Feilcity's Annual Fall Meltdown

Welcome back. Hope you enjoy this latest installment!

My first column for the Times was a success. I got some nice letters to the editor. Of course, not everyone liked it (some thought I was too flippant about the somber subject of funerals), but overall, I was pleased, the editor was pleased, and I received a request for more pieces. In the meantime, I was busy as ever, and I continued my weekly appointments with Lila. I still wondered why we met so frequently, but contented myself with the thought that Lila enjoyed the company. Since I did too, I had no desire to end our weekly meetings.

In fact, the day the column ran, I was at Lila’s penthouse, for the first time since the Labor Day weekend. She had returned from the Hamptons only days before, and was eager to resume our meetings. We were going over the menu for her funeral brunch, and I had just finished reviewing the appetizer list, when my cellphone rang. I didn’t recognize the phone number. It was a Los Angeles area code, but it wasn’t Felicity, so I ignored it, assuming whoever it was would leave a message. But the phone kept ringing, and eventually Lila turned from her perusal of the list of main courses.

“Aren’t you going to answer that, Francie?” she asked.

“No, it’s fine. They can leave a message,” I said.

“They don’t seem inclined to leave a message,” Lila pointed out. “Go ahead, answer it. I don’t mind.”

I shrugged and picked up the phone. To my surprise, it was Felicity’s roommate, Syn, on the other end. “Francie? Oh, thank God!”

“Syn, what’s wrong?” I asked, although I was afraid I knew the answer.

Syn immediately confirmed my worst fears. “It’s time,” she said, simply.

“It’s too early,” I countered.

“What can I say? She’s gone.”

My heart sank. I looked across at Lila, who was now looking at me with concern. I can only imagine what my face looked like, as I listened to Syn explain that she hadn’t seen Felicity in three days, and that my sister had blown off two auditions in that time.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said, flatly. “But keep looking, will you?”

I hung up the phone and just sat there in silence. Really, I couldn’t keep doing this. Something had to give. For a while I forgot anyone else was there until Lila cleared her throat and asked, ”For heaven’s sake, Francie, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?” I blinked in confusion. “Oh! Lila, I’m so sorry! Where were we?” I made a move to pick up a sample menu. Lila pulled it out of reach.

“The lamb shanks can wait,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.”

“No, it’s—“

“Francie.”

I sighed in resignation. “It’s my sister, Felicity. She’s missing.”

“What?” Lila stared at me. “My god, Francie. You should go right away. Have the police been called?”

No, no, Lila, it’s not as bad as all that,” I assured her.

“What do you mean? Your sister is missing!” Lila was clearly mystified by my nonchalance, so I realized I needed to explain.

“She does this every year,” I said. “She’ll turn up. She always does. But I do need to go out to LA. She’ll need me when she does turn up.”

“I don’t understand,” Lila said.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not explaining this very well. You see, when we were six, our father died.”

“Yes, I remember. It was very hard on Felicia.” Lila smiled compassionately. “It must have been hard on you both as well. But what does that have to do with Felicity disappearing?”

“It happened in late September. His driver lost control of the car on some wet leaves. Felicity had a really hard time with it. I don’t think she ever really dealt with it properly.” I lost myself for a moment in the vague memories I had of that day, but tried to focus on the matter at hand. “Anyway, every year around the anniversary of my dad’s death, Felicity goes off the rails a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as kids, it was things like acting out in school and being defiant at home. It would last for a week or so, and then she’d be back to normal. As we got older, she started drinking and doing recreational drugs, and running away. Then, she’d come back and act like nothing had happened.”

I could tell Lila was shocked. “What did your mother do?”

“She tried to get Felicity to see a therapist, but it never took. Either Felicity would clam up and say nothing, or she would blow off the appointments. So, eventually, we just learned to deal with it. When Felicity would run away, we’d try to find her, but we knew she would only come back when she was ready. So, most of the time, we just waited.”

“And worried.”

I nodded. “Yes. It was very hard on my mother.”

“What about you?”

I shrugged. “I managed.”

Lila hesitated a moment, and then said, “Francie, I know you love your sister, but her behavior strikes me as quite selfish and self indulgent.”

Even though I had thought the same way often enough, I still felt the need to defend my sister. “She can’t help it. Losing our dad was very hard on her.”

Lila shook her head. “It was hard on all of you. But you managed to deal with it and grow up. You didn’t cause your family further pain through self-destructive behavior.”

