Page 42 of These Summer Storms

There it was again, the suggestion that Alice lacked loyalty. “First, I didn’tflounce.He kicked me out.”

No one responded. Not that she was surprised.

“Second, I’m not responsible for Dad”—she paused, not wanting to saydying;why was that such a weird word to say?—“leaving us all like pieces on his chessboard. I didn’t set the game. I didn’t make the rules. And you’re right, if it were my choice, I’d leave right now, because contrary to your analysis, Greta, this isn’t a vacation for me—it’s a constant reminder that when hebanishedme, not one of you actually cared.”

Silence fell and she imagined for a moment that they were all finding a path to chagrin. No such luck.

“You’re. Not. A. Piece. Though,” Sam said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Greta nodded in agreement with the phone. “We’rethe pieces.”

“And what, I’m not on the board?” It shouldn’t matter. Thewe(plural). Theyou(singular).

“You’re not,” Emily said. “You’re one of the players; Dad gave you all the control. Nothing to do but stay…and play.”

They couldn’t see that he’d given hernoneof the control. That he’d never let her make a single decision in her whole life, from the moment she’d had a crush on a boy in the seventh grade and Franklin had hired his father to work at Storm Silicon Valley because he wanted Alice’sdistractions kept to a minimum. She had grades to keep up. College to attend.

It didn’t matter that Franklin hadn’t graduated from college.

Alice had planned for art school. Made a careful list of the best in the world not long after that seventh-grade boy had disappeared. Worked on her portfolio for months. Begged him to let her apply to one after he provided her with his approved list of colleges, none of them art schools.

It didn’t matter what Alice wanted.

Franklin had given the commencement speech when she graduated from Amherst. Made a joke abouthis daughter getting lost in the art history department on the way to the computer science major he’d been hoping forthat everyone found delightful despite its singular purpose: to telegraph his disappointment.

For the day and a half she’d had left on campus, people had fawned. How charming her father was. How clever and funny. How inspirational. How lucky she was.

The truth didn’t matter, either.

Every time she’d tried to make her own decision, he’d used money and power and influence as both her father and one of the wealthiest people in the world to twist that decision into what he wanted. And when she’d finally refused, and fought back? When she’d finally claimed ground? Her father had left her out in the cold and made sure the rest of them did, too.

And this week, instead of just letting them all fuckingmourn,he’d tied her hands again. Alice could stay, or go, but either way, Franklin was writing the next chapter.

If she stayed, he won. If she left, she lost.

Maybe she’d already lost.

Frustration edged into something worse, and Alice’s throat went full and tight, her skin beginning to tingle. “You’re wrong. He’s treating me the same way he always did. Like a child. And I’m not a child anymore; I’m thirty-three.”

“Better be careful, not a great age for martyrs.” Everyone turned to look at Sam, who’d spoken out loud. Alice looked at her watch. It was a few seconds past eight o’clock.

“There is nothing about leaving this house that would make me a martyr, Sam. No suffering involved.” It was a lie, but she’d never admit it.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Elisabeth said. “As much as she would like to, Alice is not leaving the island.No oneis leaving the island. Hundreds of people are coming to pay their respects Monday, and we willall”—she leveled Alice with a stern look—“be present. What would it look like if we weren’t? What would people think?”

A pause, long enough for everyone to fill in the words she had left unspoken.What would people say?

“They’d probably think the truth,” Alice said.

Elisabeth didn’t like that. “And what is that, Alice?”

That we’re a fucking mess.But the question wasn’t for answering, so she kept her mouth shut.

“You will all be here,” Elisabeth repeated in the heavy silence, looking from one of her offspring to the next. “And you will allenjoyit.”

Brows rose around the room, presumably because they were all uncertain that they would like their father’s funeral, full of titans of industry, world leaders, and a fair share of weirdos.

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