Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Present Day
T he fact that Valerie asked Victor to come to San Francisco to help her move out of her apartment was staggering. It stood to reason she’d asked her mother; it stood to reason she’d asked her husband, Alex. But Victor? Victor was still pretty sure Valerie hated him. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d come back to Nantucket to flat-out ruin him. But that story had gotten muddled along the way.
More than that, Victor had actually proven himself not to be such a dirtbag, which meant that Valerie wanted to give him a second chance.
Not a second chance, Victor thought. A fourth chance. A tenth chance. A millionth chance.
How many more chances was his family going to give him before they wadded him up like a bit of trash and threw him out?
These were not easy questions to ask himself. Had Victor been one of his own therapy patients, he might have said, You’re having circular thoughts. Watch them come in and out, but do not follow them anywhere else. They don’t have power over you.
It was always easier to tell his patients the right way to live than to live well himself.
Now, Victor was dealing with the San Francisco Airport rental company while Esme stood outside with Valerie and Alex. Esme dropped her head back and laughed, touching Valerie on the shoulder. Valerie was telling a story, and Alex was gazing at her as though he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. Victor had the sensation that he would always be on the outside looking in at his beautiful family and their beautiful reunion.
But Valerie asked me to come, he reminded himself.
The employee at the rental car company took far longer than Victor would have liked. They’d been traveling for nine hours at that point; they’d traveled all the way from Nantucket to Boston Airport and then across the country. But the employee didn’t seem to care.
“Does your wife want to drive, too? We can add a driver to the vehicle,” the employee said. “For an additional fifty dollars a day.”
Victor wrinkled his nose and fought the urge to say, She’s not my wife. Not anymore. It wasn’t this employee’s problem. Being sixty-nine and seventy years old, Esme and Victor gave the air of being an old married couple. The story was far more complicated.
“She’d probably like that,” Victor said, shaking himself out of his reverie.
The employee handed over the rental agreement and a set of keys. He then looked harder at Victor’s face, narrowing his eyes. Victor felt it coming like a storm.
“Wait a minute,” the employee said, his hands on his hips as though he’d just figured out a big mystery. “I’ve seen you before. You’re that guy. The one on the talk shows.”
Victor grabbed the keys and raised his hands. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could. It was true he’d done a range of talk shows, spouting his therapy rhetoric in a way he’d once believed benefited humanity. But ever since he’d been revealed to be a “fraud” of sorts, he hadn’t known what to make of his legacy.
“I haven’t been on any talk shows,” Victor said. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
Victor met the others outside and said he was ready to go. Valerie beamed at him, her long hair flipping around in a San Francisco breeze. Beside her was Alex, who looked apt to float into the ether with happiness. The fact that Valerie had gotten married a few years ago without telling anyone wasn’t such a surprise. The fact that she’d married Joel’s childhood best friend after stumbling into him by accident in California hidden that fact, and then reunited with him in Nantucket very recently was all a little too much to carry in Victor’s head. He was thrilled for them. But he was plagued with nightmares of the wedding he’d missed—Valerie and Alex getting married in Vegas by a fake Elvis; Valerie and Alex falling in love after Valerie had turned her back fully on her family, on Victor, on Nantucket.
And now? Now Valerie wanted to move back?
Victor was terrified. He couldn’t trust too many good things at once. It wasn’t in his nature. Not after the life he’d lived.
Valerie and Alex clambered into the back seat of the rental, leaving Esme and Victor up front. Esme gave him a nervous smile, and Victor was immediately transported back to their first few months of dating. Outwardly, he’d been so arrogant and self-assured while, inwardly, he’d battled a private storm of fear. Esme was a prize back then. Someone far better than me. She was so damaged. So young. So angry. So intelligent. She was still all of those things. But the damage was far worse at this stage of her life. Just last spring, she lost her second husband, Larry. Although Victor and Esme were becoming better and better friends, Victor wasn’t sure Esme would ever talk to him about Larry. Why would she? Larry had obviously loved her best.