The last bit was said rather forcefully, and I looked at Lila for a long moment. Again, she had echoed the thoughts I had had many times, but felt guilty expressing. Despite how sad my mother always seemed when Felicity had her meltdowns, and despite the sleepless nights she experienced each time, she had always insisted that we not mention the incidents once Felicity had returned home. I had always resented that, and the fact that Felicity would continue to behave however she wanted. But, I never told my mother that. It felt disloyal, even now.

“She can’t help it,” I insisted. But the protest sounded hollow, even to me.

“Of course she can,” Lila countered. “Maybe not as a young girl, but she is a grown woman, and she needs to take responsibility for herself and her actions now. You can’t keep rescuing her.”

“She’s my sister,” I said simply.

Lila nodded. “I know. And I know that, despite how little she has done for you, you will always be there for her. But it isn’t fair to you, Francie.”

“She’s the only family I have left.”

Lila sat back in her seat and looked at me for a long moment. Then she said, “Your sister lives in Los Angeles?”

“Yes.”

Lila picked up her cellphone. “Michael is heading to Seattle tomorrow on business for the foundation. I’ll just have him drop you in LA on his way. Will that be soon enough?”

“Yes,” I said. “Felicity won’t be found until she wants to be.” That was true enough, but even as I said the words, I started to panic. There were so many reasons I did not want to be trapped on a six-hour flight with Michael Rhodes. So many reasons I couldn’t admit to myself, let alone Lila. I hurried to decline the offer. “Really,” I said. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“Don’t be silly,” Lila insisted. “There’s no reason for you to travel alone.”

“No, it’s fine, I swear. I’ll just book a flight when I get home today.”

“Who said anything about booking a flight?” Lila held up a hand for a moment as whoever she was calling picked up. “Yes, Charles, how are you?. . . Excellent. I’d like you to file a change of flight plan for Mr. Rhodes’s journey tomorrow. . . . Yes, a dear friend needs to go to Los Angeles, so I’d like you to drop her off on your way. . . . Thanks so much, Charles. Goodbye.”

Lila hung up the phone and turned the full force of her charming smile on me. “It’s done,” she said, cheerfully.

I knew I probably looked completely dumbfounded. I was completely dumbfounded. “Just like that?” I asked. “You can just change a flight plan on that short notice?”

Lila’s smile widened, and a mischievous twinkle lit her eyes. “Well,” she said. “It’s the foundation’s plane. And it’s my name on the foundation . . . and the plane. So, yes, I can.”

I had to smile back, but at the same time, I knew I could not accept. “Lila…” I began.

She cut me off immediately. “Francie, let me answer you now and save you the time. No, it’s no trouble at all. Yes, of course I should. And no, you don’t need to repay me. Does that cover everything?”

“I . . . uh . . .” I really didn’t know what to say.

“Excellent, that’s settled then,” Lila continued, as if I had agreed with everything. “Now, why don’t you head home? I’m sure you have a great deal to do before leaving. You’ll have to pack, of course, and get that lovely young woman – Keeley was it? – to oversee the business while you’re gone. We can pick things up when you return.”

“But your menu,” I insisted.

Lila looked down at the menu cards in front of her. “Do you know,” she said. I don’t really think crudité and lamb shanks are the thing after all. I’m thinking maybe Asian fusion.”

My jaw dropped a bit at that. Asian fusion? Seriously? But Lila was already packing away my things, so I had no choice but to prepare to go. “Thank you, Lila,” I said sincerely.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll have Michael call you with the details.”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek, as had become her custom, and I headed out. The truth was there really was a lot I needed to do before I left for LA. Felicity never really thought about how her episodes inconvenienced others, whether it be me, or her roommate, Syn. Of course, thinking about others had never really been Felicity’s strong suit.

I spent the rest of the afternoon making calls and packing. Michael didn’t call. To be honest, I hadn’t expected him to. I knew he’d want to put off any conversation for as long as possible. Instead, he texted me in the evening that he would pick me up at 9AM. I sent back a terse reply and tried not to think about the impending six-hour flight the next day. In fact, I spent the entire sleepless night trying not to think about it.

I rose with the sun, since it seemed pointless to lie awake in bed any longer. I took Roxie for a run along the Esplanade, and then got her settled in the apartment (Keeley would be along later to take her to her place). Then I went to the lobby to sit and wait for Michael’s car to arrive.

He was prompt as ever, and I steeled myself for the inevitable confrontation. We hadn’t spoken since that Sunday night on the beach at the Hamptons, and I had no clue what to say to him. Whatever I did, I certainly had no intention of discussing Lauren, although I didn’t see how I could avoid it.

