When I returned to the table, the boys stopped talking immediately, which worried me. But before I could say anything, dessert plates were presented. "Derby pie," Lucien said. "A Louisville tradition. Enjoy." He motioned the waiter to come closer, then said, "And a gla.s.s of Maker's Mark, please."

The waiter looked from Roger to me and back to Lucien again, who just stared back at him coolly. "Absolutely," the waiter said, leaving.

"Did you just order a drink?" I asked, baffled, wondering if Kentucky was somehow exempt from the drinking laws of the rest of the country.

"Dude," Roger said reverently around a mouthful of dessert. He saluted Lucien with his fork and went on eating. I took a bite myself. The pie was a mixture of chocolate and strawberries and pecans, and it was great. I found myself wishing that Kentucky was better about exporting their local dishes to the rest of the country.

The waiter placed a short gla.s.s half-filled with two ice cubes and a dark brown liquid in front of Lucien.

"What is this?" I asked. "Do they not card in Kentucky?"

"Not always," Lucien said with a smile. "We have in front of us a gla.s.s of genuine Kentucky bourbon. You know that bourbon is the only drink native to America?" Roger and I shook our heads. "It is," he continued. "And unless it's made in Kentucky, it can't be called bourbon. Otherwise, it's just called sour mash."

"Like champagne," I said, recalling the fact I'd once learned while rehearsing a Noel Coward play. "Unless it's made in the Champagne region of France, it's just called sparkling wine."

"Well, exactly," said Lucien. He set the gla.s.s of bourbon in the center of the table. "So who's driving?" he asked. "I'm happy to, if y'all are comfortable with that."

Roger glanced at me and took a sip of his soda. "I'll keep driving," he said. "Not a problem."

"Oh," Lucien said. "Okay."

"I'm not really driving right now," I said after a moment of silence, feeling like some explanation was called for. But after I said it, I realized this explanation hadn't actually clarified anything. "Just ... not," I said, stopping when I realized that without going into why, I wasn't going to be able to make myself any clearer.

"Well, whatever works," Lucien said. He gestured to the bourbon. "Would you like it?"

"That's okay," I said, drinking my second gla.s.s of sweet tea.

Lucien raised his eyebrows at me. "You're turning down a gla.s.s of our authentic local bourbon?" he asked.

"Oh," I said, glancing over at Roger, who for some reason was looking up at the ceiling, smiling. "Um, sure." With both of them watching me closely, I slid the gla.s.s toward me and lifted it up. It was surprisingly heavy, and I sniffed the liquid, then stopped, wondering if you were only supposed to do that for wine. At any rate, it smelled kind of like a stump. I took a tentative sip and almost spat the entire mouthful across the table. It tasted like stump too. Smoky stump. It was kind of like what I imagined it would be like to drink a forest fire. I forced myself to swallow it, and it burned my throat going down and made my eyes water. "Mmm," I choked out when I was able to speak again. "That's ... smooth."

I looked up and saw that both Roger and Lucien were laughing. "Sorry about that," Lucien said, moving the drink away from me and into the center of the table again. "We just wanted to see if I could get you to drink it."

"What?" I asked, still coughing a little. Roger was still smiling. "Both of you?"

"Small side bet," said Lucien, slapping a twenty on the table. "Welcome to Kentucky."

"I thought I was going to insult you if I didn't drink it," I said, feeling fl.u.s.tered and betrayed, but also noticing how Roger looked like he was having fun as he leaned back against the booth, pocketing his twenty. I mentally added it to our current total.

"Nah," Lucien said. He edged my water gla.s.s toward me. "You'll probably need that." I grabbed the gla.s.s and took a big sip. "I think bourbon's disgusting. I have no idea how my mother drinks it. I think you actually can't drink it until you're in your fifties and can no longer taste anything."

"Sorry about that," Roger said to me, looking a little sheepish.

"Yeah, sure," I said. I tried to glare at him but found I couldn't keep the expression on my face.

"Cheers?" asked Lucien, holding up his water. I raised my sweet tea gla.s.s and Roger lifted his c.o.ke.

"Cheers," I said, and we clinked.

Lucien looked across at Roger. "So. You and Hadley, huh?"

"Yeah," Roger said, clearing his throat. "I mean, we were dating this year at school. We broke up right as cla.s.ses were ending."

"Let me guess," Lucien said with a sigh. "You haven't heard from her since?"

"Not really," said Roger. "I mean, we talked a little today, but ..."

"Now she's not returning your calls?"

"No," he said slowly. "She's not."

Lucien shook his head. "I'm sorry, man," he said. "I'm afraid that's just her MO."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Modus operandi," Lucien said. "It's Latin."

"No," I said, rolling my eyes. "I know what that means. I mean, what do you mean?"

"One more guess," said Lucien, ignoring my question and turning again to Roger. "She didn't really give any explanation for why she was ending it either."

