Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
It was a quieter Thanksgiving on Martha’s Vineyard.
Due to Reese’s diagnosis and subsequent treatment, all the Nantucket family members agreed to meet at Meghan’s place on Martha’s Vineyard so Oriana and Reese didn’t have to travel far.
“It wouldn’t be the same without you there,” Estelle said over the phone, worry echoing from her voice.
Family members called often. Neighbors checked in on them and brought them prepared food they could pop in the oven at a moment’s notice.
Of course, Reese’s appetite hadn’t returned and probably wouldn’t for ages—provided he got well at all—and Oriana struggled to eat what was brought.
Often, she forgot to eat and found herself nibbling toast late at night, her heart pounding.
These were dark thoughts that came to Oriana out of the blue.
What if he doesn’t get well? What if I have to bury my husband, my beloved? What if I never feel happiness again?
It was enough to make her feel older than time.
On Thanksgiving itself, Meghan, Sam, Hilary, and Estelle worked like fiends all morning to prepare a massive feast of turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, clam chowder, homemade rolls, plenty of pies, and ten different appetizers, to be snacked on before the main meal began.
By the time Oriana and Reese arrived, there was a full house, and laughter ricocheted from one side to the other.
People swarmed from all corners to hug them, making sure to be careful around Reese. Their smiles were overwhelming.
Reese was incredibly weak and had no plans to stay long.
But as soon as the greetings petered out, Roland and Grant appeared to loop him into their football-watching plans and prepared him a plate of appetizers.
“We need your eagle eye for this game, my man,” Roland said.
Oriana felt crushed with gladness. Her family’s love was ever-present.
Reese cast her a half smile that she knew meant I’ll try to get through this as best as I can, but I can’t make any promises about how long I can stay. She nodded in agreement. They had an understanding, an easy way of being with one another. They had their own language.
In the kitchen, where the women hung out and cooked and prepped for the multi-hour feeding fest, her sister and half sisters peppered her with questions about not only Reese’s health but also her mental health.
“You have to make sure you take care of yourself as well,” Meghan said, filling a glass of wine for Oriana and grimacing. “I know how you are.”
Oriana sat at the kitchen table and raised her glass of wine to her sisters, her nieces, her dearest friends.
“One of the reasons I was put on this earth was to love Reese,” she said finally, surprising herself with how genuine she was.
“If I’m going to run myself ragged taking care of him during his time of need, so be it. It’s the way it has to be.”
Meghan sighed. Estelle slid a plate of appetizers onto the table in front of Oriana and ordered her to “start eating pronto.”
“You need your strength,” Estelle said.
Oriana took a tentative bite, one that tugged at her hunger and demanded more, more.
She ate a little bit faster and found herself smiling more, laughing at her sister-in-law’s stories, and asking questions about everything that had happened in the past few weeks. She felt as though she’d been in a fog.
A half hour after their arrival, Sam returned from the airport with Rachelle in tow.
Rachelle lived in Rome and worked as a chef, leading the kind of life any twentysomething with an adventurous spirit ached for.
As Rachelle moved around the house, she hugged and kissed everyone in the Italian style.
Her tan was bright and made her look healthy.
Her sister Darcy insisted that she sit in the kitchen for a little while and regale the rest of them with tales from abroad.
Rachelle ate a spinach-and-artichoke roll and told them about her latest boyfriend, an Italian named Federico who made “art films” and thought she cooked “almost as good as his mother.”
“Italians and their mothers!” Darcy said, shaking her head. “So the cliché is true?”
Rachelle giggled and took another bite. Her eyes traced all the friendly, loving faces in the room.
“I’m so glad I could make it back for Thanksgiving,” she said wistfully.
Her eyes landed on Oriana’s and shifted with sorrow.
She knew about Reese; she knew what they were going through.
Darcy worked closely with Reese and frequently checked on them.
Rachelle reached for Oriana’s hand and said, “It’s great to see you, Oriana.
Tell me, who is this painter you discovered?
They’re talking about him everywhere I go. Rome. Paris. London.”
Oriana felt her heartbeat skyrocket. “Are they?” She’d hardly given thought to her career, not since her conversation with Isabella.
When she thought of Larry, her stomach twisted.
If he murdered his wife, she who was responsible for rewarding him late in life.
She’d seen his “genius,” or whatever it was, and brought it into the light.
“That’s our Oriana,” Meghan said. “She has her finger on the pulse of what’s going to be big.”
“I always think you’re going to retire one of these days,” Estelle said, “and then you go and find the next greatest American painter!”
Oriana wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know. I’m learning things about Larry. Things I would prefer not to know.”
“Like what?” Estelle sat at the kitchen table beside her, leaning forward with her chin on her hand. She was a romance novelist and adored tales of intrigue, of secrets. Sometimes Oriana wondered if Estelle remembered that this was real life and wasn’t some fiction in one of her books.
But Oriana saw no reason to keep this to herself, especially as it was too difficult to carry alone.
She explained what the gossip about Larry was—that his wife had disappeared and people thought maybe she was dead.
“But it all happened so long ago,” she said gingerly, “so it’s going to be hard to track the wife down. ”
“If she’s still alive at all,” Rachelle said somberly.
Oriana rubbed the back of her neck and thought of the photographs of Henrietta Johannes, of how beautiful she’d been in the early seventies, of how painful her life with Larry must have been.
