“What things?”
“Everything in life has a pecking order. The strong go to the head of the line, while the weak must give way. Helene was weak.”
Her response, so blank and cool, sickened me. “You call her Helene. Like she was some stranger who used to live in our house? She was our mother.”
Cee-Cee huffs and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Honestly, you never learn. Families like ours have a duty to future generations, to preserve our way of life, who we are, what we’ve built. Father has a plan for us. For all of us.”
“And if I choose not to be part of his plan?”
“Haven’t you been listening? There is no choosing. We’re pieces on a chessboard, you and I. Nothing more. He’ll move us wherever and however he likes, and he won’t stop until he has all the pieces.” She pushed back from the table and stood, then hesitated, pinning me with a frosty glare. “You should also know that on occasion, a few pieces have gone missing. Troublesome pieces that didn’t matter much to anyone. Don’t ever think he won’t do it to you.”
She walked out then, leaving me to ponder her warning.
A month later, I met you at the St. Regis. You with your slick smile and rented evening clothes. Even then, you were judging me, wondering how in God’s name I’d let it happen.
I was wondering too.
NINE
ASHLYN
To lose oneself in the pages of a book is often to find oneself.
—Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books
October 7, 1984
Rye, New Hampshire
Ashlyn slowed the car and turned onto Harbor Road, a narrow stretch of gravel and crushed oyster shells, curving toward the open harbor. There was a small wooden bridge and beyond, a scattering of rooftops, one of which belonged to Ethan Hillard.
She proceeded over the bridge, past a couple on matching bikes, and began looking for house numbers. The road went farther than she thought, winding along the rock-lined shore for more than a mile. The houses were all on her right and varied in size and style, all sharing an absolutely stunning view of the harbor.
Ashlyn tried to imagine waking up to that glorious vista each morning. Blue sky, silvered sea, the flash of sun on bright white wings. How different the world must look to those who woke to such things. How lovely and clean. How easy.
Suddenly she felt out of place, a trespasser in this idyllic seaside community, and she considered turning around. She’d heard nothing from Ethan since her last phone message a week ago. What did she hope to accomplish by ambushing him at his home? Then again, what did she have to lose?
She had just rounded a deep bend when she spotted a mailbox with the number 58 on the side. She let her foot off the gas, hesitating briefly before pulling into the drive.
The house was large and stately, a classic two-story with a hipped roof, a central widow’s walk, and a cupola facing the harbor. Everything looked as if it had just been painted, all clean gray and white, except for the front door, which was a whimsical shade of lemon.
There was a detached three-bay garage to the left of the drive but no sign of a vehicle anywhere. Ashlyn pulled Forever, and Other Lies from her tote, eyeing the yellow sticky notes peeking from between its pages. She’d spent several hours this morning writing out each question, then affixing it to the appropriate page. When that was done, she’d composed a polite note asking for his help one more time, then sealed both book and note in a protective plastic sleeve.
Now all she had to do was get the book into his hands, which meant temporarily relinquishing possession of it. Relinquishing the book, even temporarily, wasn’t a decision she’d reached lightly, but Ethan had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in possessing either of them for himself. She’d have to trust him.
Not exactly her strong suit, trust. But she didn’t have much choice if she wanted Ethan’s help. Before she could change her mind, she headed up the tiered stone terrace and rang the bell. After a second and then a third ring, she had still received no answer and reluctantly resorted to her backup plan, which was to leave the book in the mailbox.
She peered over her shoulder as she walked down the drive, aware that as an outsider in this tiny, well-heeled community, she would almost certainly be thought up to no good if she were spotted poking about in Ethan Hillard’s mailbox.
When she was sure the coast was clear, she pulled back the door of the mailbox only to find it stuffed with junk mail and newspaper circulars. Maybe he hadn’t been ignoring her after all. Maybe he was just out of town.
She eyed the house again, narrowing her focus to the clear glass storm door. If it was unlocked, she could slip the book between the two doors. It would be safe from any weather in its plastic sleeve, and there’d be no missing it when Ethan returned home, since he’d have to step over it to get in the house.
Tucking the book beneath her arm, she retraced her steps back up the drive. A tentative test of the storm door found it unlocked. She had just thrown another glance over her shoulder and was preparing to pull it back when the actual front door swung open.
“What are you doing?”
Ashlyn was so startled by Ethan’s sudden appearance that she fumbled the book, nearly dropping it on the steps. “I was just . . . I didn’t think you were home. I rang the bell but no one answered.”
“So you thought you’d just let yourself in?”
“No!” She held up the book in her defense. “I was just going to leave this inside the storm door, then call and leave a message when I got back to the shop. I tried the mailbox, but it’s full.”
Ethan eyed the book, then looked at her, frowning. “It’s illegal to go into someone’s mailbox.”
Ashlyn blinked at him. Is it really? “I wasn’t going to take anything. I was just going to leave the book.”
“Why?”
Ashlyn shot him a nervous smile. This wasn’t going quite the way she’d hoped. “I have some questions. And I’ve learned some things since the night you came to the shop. I left you several messages but I never heard back.”
“So you came to my house.”
It sounded bad when he said it. Intrusive and a little bit creepy. “Not to see you. Well, I’d have to see you, but I wasn’t planning to bother you. I wrote my questions down on Post-its and stuck them to the pages so you could look them over when you had time. If I had known you were here, I wouldn’t have . . .” Ashlyn let the words dangle. He looked tired and annoyed, as if she’d caught him in the middle of something. “I’m sorry. It looks like I picked a bad time.”
She was about to head back down the steps when he stopped her. “I never got your messages. That’s why I didn’t return your calls. I’ve been holed up with the phone unplugged for the last few days. I’m not sure how many. I’ve lost track at this point.” He paused, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What’s today?”
“Sunday.”
He nodded wearily. “A week. Good grief.”
She saw it now, the shadow of stubble along his jaw and clothes that looked like they’d been worn for several days. “You’ve been writing?”
“I promised my editor a look at the first five chapters by next week and it’s not going well. I can’t seem to get the thing off the ground.” He raked back his hair, leaving it standing on end. “Sorry for barking. I’m not good without sleep.”