"Who," Roger said, a little bl.u.s.tery, "who said that she ended it? I mean, maybe it was my idea." Lucien just looked at him, and Roger sighed. "No," he said. "No explanation."

"Her MO," Lucien said, turning to me. "I've been watching her do this to suckers-no offense-"

"None taken," said Roger.

"Since she was in middle school. I'm afraid it's just what she does. You got caught in Hurricane Hadley. She comes in, shakes things up, and then leaves destruction and confused guys behind in her wake."

"This happens a lot?" Roger asked, his voice a bit strained.

Lucien nodded, and then there was a moment in which we all became very interested in our drinks. "But n.o.body's actually ever called her on this s.h.i.t before," Lucien said, breaking the silence. "So good for you for coming here, man. Maybe you'll be the one to get through to her." He held his gla.s.s up to Roger. "I wish you luck."

I looked over at Roger, who was still staring down into his soda, and I felt like I was seeing something that I shouldn't have.

"But what do I know?" Lucien asked, a bit too loudly, maybe feeling the same way I did. "I mean, I'm just the younger brother. It's not exactly like she confides in me." He turned to me, and with the air of someone who is desperate to change the subject, asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

"One brother," I said, feeling like I'd already thought about Charlie more than I'd wanted to tonight, and wishing that Lucien had chosen almost any other subject.

"Older?"

"Younger," I said. "Three minutes."

Lucien's eyebrows shot up. "No s.h.i.t," he said. "Twins?" I nodded. "So you guys must be super close, right?"

I felt my stomach clench a little when he said this. Charlie and I had had moments when we were younger when we'd been close, but mostly it seemed like we'd been battling our whole lives. Like there was always a wall between us that never came down. "Not really," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "No, not very close."

"Oh," said Lucien, and silence fell again. I had a feeling he wasn't going to be introducing any more topics of conversation tonight.

"Well, at least he's never bit you," Roger said, coming back into the conversation with a voice that was determinedly upbeat. He extended his wrist across the table, so we could all see a small, circular scar on his palm. "My stepbrother," he said. "Very hungry kid."

"That's nothing," said Lucien, rolling up his sleeve and showing us a faint scar on his forearm. "When I was eight, Hadley trained her horse to kick me. She always denied it, but our groom told me the truth."

Roger reached across to my plate to steal a strawberry, and Lucien excused himself, laying his napkin on the table, where it was immediately refolded by a waiter. "Sorry," I said once Lucien was gone, realizing we hadn't had an opportunity to talk yet, just the two of us. "About inviting him, I mean."

"No, it's fine," Roger said. "He's nice."

"He is," I said. "I just ..." I hadn't told Roger about what it had been like, staying in our house by myself. I didn't think I'd even fully realized how it had made me feel until I'd seen something I recognized in Lucien's expression. "I think he seemed lonely, that's all."

"It's been fun," said Roger, giving me a faint smile that immediately disappeared. He shook his head. "Hadley had mentioned she had a brother, but no details, really. She hadn't told me what her house was like, or this town. It's weird." He drummed his fingers on the polished surface of the table, then continued, "Being here, it makes me feel like I didn't actually know her at all."

"Oh," I said. I looked at Roger's face to try and gauge what that meant for him. "But you still want to try to see her tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," he said, then nodded. "I do. I mean, we've come this far, right?"

Lucien returned to the table then but didn't sit back down. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Don't we need to pay?" I asked, looking around for one of the many waiters who'd been hovering around us all night but now were nowhere to be seen.

Lucien simply shook his head. "Taken care of," he said, pulling my chair out for me. I stumbled a little as I stood, not having expected this.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, but Lucien just smiled.

"It was my pleasure," he said. "Thanks for the invite. It's no fun to eat alone." I saw Roger open his mouth to protest, but Lucien shook his head again. "Seriously," he said. "I appreciated the company."

As we headed out of the restaurant, we pa.s.sed some of the same people still waiting for a table, and they glared at us as we left. We stepped into the hot, humid night that hadn't seemed to have cooled down from when we'd gone in. After California weather-desert weather-in which temperatures dropped sharply at night, this just felt odd to me, like something was unfinished. Like there was a switch that someone had forgotten to pull.

Lucien directed us back to Hummingbird Valley, and I kept looking over at Roger, who was unusually quiet. He looked pretty worn out. But whether it was the driving, or the prospect of seeing Hadley, I wasn't sure.

"Did you guys see the topiaries as you came in?" Lucien asked as we drove down his street, pointing outside the window to the figures we'd seen before, looking less ominous now that it was fully dark out and they were lit up by the huge moon. More like they were sentinels guarding the estates that stood just behind them.

"We did," I said. "They're amazing."

"They're a tradition," he said, leaning forward a little, between my seat and Roger's. "You should see this place at Christmas."

Roger signaled, and we pulled up the World's Longest Driveway. The house was all lit up as it came into view, and I turned back to Lucien. "It looks like someone else is here," I said, and noticed Roger's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

Lucien shook his head. "Timers."

