The Guest Cottage Read Online Free Page A

replacing Trevor’s ancient sofa and chairs with pieces that didn’t sag or list.
    Tallulah was not a monster. She’d cuddled her son, and even though she didn’t nurse him because she didn’t want to ruin her breasts, she learned to give him a bottle. As he grew older, she discovered he was the best audience she had ever had in her life. She tried out for
Shear Madness,
a long-running comedy, and won the part of the ditzy beauty shop assistant. For a long time, she was happy. She taught Leo songs from Broadway musicals; she taught him to say a few time-honored lines. The line that stuck was:
To be or not to be, that is the question.
At two, Leo pronounced “To be” like “Tubee,” as if it were a person. He named his favorite stuffed animal, a giraffe, Tubee.
    “You’re going to be an actor like me!” Tallulah had crowed when he told her, and kissed him.
    When Tallulah was around, Leo went manic, always trying to catch her attention by singing songs, making silly faces, doing somersaults, taking off his clothes and putting them on in silly ways—anything to get her to look at him, even if the response was irritation on Tallulah’s part. Once he tried to put on her makeup. Tallulah screamed at him and screamed at Trevor, too, for not watching the boy more carefully. Her reaction had been so over the top it had scared Leo and made Trevor vow secretly to himself to be more cautious and watchful. It had also made Trevor immensely sad. By then, he was thirty, and beginning to understand the long-lasting consequences of his infatuation with the beautiful actress.
    Trevor sighed. That was all in the past. He had to find a way to move into the future with optimism.
    He checked his email and answering machine—nothing urgent—and flopped down on his sofa, thinking. Should he take Leo to visit his mother? Audrey had never claimed to be thrilled about housekeeping or raising Trevor. She liked traveling, cruises, five-star hotels, entertainment, and she got bored easily. Now on her third husband, she seemed fond enough of Leo. She seldom visited, though, and possibly she was on a cruise right now. It was spring, a good time to travel.
    Who else? Where? He was wary of talking to the other parents about this; several of the young mothers, divorced and married, had made it clear they would be only too glad to console him. He wasn’t ready for anything like that.
    When his cell buzzed, Trevor checked the name: Ivan Swenson, an old college friend. Curious, Trevor clicked on.
    “Hey, Ivan, what’s up?”
    “Dude! Have I got a deal for you!”
    Trevor rolled his eyes. Ivan was a blissed-out, pot-smoking, follow-the-sun kind of guy who was always phoning from Guatemala or Portugal.
    “How would you like to spend the summer in a great big old house on Nantucket?”
    Trevor sat up straight. “What’s the catch?”
    “I need some cash quick. I’m going to India with this awesome girl. Look, the house is fully furnished, close to the beaches, completely wired for cable and Wi-Fi. Let me tell you, when you see the girls in their bikinis, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
    “Ivan, I’m thirty years old and have my own business and a four-year-old son.”
    “Well, hey, your kid would love it there. He could play on the beaches, plus they’ve got cool day camps for kids. Look, I can’t talk long—I’m phoning from London. Are you interested?”
    Trevor knew Ivan would call this karma. And maybe it was.
    “Actually, Ivan, I am.”

S ophie sent Susie Swenson’s photos of the house to her children’s phones. She studied them on her computer, scanning the details.
    The Nantucket house was three stories high, with a two-story wing off each end. The house looked British, like something out of an old black-and-white mystery involving butlers and Bentleys, except shingled with gray wood instead of built with brick or stone. An ancient, thick wisteria vine drooped its violet blooms over the front door.