Page 33 of Our Last Vineyard Summer

She heard Louisa sit up in bed, the creak of the wicker headboard at her back, the slide of the sheets as she drew her legs into her chest. “Don’t tell Mom, but I’ve met someone.”

“Why is it a secret? Mom would be happy for you.” Betsy preferred this side of Louisa, the one that opened like a flower at the most unpredictable moments rather than the tight fist she often was.

“Mom told me not to bother with marriage until I make partner.” In the dark, Louisa pressed her crossed hands over her heart. “Hence the complication. He’s a senior partner at another firm, and I’m still an associate. And yes, his name is Michael Evans.” Betsy could hear her sister’s smile at the sound of his name. Maybe this was what Aggie and Louisa had done as teenagers, whispered in the dark, while Betsy had been stuck alone in her bedroom, forced to go to sleep two hours before them.

“Why is that a problem?” Betsy imagined Andy’s suede loafers, how he wore those adorable, dotted bow ties.

“The problem is that if my colleagues find out, no one will take me seriously. I’ll just be Michael’s girl. Constitutional lawyers run tight in DC, and if I marry him, then what? A husband-and-wife team billing hours at opposing firms? A woman partner having a baby. It won’t happen, and who will get canned first? Me or him?” Louisa kicked her blankets down to the bottom of the bed.

“You?” Betsy was about to say that she shouldn’t accept that, that she could fight the way Mom told them to.

“Do you know how many times a week I nod along with my male counterparts even if I disagree with what they’re saying? ‘I’m sothankful you let me join the team fighting the Ford Motor discrimination case, sir.’ ‘Oh, and double thank-you for taking the opening argument I wrote and passing it off as your own in the meeting last week.’?”

Betsy frowned. She had always imagined Louisa sitting behind an imposing desk, a series of male colleagues coming into her office for legal advice, then facing the court and declaring something unjust. “Then why do you even do it?”

“Because Mom said it would be this way, but I should shoulder on and it will get better,” Louisa said. “And I do, every day, but sometimes I just want to scream.”

Silence sat between them for a few minutes, Betsy feeling some relief that her sister’s perfect life wasn’t all that perfect. “What’s he like? Michael Evans.”

He was incredibly smart, the only man in law that Louisa thought might be smarter than she was. He held doors open for Louisa. He frowned whenever he heard of one of her male colleagues asking her to get coffee. She and Michael always went to the same spot: a blues club in a rough part of town that had the best chicken wings in the city. They’d been dating three months.

“Have you, you know?”

Louisa threw a pillow across the room, and it landed on her head. “Betsy!” Louisa hopped out of bed and opened her makeup case, pulling a round plastic shell out of her purse. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Well, there was the answer.

In the darkness, Betsy tried to fall asleep once more. She turned over onto her back, wondering if James had received her belated condolence letter. A part of her had fantasized that it would erase any awkwardness between them, that he’d walk down to the yacht club and thank her for it, but he hadn’t returned to help Wiley. How strange that it wasn’t that long ago that she used to daydream about marrying James on the deck of the yacht club, the other sailing instructors and her sisters as members of the wedding party—a sixteen-year-old’sfantasy that included a tiered cake with a fondant sailboat on top. But the one time she admitted to James that she wanted to stay with him on the island someday—move into a house on the beach, snuggle up under the harvest moon and bake pumpkin bread—he’d smiled at her as if he knew the stars were aligned entirely different. “You can’t stay here, Betsy. Your father wouldn’t allow it.”

Betsy felt her arms and legs grow heavy with sleep, her mind falling into the soft, cushiony pillow under her head, when she heard Louisa’s voice puncture the stillness in the room.

“I’m sorry for accusing you of not doing enough at Dad’s funeral.”

Betsy tensed awake, her nose suddenly aware of the salt air drifting through the cracked window. The ricochet of laughter from people on a distant boat.

“Oh,” Betsy said.

“I tried to call you and apologize, but you wouldn’t take my calls, so… I kind of gave up.”

Betsy was afraid to breathe and reveal the shudder in her chest, so she stared at her sister’s still dark form in the bed, her body lying on her side, her head pressed to the pillow.

“Mom didn’t want to make any decisions after Dad died, and I was falling apart inside too. I was so overwhelmed. I cracked. You happened to be the first person I saw, and it was verbal vomit.” Louisa paused, and in the dark, Betsy could just make out Louisa rubbing her face with her palms. “Anyway, it was wrong and I’m sorry. I regretted it that night, but it took me a few weeks to call you. Then you wouldn’t…”

Betsy pulled one of the throw pillows to her center, steadying her thoughts. She’d been so hurt after the funeral that she’d gone home and cried herself to sleep in her bed, her roommate pulling a blanket over her and setting a teacup of Earl Grey on her nightstand. She’d vowed that she would never trust Louisa again. Tension with her family had unfurled even more after that, with Aggie taking Louisa’s side, calling Betsy every few weeks and encouraging her to talk to their elder sister.To forgive. Instead, Betsy had stored all her built-up resentment inside herself, providing her with a false sense of control. She liked that she would decide when and if the argument ended, not Louisa.

But coming home this summer had chipped away at her hardened shell. Things weren’t perfect between them, but they were getting better. Maybe she had been emotionally spent, too, after the funeral and taken Louisa’s actions much too personally. Seeing red, it had been hard to acknowledge that Louisa had taken on the bulk of the planning. She’d even welcomed guests to the ceremony with a smile as if it was a lovely occasion that had gathered them, not her father’s death.

“It’s okay,” Betsy managed to say. She never really understood why Louisa and her father were on such bad terms, other than he didn’t come to her debate in high school. Betsy had wondered if there was more, something her sister hadn’t told her, but the one time she’d asked, Louisa had told her to mind her business. “That day was… a lot. For all of us.”

The corners of her eyes burned like she hadn’t slept in a hundred years. Betsy wasn’t sure if she was ready to say sorry back. The conversation had caught her off guard, and she wanted more time to figure out what specifically she should apologize for. The buoy bell continued to ring, a low quiet song that had served as the soundtrack to Betsy’s thoughts for as long as she could remember.

“Okay, well, good night,” Louisa said.

“?’Night.” Betsy closed her eyes, inhaling the smell of the sea, feeling like a steady boat anchored in placid waters. Betsy wondered if Louisa ever pictured her as a little girl the way Betsy remembered Aggie and Louisa when they were young. If she ever thought about how Betsy would climb into bed with her after a bad dream. If she remembered that Betsy had saved her allowance to buy her the Joni Mitchell album she’d wanted for her eighteenth birthday.

She wondered if Louisa knew that Betsy would get so angry at her mostly because she always felt like she was disappointing her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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