Henry

Carly has Vicky’s laugh, Vicky’s eyes, and definitely Vicky’s spirit.

But while Vicky has brown hair, Carly is a fiery redhead. It’s amazing to see them together, to see Vicky in girl mode, laughing and pointing with Carly and her sarcastic friend Bess as I take off over the city.

Carly says soothing words to Smuckers, who’s in his little case in the back and not loving the ride.

We land on the helipad at the estate garden house.

It’s fun to see the three of them experience the grandeur of the place, which was built in the 1920s by one of the Vanderbilts. They make me love it all over again.

Vicky goes to help the girls settle while I give instructions to Francine, the head of the staff. “I know it’s not what you’re used to,” I say to her.

“It’s a breath of fresh air,” she says.

“You know how messy teenaged girls are?”

“It’s thrilling to see you have…friends here. We’re all so pleased.”

I’m about to protest that I bring friends here. But I don’t.

The two of them stake out the bedroom on the very end of the south wing. We order in wine and soda and gourmet pizzas. They stay exactly ten minutes. It’s hard to compete with the promise of two guys from One Direction.

Vicky and I drink wine and talk about everything—even a little business. She wants to make sure we got the software Mandy requested. She changed her mind about it soon after I started taking her on facility tours. I tell her it’s in place.

Now and then the girls come through with reports that they heard music, and they carry on detailed analyses of whether it was recorded music or if it was the guys in jamming mode.

And as Vicky and I are fucking that night on the edge of the hot tub on the top veranda, and again as we have slow, lazy sex the next morning, I think to write One Direction a fan letter just for how completely they keep Bess and Carly glued to the other side of the mansion.

“You take good care of her,” I say that afternoon. Vicky and I sit on the porch overlooking the expanse of lawn, which ends in a pool, a cluster of cabanas, and the beach, edged in sea grass, deep blue-green water beyond.

Perched under an umbrella at the edge of the actual beach, Bess and Carly are in full teen girl splendor mode, running lines and staking out the neighbors, and Smuckers is a streak of white, running all around the lawn. The umbrellas are Locke blue, a fact that Vicky makes fun of.

“We’re all each other has,” she says simply.

I try to get more about her earlier life, but she’s vague, and eventually I find the conversation has circled around to her desire to know why I wear dark suits in the city and beige linen suits in the Hamptons.

Does she just hate to think about that time? I won’t push her. I pushed her enough. And we’re supposed to be away from it all.

The four of us walk along the beach for Saturday sunset, a ritual from when I have business visitors, who tend to enjoy the backyard view of the mansions, the lifestyles of the rich and famous, though they rarely admit it. Carly and Bess are no different, but they do admit it, pointing out different displays of excess. Vicky seems unimpressed, if not slightly hostile toward displays of wealth.

Between houses, the girls run ahead with Smuckers, kicking around in the surf.

“Back in your town, remember how you told me about being bullied?” I say.

Vicky gives me a blank look. “Sure.”

“Was it somebody wealthy?”

Her brow furrows. “Why would you think that?”

“Just wondering. You’re not impressed like a lot of people are. And, well, you did call me a rich, entitled jackass at one point.”

She takes my hand. “You know I don’t think that.”

I keep my eyes on the horizon, feeling her gaze on my face. I wonder if that’s why my mother chose her. I hate the question I’m about to ask, but it’s been burning in me. “Did my mother seem…happy in those last years?”

She squeezes my hand. “Henry—”

“I just…didn’t know her the last few years. I missed her.” I never say that aloud.

“She seemed happy…in her way.”

I nod.

“I wasn’t sure how much you wanted to know about her. But, yes. She had her routines and Smuckers. She’d terrorize people in the neighborhood, like when they wanted to pet him, she’d act angry. That was kind of her jam.”

I smile. It’s a bittersweet feeling, more sweet than bitter now.

“She was such a character,” I say. “I always imagined I could repair things. That somehow I’d break through and we’d have a heart-to-heart.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I make her tell me all the stories she can remember. We stand in the wet, sucking sand together, the ocean swashing around our ankles, watching Carly and Bess swim, and Vicky tells me little anecdotes. One after another.

We laugh about it. It feels good. No—it feels fucking amazing.

“I’m glad she had you around,” I say.

She kisses me on the shoulder. “I’m glad I could be.”

“Why do you think my mother chose you?”

“I don’t know,” she says.

“Maybe it’s silly to keep wondering about it, but I do. Do you think my mother chose you because she sensed you have an allergy to guys like me? Did you two talk about that sort of thing?”

“Hmm.”

“I know she ostensibly chose you on the basis of your being a dog whisperer, but she could’ve done a lot of messed-up things with that will. Yet she chose you.”

“I really think it was about the dog,” she says. “She loved that dog. Even the last words she said to me…” She stops, clearly regretting going down this road.

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” I say. “Please. Tell me. They were the last words she said. I want to know.”

“Well, they were about the dog. Clutching at him, and she goes, I love you, Pokey.”

My heart stutters. “What did you say?”

“I love you, Pokey. I don't know why she called Smuckers that, you know, there at the end. I never heard her call him that, but it had to be Smuckers she was talking to. Smuckers is a little pokey, you have to admit.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“What is it?” she asks, looking up into my eyes.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?”

I pull her to me, dizzy with the whooshing ocean and this beautiful woman and my bittersweet heart. “Just…all of it.”

That night, Brett begins his texting assault. He has juicy information from the PI to share. I tell him I’m not interested—the last thing I want to do is to shatter the trust between us. Vicky will tell me things when she’s ready.

Brett won’t let up. Eventually I just block his ass. He’ll be pissed, but I want this time away. My assistant will let me know if there’s a corporate situation to deal with.

The competency hearing is scheduled, of course. But I’ve decided to call it off.

She’s assured me things will be made right. I trust her to do the right thing. I trust us to figure out a way forward together. And whatever Vicky’s hesitation is about us being together, I’ll overcome it.

I’ll call off the hearing when the mediators are back in the office on Tuesday, and then I’ll tell her.

There’s a fireworks show on Monday night. Carly and Bess go up to catch it at Cooper’s Beach. I’ve arranged a candlelight dinner on the veranda.

Vicky is stretched out on the bench seat next to me, leaning back against me, feet splayed out to the side. She has on a pink skirt and gold sandals that look good with her yellow blouse. She’s been wearing brighter colors, but this is really different, the result of shopping in town with the girls. She looks good in colors. It seems right for her. The jewelry she makes is colorful. Why not her clothes?

A boom sounds from up above, followed by some smaller ones. “I'm glad the fireworks are going off behind us,” I say. “Because if they were right out there over the water? I’d have to arrest myself for multiple cliché violations.”

“The foam on the waves is just as bright. It looks almost neon,” she says, staring out at the water in the moonlight.

“It’s the phosphorescence.” I toss a piece of steak to Smuckers.

She pulls on my lapels like she does when she wants me to come close and kiss her. “Come here.”