Chapter 4
Chapter Four
A t two p.m. on Black Friday, Estelle’s agent called with the news. “Are you sitting down?” Christie asked, her voice sparkling with excitement.
Estelle wasn’t. She stood on the driveway outside her house as a sharp oceanic wind blasted through her, rippling her coat. It wasn’t terribly nice to be outside, not even for a brisk walk, but standing in the living room window, she’d noticed something wrong with the mailbox. It had tipped over in the wind, and she’d come outside to stab it back in its hole again. It hadn’t sat right since last summer when some teenagers had hit it with a baseball bat. Roland commented that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Estelle joked that she thought teenagers had video games now! Why did they need vandalism to pass the time?
They were too old to let something so silly bother them.
“Just come out with it!” Estelle begged her agent.
“All right. Well, we just sold the international film rights for Forever Walk with Me !” she cried. “Get ready for the next phase of your celebrity career!”
Estelle’s eyes widened with shock. “The rights sold on the day after Thanksgiving?”
“A production company in Paris bought them,” Christie explained. “They don’t have Thanksgiving over there. No holiday weekend.”
“Oh yes. Of course!” Estelle laughed as tears spilled from her eyes. Whenever she got good career-related news, she cried, no matter what. No matter how often it happened now. She never imagined she’d make it this far in her writing career. She never imagined people would care about what she had to say.
Estelle hurried back inside so the tears wouldn’t freeze on her face. Her agent continued to tell her what had happened, how the bidding had gone, and how much the Parisian production company had paid to secure the rights. “Who knows when they’ll start filming,” Christie said flippantly. “These things move as slow as molasses.”
“I’m not young anymore,” Estelle said with a laugh. “But I’m patient.”
Estelle was at the counter, buzzing with adrenaline. Not for the first time that week, she thought, I found the perfect career. I’m living the life of my dreams.
“Tell me about your new book!” her agent said now, her voice still chipper. “You said it was top secret, but I can’t wait anymore.”
Estelle winced. “I’m still in the heavy research phase.”
“Does that mean you have to keep it a secret from your agent?” Christie asked.
“I’m terrified you won’t like it,” Estelle offered.
“When have I not liked your work?” Christie asked.
“You’ve vetoed plenty of ideas over the years. You vetoed the romance at the Antarctic research center,” Estelle reminded her.
“Come on, Estelle. It sounded too scientific,” Christie teased. “Neither of us knows anything about science!”
“You vetoed the basketball romance set in France,” Estelle said.
“Since when do our readers like sports?” Christie sighed.
Estelle giggled.
“You know that I only make decisions based on what I think will work best,” Christie said, sounding disappointed. “I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings.”
“I know.” Estelle waved her hand even though her agent couldn’t see her from where she sat in New York City. “I promise I’ll have more information about my new book soon. After that, feel free to break my heart and veto away!”
Christie laughed. “You’re the best, Estelle. You really are.”
“Am I your favorite client?” Estelle teased, knowing that her agent couldn’t possibly play favorites.
“All of my clients are my favorite clients,” Christie said. “Don’t make me choose between you all!”
Estelle got off the phone and headed to the workout room to announce the international film rights sale to Roland. Roland was on the Peloton, watching a documentary about communism, gripping the bike handles as he huffed and puffed. Estelle waited till he slowed down to tell him. When she did, he bounded off the bike and hurried over to give her a big hug and kiss.
“You're sensational, Estelle Coleman,” he said. “I love you to pieces, you know that?”
Estelle floated back through the house to get ready to meet Katrina downtown. Katrina had a list of to-dos, Black Friday sales to check out, and baby supplies to pick up for Sophie, but Estelle didn’t have much to do or much to buy. She would just enjoy herself, she decided. She’d celebrate in her own way.
Estelle grabbed the very last parking spot in the lot near the courthouse and hurried through the crowded sidewalks to The French Spot, a little coffee shop with brunch offerings and plenty of cakes. Katrina was already in the corner, jotting notes in a notebook Estelle remembered as Katrina’s most essential accessory. She never went anywhere without it.
Katrina got up to hug Estelle. Estelle gripped her friend and sister-in-law’s shoulders and said, “My book sold international film rights! In Paris, of all places!”
Katrina’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding!”
