Elin Hilderbrand - The Love Season

Cade hit the turn signal and pulled into a white shell driveway. The house loomed in front of them-it was huge, bedecked, terraced, landscaped, a castle of a place, and every light in the house was on; it was as bright as a Broadway stage. Dan couldn’t help thinking that this looked suspiciously like new construction; they had probably bought the lot and then torn down the fine old summer cottage that stood here in order to build this monstrosity. VITAMIN SEA , the quarterboard said.

“So I hope, Mr. Knox, that Renata and I have your blessing,” Cade said. “I know she’s young, but we wouldn’t be getting married until the spring.”

“Spring?” Daniel said, to show he was listening.

“Yes, sir. After school is out.”

Daniel Knox said nothing else, though he was dying to utilize his “one shouldn’t get married until one’s traveled on three continents” speech. He was cognizant of the fact that he had shown up without warning and would be relying on Cade’s family and their good graces for a place to sleep tonight. And dinner-Daniel wasn’t particularly hungry, but he’d gathered from something Cade said walking from the terminal to the parking lot that there was a dinner party in progress. Lobsters or some such, with family friends, and that was what had, miraculously, kept Renata from going to Marguerite.

A woman with red hair and the tight face of someone who’d had plastic surgery appeared in the door, waving a glass of wine.

“Welcome!” she called out. “Welcome, welcome!”

“My mother,” Cade whispered.

Uh-huh. Dan felt a familiar disappointment. Why was it that women his own age went to so much trouble to beautify that they ended up erasing any natural beauty they might have possessed in the first place? It was one of the things that had kept Dan from dating again after Candace’s death: the way women tried so hard. Cade’s mother, for example. Clearly a pretty woman, if you could get past the fact that she was fifteen pounds underweight, had suffered a chemical peel, colored her hair, wore too much makeup and too much jewelry. Women like this made Daniel long for Candace, who had looked her most beautiful first thing in the morning when she woke up, or after she got home from a run-when she was sweaty, sticky, and the picture of all-natural glowing good health. Candace would never have done these things to herself. Her idea of glamour was a shower and a clean dress.

Daniel Knox ascended the stairs and shook hands with the woman, Cade’s mother. She planted a wet kiss on his cheek, which seemed awfully familiar, though she was probably under the impression they were soon to be family-and what, really, was more familiar than showing up unannounced?

“I’m Daniel,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Suzanne,” she said in an exaggerated way, as though she weren’t trying to tell him her name so much as sling it at him. Sha-zaam! “I’m so glad you could come.”

“I’m sorry it was last-minute,” Daniel said. He had no good reason to offer these people for why he’d shown up out of the blue, and he was counting on them being too polite to ask.

“Come in; come in,” Suzanne said. “Your timing is perfect. Nicole is just putting dinner on. And you must meet our dear friends the Robinsons. They’ve been so charmed by Renata that to meet you is just icing on the cake.”

“Icing,” Daniel repeated. He was ushered into the foyer, where there was a black-and-white parquet floor and a Robert Stark painting hanging on the wall-the lone sailboat with the flame red sail; every house on Nantucket must have that painting. There was a curving staircase to the left; down the stairs came a pale milkmaid of a girl with messy dark hair. She smiled at Daniel.

“Hello!” she said.

“Claire, this is Daniel Knox, Renata’s father. Daniel, this is Claire Robinson, a dear friend of the family. Claire and Cade went to Choate together.”

“I see,” Daniel said. He extended a hand to the girl, then began to wonder after the whereabouts of his own daughter. It didn’t surprise him that she’d skipped the airport run; Cade had obviously seen that as an opportunity for a man-to-man chat. However, now that Daniel was in this enormous house with perfect strangers, he wanted to set eyes on his own flesh and blood. Renata was not going to be happy to see him; she would be decidedly unhappy, angry, mortified. That was the risk he had taken.

They moved into the living room, which was decorated in seventeen shades of white. Suzanne asked what he was drinking.

“Scotch,” he said. “Straight up.”

“You and my husband will get along just fine,” Suzanne said. She did not make the drink herself but called a young black woman in from the deck and asked her to make it. “Mr. Knox would like a scotch straight up.”

The woman nodded. Daniel grew warm around the neck. He hated to see people accept orders on his behalf.

“And how is dinner coming along?” Suzanne asked.

“All set, ma’am.”

“Okay, then, please bring Mr. Knox’s drink out to the deck. Cade? Claire? We’re ready to sit.”

“Yes, Mother,” Cade said.

They moved out to the deck. It was a stunning evening, warm but breezy, with a black velvet sky and a clear crescent moon. And to be on the water like this, with Nantucket Sound spread out before them like a kingdom-well, overdone house aside, Daniel Knox was impressed. He introduced himself to the father, Joe Driscoll, who did not stand to shake hands but merely nodded and said jovially, “So glad you could join us!” His hands were clasped in his lap, one hand was rattling around like a Mexican jumping bean, and it was then Daniel remembered that Renata had mentioned that Joe Driscoll was sick. Parkinson’s. Daniel bowed to him.

“Thank you for having me.”

Next, Daniel met the elder Robinsons, Kent and Kathy.

“We hear you used to own the Beach Club,” Kathy said.

“Years ago.”

“We’ve been languishing on the wait-list for what seems like forever,” Kathy said.

“Same here,” Joe Driscoll said. “It’s quite the exclusive place.”

“We belong to every club on the island,” Kent Robinson said. “Except for that one. So naturally that’s the only one my wife cares about.”

“Mmmmm,” Daniel said. They were talking like he was somehow responsible for their exclusion from the club. “I don’t have a thing to do with it anymore. I sold it in ’92, the year my wife died.”

The group nodded mutely, Joe Driscoll tipped back the ice in his drink with his good hand and they all listened to the clink of it in his glass. Suzanne came out, waving her wine. “Okay, everybody sit! Kathy, you’re next to Daniel, and Kent, you come over by me. Claire, you’re right there, and Cade-”

Daniel watched the Robinsons sit. Joe Driscoll stayed where he was, turning in his chair and raising an arm with his empty glass toward the young black woman, who whisked it away to be refilled. Claire sat, and Suzanne. Only Daniel and Cade remained standing, presumably wondering the same thing. The table was laden with a feast: A shallow bowl at each place held a two-pound lobster; there was a platter with twenty ears of steamed corn, an enormous bowl of green salad, Parker House rolls. But there was no Renata.

Daniel shot Cade a questioning look. Cade said, “She went upstairs to put some aloe on her face. She got quite a sunburn at the beach today.”

“Who?” Suzanne said.

“Renata.”

Suzanne glanced around the table as if double-checking each person’s identity. “My word,” she said. “Renata!”

“She’s upstairs?” Daniel said.

“She wanted to fix her face,” Cade said. “But that was a while ago. Maybe she fell asleep.”