Chapter 24
Mid-June of that same year, Estelle released her new book about returning to romance after losing the love of your life.
After much deliberation with her editor and her agent, after discussing it with Sam and Hilary for what felt like hundreds of hours, she’d called the novel It Isn’t Over. It was simple. It was apt.
Just as they’d done last year, her publisher threw a book launch at the beautiful Manhattan bookstore that had started everything.
Standing at the table heavy with books, the table where she’d do her reading in a few minutes, Estelle gazed out at the sea of women readers of all ages, marveling at how far she’d come since her tour last year.
A small part of her ached for Albert to come through those doors, to stand at the back and wait before he threw his hand up with a flirtatious question that would point to how “in love” with her he still was.
But the truth was, Estelle hadn’t heard from Albert since they’d met in Rome.
She had no idea how anything had transpired for him back in Rome. She was okay with that, sort of.
She’d never really dated before, as Roland had been her only real love. It made her smile to think that she was joining the ranks of so many women, watching men fade in and out of her life as times changed. She was open to the wide range of human experience, she supposed. She was grateful for that.
Her agent, Anne, was terribly pleased with the newest novel. “You told me it was all over after your last one!” Anne said now, a few minutes after the reading, as they drank wine and chatted. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
“The book tour changed my mind,” Estelle admitted. She lowered her voice, feeling electric. “I met someone. Nothing happened, not really. But in the same vein, everything happened. Through our conversations and long walks through European cities, I remembered what romance felt like.”
Anne grinned. “You’re a source of good in the world, Estelle. You deserve everything wonderful.”
Rachelle, Darcy, Sam, and Hilary had all come to Manhattan to celebrate the book launch. They hurried over to hug Estelle and congratulate her.
“It’s your best book yet, Mom,” Hilary said, wiping her cheeks of tears.
“Seriously! It’s so romantic,” Darcy affirmed.
“Jack is reading it right now,” Rachelle said.
“My target audience! Thirtysomething men,” Estelle joked.
“Come on,” Sam said. “You know that everyone can connect to your books.”
“Romance is not just for women anymore,” Darcy agreed. “Everyone falls in love. It’s time more people admitted they're softies. Time is of the essence.”
“Everyone should try, at least,” Estelle offered softly. She knew that, in a world of endless technology, human connection was becoming increasingly rare. That meant that love needed to be celebrated all the more, she felt.
After the book launch, Estelle and her Coleman girls returned to the hotel, where they had a mini-party in her hotel suite before they went to bed.
Rachelle was extremely tired, as she’d spent so much time at the restaurant the past couple of months and was hardly giving herself any time off.
Estelle wanted to tell Rachelle to take it easy.
But she knew that Rachelle wouldn’t listen, at least not yet.
She needed to prove herself before she could rest. Her goal was to be featured on the “thirty-five under thirty-five chefs to watch out for” list, which a top culinary magazine would publish in the coming year.
There were whispers in the chef community that a place was reserved for Rachelle, provided the restaurant's summer season went well.
Estelle saw a great deal of Roland in Rachelle, especially now that the restaurant was already a success and on its way to stardom. But she saw Roland in Darcy, too. Darcy was the business-minded sister, as it turned out. The restaurant wouldn’t have been so marvelous without them working together.
Estelle beamed at them with pride.
“Why are you looking at us like that?” Rachelle teased.
“Because I love you! You’re my beautiful granddaughters, and I’m proud of you!” Estelle said. “Aren’t I allowed to be proud?”
“We’re proud of you, too!” Rachelle cried back.
They collapsed in giggles that seemed endless. It was proof that they all needed to get some sleep.
Unlike last year, Estelle hadn’t opted for a long book tour through two continents.
After Manhattan, she did three readings in Philadelphia, in Washington, DC, and back in Nantucket, where she enjoyed the very best audience.
Fans spilled out of the bookstore, craning to see her as she read.
During the question-and-answer session, Estelle allowed more questions than she might have normally, as she felt so comfortable here on her island. She was willing to open up.
A thing that made this reading especially different, she felt, was that so many of the women and men listening to the reading had known Roland.
They’d known Estelle as Mrs. Coleman for decades—and probably struggled to reckon with her as a widow, as a woman without her husband.
But in trying to define herself differently, she felt she was asking the world to do the same.
It was an essential next step: to reassess her identity and figure out who she would be in the years ahead.
Naturally, the bookstore sold out of Estelle’s books that evening.
The bookstore manager, a friend of Estelle’s named Ronnie, said that she made an enormous online order that very evening, but that she suspected they would sell out before the week was through.
“People consume your books. They’re perfect for the beach, for summertime nostalgia.
And because they’ve been translated into so many languages, you’re a worldwide success!
I was just talking to someone the other day about your books.
He came into the shop to poke around. He was foreign.
I forget where he was from. Spain, maybe?
” Ronnie tilted her head. “He bought your most recent novel and said he couldn’t wait to dig in. ”
Estelle didn’t think anything of it, not at first. “It’s rare to meet men who like my books. At least, that’s what I used to think.”
Ronnie laughed. “My husband has read half of them, at least.”
That night, Estelle returned to the Coleman House, exhilarated and exhausted in equal measure.
Making herself some tea, she went out on the veranda and gazed at the stars, twinkling in the night sky over the Nantucket Sound.
As she had countless times, she whispered what had happened today to the sky, thinking that maybe Roland could hear her. He never felt so far from her.
But just then, the doorbell rang, yanking her from her reverie. She got up, hurrying to the foyer, imagining that Sam or Hilary had decided to pop by for a nightcap. Estelle hadn’t looked at her phone for a while. Maybe they’d called or texted, and she’d missed it.
But when she opened the door, she found herself gazing into the dark, captivating eyes of Albert. In his arms was a bouquet of lilies and roses. Estelle nearly collapsed.
“Estelle,” Albert said, a gentle smile on his face. “Congratulations on your newest book. I wanted to tell you in person.”
Estelle couldn’t speak. She wondered if she was dreaming. “You’re here,” she said finally.
“I hope you don’t mind I came by. You weren’t answering your phone,” Albert said, sounding nervous. “I spent all day reading your book. I wanted to come to the reading, but I chickened out. I was on my way to the ferry, actually, headed off the island, maybe forever, when I decided to turn back.”
Estelle continued to blink at him. He’d planned to leave without saying hello? He’d come all this way, only to depart again?
“But I happened to stop into a cute little restaurant near the ferry pier.” He smiled. “I couldn’t believe it, but both of your granddaughters were there. Rachelle was in the kitchen, and Darcy was out front. I realized it was fate.”
Estelle smiled wider. Warmth pulsated through her chest, through her arms.
“Who am I to ignore fate?” Albert asked.
Estelle reached out for him. In a moment, they were in one another’s arms, lost in the beauty of a kiss that they’d both dreamed of for nearly a year. Estelle’s heart fluttered in her neck.
She couldn’t believe he’d come back for her.
Out on the veranda, under the same stars she’d only recently whispered to, Albert told her about his previous year.
He told her that Riccardo’s family had fleeced him of a great deal of money before he’d said enough was enough.
He’d tried to dig his heels into life in Italy, but he’d soon discovered that he was too American for Rome, now.
“I need to be here,” he said. “I belong here.”
Estelle didn’t know what that meant for them.
She set her head on his chest and listened to his heart beating.
She laced her fingers through his, praying that they’d find a way through this next era of their lives together.
Just as Albert had said, who were they to ignore fate?
Fate had drawn them together. Maybe one day, fate would tear them apart, too.
But Estelle was willing to take that chance. What else was life for, anyway?