I followed Michael’s driver to the car, and waited as he loaded my suitcase and then opened the back door. I would just say, “Hi, Michael, thanks for the ride.” That’s all. And the subject of Lauren would be off the table completely. Perfect plan. Then I got into the car and sat down across from Michael. I opened my mouth to say my rehearsed line and then realized who was sitting next to him.

“Hi, Lauren.”

Francie's Funeral Dos and Don'ts

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“Are you sure we can’t hate the div?” Tamsin asked, absently flipping through The New Yorker, as we sat in my living room a week later.

I laughed out loud at the impeccably well-bred Lady Tamsin Greer using common British slang. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “And she’s not a div. She’s brilliant, actually. Brilliant, accomplished, pretty . . . and she’s nice.”

It was true. We had spent an entire long weekend in close company together, and I had to admit that Lauren Dawes was really a very nice person. There was nothing at all to dislike about her. Except, maybe the bit where she’s engaged to the guy I was kind of developing a thing for, but . . .

“Not possible,” Tamsin asserted.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that’s not how it works. Have you learned nothing from Romantic Comedies? The other woman is always a bitch. That’s how you know the hero’s going to leave her for the heroine.”

I stared at Tamsin for a moment, and then laughed again, although this time my heart wasn’t really in it. “Sorry, T,” I said. “But there are a few flaws in your logic.”

“Such as?”

I sighed. “Such as, this is not a Romantic Comedy, it’s real life. And real life works a little differently than the movies.”

“Immaterial,” Tamsin countered, with a casual wave of her hand.

“OK, well, then, there’s this – if anyone is the other woman in this scenario, it’s me, not Lauren.” I thought that would end the discussion, but Tamsin raised her eyebrows significantly, and I immediately realized the impression I had just given. I tried, clumsily, to clarify: “That is, I mean, well, you know what I mean.”

Right, that’s clear then, I thought with chagrin. Not that any of it mattered. It’s not like there had been anything between Michael and me, so there was no point in dwelling on it, or making excuses. And, since I had no intention of telling Tamsin what else happened that weekend, it was time to change the subject.

“Listen, anyway, that’s not why I asked you here,” I said, pulling the magazine out of Tamsin’s hands.

“No?” Tamsin asked. “Want to know how things are at the ancestral pile?”

“No – well, yes. How are you parents?”

Tamsin shrugged. “Fine. They send their love. My grandmother wants to know when you’re going international by the way.”

“Really?” I hadn’t thought about expanding my business abroad. I immediately started to envision the logo for “Funerals By Francie International.” Shaking my head, I got back to the matter at hand.  “Not anytime soon,” I said. “Though you know I’d always be there for your family. But, right now, I really need you to take a look at this.”

I handed Tamsin a couple of sheets of paper. She looked at the top sheet, flipped down to the next page, and looked at me incredulously. “Is this for real?” she asked.

I shrugged, “Yeah. Lila introduced me to the features editor from the Times a couple of weeks ago. He thought this might make a good piece for the Sunday Supplement. I need you to tell me if it’s OK before I submit it, because I don’t really think I captured the tone they were looking for.”

“What do you mean?

“Well, I can be a little snarky.”

“No!”

“Yeah, very funny. This is the Times. I need to get it right. So, read it and let me know if it’s—“

“Too snarky?”

“Among other things.”

Tamsin settled back against the sofa cushions and tucked her feet under her. “Fine,” she said, “but I’m going to need some liquid incentive. Another vodka tonic, please.”

As I moved to the kitchen to mix Tamsin’s drink, she settled in to read my debut article.

****

FUNERAL DOS AND DON’TS

By Frances Fellowes

Founder/Owner Funerals By Francie, LLC

Etiquette is a bit of a lost art. We’ve become a more casual society. But, there are still some things that remain sacred and where the words, “casual” or “Dress-down” do not, or at least should not, apply. Unfortunately, not everyone remembers this, and so it helps to be reminded what’s appropriate and what’s not when it comes to conducting or attending a funeral. Here’s a short list of Dos and Don’ts everyone should remember (I’m looking at you – girl in the halter top, micro-mini and red F*** me pumps!)

Before one can even think of the funeral, one needs to deal with the notifications. Two basic rules here:

DO notify all family and close friends in a timely manner. It’s generally best to delegate calling responsibilities to a few reliable people.

DON’T post the news on Facebook before said family and close friend have been notified. No one wants to hear that Aunt Myra died by scrolling through pictures of their cousin’s boobs and their best friend’s Disney vacation.

