Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know anything about poems. Marian wasn’t really on my radar growing up, but there might be some photos somewhere. I’m curious about the crusading newspaper heiress, though. Goldie, was it?”
“That’s the name she went by. Apparently, she was quite something. Broke all the rules and never apologized for any of it. She may also be the reason Belle and Hemi split. Which brings us to Steven Schwab.”
Ethan pulled a pair of bowls from a nearby cabinet and set them beside the stove. “Who’s Steven Schwab?”
“He might be the man who broke your aunt’s heart. Or he might not be. It’s a long story.”
“Then we’d better open some wine. Red or white?”
“I don’t care. You pick.”
What was happening? She’d come to drop off a book. Now Ethan was opening a bottle of Malbec and she was making a salad. And yet it felt strangely good, almost comfortable, despite the unfamiliar surroundings. Maybe he was just glad for the distraction. Whatever the reason, she had his attention and she planned to make the most of it.
TEN
ASHLYN
As with all rare things, regular restorative care is essential. Chronic neglect may result in weakening, warping, or other persistent vulnerabilities.
—Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books
They ate side by side at the counter, heads bent over the photocopied articles Ruth had dug up, including the piece bearing Steven Schwab’s photo. Ashlyn elaborated on her suspicions that Hemi and Goldie had been involved romantically, as well as her reasons for suspecting that Hemi and Steven Schwab were one and the same.
Ethan listened attentively, interrupting now and then to ask a question. His interest was a pleasant surprise, but as she moved on to thornier territory, she reminded herself to tread carefully. Martin Manning was a part of his past, his family. And family was family, no matter what Ethan liked to pretend.
“I hate to ask this, but do you remember your father ever mentioning that Martin may have been involved in anything . . .” She paused, searching for a delicate way to say it. “Less than aboveboard?”
Ethan frowned. “No, but I’d hardly be shocked. Are we talking about white-collar stuff?”
“More like running liquor during Prohibition. Hemi mentioned it to Belle and I got the impression that Marian already knew. I don’t think he was ever arrested for it, but it sounds like your great-grandfather had a pretty colorful past. There were other things, too, things about the war.”
“Like?”
“Like maybe he was rooting for the wrong side.”
Ethan scowled. “I certainly never heard that or anything about illegal liquor. But I wouldn’t be surprised. I know there was some big scandal at one point. Essentially ruined him. I have no idea what it was about—my father was pretty tight-lipped about that stuff. My mother was a little freer with her opinions. I once heard her say Martin was so crooked, they’d have to screw him in the ground when he died.”
“Sounds like there was no love lost there.”
“None. And with good reason. Martin was dead set against my parents getting married. Corinne took his side, of course, and they ganged up on my father. They told him he’d have to choose. My mother or the family. So he chose.”
“That’s why you know so little about them.”
He nodded. “By the time I was old enough to understand any of it, my father and Marian had already fallen out. My mother tried to make peace. She was fond of my aunt, and apparently the feeling was mutual. In fact, Marian told my father to run off and marry her the first time they met.” He shook his head, grinning. “Mom swore it was just to get back at Martin and Corinne.”
“She might have had a point. Belle was given a similar choice. Though in her case, I’m not sure it was ever really a choice. Martin appears to have been quite the bully.”
“That’s always been the general consensus.”
“There was a son too—Ernest. Did you know?”
“The boy who drowned,” Ethan said grimly. “Yeah, I knew. Sad.”
“His mother—Marian’s mother—never recovered from the loss. She blamed herself and eventually wound up in an asylum. She died there while Marian was still a girl.”
“You mentioned that, but I don’t think I ever heard it from my parents. All I knew was that she died before my father was born.” Ethan paused, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “You know, it’s funny. I would have bet my last dollar that I knew almost nothing about the history of either the Hillards or the Mannings, but I’m starting to realize I know a lot more than I thought. Growing up, it was just my parents and me. The rest of them were . . . ghosts. I hate to admit it, but I’m actually curious about what else I don’t know.”
Ashlyn couldn’t help ginning. Curious was good. “Then you should read the books. At least Belle’s. But I’d love your take on Hemi’s side of things too—a man’s take.”
Ethan stood and began clearing away the bowls. “Is there a man’s take versus a woman’s take? Or is it just about taking sides based on gender?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ashlyn slid off the stool and followed him to the sink with their silverware. “I just meant I’d like an objective opinion, someone to tell me if I’m reading things into the story that aren’t actually there. When it comes to romance, I’m not the most objective person on the planet. Trust issues, you might say.”
Ethan turned off the kitchen tap and reached for a towel to dry his hands. “Your ex cheated?”
Ashlyn nodded.
“Mine too.”
It had never occurred to her that he might once have had a wife. “You were married?”
“Not for long. Just long enough.”
“Sorry.”
Ethan shrugged, managing something like a grin. “Just ‘Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong’ song, right? And here I was thinking we had nothing in common.”
Ashlyn smiled awkwardly, seeing the moment as an opportunity to press him again. “Will you read them?”
Ethan sighed. “You’re not going to give up, are you? All right.” He finished drying his hands and reached for the copy of Forever, and Other Lies with its protruding bits of yellow. “I’ll read Belle’s book. And I’ll try to answer your questions. What haven’t we covered?”
Ashlyn ran through her list again. They’d already covered quite a lot. But there were still things she was curious about, and she might never catch him in such an obliging mood again. “I’d like to know more about Marian’s children. Where they are now. What they’re doing.”
Ethan sank back down on his stool and reached for his wineglass. “I can’t help you there. I only met them once, when I was a kid. Marian had to go to some conference in Boston and they spent the weekend with us. I’m not sure how the subject came up, but the boy—I don’t remember his name—was talking about his Bar Mitzvah, going on and on about all the presents he got. I told my mother I wanted a Bar Mitzvah, too, but she explained that Catholics don’t have Bar Mitzvahs. I was quite put out.”