The Season (18 page)

Under the glow, Andrew stood next to Lauren. She looked put out, not sporting a new ring as far as I could see. She'd probably figured his proposal would happen before the fireworks, but clearly it hadn't. I supposed it could still be pending, but Andrew didn't look like a guy about to propose to the love of his life—he looked more like a cat in a carrier. He caught me looking his way and this time I didn't look away. Neither did he.

In the crush afterward I lost sight of both Julia and Mom. Getting up at four thirty to go shooting was catching up to me, and I was walking to the cabin and bed when my phone
went
Wa-OO-gah.
A text from Julia: a single red heart emoji. At least one of us was having fun!

In need of a place to kill time, I found myself in the Battles' actual stable. Horses made good company, in my opinion, as they kept their thoughts to themselves. Inside I found the light switch and looked around. It was a stable, but not like any the horses I knew lived in—the cement floor gleamed and looked clean enough to eat off. But I could smell their scent, and when I walked back, noses poked out from stalls, eager for a rub and some attention. I wished I had a carrot or a sugar cube, but lacking any treats, I offered my hand to a sleek, gorgeous thoroughbred. He snuffled my palm, and I rubbed his nose softly. He rolled his head to the side and eyed me shyly. I closed my eyes and inhaled a rich animal bouquet with hints of tack and hay.

“Megan.” It couldn't be. I turned.

“Are you following me?” I asked Andrew Gage, a bit testy.

“No. Of course not. Lauren isn't feeling great and I wasn't tired and I, I—like horses.” So freaking awkward. “But if I'm disturbing you, then—”

“No. It's okay. You like horses?” I asked.

“Love them.”

“Me too.” He reached out his hand, let the horse snuffle it. “We have a barn,” he said. “I've always liked going there.”

“Full of Triple Crown winners no doubt?”

“There are no Triple Crown winners in our barn,”
he stated, all mock outrage. “Maybe a Kentucky Derby or two. One took the Belmont, I think, but I am positive that none of them ever won the Triple Crown.” I laughed—this was that same charming guy who parked my bike.
Where had he gone?
“Actually, we don't have racehorses,” he continued. “Don't get me wrong, they're nice, but they're just for riding.”

“And fox hunting?” I didn't phrase it as a question on purpose, but threw it at him like a dart. It landed, but not where I expected.

“I have actually been fox hunting—once,” he said. “But secretly I rooted for the fox.”

I laughed again.

“Is that really the way you think of me? Triple Crown winners and fox hunting?”

“In my defense you did come down here in a private jet.”

He laughed. “That's really my mother's world. Not that I haven't benefited from it, but it's not what interests me.”

“What interests you?”

“Building things, fixing things.”

“Is that what you do?”

He nodded. “Zach and I, we take on older buildings, rehabilitate them, make them useful again. Factories, houses, malls—you'd be amazed what's been abandoned, thrown away. But there's always a way to rethink it, repurpose it.”

This felt a million miles from an arrogant prick ducking photographers he'd summoned, and I worked to reconcile all the many pieces of Andrew Gage.

“What's it like living under all that scrutiny?”

“Strangely . . . normal. I mean, it's been there my whole life, and now it's just a part of my life. People see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe. It doesn't make it real. I've made my peace with it, in a way. But I don't court it.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“Really. What did you hear?” His eyes narrowed slightly, and from his tone I knew I'd hit bone. For a moment it thrilled me, made me feel like I had something on him. Then I imagined saying the words and quickly wished I had not opened this door.

“Nothing,” I said. But he would not be dissuaded.

“Now you have to tell me.”

“Just that—someone told me that your publicist calls them, the photographers, tells them where you'll be, and then you act all surprised.”

This sounded truly awful and I wished again that I had never gone down this road.

“And do you believe that?” he asked mildly.

“I don't know.” It was like stepping in a cow patty—it smells, it sticks to you, and it's nigh impossible to rub it off completely.

“That would make me—
anyone
who did something like that—a dick of epic proportions. Who told you that?”

“Nobody.”

“
Nobody
told you?” When he said it back to me, it sounded petty, and stupid.

I squared my shoulders, set my head.

“Hank told me. He said he knew from when you were friends.”

“Ahh.” He let the sound dangle, and it irked me. “My friend Hank. And now
your
friend Hank.” I hated the way he said it—his voice was cutting, cruel, full of judgment.

“We're more than friends,” I said brazenly.

“Really?” This he hadn't known.

“Really.”

“Hank Waterhouse is a lot better at making friends than keeping them.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means just what I said—be careful.”

“I'll be
friends
with whoever I damn well want to be friends with!”

He took his time answering, and I wondered how he had made me so mad so quickly. But he remained calm and steady.

“That is, of course, your prerogative,” he said.

Oh, he was so haughty, so incredibly pompous, and in that moment I despised him more than ever. Without another word, I stomped out into the night.