When the arrangements are made:

DO feel free to post them on Facebook, as it is a good way to relay the information quickly.

DON’T forget that people like Uncle Sid and Aunt Myra (assuming it’s not actually her funeral) may not have Facebook. You still need to call people.

At the funeral, it’s mostly the visiting mourners who need the reminders. The family largely just needs to stand on the receiving line and accept condolences. But, family, remember this:

DO receive condolences in a gracious manner, no matter who is offering them

DON’T use the receiving line to air your displeasure at Cousin Wally for breaking your iPhone last year (same goes for the people offering condolences).

Visiting Mourners:

DO offer your condolences in a sincere and gracious manner.

DON’T say, “So sorry for your loss. You know we all wish it were Cousin Wally who’d bought it.” Seriously, just don’t.

DO move on quickly so as not to hold up the line.

DON’T decide to catch up on the last thirty years since you’ve seen Uncle Sid. If it’s one of my funerals, my pushers and pullers will physically drag you away if they need to, and force you to look at every single photo in the collage!

DO silence your phones out of respect for the proceedings.

DON’T sneak to the back with Cousin Wally and company and take stupid pictures and post them on Instagram. No texting either!

Funeral Attire:

DO, if possible, wear a black or dark suit. For the ladies, a dark skirt or pair of trousers, with a subdued top is perfectly acceptable.

DON’T wear a fuchsia dress and say, “Well, it’s all I had. It’s subdued, right?” You will forever be remembered as the dumbass who wore a fuchsia dress to Aunt Myra’s funeral (sorry, Aunt Myra). Go to the store!

DON’T (yes, this needs its own category). I repeat, DON’T wear jeans unless you are specifically told it is a casual event. And even then, khakis would be better. This is a funeral people! Not a night out clubbing! Come to think of it, most clubs won’t let you in with jeans, either, so…

Post Funeral:

DO feel free to follow up with a note, mass card, whatever, to let the bereaved know you’re thinking of them.

DON’T call and say, “All right, so can we talk about what Aunt Myra and Cousin Wally were doing at the funeral?”

And, finally, above all else, please remember that a funeral is about paying your respects to the deceased and his or her family. With that in mind,

DO remember that this day, and those following, are not about you (unless you’re the bereaved or the deceased, of course). So, DO keep your mouth shut about whatever drama has been bugging you for the last ten years or so.

DON’T air your drama at the funeral, in the condolence card or, God forbid, on Facebook! Time and a place, people. Time and a place!

****

Tamsin grinned as she put down the last page. “Too snarky?” I asked.

“Is there really such a thing?” she countered.

“T, really.”

“No,” she said. “It’s just snarky enough. It works, really. Without the snark, the article would be a dead bore, no pun intended.”

“Um, thanks?”

“No, not what you wrote, but the topic itself. I mean, who wants to read about funeral etiquette? But this is fun. And there are some good points in it at the same time. I like it. Submit it.”

“Thanks,” I said, finally relaxing. I gathered up the pages while Tamsin ruffled Roxie’s fur.

“Anytime,” she said. “Now, back to the important stuff – are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me about you and Michael?”

Not today there isn’t!

Did he say, Fiancée?

Welcome back! Slowly but surely, Francie is telling her tale to me - and I'm relating it to you! Remember to head first to the oldest post and work your way forward. Enjoy!

So, as near as I can remember, I mumbled, “Nice to meet you, Lauren,” followed by some indecipherable excuse about needing to change, or something like that. Lauren mentioned that Lila wanted everyone at the main house for lunch at one, and I’m pretty sure I heard Keeley promise that we’d see them there. But, by then, I was heading down the path toward Seagull Bungalow.

I entered the little cottage and dropped onto the white and blue-striped sofa. James and Keeley hovered in the doorway and, even though I wasn’t looking at them, I could sense their nervous tension.

“What?” I asked, irritably.

“Girl, I’m sorry,” James said. “Totally didn’t see that coming.”

“I can’t believe he never told you he was engaged,” Keeley added. “It’s really crappy of him.”

I sighed and shook my head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” Keeley and James said in unison.

“No. It would be if he had actually been leading me on.” I groaned in embarrassment. “But, he never said or did anything to suggest he was interested in me. That was all my stupid imagination.”

“He flirted with you,” Keeley insisted. “No imagination there.”

