Wild Lilies (The Sutton Book Club #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Summer 1974

T he fact that Esme was engaged by nineteen was no surprise to her girlfriends. The daughter of World War II veteran Thomas Rainer, Nantucket High School valedictorian class of 1973, and part-time magazine model for a Nantucket tourism magazine, Esme had it all.

Usually, she felt on top of the world. And when she didn’t, she knew how to fix her face to make it seem like she did. It’s all about image, her stepmother, Fran, had told her. Make them think you’re perfect, and you’ll feel perfect.

It was two months before the wedding. July 1974. Blissfully beautiful, the sun-dappled day had a blue sky as bright as a jelly bean. Esme’s father was throwing an engagement party for her and her fiancé. It seemed as though he’d invited the entirety of Nantucket: locals from the far-flung reaches of Esme’s childhood who’d watched her teeter around as a toddler to those who read books obsessively at her father’s Book Club in downtown Nantucket. Locals who’d rooted her on pulled for her education and her valedictorian-ship. Locals who’d watched her fall in love and said, “What a shame,” and then, “What do you expect with such a beautiful young girl?”

Esme wasn’t sure what to make of the Nantucketers not thinking she was “meeting her potential” by marrying so early. Because he was rather old-fashioned, her father was thrilled with the union. Her stepmother was pleased because getting married as a woman in 1974 still meant choosing safety above all things. Nobody wanted to be unloved and single after the age of twenty-five. The idea of that kept Esme up late at night, sweating.

Esme was in her bedroom, getting ready for the party with her half sister, LeeAnne. Her sister was only thirteen and many years younger—birthed eleven months after Thomas’s marriage to Fran. The fact of her sister’s crooked nose was something her sister was bemoaning just now, tugging her curls as she looked at her reflection in Esme’s mirror. Esme remembered the bike accident that had pulled LeeAnne’s nose to the right when LeeAnne was seven years old. Esme had been with her and blamed herself for the accident. LeeAnne had taken a tumble and changed the story of her face.

“You’re so lucky,” LeeAnne said, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. “I think he loves you so much that he’d still marry you if your nose were horizontal on your face.”

Esme smiled kindly. “I’ve told you. Your nose is hardly noticeable. You just fixate on it.”

LeeAnne sprawled across Esme’s bed and fluffed the skirts of her soft yellow dress. She watched Esme like a hawk. Esme always felt as though she couldn’t lie to her sister about anything. As though she could see all the way through her. It didn’t make sense, given LeeAnne’s age. But she seemed to have a sixth sense.

“I can’t believe this is it,” LeeAnne said. “Two months from now, you’ll be gone. And it’ll just be me and Mom and Dad.”

Esme felt dread creep through her stomach. She leaned against her dresser and crossed her arms over her chest. It was hard not to see all the different eras of her life in this very room: giggling with LeeAnne on the carpet, drawing pictures, writing in her journal, dreaming about her high school boyfriend. How had it all gone so quickly? It had drifted through her fingers.

Suddenly, their stepmother was on the other side of the door, rapping in that familiar way she always did before church or school.

“Girls? Your grandparents are downstairs, and I need your help setting up.”

“Coming!” Esme and LeeAnne called in unison.

Esme waved her hand behind her back, urging LeeAnne to zip up the rest of her dress. LeeAnne did, then brought Esme’s curls down her back and sighed.

“If only I looked like you,” LeeAnne said.

Esme swatted her. “Stop that. You look like yourself, and I love you.”

Downstairs, Thomas, Fran, and Esme’s grandparents were situated on the back patio. Not fifty feet away was the white-sand beach, which curled around to create what they lovingly called Rainer Bay. They’d even built a dock to store their sailboat, which creaked to-and-fro in the summer breeze.

Esme kissed her grandparents hello and giggled as they asked her questions and teased her about being in love.

“It’s made us reminisce about our own wedding day, darling,” Grandma said, curling Esme’s hair around her finger. “I was so nervous that I fainted. And your grandfather forgot his tie!”

Esme grinned, trying to imagine her grandfather as a messy twenty-one-year-old apt to forget his head if it wasn’t connected to his body.

“It was a lifetime ago,” her grandmother said. “We’ve been so lucky. And we know you’ll have all the same luck we did.”

Fran bustled in and out with trays of desserts and a bowl of bright-pink punch. “LeeAnne, could you carry the cooler in from the garage?”

LeeAnne groaned, and Esme hopped up to help her.

“When is that handsome groom of yours arriving?” Grandma called.

“Should be here any minute!” Esme called.

It was true that he’d said he’d be here by three. It was now three fifteen and eighty degrees, and Esme felt sticky and strangely nervous. He’d called her early last night, just as he always did when they weren’t seeing each other, and everything had seemed normal. Fine. Easy. He’d said, “I love you, sweet bean,” like always. And she’d felt comforted by the fact of their love.