Eighteen

In Which Megan Learns How It All Went Down

“IT'S AN UGLY STORY,” HANK SAID, “BUT IF YOU REALLY want to know I'll tell you.”

“I do,” I said.

We were at Cafe Pacific for a makeup lunch, his way of saying sorry for missing the weekend. Filled with the usual lunch crowd of businessmen and trophy wives, the room hummed, but in a way all the hubbub made our small corner table more private.

“I'm from out west of Amarillo, a little catbox of a town called Dalhart. My family, well, it wasn't real good. My dad left early and my mom . . . struggled—different jobs, different guys. As a kid I actually liked going to school, stayed after when I could. I went to the library a lot, lost myself in books. It was a defense, I guess, against what was going on—with her, at home.”

I nearly cried right there. He was so open, so vulnerable, and his voice so raw with unfiltered pain. I reached across the
table and took his hand. I squeezed it once and he squeezed back.

“We really didn't have anything, but I had school and I ended up doing pretty well—good grades and high test scores. On a lark, and with a push from my guidance counselor, I applied to Harvard. And got in.”

“Seriously?” He nodded. “How could you afford it?”

“If you don't have it they just waive it. Anyway, as you can imagine, it's a long way from Dalhart to Cambridge. And freshman year, Andrew Gage was my roommate. Everybody coming in had to spend their first two years in the dorms—it was a way of leveling things, I guess. Probably somebody in the housing department had a sense of humor, and they were like, “Hey, I know, let's put this poor shitkicker with the billionaire's kid.”

He half laughed, as did I, but it was the kind of laugh you swallow.

“I can't really explain why, but we became friends. We clicked. I don't know how he felt about it, but for me, it was—cool. Exciting. I mean, I didn't ever know that world really existed, and suddenly I was in it. Parties and credit cards and attention—even then they were hunting him for photographs—reporters asking him where he went, who he was dating. I was like a groupie with the band, you know?”

I nodded, with no idea where this was headed. But now that he was talking, I wasn't going to stop him. He took a measured sip of his beer. The waiter arrived, put down our plates, but we ignored them.

“By Thanksgiving he knew my story, knew I didn't have the dough to go home for a couple of days. I was planning to stay in the dorm and get some extra work hours in, but he invited me home with him. I thought he just felt sorry for me, but he insisted that wasn't it. So I said yeah, why not?”

“That must have been so wild—Thanksgiving at the Gages. It's like something out of a movie.”

“Crazy doesn't begin to describe it. We flew on a private jet from Boston, and when we landed, there was this guy, a bodyguard, waiting with a black Escalade, all tinted windows. He called Andrew ‘Mr. Gage' and me ‘Mr. Waterhouse.' They have a freaking compound on Martha's Vineyard—heated indoor pool, tennis courts, the house is the size of . . . I really can't even describe it. I met his mom, and his dad was still alive, and it was just—yeah, crazy. They were so nice to me, really. I got along great with his dad. He was impressed that I had gotten myself to Harvard, told me again and again that it would be there my whole life, that education. There must have been eighty people there for Thanksgiving dinner—some celebrities, their neighbors, I can't even remember who all was there. They had about six turkeys, champagne. His dad did this big toast at the beginning, when we sat down, and he singled me out, told everyone how grateful he was that I was there with them, how proud they were to share their table . . .”

His voice drifted off here as he savored the bittersweet
memory.

“Crazy stuff,” I said quietly. He nodded, could tell I understood.

“Crazy stuff,” he agreed. “And that first weekend, I also met his sister, Georgina.”

Suddenly I had this awful feeling—just the way he said her name. He looked over at me, and begged me with his eyes and his heart and his cracked voice to know how hard it was to tell me the rest.

“She was seventeen then. But precocious. She dressed, you know—grown-up. And she hung around with us, around Andrew. She was into everything he was into. If he liked a band, she liked them too. If he liked a movie—you get it. So we met and that was all—she was his little sister, still in high school. It was just a couple of days, and then back to school, but somehow that trip, it made a difference. Maybe it was seeing me with his dad, I don't know. But our friendship . . . deepened, and they invited me for Christmas. At spring break his dad talked about us starting a business together. You gotta remember, I was barely six months out of West Texas, and here I was, listening to one of the most important guys in the country talk about me and his son, maybe all of us working together. It was . . . surreal.

“Then, out of nowhere his dad died in October. Everyone was . . . shocked. I went to the funeral, and afterward his mom, Mrs. Gage, talked again about us going into business, that we should do it for his dad. I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt like—yeah, like I was on my way. So the next year,
Christmas, we're at his house in New York City. They call it an apartment, but trust me when I tell you it's a house. It's the penthouse of the Dakota, six bedrooms on two floors. Late one night, really late—there's a knock on my door and I open it and it's Georgina. And she's—she wasn't wearing . . . much.”