I shrugged. “Guys flirt. I read too much into it, that’s all. He felt bad for being rude to me when we first met, and probably felt he owed to his grandmother to be nice to me. I’m the one who ignored my better judgment and decided it was more than it obviously is.”

James sat on the arm of one of the matching striped armchairs - really, the nautical-themed living room looked like something out of a Ralph Lauren catalog. Gorgeous. Anyway, James sat and looked at me with a very curious look in his eyes.

“What?” I asked again.

“It’s a bit odd, don’t you think?” he asked.

“What is?”

“Well, you’ve known Michael, and Lila, for months. The fact that he’s engaged never came up?”

I shrugged. “I Why would it? To be honest, I haven’t spoken with Michael all that much, and it’s almost always been with Lila around. It’s not like… it’s not like we’re friends.” I tried not to examine too closely why that last statement left such a hollow feeling in me.

“You’re friends with Lila, aren’t you?” James pressed.

I considered this. Lila and I had worked together very closely over the last few months. And she paid me a very handsome salary for my services. But, as I looked back over the time we had spent together, I realized that we had enjoyed more social events than business meetings. So, yes, I suppose I could say Lila and I were friends. I nodded.

“And never,” James pursued. “in all the time you’ve spent together, has she mentioned that her grandson is engaged to a statuesque brunette who looks like she just stepped out of Vogue?”

“Not helping, James,” Keeley murmured.

I looked from James to Keeley and back again. “Look,” I said. “It just never came up, OK? There’s nothing odd about it. The only odd thing is how I could have let myself get so carried away by some guy who never gave any indication that he was interested in me. I know better.” I rose from the sofa. “Now, we should get changed for lunch. We don’t want to be late.”

“I’ll say,” James remarked quietly.

I glared at him and turned to head to my bedroom. It was true, what I had said. I had no reason to be disappointed. Michael had never suggested that he wanted anything other than a friendly truce. I was the one who interpreted it as more, so it was my own fault if my misguided fantasy had blown up in my face. Somehow, that thought didn’t really comfort me.

****

A little after one o’clock, Keeley, James and I were shown onto the verandah of the main house by Dennis. Lila, Michael and Lauren were already seated, although they all rose at our entrance.

Lila smiled as we all sat down, but her smiled seemed a bit strained. Or maybe it was just my imagination. I was still pretty flustered by the sudden turn of events.

“I understand you all met Lauren down at the beach,” Lila began. “I’m sorry I was not there to make the introductions.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lila,” Lauren assured her, with a warm smile. “You could hardly be expected to introduce a houseguest that descended on you with no warning whatsoever. I promise, Michael did an admirable job. He still manages to remember some of the manners you taught him, when it counts.”

Michael looked uncomfortable, but managed a weak smile. The rest of us also smiled, but there was a definite air of awkwardness at the table. I chewed silently on my salad as I waited for someone to steer the conversation to other topics. No such luck.

“Not that I’m not delighted to see you, my dear,” Lila commented. “But I thought Michael said you were coming home at the end of the month.”

Lauren smiled again. It seemed genuine. Really, she seemed to be the only person unaffected by the tension at the table. “My fault,” she said. “I was due to come home at the end of the month. But, we had another evacuation, and it just seemed to make sense for me to come back now, rather than kill time in Nairobi.”

“Lauren works for the UN,” Michael explained quietly.

Lila laughed gently. “You always were a master of understatement, Michael,” she said. She turned to Keeley, James and me. “Lauren is - let me see if I have this right – a Senior Policy Advisor with the United Nations Development Programme in the Sudan.” She glanced at Lauren. “Did I get that right, Lauren?”

“Perfect, Lila,” Lauren said. “Except for the fact that I’m now the former Senior Policy Advisor with the United Nations Development Program in Sudan.” She smiled again. “I’m at the end of my contract in Sudan, and haven’t yet decided what to do next, so I’m doing a bridge assignment here at headquarters in NY for the next few months.”

That last was said with a slight sideways glance at Michael. If he noticed it, he didn’t react. Instead, he said, “I was more surprised than anyone when Lo showed up at my door at 6:00 this morning.”

“It was a good surprise, I hope,” Lauren said.

“The best.” Michael reached to put his hand over hers where it rested on the table. He seemed like he meant it, and I knew I shouldn’t look for hidden meanings in their conversation. But, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something more going on than was immediately apparent.

“I hope you don’t mind that I came with Michael,” Lauren was now saying to Lila. “He insisted it would be fine, but I hate dropping in unannounced like this.”

Lila shook her head. “You’re always welcome in my home, Lauren, you know that. Ah, here’s the main course.”