I nodded and looked at the huge house, all those rooms, and thought about what it must be like to be alone in it. Roger pulled around in front, put the car in park, and turned to Lucien, extending his hand. "You showed us your town," he said. "Thanks for that."

"Sure," said Lucien, shaking Roger's hand. I noticed the fixed smile from earlier had returned. "I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow." I nodded and smiled. He unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door, but then turned back to us. "Listen," he said. "Y'all want to stay here tonight? We have tons of rooms, n.o.body's using the guesthouses." At this plural, I saw Roger's lips twitch in a small smile, probably imperceptible to anyone but me.

"We can't do that," I said automatically. "Thank you, though."

"Seriously," Lucien said. "They're always set up and ready for guests. And n.o.body's using them. It doesn't make any sense to drive all the way back into town and get a hotel for the night."

Roger and I glanced at each other, and I had a feeling we were both thinking the same thing. That it would help, money-wise, not to have to spend anything on a hotel tonight.

"Would that be weird for Hadley, though?" Roger asked, turning to Lucien. "I mean, her ex-boyfriend, staying in her house ..." It registered that Roger hadn't had any problem with the "ex" part of that phrase this time.

"She doesn't have to know," said Lucien. "And so what if she has a problem with it? You guys are my guests, and I can invite people to stay if I want."

I glanced at Roger, who raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. "If you're sure," I said. "But you've really done too much already."

"Not at all," Lucien said, closing the door, his smile relaxing into what I'd seen most of the night. "I'm happy to be able to do it. Now, what you're going to want to do is drive around the back." He directed Roger on a road that took us around the back of the house, and I rolled down my window, even though the air-conditioning was on, to try to get a closer look in the dark. The grounds seemed to continue on for miles, and they were gorgeously landscaped. And there were more shaped topiaries, like the ones we'd seen on the side of the road. But there were lots of them here, scattered around-and they were amazing. I saw a bear peeking out from behind a tree, a few dogs, and what looked like a crane, before we made another turn and lost sight of those grounds. "Those are incredible," I said.

"You like them?" Lucien asked, leaning forward. "Really?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Are they done by the same person who did the ones on the road?"

"No," he said. "Someone different."

"I thought so," I said. "Those were better."

"I missed them," Roger said. "I was, you know, driving."

"I can show you guys tomorrow if you like. Roger, you're going to make a left here."

I understood why Roger had corrected me as we'd driven in-this really was an estate. I had totally lost sight of the main house by now, and we were driving on a paved path through what just seemed like woods. "You sure like to give your guests a lot of privacy," I said, as we continued on without seeing anything.

"It's not too much farther," Lucien said. "And there are Jeeps at both houses, in case you want to get around but don't want to use your car." I let this sink in for a second, just how different this way of living was from anything else I'd even heard of, let alone experienced. "Here we are," he said, and Roger pulled to a stop in front of what would have been considered a normal-size house in Raven Rock. It was two stories and seemed more cabinlike than the main house. It was made of dark wood, with a peaked roof, gla.s.s windows that went from floor to ceiling, and a wraparound porch.

"Yeah," said Roger with a short laugh, killing the engine, "I think this will do." We got out of the car, and Lucien grabbed my suitcase from the back before I could get to it, then unlocked the guesthouse and let us in.

Inside, it was cozy but very decorated. Everything seemed to match, and since it was a guesthouse, there were no personalized touches anywhere. But it was a real house, with a functioning kitchen, one bedroom downstairs, and two upstairs. Lucien showed us where the snacks were and how to use the air-conditioning unit, while I mostly just looked around, trying to take it all in.

"So I think that's it. Just give me a call if you have any questions," he said, writing down his cell number on the pristine whiteboard on the fridge. "And I guess I'll see y'all tomorrow morning. If you want to come by the main house, breakfast is normally around nine."

"This is great, man," Roger said, looking as sh.e.l.l-shocked as I felt. "Thanks."

"Sure," he said, and was heading for the door when I spotted a thin silver laptop sitting on the kitchen table.

"Lucien," I said. "Is that yours, or ...?"

He turned back to look at it, and shook his head. "It's the house's," he said. "But feel free to use it." He made a vague gesture upward. "We've got Wi-Fi."

"I'll drive you back to the house," said Roger, grabbing the keys.

"It's okay," Lucien said. "I'll just grab one of the Jeeps, if that's cool. See you tomorrow." He lifted one hand in a wave and shut the door behind him.

In the silence that followed, I looked around, still a little stunned, then turned to Roger. "Remind me again how we got here?"

"I don't know," he said with a yawn. "I think you invited him to dinner." He headed up the stairs, and I followed.

I grabbed my suitcase from where it had been left on the landing and gestured to the room closest to me. "I'll take this one?"

"Sounds good," Roger said, yawning again. He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed for the bedroom a little ways down the hall. "I'm spent. 'Night, Hillary."