Finally they adjourned, forcing themselves out into the dark afternoon. She couldn’t help but be aware, as she walked through the crowded room, of the admiring glances that followed her. Strangers nodded to her, said hello, gave her the thumbs-up. It was early yet, of course, but all signs were positive. It looked very much like Anne would be elected, and then she’d really be able to dig in and accomplish something.

  At the door, Anne tied the belt of her raincoat around her slender waist, flipped the hood up over her sleek hair, bade farewell to her companions, and ran, avoiding puddles as best she could, to the shelter of her BMW. It was so dark that when she clicked her key holder to unlock the door, the lights blinked on automatically.

  She loved her luxurious automobile, and she relaxed on the leather seat for a moment, catching her breath, turning the windshield wipers and defogger on. She was energized by the war talk at lunch, by her run through the rain. She felt confident, attractive, ready to take on the world. Randall and Tessa were still in Nantucket and wouldn’t be coming back until tomorrow. What could she do with the rest of the day?

  Now, she realized, was the perfect time to drop in on Mont. Have a little chat with him. See if she could win him over to her side. Certainly it was worth a try. Anne had never felt comfortable with Madeline—the two women just didn’t like one another, although they both had tried to hide this—but Mont had always been kind to Anne, and complimentary.

  She should take him something. Chocolates? No, it was Madeline who had liked chocolates. Madeline, the pig, had had a real sweet tooth. Mont liked cheese, and pâté, salty things. She stopped at Dean & DeLuca and bought a rich Stilton in a pot, a wrapped cloth bundle of goose liver pâté, and crackers.

  She drove to Route 2 through the flooding rain, her wipers flicking rapidly as passing trucks drenched her with their spray. When was the last time she’d seen Mont? Hard to believe, but it had been at least three months ago—at Madeline’s funeral.

  What a grim time that had been. Randall had asked Anne to allow him to take Tessa to the funeral; it was, he’d pointed out, his mother who had died. But Anne had refused. Death was a serious matter, the kind of traumatic event that necessitated delicacy and restraint, especially when dealing with a girl of Tessa’s tender years. Mont and Randall were both just too emotional right now, Anne had argued. Look at the way Randall had broken down and wept when he came to tell Tessa her grandmother had died. Really, he should have shown more self-restraint. He could have frightened Tessa. As it was, the girl had been nearly savage in her grief, dissolving in an orgy of sobs and collapsing in her room like some Victorian waif, pale, listless, lying on her bed with her face turned to the wall. For God’s sake! Anne had wanted to yell, Madeline was old. Old people die!

  Anne had held her tongue, ministering dutifully to Tessa’s dramatic misery. She’d sent a lavish bouquet from herself and Tessa to the mortuary. She’d bought Tessa a nice black skirt and blouse for the funeral; she’d taken Tessa to the funeral, the mawkish graveside service and the reception at the farm, comporting herself with the necessary attitude of sorrow.

  It had been an awkward time. She and Randall had separated, were living apart, but were not yet divorced, and so she was both part of the family and detached, so, not certain of the etiquette, she’d written Mont a note of condolence on her finest, stiffest stationery, and insisted that Tessa write one, as well.

  So Mont should have no reason to behave without civility to her, Anne decided. It was a rainy day. His son and grandchild were visiting her parents. He was probably alone, probably lonely. He’d welcome Anne in, make a pot of tea, or even, perhaps, offer her a bit of Scotch. It was cool enough today for a small fire. They’d sit in the living room, talk about old times, and she would be charming, for she could be, when she set her mind to it, very charming.

  She could see the scene quite clearly in her mind. She could almost hear the old man say, why, yes, when she put it that way, it would be better for a young girl to live with her mother than with two men.

  Right now, Anne realized, Randall and Tessa were with her parents on Nantucket. It was nicely symmetrical, that Anne should visit Mont.

  The farm looked rather bleak in the rain. The horses stood still as statues on the field, resigned to the downpour. All Madeline’s beloved perennials, her mums and morning glories and climbing roses, were drained of color by the lightless sky, and even the trees drooped with the weight of water on their leaves, bending defeated on either side of the lane.