There seemed to be a collective air of relief around the table as we all turned our attention to the Panko Crusted Cod. The atmosphere seemed to lighten as the meal progressed, and the afternoon turned out to be a lot of fun. To be honest, I had to grudgingly agree with Keeley, when she uttered this assessment of Lauren as we headed back to the cottage later: “Damn. She’s nice, and a humanitarian. You’re SOL, Francie.”

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Sun, Sea and Stupid, Stupid Me!

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Labor Day weekend finally arrived, and Keeley, James and I loaded our stuff into the Zipcar early Thursday morning for the drive out to the Hamptons. Lila had encouraged me to bring some friends, insisting that “the beach was made for the young.” Tamsin was in England, paying a long overdue visit to the Earl and Countess at the ancestral pile. But James was in between gigs, and Keeley had a few days off coming to her, so both were more than eager to escape the City for the weekend. Besides, let’s face it – who wouldn’t jump at the chance to stay at a sprawling East Hampton estate for free?

Leaving early Thursday helped us avoid the holiday weekend out to the Island, so we made excellent time, arriving at Sand Castle Cottage in time for lunch. As we pulled up the winding drive, and got our first view of Lila’s beachfront home, James uttered the thought that had entered all of our minds, “That’s a cottage?”

No kidding, Sand Castle Cottage was a sprawling three-story edifice that was more Castle than Cottage. In addition to the main building, there were several outbuildings, all with the same weathered, Cape Cod-style shingles and mullioned windows as the “cottage.” We reached the main house by circling a huge fountain, and pulled up in front of the door. For some reason, though, none of us could manage to get out of the car. We just sat there, staring at each other.

“Last time I was in a place like this,” I said, “I was about five, and spent the weekend helping the nanny find Felicity, who kept running away.”

“Last time I was in a place like this,” James said, “I was the pool boy.”

“I’ve never been in a place like this,” Keeley said.

We sat there for a few more minutes, until the door opened, and Lila came out onto the front steps, a huge smile on her face. “My dears,” she said, descending the steps toward the car. “You made it! And just in time, too. I’ve had lunch set out on the rear verandah. I thought you’d like to take advantage of the view.”

By then we had exited the car, and Lila had embraced each of us, much to the surprise of Keeley and James, who were meeting her for the first time.  We went around to the trunk to get our things, but Lila, put her hand on my arm to stop me.

“No, no. Leave your things,” she said. “Just give Dennis your keys and he’ll have everything taken to Seagull Bungalow.”

“Seagull Bungalow?” I asked, handing my Zipcard over to a uniformed man that I took to be a butler. He looked at it uncertainly, and James stepped in to explain how the Zipcar worked.

“Yes,” Lila responded, as we mounted the steps. “Of course, if you prefer to stay in the main house, you’re more than welcome. But I thought you kids might like your privacy. And the bungalow is in such a lovely setting.”

“No, no. I’m sure the Bungalow will be perfect, thank you.” I said.

“Is this for real?” Keeley whispered to James as they followed behind us.

Do I even need to describe lunch? After walking through the massive entry foyer, and the rear sitting room, we mounted another flight of stairs, passed through another sitting room, and walked out onto the wraparound verandah. All three of us stopped short, nearly causing a slapstick pileup. The view was nothing short of breathtaking. From this height, we could see across the dunes to the wide white beach, and the huge expanse of blue ocean.

“I’m never going home,” Keeley murmured. I couldn’t blame her. I could barely take my eyes off the water as Lila guided us toward the table. When I did finally turn away from the view, I saw that Lila was smiling broadly.

“It’s so nice to have young people to share this with,” she said. “Michael has always loved it here, but these days he always seems to be working. The house seems so empty when I’m here by myself.”

“Well, Mrs. Finley,” James said, as he began to pile his plate high. “We’re more than happy to keep you company, anytime.”

I kicked James under the table, but he ignored me. And Lila didn’t seem to mind the rather obvious comment. She just smiled and turned her attention to Keeley, who was stirring up trouble of her own, unfortunately.

“Michael is your grandson, right?” Keeley asked.  “Francie’s told us all about him.”

“Has she?” Lila responded, with a distinct twinkle in her eye. “Well, I hope you won’t hold that against him when he arrives tomorrow.”

I knew my face was turning red as I protested, “No, really, I never – I would never—“

Lila laughed. “Relax, Francie. I know full well that my grandson has been less than charming to you. No one would blame you for disliking him, even a little.”

