go greet your public.”

Liz smiled. “I can’t believe this really is happening.”

“Believe it,” Michael said, emerging from the other bedroom—
their
bedroom, where they had made love last night for the first time since Father had died, for the first time since the nightmare had begun. “Believe it and hurry,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek quickly. “We just got the word that Josh has conceded. We’re headed for the White House, honey, ready or not.”

On the other side of the camera, on the other side of the stage, Danny kissed the hand of the woman he loved. He had already promised her he’d go back to med school. He had already promised her he’d come back to the Vineyard and set up practice there, where he could
keep an eye on his wife and the seven kids that they would—or maybe wouldn’t—have.

The best part was, it no longer mattered, because just last night, LeeAnn had helped him beat the odds, and Danny Adams was able to love again and at last he felt complete, in his mind—the only place that it counted.

About the Author

Massachusetts native Jean Stone returns to Martha’s Vineyard for
The Summer House
—her seventh novel from Bantam Books, and her third that employs the celebrated island as a backdrop for her characters. She is currently working on a sequel to
Places By The Sea
. A former advertising copywriter, she is a graduate of Skidmore College, Saratoga Springs, New York.