Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Nantucket Island
Janie was at the White Oak Lodge Fourth of July bonfire, watching the fireworks explode over the Nantucket Sound.
Safe with the secret that she and Alexander were going to flee the island as soon as they could, she felt tender toward the rest of the Whitmores, chatted with Francesca, joked with Allegra and Lorelei, and snacked, drank sweet wine, and danced on the sand.
The months since the miscarriage had been grim and strange, and she’d felt terribly alone, always working hard at the front desk, trying to push the Whitmores through another prosperous season.
But she didn’t care about their season or their money. She wanted to run away!
Life was complicated. It didn’t take a lot of thought to come to that conclusion. But now that Janie had been living with the Whitmores for a few months, she couldn’t help but think that they made everything far too complicated, far too messy. There were secrets like landmines everywhere.
Alexander had been gone for too long, and Janie felt itchy and eager to find him.
She told Francesca she was going back to the Lodge to check on something, but Francesca barely listened and instead wrapped her arm around Allegra’s shoulders.
Janie took off through the sand, searching the bluffs for Alexander. But he was nowhere to be found.
As she ran, she thought about Chloe and wondered where on earth she was.
A couple of weeks ago, she’d managed to contact her at a hotel in San Francisco, and she’d told her about the miscarriage, about her decision to spend her life at the White Oak Lodge.
Chloe had said, “Are you sure about that, honey?” She’d gotten off the phone shortly thereafter, but her words had stuck to Janie like glue. Was she sure? No, she was not.
When Janie reached the stables, she realized she wasn’t alone out here. Someone stood in the mouth of the stables, peering through the darkness toward the horses. It creeped her out. Rather than sit in fear, she demanded, “Hey, what are you doing?”
The person startled like a frightened horse, jumping around to show his face.
It was Jack Whitmore, Alexander’s sixteen-year-old brother, the brother who was probably in over his head, selling drugs and destroying his life.
Janie’s heart went out to him. Maybe, when they left, they could take Jack with them and set him up in a different environment, with people who actually cared about his well-being.
“Jack,” she said tenderly. “Are you all right?”
Jack was shaking. Janie touched his shoulder and forehead, realizing he had a slight fever.
“I’m fine,” Jack said, pulling his body away from her.
“You’re sick,” she said sternly. “We should go inside. I’ll make you tea.”
Jack shook his head and took another step back into the darkness. “No. I have things to do.”
Janie sighed deeply and searched the Lodge for signs of Alexander. She saw no light on, not even upstairs, where Nina’s bedroom was. Where was that man? Was it really up to her to talk to Jack about his not-so-secretive business? They weren’t even married yet!
“Jack, I’m worried about you,” she said, trying to sound sweet and silly. “I’m worried that you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself involved in.”
Jack looked like a frightened animal. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, I kind of do,” Janie said. “I’ve lived all over the place and met all kinds of people. I know that sometimes, people tell you that they have your best interests at heart, but it’s a lie to help them do what they want to do. Whether that’s making money or manipulating you or whatever.”
Jack scowled. Janie remembered that Tio Angelo had wrapped Jack around his finger as long as three years ago. Jack had been thirteen at the time. Was that too much damage to undo?
“You’re scared,” she breathed. “I get that. But I want to help you get out of this.”
“You don’t get it!” Jack cried, then took off for the house, his legs blurry in the night.
Janie sighed and leaned against the wall of the stables, grateful for a moment to herself.
Since the miscarriage, she’d felt strangely weak, like her body didn’t fully belong to her.
She couldn’t chase sixteen-year-old Jack.
She could only continue to pester him, to ask questions and remind him that she was there for him if he ever needed her.
When they left, he was free to call, write, visit, and stay forever.
The Whitmores were poison. Chloe was right.