Page 118 of These Summer Storms

“I take it back,” Gabi said. “You don’t have a responsibility to them. You don’t need them. Not when you have us.”

In the wide world, there was nothing like a best friend. Alice grabbed Gabi and hugged her, matching the fierce tightness of her friend’s grip. “I’ll be home soon.”

“When?”

She pulled back. “Dinner Friday, right?”

A slight hesitation while Gabi searched her eyes. Then, “Okay.”

Hand in hand, Roxanne and Gabi headed for the dock, and Alice turned to face the house, growing darker and more ominous in the setting sun, and considered what Gabi had said.Responsibility.She’d been raised on it—loyalty to family first, above all. No matter their selfishness, their chaos, their manipulation.

No matter the way they broke her down.

Responsibility was to others. Never to herself.

“Alice?” Mike Haskins spoke at her shoulder, startling her from herthoughts. At her little jump, he smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just didn’t want to leave without saying hello. And goodbye.”

She shook her head and focused on him. Aged, like her dad. Laugh lines on his face, salt-and-pepper hair. He must be seventy, too, now. A trailblazing genius in his own right. And still, for all the millions he made without Franklin, he still made time for Alice. The kindness didn’t escape her, and was a welcome distraction. “It’s good to see you, Uncle Mike.”

He spread his arms wide, and she stepped into his earnest embrace. Warm. Paternal. Smelling like cologne and sea air, just as her dad had. And it occurred to her that she hadn’t had this kind of embrace in a long time. That she might never have it again.

She didn’t want to let go.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” he said quietly. Just for her.Truth.

Tears came instantly, shocking her. She stepped back, dashing them away with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

He produced a folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket. An old-fashioned move that made Alice tear up all over again. “Overwhelming.”

She gave him a little smile of gratitude. “Thanks.”

“You know, I talked to your dad a few weeks ago?”

He sounded as surprised as Alice was. “Really?”

“Yeah, he called me out of the blue,” Mike said, thoughtfully. “It had been years; I was so surprised, I picked up, even though I was in a meeting.”

She smiled. “I bet he liked that.”

“He did,” Mike agreed.

“What did you talk about?”

He looked toward the sea for a moment, like he might say something, but shook his head, instead. “We talked about you kids.” He paused. “He told me about your art. Tried to get me to commission a piece from you.”

Her eyes went wide. “I didn’t even know he knew about my painting.”

“Oh yeah,” Mike said. “Couldn’t figure out how you got your talent.Must have come from Lizzie,he said. I thought you might like to know that. He was always proud of you, kiddo. Even at the worst of it.” He tilted his head. “He was pretty pissed at you then, too, but…”

She laughed softly, the joke washing over her.

“You did the right thing, Alice. You were always the one who did the right thing.”

The words crashed through her, a gift and a punishment. She’d heard it a hundred times. A thousand. Read about it in magazines and newspapers and the comments sections, which she knew no one should ever read. Alice Storm, who’d stood up when wealthier, more powerful people hadn’t. Who’d spoken truth to power. Who’d won.

But she’d never really believed it. Because the people who said that, that she’d done the right thing, hadn’t known that standing up had been about her own truth, as well. Her father’s power.

And it hadn’t ever felt like the right thing, because the fallout had been so wrong.

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