  The house itself was drenched in darkness, except for one light burning on the second floor. Mont and Madeline’s bedroom, Anne remembered, with those hideous rag rugs that Madeline’s mother had made, which Madeline still used and treasured. Why people who had plenty of money chose to live like peasants, Anne could not understand.

  At least those vile dogs weren’t here to jump on her, muddying her coat, making runs in her hose. She parked as close as she could get to the door; then she jumped out of the car and raced to the house.

  She hammered on the door and tried the knob. It would be open—they never locked their doors, ever. Hurriedly she stepped into the shelter of the mudroom, thinking, as always, how bizarre it was that people who had money and not inconsiderable taste—Madeline had been an artist, after all, and a decent one at that—would allow the world to achieve its first vision of their residence in a grubby hall with ancient coats hanging off wooden pegs and abandoned boots covered with mud and manure scattered willy-nilly over the cement floor.

  Hurriedly she went into the kitchen.

  “Mont?” Stripping off her raincoat, she draped it over a chair. She didn’t especially want it touching any of those old garments in the mudroom; they were still undoubtedly covered with dog hair or horse hair.

  “Mont?” she called again. “It’s Anne.”

  The kitchen was cluttered but clean. Clean enough. Not up to Anne’s standards, of course, but not filthy, either. Odd things in odd places—shoes on the table—but it had always been so in this house. Anne touched her hand to the kettle on the stove. It was just barely warm to the touch.

  “Mont?”

  “Anne? Is that you?”

  Turning, she saw Randall’s father coming toward her from the gloom of the hall. Behind him, the door to the library stood open and light fell in a lozenge onto the hall floor. Mont limped as he came toward her. He shuffled.

  Something about Mont made all the small hairs on Anne’s arms stand on end. Something about Mont was creepy.

  He stepped into the watery half-light of the kitchen. “Anne. What a surprise. I was reading—”

  He was wearing a woman’s robe. A pink terry-cloth robe with white piping. White flowers on the chest pocket. His bristly neck, with the Adam’s apple shuddering inside its tunnel, rose from his naked chest, a few sparse crinkled gray hairs curling upward.

  “Oh.” Mont stopped, looking down at himself. “I was outside, fastening up the tomatoes against the wind, and I got completely soaked. I just grabbed this …”

  Anne looked down. His feet were tucked into a woman’s pink slippers.

  Mont tried to smile, but only managed an apologetic grimace. “Anne … you caught me by surprise …”

  “Why, you’re sick,” Anne gasped. Horror flared up inside her like a bonfire. “You’re … you’re wearing women’s clothing!”

  “It’s just Madeline’s—”

  “You filthy, perverted old man!” She backed away from him, snatching her raincoat off the back of the chair.

  “No—for God’s sake, Anne—” He clutched the neck of the robe tightly in his gnarled bony hands.

  “And to think I had actually considered letting Tessa live with you!”

  “Anne, please—”

  Her lip curled in contempt. “I’ll tell my lawyer about this. I’ll tell the judge. I’ll see that you’re never allowed near Tessa again.”

  Burning with indignation, she turned on her heel, slammed the door to the mudroom back against the wall, and ran out into the rain, where she threw herself into her car, stabbed the key into the ignition, gunned the motor, and spun away from the house. Her body shuddered in a rush of euphoria—the fear, consternation, the righteous fury felt glorious.

  And now, Anne thought triumphantly, Randall wouldn’t have a chance in hell of gaining custody of Tessa.

  Even though rain poured down Sunday morning, Kelly took Felicity with her to visit their mother’s grave. The night before they’d bought a sheaf of fresh lilies, which they laid in front of their mother’s stone. Now they stood in the soft grass at the side of the grave, sheltered slightly by the trees. Kelly wore a raincoat; Felicity, an old yellow slicker of Kelly’s. Kelly held an umbrella over their heads. There was something oddly comforting about the rain, its companionable tappings on the leaves and umbrella, the way it cooled the heated world, making it green.