“You’ll give me directions?” Victor asked Valerie in the back seat.
“We know the way like the back of our hands,” Valerie told him.
Victor drove quietly. Beside him, Esme looked serene, gazing out at the California coastline with the air of someone who’d just taken a nap and was now waking up slowly.
When they passed a construction site, Esme turned to look at Valerie. “I can’t believe they’re still working on that!”
Valerie giggled. “It wasn’t that long ago you were here, Mom.”
Esme looked dreamy. “You’re right. It feels like ages ago. So much has happened since then.”
“You’ll have to show me your San Francisco, Esme,” Victor said, surprising himself with how earnest he sounded. “You’ll have to show me where you took yourself out. Where you ate. Where you walked.”
Esme tucked her teeth into her lower lip. Storm clouds filled her eyes. “I saw a lot of Valerie’s apartment,” she said softly. “I watched a lot of television in her guest bedroom.”
Victor’s heart felt squeezed. He’d let himself forget that Esme had come out to California this year after Larry’s death because Esme had been struggling out East by herself.
It was around that time when Victor had embarked north to Maine to find Rebecca. We need to help your mother, he’d said. Larry died, and she’s all alone. By then, Rebecca had lost her husband, and Victor was on the verge of losing everything. He’d felt like a leaf knocked off a branch, flitting here and there in the breeze. My children. My Esme. I want them all back, he’d thought at the time. But I don’t deserve them.
Valerie told Alex to instruct Victor on getting to her apartment as a fun challenge to see if he knew how. Alex did it easily; he said he could have done it in his sleep. It wasn’t hard to imagine the two of them as newlyweds, cooping up in a tiny apartment in the Mission District, trying their darndest to overcome the dark shadows of their past.
Victor parked in a lot behind the apartment building. From the back, he procured Valerie’s suitcase. Valerie insisted she wanted to carry it herself, but Victor said, “Let me help!” So Valerie let him. Alex carried his own. But right before they entered the front door, Alex’s face turned gray, and he stopped short and stared up at the window that must have once been theirs. Victor felt he could read Alex’s mind. He felt he could hear him think, that’s where I fell in love. And that’s where my marriage fell apart. Nobody had told Victor the details of why Alex had left San Francisco, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Alex’s alcoholism, Valerie’s fear of commitment, and their general inability to get over Joel’s death.
They’d been ten and eleven at the time. It wasn’t something they could possibly get over. They just had to carry it.
Victor thought, I’ve carried Joel’s death on my shoulders for thirty years. I will carry it forever.I know Esme has carried it, too.
But just now, Esme flashed him a smile that felt like a rainbow at the end of a rainstorm. “Who’s hungry? I think we should drop off the stuff and get something to eat.”
“Mom, you’re a genius,” Valerie said.
“We have to get Mexican food,” Alex declared. “I’ve missed California Mexican food ever since I left.”
Victor followed his ex-wife, Valerie, and Alex to the second-floor apartment. Once there, Alex breezed through, trying to appear stronger than anyone could be.
“You repainted the kitchen!” he said.
“I hate the color,” Valerie said. “If you’d been here, you never would have let me choose it.”
Alex grinned knowingly.
Valerie turned to explain to her mother and father, “Alex is way more of a visual artist than me. It extends to all areas of his life. Interior design. Birthday cakes. Clothing. After we split up, I tried to make the apartment feel different—I guess as a coping mechanism—but I just ended up making it look worse. Maybe there’s a metaphor in there somewhere?”
“It doesn’t have to be a metaphor,” Alex said. “Sometimes a bad paint color is just a bad paint color.”
“And sometimes splitting up is a bad idea,” Valerie said.
Alex grinned so hard that Victor thought his lips might split. Victor wondered, have I ever looked that happy? And then he thought of his wedding day to Esme and wanted to throw up.
Valerie gave Victor a mini tour. “It won’t take long,” Valerie joked. “It’s just a couple of rooms. It’s downtown San Francisco, after all.”
