Free The Family Beach House by Holly Chamberlin Page A

what will you have?”
    â€œAs much as I hate to be a killjoy,” she told Susan, “I’ll stick to wine.”
    â€œAdam?” Craig asked.
    â€œNo, thanks,” he said curtly.
    Craig shrugged and went to work at the kitchen bar.
    Next to Tilda, Adam bristled. “I hate it when he does that.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat stupid ‘Smartinis.’”
    â€œI think it’s kind of clever.”
    â€œClever? It’s ridiculous. I’m getting myself a scotch.”
    Adam went to the liquor cabinet and Tilda to the fridge to retrieve the bottle of sauvignon blanc that had been chilling. She wasn’t the killjoy. Adam was.
    When the siblings each had a drink, Tilda proposed a toast.
    â€œTo what?” Adam asked.
    â€œUh, to your mother?”
    â€œGood idea, Susan.” Tilda raised her glass. “To Mom.”
    â€œTo Mom,” they chorused. “To Charlotte.”
    Â 
    Ruth had set the dining room table that evening with pale gray linen napkins against black linen placemats and stark, white dishes. At one end of the table, to allow guests an unobstructed view of each other, sat a tall, silver vase in which Ruth had placed several orange day lilies plucked from the garden.
    Tonight, the McQueens would meet their father’s romantic partner. Ruth’s expectations for the reception were not high. There was nothing wrong with Jennifer Fournier. But only Craig had welcomed the news of her being in Bill’s life. Tilda, Hannah, and certainly Adam seemed predisposed to find faults where there were none.
    Ruth, herself, found her brother’s new girlfriend near perfect. For one, she was not at all like her predecessor, which, in Ruth’s opinion, was a good thing. And Jennifer seemed to like Ruth, too. Not that Ruth required her to, but things had worked out nicely this time for her. No more having to put up with a prima donna, just for her brother’s sake.
    At six-thirty, Bill opened the door for Jennifer and led her into the sunroom where the rest of the family was gathered. “Everyone, this is Jennifer,” he said, with a big, proud smile.
    Hannah said, “Hi.” Tilda gave a silly little wave. Susan gave her a hearty hello. Craig shook her hand. Adam nodded. Kat shyly told Jennifer that she liked her bracelet.
    Jennifer Fournier was an attractive woman. She was almost as tall as Bill, taller in heels. Her blond hair was thick, straight, and bluntly cut. She wore minimal makeup and dressed simply but stylishly in black, brown, taupe, and tan. Her jewelry was singular and stunning and she wore very little of it at a time. That evening she was dressed in lightweight, taupe, wide-legged linen pants over which she wore a long, white linen tunic. A large wooden bangle around her right wrist—the bracelet Kat had admired—was her only adornment. Tilda now felt childish in her mint green crew neck sweater and jean shorts, though earlier that day she had caught sight of herself in a hall mirror and thought she looked kind of cute.
    Yes, her father’s new friend was definitely a standout, and that bothered Tilda. She would vastly have preferred Jennifer to be old and frumpy, maybe even missing a front tooth, maybe even cursed with blotchy skin. Jennifer would be far more acceptable and certainly less threatening if she was visibly flawed. The thoughts were irrational and unworthy, but there they were.
    The talk during dinner—lobster risotto, salad, and strawberry sorbet—was vague and general and polite. There had not been a good rain in almost three weeks and people were worried about their crops and their lawns. The president had just returned from a visit to South America and reactions to what had happened there were mixed. When Adam got a bit agitated, the subject of politics was hastily abandoned and Hannah wondered what everyone thought of the new teen trend, in her opinion ridiculous, of having the very tip of the