Chapter 3
My parents are waiting, beaming, beneath the broad branches of one of the many old trees that cover campus. They weren’t this jubilant at my college graduation three years ago. Probably because we all knew that was simply a stop along the way, and this was the final destination. A relief to reach. But I have to fake the answering smile I know they’re expecting.
My shoulders square under the suffocating blanket of my graduation gown and hood, the sticky humidity in the air seeping into the heavy fabric. The pride on their faces is almost enough to make the past three years worth it. Almost.
“Wait! Stop!” my mom calls out.
I pause, nearly stumbling over a gnarled root.
“This lighting is just perfect, and I’ve got the law library right behind … there.”
“I can keep walking?” I ask dryly.
“Get over here, kiddo,” my dad says.
The wide grin on his face is both a surprise and expected. I’m so used to his stoicism. My father doesn’t share his feelings freely. He keeps most of his emotions locked away. A trait I’ve been told we share and a comparison I don’t find flattering.
But today is his dream come true. For my dad, there’s no greater achievement than me graduating from his alma mater and pursuing a career in law. That’s success to him, confirmation I was raised right. If Rose were still alive, maybe he wouldn’t have cared as much about what I did with my life. But she’s not; she’s gone. And ghosts can’t struggle with choices or make mistakes or earn degrees. Rose was the daughter who went into the office with my dad during the summer, while I was the one who went to sleepaway camp in Maine.
My dad hugs me more tightly than I’m expecting. Hard enough I feel a little guilty for my thoughts. Maybe I’m not the spare daughter in his mind. Maybe it matters to him that I went to law school, not just that he guided one of his children to what he considers to be the best career path.
“Congratulations, Elodie,” he tells me, dropping his arms and taking a step back. “We’re so very proud of you.”
“Walking across the stage wasn’t all that difficult.”
Another rare smile appears as he reaches out to straighten my crimson stole. “The work it took to get here didn’t go unnoticed. And to celebrate …” He pulls a small box out from inside of his suit jacket. The wooden surface glows a soft honey color in the sunshine as he holds it out to me. “Don’t smoke them all today. Or any of them ever. But that’s what my father gave me when I graduated law school, so I thought …”
I flip open the lid, inhaling the scent of leather, wood, and tobacco. Rub my finger against the paper wrapping, remembering the one and only time I’ve smoked. Resenting how he’s the place my brain always goes first.
My grandfather was a tough, harsh man who made it easy to see where my father learned his stolid demeanor. I’m not surprised to learn his graduation gift to my father wasn’t a sentimental one.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And a more appropriate gift.” Even without the heavy emphasis my mom places on appropriate, I’d know she disapproves of the cigars. She considers coffee an illicit substance after all.
I take the paper envelope she’s holding out, knowing it contains a check without looking inside. “You guys paid for law school and my place. You don’t need to?—”
“We wanted to,” my mom interrupts. “You’re our only child. Let us spoil you.”
The second reminder of Rose. The first being the bouquet of pink blossoms my mom is holding. Roses are the only type of flowers she’ll buy. A sweet, sad tribute. But just like the breakfast I ate for years, I think it means she’s forgotten peonies are my favorite. Or that Lily is my middle name.
We rarely discuss Rose directly, but she hovers as a phantom presence anyway.
I’m always surrounded by ghosts.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Congratulations, sweetheart.” My mom steps forward to kiss my cheek, pressing the bunch of blooms into my hand. An overlooked thorn snags my sleeve. “You earned it.”
Earned a degree, she means. Earned their pride. Earned this money.
Because I wasn’t brave enough to find out what I’d end up with if I didn’t follow the expected path. I’m somehow resentful and relieved I’ll never know.
“Now, let’s get a few more photos, and then you should really take that robe off, dear. Your face is awfully red.”
I pose for photos—with my parents, with fellow graduates, by myself—until my facial muscles are quivering from the strain of holding smiles. My mom must have hundreds from today. She made me and Prescott stand for dozens in front of the law building before the ceremony.
Atlantic Oyster Bar was my request for lunch. The food is overpriced and the atmosphere overly formal, but the view overlooking the harbor that was once teeming with tea can’t be beaten. Seaport has always felt like the least restrictive section of the city to me. All the towering buildings and crowded streets are invisible from this vantage point.
