Summer House by Nancy Thayer Read Free Book Online Page A

plate, with her father’s constant reminders that he’d love her to return to work at the bank.
    “What are you doing?”
    Helen jumped, startled, heart pounding, as if she’d been caught in some dire guilty act. “Books,” she managed to say. “I’m sorting books.”
    “Why now? And why are you crying?” Worth came toward her, an expression of genuine concern on his face. “Helen? What’s wrong?”
    Helen turned away and hid her face in her hands.
    “Grandchildren,” she sputtered desperately. “I’ll never have grandchildren to read all these wonderful books to.”
    Worth put his arms around her and pulled her close to his body. “Of course we’ll have grandchildren. Everyone has their families late these days. Charlotte’s only thirty.”
    Helen sniffed and wiped her cheeks with her hands. “I know. I’m just being silly.”
    “Not silly. Not at all. I’d like grandchildren, too.”
    She pulled away from him. His warmth and understanding made her feel like an emotional nutcase; he was having sex with Sweet Cakes and yet he could be so loving to his wife. She couldn’t process it.
    “I need to shower and pack,” she said, without looking at him. “We don’t want to be late.”
    Without waiting for a reply, she left the den and hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. She crossed her room, entered the bathroom, shut the door and locked it, stripped off her gown, and stepped into her shower. Pain slammed at her head. She wrenched the water taps open to the fullest, grateful for the onslaught of noise and water. She bent over, put her hands on her knees, and gasped for breath.
    The hot water beat against her bare back. She unfolded to her full height and sagged against the tiled wall, letting the steady flow of water comfort her.
    But the thought would not recede: Worth was having an affair.
    Had Nona ever run down the hall and thrown herself into a shower to collect her thoughts? Helen doubted it. Nona was always composed. Nona was perfect.
    Helen turned off the water, stepped out, dried off, and ran a comb through her heavy, curly salt-and-pepper hair. She’d always been secretly proud of her hair, thick and wavy and luxurious. She never wore makeup, except for lipstick on formal occasions. Her skin was pretty good, considering all the time she’d spent in the sun. Hermother had been an early devotee of sunblock and straw hats. Her blue eyes were her best feature, she thought; she needed glasses only for reading. And although she’d gained weight over the years, the various sports she pursued in her own mild way and the hours spent on the exercise bike or treadmill when she thought about it had paid off. Perhaps she was not slim, but she was not fat, either. Until now, she’d considered herself just pretty much healthy. And at sixty, healthy was fabulous.
    But obviously not fabulous enough for Worth. Helen returned to her bedroom and pulled a loose floral sundress over her head. She slipped into a cashmere cardigan in the same dreamy pinks and sat down on the side of the bed to buckle her sandals. As she stood before her mirror, fastening her necklace, a tinkling dangle of silver with beads and nuggets of reds and yellows and blues, her hands trembled. Sweet Cakes. The name conjured up a soft blond beauty, someone with delicious flesh and adorable dimples. Someone irresistible.
    Someone who could change all their lives.
    How different would this summer be? Would Worth still fly down every weekend, to swim, sail, and play tennis, to enjoy lobster dinners and clambakes? Or would he remain in Boston, claiming the exigencies of work, when in truth he wanted to be with his—his what? His mistress? That sounded rather Victorian and frivolous. His girlfriend? She couldn’t imagine Worth with a girl.
    Well, then, a lover. She hugged herself and rocked slowly as she sat on the side of her unmade bed.
    “Helen?” Worth called from the bottom of the stairs. “What’s taking you so long? We’ve got to