Page 35 of Saltwater Secrets
“My sister and I used to think we ran this island,” Renée said, throwing her head back so that her hair draped over the back of the chair. “We were sure that half the beaches were for us and us alone and grew resentful when anyone ‘entered our domain.’” She laughed at herself.
“We were the same way,” Sam said, gesturing toward Hilary.
Renée’s smile faltered, albeit briefly. She still hated that Hilary was there when her mother died. She hated that Dorothy liked Hilary at all. She hated that Hilary was still around.
But, Hilary reasoned, something about this dynamic appealed to Renée. She’d been welcomed into a family. She’d been drawn into the warmth that her life hadn’t allowed her.
It was probably a complicated feeling.
Hilary was grateful that nobody in her family brought up Dorothy Wagner, nor the fact that Renée hadn’t yet organized a memorial service. The Colemans had greater tact than that.
But that night, Renée let her guard down so much that she managed to fall asleep on the outdoor sofa, her lips parted gently, her eyes shifting behind their lids, as though she dreamed. Above her, the sky was blanketed with stars.
Estelle, Hilary, and Sam hovered off to the side, unsure of what to do. The temperature would dip into the sixties soon, and although it was perfectly safe to sleep on the veranda—comfortable, even—it didn’t sit right to leave her there. Hilary confessed she was frightened to wake her up. “She can be like a bear,” she whispered.
Sam and Estelle nodded gravely.
“Let’s let her sleep a little bit longer,” Estelle said kindly. “After that, she can either stay here, or you and Marc can drive her home. Whatever works best for her.”
Hilary was not looking forward to that drive back to the Wagner Estate.
Back in the kitchen, she found her father and Marc at the table, drinking from a fifty-year-old bottle of whiskey. Roland liked sharing things with Marc, be them fine spirits or spirited conversations. It was because Marc had dropped his life out West for the love of Hilary, Roland’s daughter. It was because Roland could be a softy, and all he wanted was for his family to come together in love and good humor.
“Dorothy’s daughter is something else,” Roland said when they entered.
Estelle pressed her finger to her lips, telling him to lower his voice. “She’s asleep.”
Roland winced, then shrugged. “She takes after her dad, all right. You can tell she’s got a temper on her. Philip Wagner could change on a dime. I watched him get into a wild dispute with someone at the sailing club. Something about the price of a vintage French sailboat he wanted to buy.” Roland raised his glass, his eyes elsewhere, like he’d dropped himself back in the eighties.
Hilary felt a thump in her chest. Her father had known everyone in the eighties. He’d dealt with all kinds of moneyed people. He’d traveled all over the world.
It reminded her of something.
She reached for the yellowed envelope and put it in front of her father.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Look inside,” she said. “Do you know that man?”
Roland raised his caterpillar eyebrows and shuffled the photographs onto the table. The others in the kitchen craned to see what he was looking at. Immediately, Roland let out a cackle. “That son of a gun! I thought I’d never see him again.”
Hilary couldn’t breathe. “Who is it?”
Roland snapped his fingers. “The name’s on the tip of my tongue.”
That didn’t help her. Hilary sat on the chair beside Marc and took a sip from his whiskey, coating her tongue with bitterness. “I found them at the estate,” Hilary said. “They were hidden away.”
Roland looked mischievous. “Honey, his name’s lost in this old brain of mine,” he said. “But I can tell you his connection to the Wagners. That’s easy.”
Hilary was stricken. Was it really so simple? So public?
“This man was Philip Wagner’s business partner all through the sixties and seventies,” Roland said, waving one of the photographs in the air between them. “If I remember correctly, Philip forced him out of the company. No amount of legal battles could right the wrongs Philip committed against his supposed best friend. I knew never to cross him after that. I knew to keep him at arm’s length.”
Chapter Sixteen
The night Logan kissed Aria for the first time, they decided it best (for their mental health, for a future that they maybe wanted to build) that he leave shortly thereafter. “We haven’t even been on a real date yet,” he said, closing and opening his fist, as though frustrated they couldn’t leap fully into a relationship immediately. “I have meetings all day tomorrow with those producers, but I could take you out after. After you’re done here at the brownstone. What do you say?”
Aria could do nothing but say yes. Her heart was in her throat.