“Dis-liking?” Keeley began, breaking off with a grin when I redirected my under-the-table kick at her.

“Michael and I may not always agree,” I offered, trying to be diplomatic. “But there is no question about how we feel about you, Lila. Thank you so much for having us here. It’s really very generous of you.”

There, that was true enough. There was no question that Michael and I both cared a great deal about Lila. There may be questions about every other aspect of our interaction with each other, but not about that. And, my well-timed gratitude forced Keeley and James to also offer their thanks, which effectively turned the tide of the conversation.

Lunch passed very comfortably after that, and soon Dennis was showing us to Seagull Bungalow. As soon as I saw the bungalow, I realized that Lila’s choice of name was once again a masterful stroke of understatement. The “bungalow” was a two-story, shingled house, set among a little grove of trees, with a private path out to the beach. It was only a short walk from the main house, but its secluded setting made it feel like its own little world. Inside, there was a large great room, eat-in-kitchen and solarium on the ground floor, and three spacious bedrooms, each with a private balcony, upstairs.

“The kitchen is stocked with beverages and snacks,” Dennis explained, as he finished showing us around. “If there is anything specific that you need, don’t hesitate to tell me or one of the staff. Please fell free to pass the afternoon however you wish. Mrs. Finley would like you to dine with her this evening at seven-thirty, but if you prefer to make alternate plans, just let us know. Your car has been parked in Garage Three.”

“Um, thank you,” I responded, taking the Zipcard from Dennis. He departed and the three of us once again just stared at each other.

“Garage three?” Keeley finally said.

“Look, it’s not like we didn’t know that Lila has money,” I said, even though I was a bit overwhelmed myself.

James snorted. “Donald Trump has money. Lila Finley – I swear, if you go into her purse, I bet the bills have her face on them!”

There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Instead, we each made our way to our bedrooms, changed into our beach attire and met back downstairs to walk to the beach together. We were surprised to see how empty the beach was during this last week of summer.

“She probably owns the beach, too,” James said, as he took off his “Kylie” t-shirt and stretched out on a towel.

“You’re such a walking cliché, you know that, right?” Keeley said. She started to stretch out a towel as well, but stopped when she saw two young men running down the beach towards us, from the main house.

“Hi, sorry,” the first young man said, a little out of breath. Mr. Cole told us he forgot to have the chairs brought out.”

“Mr. Cole?” Keeley asked, preening a little as the young man, who we learned was named Martin, gave her bikini-clad body an appreciative once-over. The other one, Lance, was too busy checking out James to hear her question.

“That’d be Dennis, I’m guessing,” I said, with a grin.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lewis said, finally turning from James. “If you’ll just give us a sec, we’ll bring everything out.”

“Let me help you,” James offered, rising from his towel in a manner clearly designed to show off his abs. He followed Martin and Lance, draping his arm over Lance’s shoulders as they disappeared down the path to the bungalow.

Keeley and I watched them go, and then Keeley murmured, “So, did James say he was the pool boy? Or he did the pool boy?”

I laughed out loud, and proceeded to take off my cover-up. After all, I couldn’t let Keeley and James get all the attention, could I?

Keeley looked at my blue and white bikini, and commented, “Nice. New?”

“Yes,” I said, growing a little self-conscious when I saw the twinkle in Keeley’s eyes. “What?” I asked.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. But, um, wasting it on James and me, aren’t you? Unless there are more in that little suitcase of yours?” I felt my cheeks turning red, and Keeley grinned wickedly. “There are!” she crowed. “Oh, I can’t wait for this!”

I tried to say something in my defense, but was forestalled by the arrival of James, Martin and Lance, armed with lounge chairs, tables and umbrellas. Besides, what could I say? I had gone shopping just days before for a variety of new swimsuits, cover-ups and sundresses, and if I were honest, I would have to admit that it wasn’t Lila who I was looking to impress.

Speaking of Lila, I was feeling a little bad that we were enjoying ourselves on the beach, instead of spending time with our hostess, even though she had encouraged us to take advantage of the beautiful weather. After a couple of hours on the beach, I decided to return to the bungalow to shower and change for dinner. Then I made my way up to the main house, where Dennis directed me through the warren of rooms to a lovely, bright study, where Lila was going through some paperwork.

“Hello, Francie,” she said with a smile, beckoning me further into the room. “Have a seat. Is everything all right with the bungalow?”

“Yes, of course,” I assured her. “It’s amazing. I just thought I’d come up and spend a little time with you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Francie, but it’s not necessary.”

