Chapter 30 Rebecca
Frothy lake water leaping, nipping at the ferry boat. White-capped waves curling like frosting shavings. The Grand Hotel gleaming
from the hillside, holding itself with more grace than the White House. How had Rebecca ever walked by without gaping?
People always said Mackinac Island was the one place that never changed, but Rebecca knew this wasn’t true. Everything looked
different when she arrived with Tom for their three-day stay for the Fourth of July. The colors more saturated, the contours
more sloping.
Mostly it was the people who had changed, in the best of ways. Six months away had softened her mother’s face, sweetened her
sister’s, and illuminated the sagacity of her grandmother’s. The three women were lined up at the dock, along with Deirdre,
Paula, and Kitty. All except Gigi were waving American flags, as if welcoming soldiers back from war.
Ordinarily Rebecca would feel guilty they’d all gone to this trouble for her, but today she accepted the reception happily.
It was a much-needed change from the curtness of her Traverse City neighbors. (They’d held another barbecue yesterday, and
still no invite. It was intentional, Rebecca was sure of it.)
“Hurry, honey,” Rebecca called back to Tom, who was carrying their bags. “They’re waiting for us.”
With Sadie tugging on her leash, eager to explore the island for the very first time, Rebecca raced ahead and fell into her
mother’s open arms.
“It’s you.” Eloise took Rebecca’s chin in her hands, as if verifying that her daughter wasn’t a holographic trick. “And this one,” she said, eyeing Sadie. “It’s looking a bit more like a dog these days.”
“High praise,” Gigi said.
“She,” Rebecca corrected. “Sadie is a she , not an it.”
“I’ve had it with all the pronoun nonsense,” Deirdre mumbled as Eloise apologized for her mistake.
Nonni draped a hug over Rebecca like one of her hand-crocheted afghans. It smelled like vinegary perfume, sandalwood candles,
and security. “You’re radiant,” Nonni said. “Just radiant.”
“I’m not.” Rebecca was on edge that they might detect traces of pregnancy. She knew it was ridiculous to think she’d be showing
so early, but she’d packed only loose-fitting sundresses just in case. One was billowing around her now.
“Say hi to the camera!” Mayor Welsh appeared atop Rowan, phone pointed at Rebecca. “This will go viral, I’m sure of it. People
love wholesome family content. It’s what we’re known for, isn’t it?”
Before Rebecca could ask her to abstain from posting her image online, the mayor was jingling Rowan’s reins and parading away.
“Make way, make way. The mayor’s coming through!”
“That’s how you know you’re a big deal,” Gigi said wryly. “When you have to announce your own presence and exactly two people
move for you.”
Nonni sniggered.
“I’m praying to the good Lord that someone runs against her in the next election,” Deirdre said, now wielding her flag like
a dart, as if contemplating a game of pin the tail on the mayor’s horse. “I can’t handle another term of this.”
“How about you put your name in the hat?” Paula suggested. “You’d be very popular.”
“We’d vote for you,” Kitty added.
“Politicians dance with the devil,” Deirdre said. “I could never be a part of that.”
“Then why are you praying for a new mayor?” Gigi asked. “Isn’t that basically just asking God to corrupt someone else?”
Deirdre garbled her rebuttal. Rebecca wasn’t fazed by the bickering. She felt at home. Even the crowds of fudgies were less
annoying. “How magical is it,” Rebecca said. “To be able to call this place home, when millions of people flock here for their
dream vacation.”
“It’s madness, not magic,” Gigi said. “Wait until you get stampeded by the college idiots. You’ll be on the next ferry out.”
That was when Rebecca noticed the man standing behind Eloise. His hands were stashed in his pockets, his feet tapping the
boardwalk as if he were practicing an Irish jig or in dire need of a restroom—it was difficult to tell. Rebecca recognized
him from the photos. He looked younger in person.
It was Clyde MacDougal, Rebecca’s new favorite author. She’d finished four of his novels so far. The sci-fi thriller set on
Neptune’s moon was her favorite. Not her usual type, but he developed the characters so well. It was a universal story of
friendship at its core, exploring otherness in a very clever way. It was also his least popular book to date. People left
scathing reviews about erroneous scientific details he used to describe the moon. But wasn’t that the point of writing fiction?
To be able to invent without the constraints of facts? Rebecca loved writing and always had, but she had no desire to publish
herself, even articles for academic journals. Too many people weighing in, telling her what she was doing wrong. Her skin
was too thin for it, sheer as tissue paper.
Eloise had brought up the topic of Clyde during one of the phone calls Rebecca hadn’t managed to shirk off. (She had been
avoiding conversations with her mother. Eloise would be able to hear the secret in her voice. It was that maternal instinct.
