Grace recovered. “Can I help you?” she asked, trying to sound polite.
“I was actually looking for a place to hide.” The boy glanced back toward the house, then gave Grace a rueful smile. “It’s pretty crowded in there, and my sister is being . . . let’s just say, demanding.”
He wanted to join her in the tree house, Grace realized with dismay. “I don’t know if it’ll take the weight.”
“I have food.” The boy offered up a box from under his arm with a hopeful expression. The box.
Pie.
Grace relented. “OK, but be careful, the ladder is kind of . . .” She trailed off as the boy expertly scrambled up the tree. “Weak,” she finished as he collapsed on the floor beside her.
“Practice,” he explained. “I climb rigging all the time out on the water.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “You’re one of them.” He looked quizzical. “The people who yacht.”
The boy laughed, then offered his hand. “I’m Theo.”
Grace shook it carefully. “Grace.”
“I know,” he replied, easing open the pastry box. “We met before, at the christening.”
Grace paused, assessing him again. But she had nothing. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. That day was kind of . . . a blur.”
It was the only other time she’d stepped foot in that fancy church, exactly nine months after her father had left them. (The math was unavoidable.) Hallie had refused to go, of course, so it was left to Grace to stand politely in the front pew while baby Dash wailed so loudly even the pastor looked nervous to bless him. All Grace remembered was the reception afterward at some upscale hotel, and the fancy layer cake with chocolate frosting she’d eaten until she felt ill.
Faced with the pie there on the floor between them, Grace brightened. Maybe she wasn’t a terrible person, after all; maybe that was just her mind’s way of dealing with tragedy. In times of unbearable sadness, she thought about baked goods.
Theo must have seen her expression. “You like blueberry?” He pulled a fork and some napkins from his breast pocket and passed them over. “Go ahead.”
Grace cut a couple of misshapen slices. “So how did you know my dad?” She passed a crumbling wedge to Theo. “You’re one of Portia’s crowd, aren’t you?”
“You could say that.” Theo took a bite, smearing blueberry filling across the side of his face. He laughed awkwardly, wiping his mouth. “She’s my sister.”
“Oh.” Grace blinked. She’d known Portia had a younger brother, two of them, in fact, but had always pictured them just like her: perfectly coiffed hair and an elegant smile. Theo’s tie was askew, his hair stuck out in wet tufts, and there was still a blueberry smudge on his chin. Still, there was something comforting about his haphazard appearance; she’d had just about all the fake perfection she could take.
“How is Portia doing?” Grace ventured at last, more because she felt she ought to than because she actually cared.
Theo gave a sad kind of smile. “She’s holding up for now, but . . . she wasn’t prepared for this.”
“None of us were.”
If Theo noticed the edge to Grace’s voice, he was too polite to say. “I’ll be sticking around for a while, to help out with Dash and . . . the arrangements.”
He lived in New York, Grace remembered now. There were trust funds, and a town house on the Upper East Side, and a grandmother who ruled them all with an iron fist. Her father had explained about her new stepfamily, but Grace had done her best not to listen.
“My brother, Rex, is tied up with school in London at the moment.” Theo added, “He sends his apologies.”
“It’s OK. Everyone’s a blur to me,” she admitted. “They all have the same look on their face, the same platitudes. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ ” Grace sighed. “But I guess there’s nothing else to say.”
Theo swung his legs off the edge of the tree-house floor, back and forth. “Your dad talked about you all the time,” he offered. “You and Hallie.”
Grace looked over.
“Whenever I saw him at functions,” Theo continued. “You know — Christmas, anniversaries.” He made a wry face at that, then explained. “The Coates family is big on black-tie events. He said you were doing really well in school. Science, right?”
She nodded slowly. Grace never liked to think of her father off in his new life. It was easier, somehow, to leave it just a vague space, instead of imagining the realities of his day-to-day existence. Breakfast at someone else’s table. Watching the nightly news, feet up on someone else’s lap. But of course, he had a whole world, with people to talk to. About them.
“Astronomy,” she said finally.
“And your sister’s going to Juilliard.” Theo smiled. “He was really proud of you both.”
For the first time all week, Grace felt the sting of tears in the back of her throat. She quickly turned her face away. “I should get back,” she said, swallowing them down. She scrambled to her feet, brushing the dust from her dress. “My mom, and Hallie . . .”
“Right. Of course, I’m sorry I kept you.” Theo leaped up, but Grace waved him away.
“It’s OK, you can stay.”
“I shouldn’t. This is your place.” Theo gestured to the ladder. “After you.”
Grace slithered back down the tree, and Theo followed. They lingered awkwardly for a moment.
“Thanks,” Grace offered, forcing a tiny smile. “For the pie.”
“No problem.” Theo shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “And, I know it doesn’t mean anything, but . . . I’m sorry.” His eyes met hers, quiet, sincere. “For your loss. For everyone’s. He was a good man, and he loved you all so much.”
Grace felt her control slipping. If she opened her mouth to say a single word, she knew she’d be powerless to stop the tears. She couldn’t cry, not yet — not in front of Theo — so instead, she just nodded at him briskly, folding her arms tight around her, as if she could physically hold everything inside, and then hurried away, back to the house.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
Grace flinched at Hallie’s cry of disbelief. It was a week after the funeral, and they were sitting in the living room across from their dad’s college friend Arthur. He was the executor of John’s estate, he’d explained on the phone. He just needed a few minutes with their mom to discuss some legal details.