That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

had turned his whole life into an attempt at escape. Which begged the question: What was Hal’s life going to be?

Hal clapped Danny on the shoulder and used the other man’s body to lever himself upright. “You know what we can do? We can clean up our acts. Go forth and sin no more,” he said, his voice loud and confident. As he spoke, he heard an echo of the man he’d met at his fifth reunion. It catches up with you. You need things to keep you on the straight and narrow. A wife, a family. Anchors. It’s time, Hal decided. Time to go forth and sin no more. Time to find some anchors and get his house in order, and claim the glorious future that he deserved.

2019

Hal had been expecting the call ever since Saturday night, and when, at ten in the morning the Monday after the party, his administrative assistant (you couldn’t call them secretaries anymore) said, “I have your brother-in-law on the line,” Hal sighed, mentally spat on his fists, and said, “Put him through.”

Danny sounded just as hysterical as Hal had imagined he would; just as panicked and dismayed. “What are we going to do?”

“About what?” Hal asked.

“About Diana!” Danny shouted. “About the fact that she thinks you raped her, and that I watched, and she’s found us!”

“True. But what can she do?” Hal asked. “Even if she’s got a case about being assaulted—which, legally speaking, is dubious—the statute of limitations in Massachusetts expired years ago. It would be her word against ours.”

“Have you not been reading the news for the last year and a half?” Danny’s voice was shrill. He sounded, Hal thought, like his sister at her most infuriated, and he could feel a headache forming, like a cap tightening around his skull. “People believe women. They believe them more than men.”

“Not every time,” Hal said, but Danny talked right over him.

“What if she told someone? Or kept a diary? What if she had bruises, and took pictures? Jesus, what if she got pregnant?”

“Would you stop?” With two fingers, Hal pinched the bridge of his nose and ignored the prickles of sweat under his arms and above his lip. “If she wants to try to come forward, if she thinks she’s got a story, the first chapter involves her wandering down to the beach and getting shit-faced. How does that make her look?”

“You raped her, and Bubs held her down, and I watched. How does that make us look?” Danny countered. “She was fifteen years old, Hal. She was basically Beatrice’s age. Don’t you feel anything about this? Don’t you feel the tiniest little bit of remorse?”

Hal didn’t answer. He was remembering the speech his father had given him the morning they were set to depart for his first year at Emlen. Vernon had thumped him on the back, then reached into his pocket and tossed a box of condoms on top of the duffel bag on his bed.

“There’s going to be a lot of young ladies who are going to be looking to trap you as you get older,” his dad said. “So be good.” He’d topped off his speech with a broad wink. “And if you can’t be good, be careful.” Hal wondered if Diana’s mother had given her a speech, about not drinking, or going to parties alone, or throwing herself at boys. Or if maybe Diana had gotten a different kind of speech. Maybe she’d been given that yellow bikini the same way Hal had been given the condoms. Maybe, instead of Be careful, her mom had said, Be smart. There’re a lot of rich boys on the Cape in the summer, and maybe you’ll be able to get your hooks into one of them.

He shook his head. “She isn’t going to do anything. She just wants to scare us. I promise. You’re worrying about nothing. This is going to blow over, and everything’s going to be fine.” Which was what he’d believed, with all his heart, until that night, when he had come home and found Daisy and Beatrice gone.

“Honey?” he called, hearing the house echo. None of the familiar sounds that said “home” came to his ears; nor could he catch a whiff of any of the smells. No chicken roasting in the oven; no green pork chili, made with tomatillos specially purchased from one of the markets on Ninth Street, simmering on the stove. The countertops were bare; the table was empty; the dog did not come running to greet him. He checked his phone for recent texts or calls from his daughter or his wife, but there were none. When he called Daisy’s number, it just rang and rang. He texted the words CALL ME, then put his phone away, trying to ignore the voice in his head that was speaking up, more and more insistently: she knows.

He went to the bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. His plan was to check for missing luggage or clothes, but he quickly realized that he had no idea where Daisy kept their suitcases, or if he’d be able to discern if any of her clothes or toiletries had been moved or taken. Everything seemed to be in order. The perfume he liked, that he’d bought to replace the perfume he didn’t, was still in its spot on the dresser. Her good earrings and her pearl necklace were still in the jewelry box… but if she’d packed some clothes and a toothbrush, he wouldn’t necessarily notice they were gone. He didn’t even try looking in Beatrice’s room, knowing that would be futile.

Instead, he stood in the center of their bedroom, forcing his mind to go blank. Ladybug, ladybug, he thought. Daisy had flown off, somewhere. His little songbird, out of her cage. Where had she gone? Was she alone, or was she with Diana, to soak up more of her new friend’s poison?

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Hal jumped, pressed his lips together, and