What if Rebecca didn’t have that when the baby came? What would she do?)
“I think it’s best if you don’t meet Clyde, don’t you?” was what Eloise had said to Rebecca. “It would intrude on family time.
You’re only here such a short time as it is.”
“It wouldn’t be intruding,” Rebecca had said. “It would be adding.”
She’d had to call back three more times—perfecting her “everything is perfectly normal, I’m not growing a human in my belly”
voice—to insist she wanted to meet Clyde, that she would be crushed not to, before Eloise finally agreed to it.
“I’ll pencil him in for a quick hello at the ferry,” Eloise had said. “Perhaps he can drop by the fireworks too. But the rest
of the weekend I want my Rebecca all to myself. Tom too, of course,” she’d added hastily.
Eloise was always forgetting about Tom. She had since the beginning, when she’d referred to him as Todd for the first two
months of their relationship. It bothered Rebecca. He was her husband now, after all. But he did have a way of blending in, answering questions only when asked, always wearing neutrals. He was
a vast contrast to Clyde, who was dressed in a banana-yellow linen suit.
“Rebecca,” Eloise said now, “this is Mr. MacDougal.” The glint in her eye confirmed to Rebecca what Gigi had said: Their mother
was falling for him. She had, perhaps, already fallen.
“Call me Clyde,” he said. “Your mam has been singing your praises. Your sister has been too,” he said, though Rebecca knew
he was taking creative liberties here. “It’s simply divine to meet you in person.”
Simply divine. It was one of those phrases Rebecca would like to incorporate into her daily life but knew she wouldn’t be able to pull off.
Clyde was warm and charming, everything Rebecca hoped he would be. She wanted to give him a hug, but her body stiffened like
wood.
Rebecca rarely missed her dad anymore. Not actively, at least. There would always be a passive missing, she supposed. The
void of something having been emptied before she’d really known what it was like to be full. Rebecca hadn’t clung to Gus the
way Gigi had after he left. The way Gigi still did. Rebecca had let him go. She would not chase him and she would not miss
him. Those were the ground rules. She stuck to them well.
But right now Rebecca missed her dad. She missed him with memories she’d never meant to hold on to. They’d stuck around anyway, the way he had not.
***
“You’re back!” Rebecca greeted her dad from the front porch one summer afternoon. He and Gigi were coming in from sailing.
Rebecca was four years old. “And a half!” she always added.
“There’s my Becca Bean.” Gus lifted Rebecca, flipped her upside down. The sensation made her queasy, but she could tell her
dad liked it so she pretended to as well.
“Come with us next time,” Gigi said. “We saw a fish that was thirty feet long! Didn’t we, Daddy?”
“It was pretty big,” Gus said.
“I’m scared of the water,” Rebecca said. “Like Mommy is.”
“Your mom isn’t scared of the water,” Gus said. “We used to go cliff diving together. We used to do a lot of things together.”
“Cliff diving?” Gigi’s eyes were as big as cookies. “Take me, take me!”
Eloise joined them on the porch. “Maybe when you’re older.”
“You can’t keep them little forever, Ellie,” Gus said. “They’re going to grow up one of these days.”
He set Rebecca back on the ground. The world took a moment to return to right side up.
“Not this day.” Eloise greeted Gus with a quick kiss on the lips.
“Gross,” Gigi said, pulling a face.
“Dinner’s ready,” Eloise said. “Rebecca helped me bake the bread.”
“It was fun!” Rebecca twisted her hands in the pouch of her apron, which hung to the floor like a princess dress. “Like playing
in the snow.”
“Why do you like snow so much?” Gigi said. “It’s so cold.”
“Because it smells like magic. I love winter.”
“Are you sure you’re my daughter?” her dad asked.
The question concerned Rebecca. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I can’t stand winter. I’m a summer guy.”
“Me too,” Gigi said. “I’m a summer guy.”
“Gal,” Eloise corrected. “You’re a summer gal.”
“Oh,” Rebecca said. She really did prefer winter, but summer was clearly the right answer. “I like them both the same.”
Gus smiled. “Very diplomatic. Our future politician.”
“What’s a politician?” Rebecca asked, looking up at him, so tall, so smart.
“They make the rules,” Gigi said. “When I’m mayor, I’m going to make it summer year-round. Just watch.”
“You’ve got my vote,” Gus said.
Rebecca tried to think of something to say that her dad would like just as much but couldn’t. She wiggled into her booster
seat at the kitchen table and nibbled on the fresh-out-of-the-oven bread she’d helped her mother bake. “It burned my tongue,”
she said.
“That’s what you get for eating before we say grace,” Gigi said, holding out her hands for their daily prayer. Rebecca took