The restaurant’s decor is classy and elegant, decorated in shades of white, pale blue, and navy with a clear nautical inspiration. We’re led to an outdoor table, the breeze reviving my smothered skin as I inhale deeply.
“Warmer today than I was expecting,” my mother comments, reluctantly shrugging her dress’s matching jacket off.
“Feels like summer,” my father agrees, busy perusing the menu.
My mom slips her sunglasses on. “Is Prescott on his way?”
My boyfriend also graduated today. He was visiting with some friends after the ceremony, then is supposed to be meeting us for lunch.
I pull my phone out and scan the recent messages.
PRESCOTT: Leaving now.
PRESCOTT: Twenty minutes.
The second message was sent fifteen minutes ago.
“He’ll be here in five minutes,” I say, then continue reading through the messages in my group chat with my best friends.
JULIET: CONGRATULATIONS!!!
JULIET: Our very own Elle Woods. I’m so proud.
KEIRA: Congrats!!!
KEIRA: So sorry we couldn’t make it to the ceremony. We’re shitty friends.
JULIET: Speak for yourself.
KEIRA: I *was*.
JULIET: Oh.
JULIET: Forgot you’re a *we* now.
KEIRA: I’m only marrying the guy.
KEIRA: We’re celebrating next weekend, Elle!!!
KEIRA: No wedding or work talk.
KEIRA: You’re coming, right? You didn’t reply to the email.
JULIET: Of course she’s coming. Right, Elle?
KEIRA: Elle?
JULIET: She’s probably busy with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Serious.
JULIET: Bring him to the Vineyard. I want to meet him.
KEIRA: You’d better be there next weekend.
KEIRA: Love you!
JULIET: Drink lots of champagne!
“Is that Prescott?” my mom asks.
I set my phone on the table and shake my head. “Just some texts from Juliet and Keira.”
My mother nods. “Your father and I ate at The Franklin the other night. It was excellent. I had my doubts about that space, but Keira worked miracles.”
“I think Tucker Franklin deserves the credit there.”
“Ah, right. I’d forgotten about her boyfriend’s little construction business.”
Last I heard, Tucker’s crew was up to fifteen guys. Impressive, especially for a town of Fernwood’s size. My mom’s problem isn’t with the scale of his operation, but rather what part of town Tucker grew up in. My parents are snobs, plain and simple. They judge people based on how successful they are, and they measure said success from how much money they have.
“They’re engaged, Mom.”
“Oh, that’s right. When is the wedding?”
I smile at the waitress filling the water glasses on the table. “September.”
“You’ll be in the bridal party?” my mom questions.
I sip some ice water and nod. “She asked me to be her maid of honor.”
Keira, Juliet, and I made a pact in middle school. I would be Keira’s maid of honor. Keira will be Juliet’s maid—matron—of honor, and Juliet will be mine. Not that Juliet or I are close to getting married. Juliet has self-diagnosed herself as allergic to commitment. And I can’t picture myself getting engaged anytime soon, much to my mother’s dismay.
“How lovely.” There’s a wistful note to her voice that I’m sure has a lot to do with the lack of a diamond ring on my left hand. At my age, my mom was married and expecting me.
My phone begins buzzing on the table. My father clears his throat, glancing at the buzzing device pointedly.
“Sorry. I’ll just …” My voice trails off as I catch a glimpse of the name on the screen. “Sorry,” I repeat. “I have to take this.”
I stand and walk away from the table before either of my parents can say anything. There’s a cluster of more casual seating set away from most of the tables, wicker couches and armchairs meant for sipping cocktails, which I head for.
Nina has only ever called me once before, when she picked up an extra Saturday shift and had to move our monthly get-together. Aside from that, we communicate when I show up at the trailer.
My heart pounds, and my head spins, considering the reasons why she might be calling me. I don’t think I mentioned the exact date I was graduating. Even if I had, I can’t imagine Nina calling to congratulate me.
“Hello?” I answer, sinking down onto one of the striped cushions.
“Hi, Elle.”
I have a hard time reading Nina in person. Over the phone, it’s practically impossible to tell what she’s thinking.
“This is a surprise,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting to talk to you until next week.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I thought this might be the best time to reach you.”
“It’s a good time,” I tell her. “I just got back from walking Scout.”