“Should you call him?” LeeAnne was asking in the garage as they huffed with the cooler.

“He’s probably on his way,” Esme said.

What good was it to call his parents’ place when they were all probably en route? It would just ring and ring, and Esme would feel like a fool.

The guests began to arrive shortly after that. Esme was sweet and friendly, greeting her parents’ friends and her own with the air of a much older woman who was playing house. In just a few months, I won’t just be playing house. I’ll be living it, she thought with a shiver of panic. But nobody who came to the party that afternoon sensed a lick of panic to her. She poured drinks, laughed at bad jokes, and swirled around the party happily. It was four, and then it was four thirty, and then it was nearly five, and still, her groom hadn’t arrived.

“He got held up!” Esme told person after person. “He’s on his way.”

But it was increasingly obvious that something was wrong. Esme felt it in the pit of her stomach. Fear. Alienation. Why would he do this to me? I’ll make him hear me when he gets here. I’ll scream and yell in ways he’s never seen. Not that Esme ever screamed or yelled. Not that she even knew how.

Ladies should be seen and not heard, was something her stepmother had drilled into her.

Now, her stepmother Fran found her in the center of the beach with a glass of something (it was alcohol, but Esme tried to hide that fact as quickly as she could). Esme was giggling with one of her cousins, who’d come in from Providence to celebrate. Esme felt her cheeks flash with heat. Her stepmother leered at her and then grabbed her wrist and tugged her away. Esme prayed she didn’t smell the alcohol on her breath.

Fran led her into the kitchen and folded her arms over her chest. “What’s happening?” she demanded. “It’s getting embarrassing out there.”

Esme’s legs shook beneath her. She touched the counter to keep from falling. But her smile remained. It was her last link to sanity.

Esme suddenly remembered the first time her father had introduced her to Fran. Esme was six years old with no memory of her mother at all. As far as she knew, it had only been her and Thomas and would only be her and Thomas forever. Fran had interrupted that flow.

It wasn’t that Esme didn’t love Fran. Esme loved everyone. But Fran sometimes made that love difficult, if only because she was always quite hard on Esme. I need to be the mother you don’t have. I have to be this way; otherwise, you won’t succeed, Fran had said many times. And when Esme had been crowned class valedictorian, Fran had looked very smug about it, as though she were the one to thank. Maybe she was.

“I’m sure he’s nearly here,” Esme said.

Fran shifted her weight. “I’ve called his parents’ house three times this afternoon, and nobody picked up.”

Esme’s gut curdled. Had there been an accident? Was he okay?

“I think we’d better send someone over there to check,” Fran continued. “Your father has volunteered.”

Esme peered out the window to find her father with his arm around his fellow war veteran, Doug. They were cackling and watching the water, which frothed with orange light. He’s been looking forward to this party for months. He threw this party for me—the only daughter of his wife, Rose. He wanted to make me happy.

And now, I’ve disappointed him.

That was when Esme saw the handsome man to the left-hand side of the porch. He had his hands in his pockets and his head flung back. He was laughing; his mouth was wide open, and his shoulders shook. Esme had the sudden sensation that she needed to hear the sound of his laughter. She needed it desperately.

It was a split-second later that she realized who that man was. Victor Sutton. He was a full year older than she and had graduated valedictorian in Nantucket High school the year before. They’d had a single class together in high school—calculus.

Esme was a whizz at it, but Victor struggled with it. Nevertheless, they’d had a bit of healthy competition in class, racing each other to solve mathematical proofs that had boggled the minds of their other classmates.

Esme remembered hearing that Victor was away at university. He was studying to become a doctor of some kind. Psychology? Esme thought that might be it. It was a strange choice for someone from Nantucket, where going to therapy was seen as a sign of weakness. But Esme knew the tides were changing around that. People were open to change. At least, they were more open than they’d been a generation before.

“Are you listening to me?” her stepmother demanded. “If we don’t figure out where Hank is, your guests will sense something is amiss. He’s supposed to be your husband in just a couple of months! What do you think will happen when he doesn’t make it to the aisle on time? When he doesn’t make it to the hospital on time to see your first child’s birth?”

Esme flared her nostrils. Anger boiled her gut.

“I have to go,” Esme said suddenly. “I don’t want to keep my guests waiting.”

Esme flounced from the kitchen as Fran hissed with displeasure. “You get back here, young lady!”