  “It’s nice here,” Felicity said. She’d come without her Goth makeup, and her bare face made her seem innocent and young.

  Kelly smiled. “Yes. It is.”

  “Peaceful. Safe.”

  Kelly nodded.

  “Kelly?”

  “Yes?”

  “What do you think happens when you die?”

  “I don’t know, honey. No one knows.”

  “But what do you think?” When Kelly didn’t respond immediately, Felicity said, “I think your spirit is set free. I think you get to keep you but you don’t have to remain trapped in your body. You don’t have to worry about getting too fat or being too uncoordinated to swing on the parallel bars in gym. You don’t have to brush your teeth and you can’t get yeast infections. But you can fly if you want to, all over the sky, looking down on everything, and you can swim, too, under the ocean with all the fish. Or you can sit on a mountain in the Himalayas and look at the snow but not be cold. And you can curl up anywhere and feel safe, and you’re never lonely, because spirits are all around you.”

  “Sounds very nice,” Kelly said.

  “And there won’t be any sex, because sex makes people act like morons.”

  Kelly laughed.

  “And you can see God whenever you want to, and God will look just like you, a woman in a judge’s robe.”

  Startled, Kelly demurred. “I’m hardly godlike, Felicity.”

  “But you are! You’re wise, and you’re tough, but you’re kind. And generous.” Tears came to her eyes, and all of a sudden her face crumbled. “Kelly, I was so scared. Mom’s dead, and Dad’s an idiot. I didn’t have anybody to take care of me. It took so much courage to knock on your door. What would have happened if you hadn’t been there or if you’d told me to go away?”

  Kelly put her arms around the girl and pulled her close. “It’s okay. I was there. I didn’t tell you to go away. I’ll always be there for you. I’ll take care of you.”

  Felicity said, “I hope Mom can hear us.”

  Kelly looked at the quartz rock, then up at the sky. “I hope so, too.”

  They went to a mall afterward, for a gigantic breakfast that provided them with the energy to shop for school clothes for Felicity. The girl was ebullient, nearly giddy with the pleasure of buying new clothes, whatever she wanted, from wherever she wanted, and Kelly realized that one of life’s greatest pleasures, even richer than that of getting what you want in life, was being able, quite simply, to give someone you love what they want.

  Afterward they brought home huge sub sandwiches, which they devoured in front of a video.

  The Weather Channel said it was raining in Boston, but on Nantucket the sun shone down vigorously, making it a perfect day for the beach. Late that afternoon, Sarah, Herbert, Randall, and Tessa spilled out of the Range Rover, lugging picnic baskets, beach towels, blankets, umbrellas. Everything was covered with sand.

  “Toss it all in the garage,” Herbert directed. “We’ll sort it out later.”

  They entered the house by the breezeway. Brownie sat up in her expensive doggie bed, wagging his tail and barking.

  “Oh, my darling boobieboo,” Sarah squealed, rushing to hug the animal. “People are so unkind, not wanting a sweetie-pie pumpkin like you at the beach.”

  “She is a pit bull,” Herbert reminded her. “If you had a small child, you wouldn’t want Brownie around, either.”

  “That is so generalist of you,” Sarah said.

  “You can have the first shower,” Randall told his daughter.

  “Thanks, Dad.” She raced from the room, up the back stairs.

  “I’ll use the outdoor shower,” Herbert announced. “Got enough sand in my suit to start my own beach.”

  “I’ll make drinkies,” Sarah chimed. “Randall, go on and use our bathroom. There’s enough hot water. I don’t need a shower right away.” She hadn’t removed her brilliant turquoise shift at the beach, or her pink rubber-and-sequin sand shoes.

  “Thanks, Sarah.” Randall headed up the stairs.

  Sarah ambled contentedly around the kitchen, filling the silver ice bucket, setting out cheese and crackers, spreading anchovy paste on toast points, giving one to Brownie for every one she set on the silver tray. She hummed. Life was good. It had been a perfect Sunday. That her own daughter was not there did not diminish the perfection.