“Tortured artists,” Meghan said, shaking her head. “It’s always the story, isn’t it? Picasso was mean to his girlfriends. John Lennon…”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Hilary begged.
“Are you going to keep selling Larry’s paintings?” Rachelle asked, captivated. “I mean, now that you know he might be a criminal?”
Oriana felt woozy with fatigue.
“There isn’t any real proof, right?” Meghan asked.
“No,” Oriana confessed. “There’s not. Maybe I’m making it dramatic for no reason. Perhaps he’s really just a lonely older man whose wife left him years ago. Maybe he’s suffered enough during his lifetime. Who can say?”
“How could you get to the bottom of it?” Estelle asked, her eyes conspiratorial. “I mean, your journalist friend must have connections?”
“Yes, but she has ‘real’ work to do,” Oriana said, using air quotes.
“She can’t chase around a story that might not matter, especially if it isn’t going to pay well.
If I could, I’d go back to Colorado right now and dig around.
I’d ask questions. I’d spend time with Larry and see if I could understand him.
” She was speaking quickly, hardly comprehending what she was saying.
It was only when she realized Reese stood in the kitchen doorway that she understood she’d said something awful. She’d admitted that she couldn’t go anywhere right now because Reese was too sick.
“Hello, ladies,” Reese said meekly, his face gray.
“There he is!” Meghan said, popping up. “Can we get you anything, Reese? Another plate of appetizers? We have nonalcoholic beer and wine if you want any of that?”
Reese shook his head. “I want for nothing. I’m just grateful to spend the day with family.” His eyes continued to burn into Oriana’s. “Do you mind if I steal my wife away? I promise it’ll only be for a moment.”
Oriana walked behind Reese, who moved slowly and carefully down the hall and into the shadows of the study. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were filled with pain. “You should go to Colorado,” he told her.
Oriana was quick to tell him she’d been talking out of turn. “I don’t actually want to go to Colorado,” she said. “I’m barely thinking about Larry Calvin Johannes at all. I’m focused on our life here.”
Reese raised a finger. “That’s what I’m worried about. You know how much I hate people doting on me. I don’t want you to stop your life just because of… all of this.” He gestured vaguely toward his ailing body.
Oriana placed her hands around his waist and gazed into his sick and yellowish eyes. “Reese, I won’t get on a plane until you’re cleared to travel with me,” she said firmly.
Reese took a staggered breath. For a moment, she thought he was going to fall, but he raised his chin, gripped the doorway, and told her she was a fool. “I don’t want to hold you back,” he said.
“You never have, and you never will,” Oriana said. It was a lie, and they both knew it was a lie, but it didn’t matter just then.
Within the hour, the entire Coleman family sat down at long tables set in both the living room and the dining room to celebrate Thanksgiving.
Roland stood to pray, and his booming yet comforting voice brought tears to Oriana’s eyes.
It was never far from her mind that her older brothers Grant and Roland had known about Oriana and Meghan for years, that they’d only just decided it was all right to unite both sides of their family.
When the prayer broke, their father, Chuck, stood on his rickety legs and announced that this was “the best Thanksgiving meal I’ve seen in all my years.
” And then he went on. “Every year, it’s like our family comes up against new stories, new marriages, new babies, and new illnesses. ”
His eyes found Oriana’s and then Reese’s. Oriana’s stomach stirred.
“May God be with the Coleman family,” Chuck said, his voice cracking. “I love all of you, and I’m so grateful for you. Thank you for being here with me today. Thank you for being all together.” He bowed his head, then slowly sat.
Not a single Coleman eye was dry.
After that, they burst into action, passing turkey and mashed potatoes, bowls of gravy, vats of buttery brussels sprouts, and cranberry sauce.
Oriana helped Reese fill his plate, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to touch most of it.
They’d pretend it wasn’t like that. They’d fill up several Tupperwares and tell everyone they’d eat more at home.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Rachelle offered from the opposite end of the table, “but I’m so glad not to be eating pizza or pasta right now!”
The Colemans laughed. Their marvelous Rachelle was back, if only for a moment, before she rushed back into her gorgeous and freewheeling life.
Darcy gazed at Rachelle with love and confusion.
It reminded Oriana of her relationship with Meghan: how they’d always been as thick as thieves but entirely different, entirely their own selves.
They’d been allowed to watch one another through the many stages of their individual careers.
They’d been each other’s champion. They’d been each other’s stability.
But at some point, as Darcy was learning now, it was essential to recognize that you had to step back, if only a bit.
You had to be comfortable with a little more distance.
It was a tragedy, Oriana knew. But it also allowed space for new relationships to grow.
A half hour after dinner, Reese gave Oriana a look from across the room that meant he was too tired to stay for much longer.
Oriana went to the kitchen to pack up and tell Meghan her plans.
Meghan told her, “Someone can take Reese home and make sure he’s safe and comfortable.
You can stay here with us.” Her eyes widened with hope.
But Oriana shook her head. “Reese and I had a deal,” she explained. “I can’t go back on it now. Not for all the pie in the world.”
Meghan tried to laugh, but it sounded strange.
She filled Tupperware after Tupperware, because she needed to feel that Oriana and Reese were safe and well-fed.
There was so little anyone could control in life, Oriana knew.
This was why people brought you food, blankets, and flowers in times of strife.
People understood much more about food than they did about life.