“Oh God no,” I said. Yet I knew, deep in my bones, it was true. Hank had his head down like a prisoner condemned. I was still holding his hand, and now I squeezed it hard, telling him I was strong enough to hear it.

“I asked her what she wanted, what she was doing there. She told me she loved me. God, this sounds so stupid, but she said she was madly in love with me—always had been, and she wanted to . . . she
offered
me things. You know? I was shocked, and I told her no. I told her I didn't think of her that way, that I was flattered, but no—it wasn't going to happen. I told her to go back to her room and we'd forget the whole thing.”

“But she didn't go.” I could see her there, the younger sister, pining away for her brother's handsome older friend. He shook his head.

“No. She didn't go.” He looked at me and I could see all the way inside him, could see the water at the bottom of his well. “She flipped out. Went insane. She screamed at me, and started . . . clawing at me. I know this sounds wild, but she was—I had never seen anybody like that, had never seen anyone change like that, so suddenly. She was screaming
at me, calling me everything you can imagine. I asked her to be quiet, I put my hands out to calm her, and she bit me, she scratched at me, and she wouldn't quit screaming. Her mom, when she came to see what was happening, I started to tell her, but Georgina let loose, told her I had been flirting with her, leading her on, trying to get her to come to my room. I protested, but she—Georgina—she swore to her mom I was lying. I was . . . paralyzed. Finally, Mrs. Gage told me to go, and I did. I shouldn't have—I should have stayed, but it was their house, it was her daughter, and I felt sure that there was something really wrong with her—maybe she was . . . unbalanced? But that her mom knew and just wanted me to go so she would calm down. So . . . I went, straight back to school. I took a train that night, and the next day I called Andrew, but he didn't answer. I still didn't think anything was really wrong, just that they needed to settle her down, get things straight.”

“That must have been horrible.”

“It was. But the worst part was I couldn't defend myself, couldn't prove that she was lying. And I never got that chance. After Christmas break, Andrew never came back to the dorm. Some guys got his stuff and he moved into the city and I never really talked to him again. I waited for him on campus, tried to explain several times—but he brushed me away, wouldn't hear my side. And then, at the end of the year, mysteriously I received a summons from the board of review. I was no longer welcome at Harvard.”

“You're kidding.”

“I wish. Because as bad as it was—and it was bad—I wanted to stay, finish school. Even if Andrew and I weren't friends anymore.”

“But they can't do that, just take it away, unless you did something to deserve it. Were you failing? Did they tell you why?”

“They said it was ‘within our purview to review each and every student annually, and make any decisions we see fit accordingly.'” I could tell he had remembered the words verbatim, that even now they were bitter as burnt toast.

“And that was it. I knew Mrs. Gage was on the board of the university, and I knew she did it, but what could I do? So I went back to Texas, and that's when I enrolled at A&M.”

“Did you ever see her again? Georgina? Talk to her?”

He shook his head.

“Never.”

“You must be so angry with her.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I'm not. I mean, I wish it had turned out differently, or I used to want it that way. But now, I feel sorry for her. I think she is damaged, and I just hope she gets the help she needs. Money definitely can't buy you happiness, that's for sure.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “What cowards to not let you defend yourself, not just . . . oh, that makes me so angry.”

“Not being believed was the worst part. I thought Andrew really knew me, knew where I was coming
from, that my word—that's all I have. I would never risk that. If I ever did something I'd own up to it. But she's his sister. I guess I understand.”

We were still holding hands. My palm was sweaty, and so was his, but it didn't seem to matter. I squeezed his hand again, smiled at him.

“I warned you—it ain't pretty,” he said.

“No, but I'm glad I know. Thanks for telling me.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and then he motioned for the waiter to bring the check. I looked down. Our lunch was cold and long forgotten, and neither of us was hungry anymore anyway.

“I'll take you home,” he said. I nodded.

The drive home was quiet and uncomfortable. When we arrived, Hank opened my car door and walked me up. With the key in the door I turned, feeling like I had to say something. I just had no idea what. We looked at each other.

He spoke first.

“Hey, I'm not dumb. I know how all this sounds and that it probably . . . changes things. But you asked and I couldn't not tell you the truth. I really like you. I've had a really great time with you these last few weeks but . . . you know, no hard feelings. I get it.”

He gave me a peck on the cheek, turned, and walked away.

“Hank, no.” He stopped and turned back. “I'm shocked, for sure. It's horrible but . . . but I don't want to end things between us.”

“You don't?”

“No. I feel awful for you.”

“Don't feel bad for me.” He walked back to stand right in front of me. “Lesson learned. A&M gave me plenty—it was a great education and the Corps was all about honesty, and process. Seriously, I wouldn't trade what I have now for all the Gages have. Plus . . . I met you.”

I smiled at him. He reached out and pulled me into a hug. I felt warm and safe and comfortable in his arms.