Page 77 of Lessons in Faking
“Maybe she’s worth those two hundred dollars an hour, huh?”
“Maybe she is,” I agreed. “What made you go back to her?”
“I really didn’t know what to do about you. I just wanted the opinion of someone who didn’t hate McCarthy as much as I do. And with the whole Hamptons thing—”
“What Hamptons thing?”
His gaze cut to mine. I saw the way he cursed himself for letting the word slip.
When he didn’t say anything, I repeated myself. “What Hamptons thing, Henry?”
This time, he cursed out loud. “I didn’t mean to tell you.”
“Wejusttalked about that—”
“I know, I know.” His hands shot up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you about the summer house because I didn’t want you to worry. I’ve got it under control.”
My stomach plummeted a thousand miles. “The summer house?”
His face twisted into a grimace, probably because he noted the concern in my voice. “They were going to tear it down.”
I blinked at him.
The summer house?Oursummer house? With its beautiful marble hallways and white sandstone columns? The rose garden and tiled pool in the backyard? The one where we’d spent every summer since we’d moved to New York?
I’d cried for days when our parents sold it, eyes on a different property in the neighborhood. Before they were able to buy that one, and well before we could make new memories there, they died.
And now someone was going to tear it down?
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You’ve ‘got it under control.’ What does that mean?”
“It means I talked to Aunt Claire.” My face soured at the mention. He was back to tracing the couch’s stitching. “And it’s basically ours.”
“Ours?”
Henry shrugged. “Ours. Theirs.The Pressley residence,” he joked before his face turned serious. “It’s our family’s again. We’ve got it back.”
I didn’t remember the last time I’d heard those words.Our family.
“I didn’t want you to worry. I know how much you love that place, and with all those memories attached toit... I wasn’t sure if the sale was gonna go through until a few days ago. It’s kind of the reason I’ve been on edge recently—losing that last part of our childhood not marred by death and grief. For a while, it felt like there was nothing I could do about that.”
Which, for a control freak like Henry, must’ve been almost unbearable.
“I couldn’t stomach the thought of telling you either.” His eyes flicked up to me. “And I’m not saying any of that to make myself look better.” I was glad for the humor in his voice, the way his lips turned into a sheepish smile. “Although, you’ve got to admit...” He trailed off.
I slapped his arm half-heartedly. “Shut up.”
He was right, though. What would make him look better, if not this? The fact he’d bought a piece of our childhood,caredenough about our childhood to do so—or at least nudge our aunt and uncle to. I didn’t think he cared half as much about that place as I did, but alas.
It’s where Henry and I had learned how to swim, right before he’d learned how long he could dunk my head underwater without drowning me. Where I’d purposefully kicked at least a dozen soccer balls into the bushes when he wasn’t looking. Where we’d fall asleep in Mom’s arms every night during the one week she took off work each summer. Where Dad had taught Henry how to rainbow flick. I remembered that because it was the first time I’d seen Dad laugh since his team lost that season.
“Oh God.” The alarm in his voice caught me off guard. “Are you crying?” Concern filled his eyes. Henry couldbarely handle his own emotions; I wasn’t sure what he’d plan on doing with mine. “I haven’t seen you cry in...”
“Seven years.” The realization dimmed his features, and I blinked heavily to keep the few stray tears at bay.
He sighed. His chest heaved. “I really am sorry,” he repeated.
And I believed him.
