No medicine cabinet there.

Lane bent down and started opening drawers. The first one had a bunch of condoms in it, and didn’t that make him want to smash something for so many reasons. Next up were supplies like soap, Q-tips, regular razors. On the other side were brushes, combs. Under the sinks were toilet paper, Kleenex boxes, bottles of Listerine.

On some level, it seemed strange that his father had ever used such pedestrian things. Like any other person who was getting themselves ready for work or for bed.

In fact, a mystery had always surrounded the man, although not a cozy one. More a Jack the Ripper pall rooted in their lack of communication, lack of a relationship, lack of any warmth.

Lane found the medications in the tall thin closet by the window seat.

There were six orange pill bottles, each with varying numbers of pills or capsules in them. He didn’t recognize the prescribing doctor or the names of the medicines, but given the number of warnings on the sides about not using heavy machinery or driving while on them, he had to guess they were painkillers or muscle relaxants … or very serious compounds that made you sicker than your disease, at least in the short term.

Getting out his phone, he typed in the physician’s name.

Well. What do you know.

The doctor was at MD Anderson Cancer Center down in Houston.

His father had known he was sick. And likely that he was dying.

“You got kicked out?” Gin demanded across the fragrant air of the conservatory.

“Yes,” her daughter answered.

Fantastic, Gin thought.

In the silence that followed, she tried on a couple of versions of parental indignation, imagining herself stamping a high-heeled shoe or perhaps going with an old-school wag of the forefinger. Neither fit. The only thing that really seemed appropriate was getting Edward to handle this. He would know what to do.

But no. That avenue was cut off.

In the end, she went with, “May I ask why you were asked to leave school?”

“Why do you think. I’m your daughter after all.”

Gin rolled her eyes. “Drinking? Or did you get caught with a boy?”

As Amelia merely lifted her chin, the math added up to an even greater infraction.

“You slept with one of your professors? Are you mad?”

“You did. That’s why you took a break from school—”

The door in from the house opened and Lane appeared like a beacon to a sailor at sea.

“Guess who’s home from school,” Gin said dryly.

“I heard. Come here, Ames. It’s been a while.”

As the girl went into Lane’s arms and their two dark heads drew close together, Gin had to look away.

“She has news,” Gin muttered as she wandered around and picked at orchid leaves. “Why don’t you tell him?”

“I got kicked out.”

“For sleeping with a professor.” Gin waved a hand. “Of all the legacies to live up to.”

Lane cursed and stepped back. “Amelia.”

“Oh, he’s using your real name.” Gin smiled, thinking that Lane sounded like their father. “He means business. Is there someone we can call at Hotchkiss, Lane? Surely we can talk them out of this.”

Lane rubbed his face. “Did someone take advantage of you? Were you hurt?”

“No,” the girl said. “It wasn’t like that.”

Gin spoke up. “There has to be a way to get her back in—”

“Aren’t finals coming up?” Lane interrupted. “Are you going to lose your credits? Jesus Christ, Ames, seriously. This is a big deal.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Gin muttered, “you look sorry. Would you like a tissue? Would that help you play the part better?”

“That’s a nice diamond on your finger,” Amelia snapped. “You’re getting married, I gather?”

“The day after your grandfather’s visitation here.”

“Yes, nice of you to call me and let me know, Mother.”

“The marriage is not important.”

“I agree. I’m talking about the death of my grandfather. My own grandfather died, and I read about it in a newspaper.”

Lane’s eyes swung around. “You didn’t call her, Gin? Really?”

“I beg your pardon, but she is the one who got kicked out of prep school. And you’re looking at me like I did something wrong?”

“I can go to school here in Charlemont,” Amelia interjected. “Charlemont Country Day is a good school, and I can live here at home—”

“What makes you think they’ll take you now?” Gin asked.

“Our family endowed the expansion five years ago,” Amelia countered. “Like they won’t? And who are you marrying, Mother? Let me guess. He’s rich and spineless—”

“Enough!” Lane snapped. “Gin, she’s your daughter. For once in your life, will you act like it? And, Amelia, this is a bigger problem than you realize.”

“But it’s fixable,” the girl said. “Everything is fixable in this family, isn’t it.”

“Actually, that is not true. And you better pray you don’t learn that lesson on this particular screw-up of yours.”

As Lane went to leave, Gin thought of her wedding reception and called out, “Wait, you and I have something to discuss.”

“I’m not calling Charlemont Country Day. You’re going to do that for her. It’s time you step up.”

Gin crossed her arms over her chest and winced as one of Richard’s bruises on her elbow let out a squawk. “Amelia, would you be so kind as to go sulk in your room? Or perhaps out by the pool? I’m sure that with the help of your Twitter account you can spend an enjoyable couple of hours informing your friends of the abominable nature of your return unto the fold.”

“My pleasure,” Amelia said. “It’s certainly better than being in your company.”

The girl didn’t storm off; she swanned away, leaving a ripple of fragrance in the air along with her disdain.

It was a wonder they didn’t get along better.

As the door back into the house eased shut, Gin bitched, “Maybe she should just forget school and go to New York to model. She’ll have more luck using her face rather than her mouth if she’s looking to get ahead.”