The Perfect Summer (Hubbard's Point) by Luanne Rice Page B

father and uncles, who owned their own yachts. I think I represent something to him, that he's wanted all his life: to belong.”
    “Belong to what?” Joe asked. Didn't he belong to a great family—Bay, the kids?
    “You know, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “You're just being obtuse. I mean belong to ‘the club.' To be in instead of out. To have doors open for you. Some of us grew up taking that for granted. Sean didn't.”
    “I see, Ms. Mills. Thank you very much for your time.” As he stood to leave, he noticed a glass case filled with trophies—for horse shows, regattas, tennis matches. “Are those yours?”
    “Yes,” she said. “My father rather values athleticism.”
    “The competitive spirit is alive and well here at Shoreline Bank,” he said, noticing an empty spot on a middle shelf, with dust around the shiny circle of a round base. “What was there?”
    “Odd you should ask,” she said, her eyes clouding over. “I'm missing a silver bowl. Nothing terribly important—something I won for a jumping event several years ago.”
    Joe nodded, thanking Fiona for her time. Passing from her office through the bank, he was aware of all the bank personnel discretely watching him.
    Everyone except Mark Boland. He was on the phone, back to the door, jabbing the air with his finger. Seemed like a pretty competitive guy himself, Joe thought, walking to his car.
             
    AFTER WATCHING JOE HOLMES DRIVE AWAY, TARA GAVE BAY half an hour alone, while she and Annie picked a huge bouquet. Then they waded across the creek and cut through the backyard. The news vultures called from the driveway, and Annie's shoulders went up to her ears. When they were safely inside, Tara instructed her goddaughter to arrange the tangled flowers in a tall vase, and she climbed the stairs and found Bay curled up on her bed.
    “It's too nice a day out for you to be in here,” Tara said. “In spite of all the idiots parked in front of your house.”
    Bay's face stayed in the pillow.
    Tara sat down on the edge of the bed, put her hand on Bay's shoulder. It felt far too thin, almost frail, as if this ordeal was literally taking everything out of her.
    “Bay? I saw Joe Holmes over here.”
    No words, just quiet crying.
    “Bay?”
    “It's awful, Tara,” Bay said finally. “It's so much worse than we thought. Sean really did it—embezzled money, planned it all out, used his clients. Stole money, parked money—it's bad.”
    “He's sure?”
    “Yes. He has lots of evidence. He showed me a lot of it. Including our
accounts . . .”
    “Bay, no—he didn't take money from you . . .”
    Bay nodded, starting to sob. She clutched the pillowcase, and Tara could see that it was already soaking wet with tears. She felt such overwhelming fury at Sean she could barely keep her voice steady.
    “How bad is it?”
    “I don't know yet, Tara,” Bay said. “I can't even think. It's all just hitting me: He's a criminal. My husband! What kind of an idiot was I to not know? What'll I tell the kids? Every day there's something new and horrible. They're all just hanging on, praying that their father's okay.”
    “I know. The whole time Annie was over, she couldn't take her eyes off your house. As though he was going to show up any second.”
    “Waiting for him to come home—when he's probably going to jail!”
    “No wonder he's hiding somewhere.”
    Bay rolled onto her back, looked up at Tara with swollen, red eyes. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
    “You're going to stay strong,” Tara said firmly. “We'll get through this together.”
    “Thanks for being here,” Bay said. “I don't know what the kids or I would do without you.”
    Tara just shook her head—such a thing wasn't even worth saying. Bay had enfolded Tara into her family, into the warmth of her life, just as if she was a sister. The depth of her love was without bounds, and she couldn't bear to hear Bay thank her.
    “Just know how wonderful you are,” Tara said,