That’s what I wish I were doing right now at least. The next couple of hours will be an uncomfortable balance of my dad discussing the bar exam and starting work at the firm while my mom drops hints about how soon I should be thinking about marriage. At least Prescott has met my parents before and has some idea what to expect.
“I’m glad you got that dog,” Nina tells me.
I smile. “Me too. I’ll bring him with me next week.”
Nina coughs. It rattles in her lungs, the sound ominous instead of ordinary. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“O … kay.” Nerves are crawling across my skin, confirming that something else is going on.
“I should have told you when you were here last month. But I …” She sighs. “It’s meant a lot, you coming by all these years. I hope you know that. I know I’m not always … well, I’m not sure I’ve ever said it.”
I shove, “I wanted to,” out through wooden lips, bracing for the blow that’s about to come. Certain that something is about to change irrevocably.
“I’m sick, Elle. Lung cancer. The doctors think I have a year left, if I’m lucky.”
Nina delivers that news in the same matter-of-fact way she always speaks. The same brisk manner I used to find abrasive and now appreciate.
My palm presses against my mouth to keep any sound from escaping as I stare down at my pale knees. The hot prickle of tears stabs at my eyes like tiny swords. I look up, blinking rapidly, to watch a sailboat’s slow progress across the water. Disbelief spreads, numbing my senses. The sun’s warmth and the smell of seafood fade away, my awareness narrowing to nothing except the terrible news.
“I’m so sorry, Nina,” I choke out. “Have you started treatment? Is there?—”
“I lost most of my dignity chasing clueless boys in baggy jeans,” she tells me. “I’d like to leave this world with what little I have left. Not the way I entered it—bald and unable to sit up on my own.”
Despite—or maybe because of—the serious topic, a laugh bursts out. “You don’t know that?—”
Again, she interrupts. “I do know. The doctors know.”
There’s a clink of china in the background, and I’m certain she brewed a cup of tea before making this call. That she’s sitting at the square kitchen table and sipping from a floral-patterned cup. I can picture it so clearly in my mind, like I’m sitting across from her right now.
Pain lances through my chest when I realize Nina called to tell me memories are all I’ll have of her soon. A year sounds long by some metrics, but it’s also so, so short.
“Please—if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please let me know. I’ll be by next weekend, and I can bring whatever you need.”
“Next weekend won’t work, Elle.”
“Oh. Well, I can do the weekend after, if that’s better.”
“I think it might be best if you don’t come by here anymore.” Nina’s voice is gentle, but it does little to soften the hit. Her tone is purposeful, like she’s weighing each word before she speaks it. Like there’s some subtext I’m missing and need to search for.
“Facing this alone isn’t going to make it any easier,” I tell her gently. “I’m sure it’s scary and overwhelming, but anything I can do to help … please let me help.”
A long pause follows.
“I won’t be alone,” Nina finally says.
“But … Cormac isn’t finished with the semester for a couple more weeks.”
Nina’s younger son is in his second year of college at Boston University. Another devastating wave of sadness hits as I look past my own sorrow and remember Nina is leaving a lot more than our monthly visits behind. But I don’t let my thoughts drift any further than Cormac.
“I don’t mean Cormac,” she tells me.
“Oh. Oh,” I realize. “I didn’t know you were … seeing someone.”
Nina barks a laugh. “Dating? I’m dying, dear.”
She says nothing else. I glance toward the table where my parents are seated. Prescott has joined them, my spot the only one sitting empty. But I wait, everything in me insisting this conversation with Nina is more important than lunch.
“I’m … confused,” I admit.
Her exhale is heavy. “Elle … I’m rarely wrong about people. I was wrong about you. You’re stubborn and kind and extraordinary. Everything you’ve done, for me, for Cormac, it will never be forgotten. I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I’ve never heard Nina sound so unsure. She’s second-guessing each word she says, it sounds like.
“I’m still confused.”
“Ryder made his own choices. I don’t blame you for anything that happened. If it’s ever seemed otherwise, I’m sorry.”
I swallow hard. My throat is starting to close up, making talking difficult. “Why … what are you talking about?”
She’s never brought Ryder up, not since that first day I showed up under false pretenses. And the one mention does nothing to prepare me for Nina’s next words.
“Ryder is getting released next week, Elle.”