“I can’t believe you both lived here together!” Esme said. “It’s so little.”
But Victor understood that when you’re newly in love, you don’t need space from one another. You want the rest of the world to disappear. At least for a time.
“This is the bedroom,” Valerie said, showing a queen-sized bed and a massive painting that took up the entire south-facing wall. “Alex’s friend painted that the year we got married.”
“That’s right,” Alex said. “I’ve lost touch with all those guys.”
“Me too,” Valerie said, squeezing Alex’s hand. “But you were working on so many projects while you were here.”
Recently, Valerie showed Victor the short film Alex had worked so hard on during his now-mostly-dead film career. It was called Blue Days . And it had been so startlingly sorrowful that Victor hadn’t been able to sleep the night he’d watched it. He’d realized how distressed Alex and Valerie must have been during the film’s creation.
Victor had recently met the main actor of the short film. He was a documentarian who wanted to feature Victor Sutton, outline Victor Sutton’s approach to family psychology, and weigh up the pros and cons of listening to Victor Sutton’s advice despite Victor Sutton’s own failings.
Victor had recently learned that the actor was the reason Alex had ultimately failed in film.
Plus, Victor had recently decided that trying to “uncancel” himself in the wake of what had happened wasn’t entirely cool. He wanted to acknowledge his mistakes. He wanted to reckon with what he’d done as a way to move forward.
I’ve made so much money. I’ve given so much advice. Maybe it’s time to sit back and listen hard to what the public—and my family—are telling me.
Maybe it’s not too late to learn.
Valerie and Alex led Esme and Victor to a little Mexican restaurant three blocks away. They sat outside. Alex ordered a virgin margarita, and Valerie, Esme, and Victor all opted for alcoholic versions of the same thing. Victor’s came with such a thick line of salt around the rim that he felt his blood pressure spike. But he felt giddy, looking out across the table at these people he’d loved for so many years. Sometimes he fell silent—a rarity for Victor Sutton—as Valerie, Alex, or Esme told their own stories.
“When was the last time you were in San Francisco?” Esme asked him suddenly.
Victor tapped a napkin across his lips and thought back and back and back. When was the last time? And then it hit him like a smack. Victor and Bree on their tenth anniversary; Bree got food poisoning at a fish restaurant near the harbor; Victor took a long walk, trying and failing not to think about the past.
“It must have been fifteen years ago,” Victor said. “Feels like another lifetime.”
He still hadn’t spoken about Bree to Esme or any of his daughters. He still hadn’t spoken to Bree since the divorce. Almost as though she was just a dream I dreamed for many decades. Almost as though she never existed at all.
“Do you like San Francisco?” Alex asked, taking a tortilla chip and dunking it in salsa.
“It’s got something special,” Victor said. “I can see why you both lived here for so long.” He paused, his heart thudding. “Do you think you’ll miss it?” He directed this question to Valerie.
Valerie considered this, chewing her lower lip. “Of course. I’ll miss it to my bones,” she said. “But the past few years—since Alex left—have been the loneliest days of my life. I really need a new chapter. And sometimes starting over means going back to where it all began.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I sound so cheesy.”
“You don’t,” Victor assured her. There was a massive lump in his throat. “I have to believe the same thing.”
Valerie nodded and turned to gaze at Alex. There was such ponderous meaning in her eyes. There was proof that she and Alex had talked and talked and talked about this. They were not going about this second chance lightly.
It was getting quite late for the East Coasters. Valerie suggested they meet up tomorrow morning to start packing the rental van. The idea was that Valerie and Alex would drive the van across the country and back to Nantucket Island while Victor and Esme flew back. Once back on the island, Esme and Victor would help Valerie and Alex unload Valerie’s belongings into Alex’s cabin and a storage unit Valerie had rented downtown. After that, Valerie would decide what she really wanted to keep for this next chapter and what she wanted to sell.