Estelle sat across from her and squeezed her knees with joy. The skin on her face felt frozen, and she stretched her smile wider to warm up. The coffee shop was packed with holiday shoppers, many of whom Estelle had known all her life. A few milled past, asking Estelle about her upcoming book releases and Katrina, of course, about the new baby.
“I’m a celebrity like you!” Katrina joked to Estelle. “I forgot that a new baby brings that kind of magic to the world.”
“Let’s go to the baby store!” Estelle suggested. “I want to look at those little outfits and get Sophie something special and warm. Goodness, I was so nervous when I had my babies. Nantucket winters felt especially brutal.”
Katrina nodded. “I remember.”
It was true that they’d gone through their own era of babies and baby raising and conceiving at similar times. But Estelle and Katrina hadn’t been as close back then. Grant and Roland had been angry—both with one another and at their father—and they’d kept a healthy distance, especially after Grant followed in his father’s footsteps career-wise, and Roland decided to do his own thing.
Estelle wished she and Katrina had been there for each other more often during those difficult and lonely years.
As though she could read her mind, Katrina squeezed Estelle’s hand over the table. “I don’t want Sophie to spend entire days alone like I did.”
“No! I wouldn’t wish that loneliness on anyone,” Estelle agreed. She hadn’t even had time to write a few words back then, let alone entire books. Becoming a novelist felt like the furthest away of dreams. “What about Patrick?”
“He took some time off to help with the baby,” Katrina said. “Times are different than they were when we were young mothers. It’s more accepted—and desired—that fathers are there for the infant stage. It’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around it.” She smiled meekly. “I hate how old-fashioned I sound, even to myself. But the truth is, I’m pleased for Patrick and Sophie. Patrick has learned so many things about taking care of a baby that Grant never did. I’m not sure Grant ever really knew what I was up to—all the sleep regression and sicknesses and endless fears and so on.”
“Roland didn’t know, either,” Estelle said.
The two women held a moment of silence.
“Do you think Roland and Grant were even more involved than Chuck?” Katrina asked.
Estelle winced. “It’s difficult to say.”
“Chuck was able to have two families at once, I suppose,” Katrina said with a shrug. “You hear about men doing that all the time. Never mothers.”
“Never mothers,” Estelle agreed.
Again, Estelle remembered Chuck’s cryptic comments about the lighthouse keeper he’d once known. She was reminded that he was ninety-three years old. He probably carried a wealth of secrets within him. As a novelist, she was fascinated with that and eager to tap into that knowledge. But as his daughter-in-law, she was wary.
Estelle and Katrina had a light brunch and walked downtown, window-shopping and occasionally popping into shops to look at books, ornate pillowcases, bottles of natural wine, and adorable and pint-sized outfits for Sophie’s baby. But their toes were frigid within the hour, so Katrina suggested they head to Sophie’s to drop off the baby clothes and warm up.
Estelle followed Katrina’s car and parked it in Sophie’s driveway. As she cut the engine, she remembered the Solstice Party from just a year and a half ago, when news of Sophie’s affair with Patrick had spilled out into the open. Sophie and Patrick were both addicts, hiding themselves and their drug use from their prominent families. Sophie’s unhappy marriage came to an abrupt and necessary end, and she and Patrick immediately went to rehab and struck out on a journey of self-discovery and sobriety together. Already, they had a new baby. Life came at you fast.
Estelle thought it was a story that might have fit in a novel. But she would never have used Sophie’s real life for inspiration like that. It felt too invasive.
Patrick opened the door for them in a pair of jeans and a gray shirt that advertised a band Estelle had never heard of. His smile was goofy and exhausted. “Come in!” he whispered happily. “The baby just fell asleep.”
Estelle and Katrina tiptoed into the living room just as Sophie tiptoed downstairs. She was wearing a big university sweatshirt and a pair of leggings with her hair in a messy bun. The baby weight probably wasn’t going to budge quickly, not on Sophie’s forty-something-year-old body, but Estelle had a hunch that Sophie didn’t mind. Patrick didn’t seem to care, either.
Estelle had felt tremendous pressure to lose the baby weight after all three of her pregnancies. Had that been self-created pressure? Societal pressure? She couldn’t remember Roland saying a single thing about it.
