Chapter 19
NINETEEN
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Josie
I can’t quite believe I’m walking down the winding driveway that leads to the Langley family home.
Growing up in the area, of course I was aware that the sprawling estate behind the gate belonged to the richest man on the island.
When we’d drive past the turn-off, Madeline and I would press our noses to the car window to try to catch a glimpse of the mansion perched on the cliff above the dunes.
We’d see Christopher Langley’s billboards advertising his properties for sale and share all the stories we’d heard in school: His house is bigger than Bill Gates’s.
He owns three yachts. They have to use a crane to deliver his fifteen-foot Christmas tree.
Every year, the lore of his wealth grew more elaborate, and I never knew what was true.
But now I’m going to find out.
Clutching my bag with my bathing suit in one hand and the grocery store bunch of flowers I picked up for Mrs. Langley in the other, I start down the driveway toward the house.
Since Mom took the car to work, I rode my bike here but left it in some bushes by the turn-off from the road.
I thought it would be less embarrassing than parking it in front of the house.
But now that I’m approaching the small brick guard house next to the gate blocking the driveway, it seems strange to be walking.
There’s a window in the building, but it’s taller than me, and closed, so to get the guard’s attention, I’ll have to yell.
This is so awkward.
I should have called Alice and asked if she could drop me off so I wouldn’t be standing here like one of those people who walks in the drive-through at McDonald’s.
I hover sheepishly for a moment, debating what to do, and then quickly step off the road into the sandy dune and hurry around the gate to the other side.
I glance back at the guard house, catching a glimpse of light-colored hair bent over a phone.
There’s definitely a guard in there, but I don’t think he even noticed me.
The window remains closed, and whoever is behind it doesn’t move to slide it open.
He’s probably watching for cars to pull up next to the window and not looking out for people on foot.
I turn and hurry down the driveway toward the house looming in the distance.
It’s a sprawling white clapboard building with dark shutters and a curved driveway in front.
It must be three stories, or maybe four, with decks and chimneys and slanted rooftops that seem to splay out in all directions.
I have no idea what style the house is, but I’d guess Mr. Langley built it to mimic the coastal homes of old-money New England families.
It looks like the kind of place where you’d find Kennedys summering on Cape Cod, worlds away from a typical Sandy Harbor bungalow.
I wonder if this is what the entire island will look like if Mr. Langley continues the development Ian is so against.
I climb the steps to the wide wooden door and knock tentatively.
A moment later, the door swings open. I take a step back and blink at the man in front of me.
I’m expecting a butler, or maybe Ian to answer, but instead, Christopher stands there, dressed casually in a pair of pale blue seersucker shorts and a white polo shirt with the top two buttons undone.
In one hand, he’s holding a heavy crystal cocktail glass with a deep brown liquid inside.
“Josie, hello,” Christopher says warmly.
And then before I know what’s happening, he’s flashing a charming smile unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
I blink at the expanse of straight, perfect teeth against his tan face, and the lines deepening around his eyes.
His hair is tousled, like he just climbed off his sailboat, and his feet are bare.
If he looked like a classic movie star when he posed on those billboards—all aloof and mysterious—he’s channeling a thoroughly modern one now.
I picture George Clooney at his estate in Lake Como.
The butterflies that have been flapping in my stomach from the moment I hopped off my bike take flight.
This massive estate and the lifestyle that comes with it falls completely outside my life experience, and I begin to think maybe I’m out of my league.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I remember this is exactly why Ian was hesitant to invite me here—he didn’t want me feeling awkward about all the wealth on display or thinking about him differently.
I’m sure I’ll feel better once it’s just me and him by the pool.
Christopher pulls the door open wider to indicate that I should enter the house. “It’s so nice to see you.”
I step inside, but he hasn’t quite cleared enough room for me, and my shoulder brushes against his chest. I spring away from him and stumble into the room. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. My fault.” His gaze sweeps over me, and I brush a hand down the skirt of my pale green sundress.
I didn’t have anything in my closet that even comes close to the designer clothes that the women at the club wear, but I’ve always been told that green is my color. Red hair, and all that.
“You brought flowers,” he says. “How nice. I assume they’re for Mrs. Langley?”
I take a quick look at the gold and crystal chandelier sparkling over the vast, two-story entryway, and I’m grateful I spent a few more dollars on the bouquet with roses and lilies instead of the smaller one with carnations and baby’s breath. “Yes. I hope she likes them.”
“She’s not here right now, but she’ll be thrilled when she sees them.” He reaches out to take the flowers, and his hand brushes mine.
“Is Ian here?” I shift my eyes from Christopher’s and peer down a hallway to what looks like a cavernous, multi-level living room at the back of the house.
“Unfortunately, Ian is running a tiny bit late,” Christopher says. “His regatta ran over.”
I know Ian’s sailing competition is somewhere south of here, near Cape May, but I didn’t realize I’d be arriving at his house just as he got home.
Last night, I’d texted I can’t wait to go swimming at your parents’ pool with you, and he wrote back, I’m counting the hours until I can see you.
Maybe he planned for us to get here at the same time so we wouldn’t have to waste a minute to be together.
“Ian is excited that you’re coming.” Christopher’s words confirm this. “He texted a while ago that he and his mother are on the way, so I think they’ll be here very soon.” His gaze sweeps over me again. “And while we wait… Ian mentioned you like art.”
“I do. I’ll be studying in the Art program at Berkeley this fall.”
“Berkeley. Impressive.” He nods in approval.
“In that case, why don’t I show you my art collection?
” Christopher reaches for my elbow to guide me toward a wide staircase on my left.
“My favorites are just upstairs in the library. They were featured in the New York Times, so I hope they’ll be good enough to impress a Berkeley-bound artist like yourself. ”
I’m dying to catch a glimpse of the Akiko Walker and the Cecily Brown.
It’s a generous offer, especially for a man who probably has a million things to do that don’t include entertaining his son’s girlfriend.
But Ian wanted to show me the art himself, and I think he’d be hurt if I saw them first with Christopher.
And since I promised to share some of my drawings in return, I tucked my sketchbook into my bag before I left the house.
I don’t want to ruin the moment. “Um, I think Ian wanted to show me…”
For a second, Christopher’s brow furrows like I’ve said the wrong thing. But before I can worry about it, he does something completely unexpected and throws back his head with a laugh. “Of course Ian wants to show you the art. He’s a smart guy.”
My shoulders relax.
“Would you like a tour of the house instead?” Christopher asks.
“Just the downstairs, so you don’t accidentally catch a glimpse into the library.
Wouldn’t want to steal my son’s big moment.
” He gives me another wink and waves me toward the hallway that leads toward the living room I spotted earlier.
I picture Alice looking at me with wide eyes and mouthing, “Go on the tour and report everything back to me.” It would be fun to finally be the one with some information to share with her, instead of the other way around.
“Sounds good,” I say with a grin, following Christopher to the back of the house.