Victor insisted on paying for dinner. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to so badly, even after Valerie had already reached for her purse. He supposed he wanted them to know he could take care of them and that he wanted to take care of them.
Esme and Victor walked the married couple back to the apartment and hugged them good night. Victor couldn’t help but picture his parents, walking alongside Esme and Victor after they’d married, laughing and joking under a beautiful Nantucket sky.
“Sleep well!” Valerie called from the window as they cut through the night. “Thank you so much for coming!”
Victor’s heart seized. He thought, my youngest. My darling.
And then he remembered Valerie wasn’t his youngest. Joel was. How could I have even had that thought?
Victor and Esme returned to the rental car and sat silently for a few seconds. Victor felt exhausted. He also knew he would struggle to sleep tonight. He had too much on his mind.
“They seem so happy,” Esme said finally, dropping back on the car seat.
Victor bit his tongue from saying, I hope it lasts. That kind of energy had no room here.
Esme added, “I loved looking at their wedding photos. Gosh, they were adorable. Weren’t they?”
“They must have felt like they were the only two people in the world,” Victor said.
“They didn’t even tell any of their friends,” Esme agreed. “Imagine if we’d done something like that.”
“Our parents would have never forgiven us,” Victor said. “Especially not your stepmother.”
Esme pulled a face and laughed. “Fran always had to have everything just so.”
Victor adjusted his hands on the steering wheel and watched a man wheel a grocery cart across the parking lot. Did he have a place to sleep tonight? Victor’s heart ached for him.
Victor had booked two hotel rooms at the Hilton. He pulled into the circular drive out front and handed his keys to the twentysomething valet. Two employees took Victor’s and Esme’s suitcases and led them inside so they could check in. Esme stifled a yawn and then smiled.
“It’s a beautiful hotel,” she told Victor. “You’ll have to tell me how much I owe you.”
“We can deal with that later,” Victor said. His chest felt tight. So unnatural to have your wife ask you how much she owes you, he thought. And then he reminded himself that she hadn’t been his wife in many years .
Esme’s room was on floor five; Victor’s was on seven. He rode up the rest of the way on the elevator by himself, cursing himself for not asking Esme for a drink in the hotel bar. It felt as though they still had so much to discuss. It was as though they’d been circling each other for months, trying and failing to talk about the things that mattered, the numerous horrible things they’d said and done. Mostly me. Mostly my horrible things.
In the hotel mirror, Victor looked at himself squarely in the eyes and reminded himself of the facts of life, “You are seventy years old and twice divorced. You have ten to twenty years left of your life. Be nice to people. Be kind. Don’t force Esme into anything. Just enjoy the fact that she wants you around!”
Victor got his phone out of his pocket and found that he had texts from Bethany and Rebecca, his two eldest daughters. Rebecca worked as a chef, and Bethany was a surgeon at Nantucket Hospital. He was deliriously proud of both of them.
REBECCA: How was the first day in Cali?
BETHANY: Here’s a pic of the kids on their first day at Nantucket schools!
The attached photograph was of Bethany’s children, Victor’s grandchildren—
Tommy, Maddie, and Phoebe. They had backpacks and lunch boxes, and they grinned at the camera to show missing teeth.
Bethany had bravely left her husband this past summer. She’d returned to Nantucket and still lived at Esme’s place—the same place where Victor and Esme had raised their four children. The same place where they’d raised Joel before his death. Victor had searched online for information about Bethany’s husband, Nick, and discovered heaps of horrific news about his family’s position in the medical field and their ability to “hide” Nick’s malpractice suits. Worse than that, Nick and the rest of his family had always belittled Bethany’s career because she was a woman in medicine. He knew Bethany was in therapy to deal with it. He imagined that would be a lifelong pursuit.
Life is a mess, he thought now. All we do is hurt each other.
And then, suddenly, another text message appeared on his phone.
ESME: Would you like a nightcap at the hotel bar?
ESME: I’ll pay :)
ESME: I insist.