  At that very moment, the phone rang. Sarah glared at it. She knew without a doubt who it was, as if her thoughts had wafted over the distance to trigger Anne’s dialing finger.

  Sighing, she answered.

  “Mother.”

  “Hello, Anne.”

  “How’s Tessa?”

  “I’m fine, dear, and how are you?” Sarah bent to let Brownie lick anchovy paste off her finger.

  “Mother, I don’t have time for games.”

  “Common courtesy—”

  “Mother, may I please speak to Randall?”

  “I think he’s just gotten in the shower, dear, but I’ll check. Actually, I’ve got the portable phone with me, so we can have a little chat while I go upstairs. Brownie, you come with me. I don’t want you eating the cheese. How’s your campaign going?”

  “Very well. I only wish my home life were as pleasant.”

  “Remember the yin/yang thingy, Anne. Nothing’s ever perfect.”

  “I wish you would take me seriously sometimes, Mother.”

  “I do, darling. Brownie, not now! Randall?” Huffing and puffing, Sarah reached the second floor. She peeked into the master bedroom, not wanting to startle Randall in his birthday suit.

  “Did you call me?” Randall stepped out of the dressing room that had been converted long ago to a guest bedroom. His thick hair was wet from the shower, slicked back and gleaming. He’d pulled on a pair of Nantucket red shorts and a striped rugby shirt.

  “My, you’re a beautiful man,” Sarah told him. She handed him the phone. “Anne. For you.” She rolled her eyes at him and walked away, Brownie waddling in her wake.

  “Randall!”

  Anne’s voice was sharp yet exuberant, the way it always was when she was on one of her holy crusades. Randall wanted to moan. “Hello, Anne.”

  “Randall, we have to talk.”

  “All right.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”

  His chest tightened. “Dad? What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

  “No, he’s not okay!”

  “Anne—”

  “He’s lost his mind. I can’t believe you’ve let Tessa see him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be coy with me.”

  “I’m not being coy, Anne. Honest to God, I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “I’m referring to the fact that your father wears women’s clothing.”

  Randall collapsed in the chair by the fireplace. “When did you see him?”

  “This morning. I dropped by without phoning first, and I’m glad I did! It was raining, I didn’t have any meetings, and I wanted to talk with him about Tessa. About your idea of living out there and having Tessa live with you. As if living with two men isn’t bad enough, I found Mont in a woman’s robe and slippers.”

  “Anne. They’re Madeline’s. Have some compassion. He’s having a hard time dealing with Mother’s death.”

  “So you did know he’s wearing women’s clothing.”

  “He isn’t wearing women’s clothing. For God’s sake.”

  “Don’t swear at me, Randall.”

  “Look, Anne. Dad is perfectly sane. It’s just the robe he wears, and only when he’s feeling low. He had a fall from a ladder last week, and it shook him up. He’s old, he’s got lots of aches and pains.”

  “That doesn’t excuse him wearing a woman’s robe.”

  “No. I realize that. And he’s never worn it around Tessa. But if he did, Tessa wouldn’t mind.”

  “That shows how little you know about young women!”

  Sarah sailed into the room, carrying a gin and tonic. “Thought you might need this,” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” Randall told her.

  “What?” Anne snapped.

  “Your mother gave me a drink. I was thanking her.”

  “Oh, you’re all so very chummy there, aren’t you? Well, enjoy yourself, because Tuesday morning in court I’m going to present the judge with an irrefutable argument. I’m sure even the most liberal judge will agree that a twelve-year-old girl shouldn’t be around an old man who wears women’s clothing!” Anne slammed the phone down.

  Late Sunday evening, Kelly opened her apartment door to Jason’s knock. She wore an old baggy shirt, ripped jeans, battered sneakers, and no makeup. She was trying to look unattractive, and she felt pretty sure she’d succeeded.

  “Jason, hi. Thanks for coming.” Her voice sounded high and pinched; she reminded herself to slow down. Take deep breaths.