enough. He wasn’t interested in small talk, especially with this crowd. If they weren’t bragging about their latest vacation, or how much they’d made on their newest venture, they were talking politics, and that meant the Grand Old Party. Brian was one person he could talk to, but at the moment, Daniel was annoyed with him for bringing up that whole Catholic business. He hated being reminded of the church, which he regarded as a brainwashing institution.
He turned to Sean. “Listen, I should go.”
She looked disappointed. “I thought you were staying overnight.”
“Sorry. I have to be up early to help someone get their nerve back in the water. You don’t mind if I leave, do you? This is more your kind of party, anyway.” He couldn’t tell her the person he was going to help was a beautiful woman, someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know a little better.
“Did you get a chance to talk to Mom and Dad?”
“No. They were with some of their friends, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Sean sighed and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Give me a call later.”
As he drove through the gates, he felt a pang of guilt for having lied. The truth was he hadn’t even tried to talk with her parents, as he didn’t much care for them. Harold and Maude Billings were old money and their Georgian home—where this fund-raiser was taking place— sat on some of the finest twenty-five acres on the Atlantic shore. Maude’s ancestors had come to America on the Mayflower and had made their money in the fur trade. Harold’s family tree went back even further to some English duke from the thirteenth century, a royal connection that was frequently touted. It was this latter part that bugged Daniel. Daniel’s blue-collar father would’ve said, What are they putting on airs for? Their shit smells the same as yours and mine. He had to smile at that. His dad had colorful ways of setting the record straight. Though Daniel agreed with his father, he also appreciated the doors that wealth opened. Since he’d hooked up with Sean, he’d had access to the finest country clubs, played golf on the best courses, and eaten in gourmet restaurants. Around money, it was hard to keep track of what was important in life.
SEVEN
Catherine woke up in a sweat, clutching the sheets as if her life depended upon them. Another nightmare. Relieved to find she’d been dreaming, she stretched her arms and considered what might have sparked another bad night. The old man was there as before, but who was he? This time, she’d been scuba diving.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to remember more of her dream. She hadn’t been able to see out of her mask. And when she tried to wipe the lens with her hand, a grey wall of water crashed down, throwing her body against the ship’s hull. She tried to call for help, but no sound came. The old man extended his hand, but he kept disappearing in a bubble. A huge bubble. When she looked again, he was far away, a speck of a man. It was then that the water—like a rushing river—poured into her throat. And just as she was about to take her last breath, she awoke, gasping.
Daylight peeked through the window’s roller shades, lighting up patches of flowered wallpaper. Richard had kept it the way she’d decorated it. It made her feel as if she was the one who had gotten their marriage all wrong.
She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was well after eight. The apartment was so quiet that for a moment she wondered where Richard and Alex could be, but then she remembered. They were still out at Sybil’s country home and wouldn’t be back for another day. She got out of bed and padded down the hallway to the bathroom.
Her face in the bathroom mirror showed nothing of the horror of her night. How did the mind work like that, taking her to another time, one she didn’t recognize? She splashed cold water on her face and told herself it was nothing but anxiety
He turned to Sean. “Listen, I should go.”
She looked disappointed. “I thought you were staying overnight.”
“Sorry. I have to be up early to help someone get their nerve back in the water. You don’t mind if I leave, do you? This is more your kind of party, anyway.” He couldn’t tell her the person he was going to help was a beautiful woman, someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know a little better.
“Did you get a chance to talk to Mom and Dad?”
“No. They were with some of their friends, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Sean sighed and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Give me a call later.”
As he drove through the gates, he felt a pang of guilt for having lied. The truth was he hadn’t even tried to talk with her parents, as he didn’t much care for them. Harold and Maude Billings were old money and their Georgian home—where this fund-raiser was taking place— sat on some of the finest twenty-five acres on the Atlantic shore. Maude’s ancestors had come to America on the Mayflower and had made their money in the fur trade. Harold’s family tree went back even further to some English duke from the thirteenth century, a royal connection that was frequently touted. It was this latter part that bugged Daniel. Daniel’s blue-collar father would’ve said, What are they putting on airs for? Their shit smells the same as yours and mine. He had to smile at that. His dad had colorful ways of setting the record straight. Though Daniel agreed with his father, he also appreciated the doors that wealth opened. Since he’d hooked up with Sean, he’d had access to the finest country clubs, played golf on the best courses, and eaten in gourmet restaurants. Around money, it was hard to keep track of what was important in life.
SEVEN
Catherine woke up in a sweat, clutching the sheets as if her life depended upon them. Another nightmare. Relieved to find she’d been dreaming, she stretched her arms and considered what might have sparked another bad night. The old man was there as before, but who was he? This time, she’d been scuba diving.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to remember more of her dream. She hadn’t been able to see out of her mask. And when she tried to wipe the lens with her hand, a grey wall of water crashed down, throwing her body against the ship’s hull. She tried to call for help, but no sound came. The old man extended his hand, but he kept disappearing in a bubble. A huge bubble. When she looked again, he was far away, a speck of a man. It was then that the water—like a rushing river—poured into her throat. And just as she was about to take her last breath, she awoke, gasping.
Daylight peeked through the window’s roller shades, lighting up patches of flowered wallpaper. Richard had kept it the way she’d decorated it. It made her feel as if she was the one who had gotten their marriage all wrong.
She looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was well after eight. The apartment was so quiet that for a moment she wondered where Richard and Alex could be, but then she remembered. They were still out at Sybil’s country home and wouldn’t be back for another day. She got out of bed and padded down the hallway to the bathroom.
Her face in the bathroom mirror showed nothing of the horror of her night. How did the mind work like that, taking her to another time, one she didn’t recognize? She splashed cold water on her face and told herself it was nothing but anxiety
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