Sophie hugged her mother and Estelle and hurried to put a kettle on the stove. Patrick shuffled to the cabinet to find snacks—a package of cookies and some crackers, which Estelle and Katrina insisted they didn’t need but still nibbled on because why not?
Estelle and Katrina showed the new parents all the baby clothes they’d bought, splaying them across the sofa as Sophie watched with big eyes.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Sophie gushed. “But thank you.”
“It’s your first baby, Sophie!” Estelle reminded her. “Of course, we’re going to go overboard. That’s what mothers and aunts are supposed to do!”
Sophie beamed.
The baby woke up again not long after. Estelle didn’t mind. As soon as she quieted down a little bit, Estelle was allowed to hold her, and the baby wrapped her hand around one of Estelle’s fingers. Estelle’s heart ballooned.
She reminded herself to capture this specific emotion in her writing. The emotion of holding an innocent baby so soon after its birth.
Sophie snapped her fingers. “I overheard you talking to Grandpa about a lighthouse keeper?”
Estelle brightened and raised her chin. The baby’s eyes were already closing, but Estelle still carried her.
“That’s right,” Katrina said. “There’s a lighthouse keeper in your new book?”
Estelle laughed at herself. She’d really created intrigue around this book already. “I’m still in the research phase, to be honest. My agent might veto the idea.” She raised her shoulders.
Patrick brightened. “How are you going to research?”
Estelle hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to say. “I’ll probably dip into libraries in both Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard to get a better sense of how it was to live in a lighthouse. I want the book to take place between both of the islands over a number of decades. It’s a story about…” She paused as the baby squirmed in her arms. “It’s a story about long-lost lovers who come together after years apart.”
That was pretty generic, wasn’t it? It didn’t give the story away.
“I’m a romance novelist, after all,” Estelle said with a soft laugh. “I can’t resist long-lost love!”
Everyone laughed quietly so as not to disturb the baby.
Patrick snapped his fingers. “I know a documentarian on Martha’s Vineyard. He made an entire film about lighthouses around here.”
Estelle raised her chin and looked at Patrick with surprise. “Really?”
For whatever reason, she’d never imagined Patrick had this whole other side to him. She’d discredited him, which wasn’t like her. She was a novelist, so it was up to her to see all sides of people. She’d failed.
She made a mental note to get to know Patrick better. She had time.
“I can give you his number,” Patrick offered, rifling through things on the end table to find his phone. “He’s really intelligent. I don’t think he’s ever forgotten a fact.”
“What’s his name?” Estelle asked.
“His name is Henry,” Patrick said, still looking for Henry’s number on his phone. “He’s married to Janine? She works at the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa. I did some work for them a few years back.”
Together with his two brothers, Patrick was a handyman and a carpenter. He probably knew many people in the area intimately; he’d seen inside their houses, and he’d done their house projects for them. Each job was likely a window into another family’s world.
“I’ve always wanted to go to the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa!” Estelle declared. “Maybe it’s finally time.”
Patrick beamed and turned his screen around so she could see Henry’s number. “Want me to call him? I can set up a meeting!”
“Any day next week works for me,” Estelle said happily. “Thank you.”
Patrick hurried off to set up the meeting, leaving Estelle with his warm, sleeping baby, surrounded by Sophie and Katrina’s happy smiles.
“I guess I’m off on a research adventure!” Estelle said.
“You’ve got a mind of your own, Estelle Coleman,” Katrina said.
Just as he’d said he would, Patrick set up a meeting for the following Tuesday afternoon. Henry agreed to meet Estelle at the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa, where she planned to indulge in a spa treatment and then have a glass of wine in that tremendous and beautifully lit dining room with its view of Katama Bay.
“I’ll spend all day at the Katama Lodge!” Estelle said to Katrina as she prepared to leave an hour or so later. “After that, I’ll swing by Chuck’s retirement home to say hello.”
“Good idea,” Katrina said. “I’m always so worried he gets lonely in there.”
“I think he has plenty of friends,” Estelle said, furrowing her brow. “Doesn’t he?”
Katrina raised her shoulders. The question hung between them. It occurred to Estelle that she still didn’t know much about Chuck’s day-to-day life or the era between 1982 and 2023—the time the two families spent apart.
She was intrigued.
What if she had him all to herself? Would he open up a little bit? Would he tell her the story of the lighthouse keeper—a story that, it seemed clear, he was unwilling to give up so easily?