But Esme felt frenetic and charged with electric and very, very confused. The last time she’d seen Hank was two days ago. They’d gone out for burgers and milkshakes, and Esme had told him everything she’d planned for the wedding that week. He’d given her his final list of yeses from family members strewn across the East Coast, and they’d kissed long and passionately in the front seat of his Camaro. He’d told her that he was going to start work at his father’s fish sandwich shack in two weeks’ time. That, plus Esme’s job as a secretary at the local library, would allow them a healthy starting salary. They’d already begun to look at houses although they’d decided to live in an apartment with a short lease when they started out. Esme had never lived away from the beach in her life, but she’d decided that life as a newlywed was worth it. You were supposed to marry young so you could grow and change together. You were supposed to marry young so nobody thought you were sad and used up.

But suddenly, Esme found her on the back porch, striding toward Victor Sutton with a big smile. It stood to reason he was here, she supposed. Thomas had invited nearly all of Nantucket, which meant that either Victor or Victor’s friends or family had been invited. Thomas had always liked Victor; that was true. Esme had once caught them having a heavily philosophical discussion in the back halls of the high school after an awards ceremony. Thomas had pulled his hair passionately, which was something he always did when he felt overheated and excited. Victor had been calm and cool while making his argument. And Thomas had leaned back and said, You know what, my boy? You’re wise beyond your years. That had always stuck with Esme. Thomas so rarely complimented anyone’s intellect. Well, he complimented Esme’s. But rarely anyone else’s. Not even Fran’s, and especially not LeeAnne’s. God bless you, LeeAnne, she thought now.

Victor noticed Esme when she was six feet away. His smile made a shiver run down Esme’s spine. He interrupted his conversation with one of Esme’s neighbors to extend his hand and say, “I suppose congratulations are in order?”

Esme slid her hand into his and realized, with a jolt, that she’d never touched him before. They’d always kept a distance from one another in high school—warring over calculus from several seats away. They’d had their photograph taken together exactly once when they’d both won the same award because the teachers hadn’t been able to choose between the two of them. “Most Likely to Succeed” was the award. Esme had been the first to win it as a junior in high school. They’d been so eager to push her along.

“Thank you,” Esme said. Her voice quivered, and she removed her hand from Victor’s and pressed it behind her back. “And? When did you get back from university?”

Victor continued to smile as though he knew something. “Sensational. Truly. I even met a few women almost as intelligent as you.”

Esme rolled her eyes. She wanted to say, Don’t try to be too charming, Victor Sutton. But Fran was moving through the party, and she didn’t want to give Fran another reason to be angry.

“Tell me,” Victor said, leaning forward so that his nose was only a few inches from Esme’s. “Why marriage instead of university?”

Esme raised her eyebrows. Wasn’t love the single-biggest goal? Wasn’t family always the next step? What could she, a woman, possibly do in the real world? She’d watched other girls go to university, drop out, and return to Nantucket to have children. She’d watched the disappointment unfold across their faces. She’d reasoned, maybe it’s better never to hope so that you don’t pre-emptively destroy yourself.

“She fell in love, Victor!” her neighbor said, clapping Victor on the shoulder. “I’ve had a front-row seat to the entire performance. Hank picking Esme up every Friday night in his Camaro. Hank picking Esme up for prom. Esme cheering Hank on at his football and basketball and baseball games.”

“That’s right,” Victor said now. “Hank is a jock.”

“He’s not just a jock!” Esme’s neighbor said. “He’s the star player. He could have played professionally, you know. But he fell in love, too, bless him.”

Esme pressed her lips into something like a smile. This wasn’t the entire story. Hank had injured himself during baseball season last year, and one of his offers to play college ball had folded on the spot. A few weeks later, Hank had called off the rest of his offers and insisted on staying in Nantucket with Esme. I want to be with you. I want to have a family with you. It was every woman’s fantasy. Esme didn’t like to think about the darker reality behind that decision—that Hank had gotten cold feet about playing college ball after his injury and being hurt had made him more afraid. Afraid enough to quit altogether.

Victor snapped his fingers. “An all-American ball player.”

Esme itched to get away from Victor. But something about his smile drew her in. She felt on the brink, teetering between him and away from him.

Where are you, Hank? Why aren’t you here?

As though Victor could read her mind, he asked, “And where is all-American Hank right now?”

“He’s around here somewhere,” Esme said. Her voice was only a string.

“Is he?” Victor raised his eyebrows. “That’s funny. You know, now that I think about it, I might have seen him last night at a party. I might have seen him having the night of his life.”

Something cold and hard dropped into Esme’s stomach. Her jaw went slack.

But that was when tears filled her eyes and drifted down her cheeks. That was when Victor’s cold, hard exterior melted, and he took her wrist in his massive hand and led her off the porch and into the shadows of the house.

Fran will see us. Fran will see us and be so angry. Fran will see us and say, What a scandal!

But all Esme could do was follow Victor. For whatever reason, she felt as though it was her destiny to follow him into the house, to watch as he poured her a glass of water, to listen as he told her what he knew, what he’d seen. What could she do but trust him? She had nothing to lose but everything.