“I know.” I caught a glimpse of a photo on her desk. It was of a smiling family of five – mom, dad, and three tall, attractive sons. Three tall attractive sons who looked a bit familiar.

Lila followed my gaze. “My daughter, Olivia, and her family,” she said, a trace of sadness in her voice. “That’s Michael – the youngest one, in the middle. This was the year before he came to live with me.”

Something stirred in my memory. Suddenly I pictured Lila’s balcony on a warm June Saturday afternoon. “You once said something about raising him,” I said.

“Yes, after the accident. Michael was ten.”

“He lost his parents?” I knew how painful it had been to lose my parents, but at least I’d had my mother growing up.

“Yes.”

“And that’s when he and his brothers came to live with you?”

Lila looked at me, as if started by what I had said. I could not imagine why. Then she smiled an unbearably sad smile and shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Only Michael. Olivia’s oldest, William, was in his first year at Stanford. The family went to see him for parents’ weekend. But Michael had to stay behind because he had the chicken pox.” She paused, lost in the memory. At length, she finished, “They decided to take a sightseeing ride in a helicopter. It – it crashed in the bay.”

“Oh, my God!” I didn’t know what else to say. The tragedy of it was inconceivable. For both Michael and Lila.

“In that one moment, Michael lost everyone he loved.” Lila stopped speaking, and stroked the side of the picture frame.

“Not everyone,” I said, laying my hand over Lila’s other hand on the desk. “He had you. And you had him.”

Lila smiled and gripped my hand in hers. “You’re right, of course. To this day, I don’t know if I was there for him, or he was there for me.”

“You were there for each other, and you’re very fortunate.” I realized a hint of bitterness had slipped into my own voice when I thought about my mother’s death, and the fact that I could not depend on Felicity for anything. But, I’d had Tamsin, who of course was more of a sister to me than Felicity had ever been.

“I tried to give Michael all the love and guidance I knew his parents would have given him,” Lila said, drawing my attention away from my own memories. “And to insure he turned out to be the kind of man his parents would have been proud of.”

“Well, you succeeded,” I said honestly. “You raised him to be a good man.”

“Who has not always been good to you,” Lila pointed out.

“Only because he was looking out for you. All that is forgotten.”

Lila and I made an effort to turn the conversation to happier topics, and we passed a comfortable hour together until Keeley and James joined us for dinner. During dinner, Lila invited us to go into the village of Southampton in the morning for some shopping, and we all readily accepted.

The next morning, we spent an enjoyable two hours shopping in the cute boutiques up and down the Main Street in Southampton Village. Well, Lila shopped, and the rest of us window-shopped, but it was still fun.

Over the course of the morning, Lila mentioned that Michael was due later that afternoon. So you can imagine my surprise when, while heading down the path to the beach just before lunch, I came face to face with Michael, coming out of the water in a manner strangely reminiscent of Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice (only without the frilly white shirt). I stared openly as Michael walked up the beach toward me. Good God, that man was ripped!

“Hi, Francie,” Michael said, offering his hand. “Dennis mentioned you and your friends had arrived yesterday. How do you like Sand Castle Cottage?”

“It’s incredible,” I answered, shaking his hand and forcing myself not to look at that remarkable chest, which was now only inches from me. “Although the last part of the name is a bit misleading, don’t you think?”

Michael laughed. “True. It was my grandfather’s attempt at modesty. Not a strong trait among the men in our family. I smiled in response, and Michael continued, “I take it my grandmother has finished pillaging the shops of Southampton?”

“Yes,” I said. “We just got back. She’s at the house.”

Michael opened his mouth to reply, but was forestalled by a feminine voice coming from behind me.

“Michael! Your grandmother’s back!” I turned toward the voice, and was sure my jaw dropped as a stunning, statuesque brunette, in khaki shorts and a button down blouse, made her way down the path toward us.

“Oh, yeah, Francie told me,” Michael said as the woman reached us. He looked from her look of polite inquiry to my look of utter confusion. “Oh, sorry, you’ve never met, have you?”

“N-no,” I stuttered.

“Lauren, this is Francie Fellowes. I told you about her.”

Lauren smiled. “Oh, yes of course. Nice to finally meet you, Francie.”

She extended her hand, which I took automatically, just as Michael said, “Francie, this is Lauren Dawes, my fiancée.”

A strange daze overtook me at those words, and I barely noticed that Keeley and James  had arrived and stood a few paces behind me, until I caught their shared whisper of, “Oh, shit!”

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