Chapter 3
Chapter Three
1974
I t was two months since the engagement party, and everything in Esme’s life was off the rails. Never in her life had she lost control like this. Never in her life had she not recognized herself more.
Esme was in the kitchen with her stepmother and half sister. There was a salad to chop and meat to grill on the barbecue. Their father was at the Book Club downtown, but he’d be home in two hours or so, and everything had to be ready, as it was his birthday. More than that, everyone pretended it wasn’t supposed to be the week of Esme’s wedding. Everyone was leaning into a fictional world where Esme hadn’t been abandoned.
But Esme could see the shadows behind everyone’s eyes. Everyone was thinking about it. They were thinking any number of things, from “poor girl,” to “finally the Nantucket Princess has fallen,” to “what’s she going to do now?” to “has she gotten fatter? Thinner? And what’s wrong with her face?”
LeeAnne had just started eighth grade and was working on mathematics problems at the kitchen table, chewing her pencil. Occasionally, she gave Esme an “ugh, help” look, and Esme bent down to look at the algebra equations and offer hints. Esme’s head felt dusty on the inside, and it felt wonderful to stretch it, to go down avenues of thought she hadn’t since she’d graduated from high school.
Fran suddenly slammed the fridge, and Esme jumped in surprise.
“Shoot!” Fran cried. “I forgot to buy onions and peppers.” She glared at Esme as though Esme was the one who’d made her forget, then wrung her hands and said, “Do you mind running into town to pick some up? I need them for the shish kebabs.”
It was rare for Esme to do spontaneous errands. She often had to mentally coax herself into entering grocery stores or restaurants, fearful as she was that she’d run into Hank’s parents or Hank’s friends or anyone who’d once known her as the woman who could do all. She was now a woman who could do very little. She was now a woman who worked a secretary job and fled home as soon as she got off for the day.
My life is over, she told herself most nights. This is it.
Esme drove to the grocery store, her arms shaking, and parked in the lot in front. From the front seat, she watched people stream in and out, grabbing supplies for dinner, pushing grocery carts, and tending to squabbling children. It was a relief, at least, to know that Hank wasn’t among them. It wouldn’t be until Christmas or summer came around. He was off the island.
In the car, she thought back to the engagement party day. Hank was supposed to arrive by three. Fran was as angry and worried as she was about the family’s image. Not that I’m your daughter, Esme had wanted to spout. But time had passed, and it had gotten later and later, and then Victor Sutton had confessed he’d seen Hank out late the night before—with someone. But that someone wasn’t a woman. The someone was a basketball recruiter from the University of Michigan. That someone bought everyone at the bar a drink and called out, “Hank Orson is coming to U of M!”
Victor knew it didn’t fit with Hank’s “plan” to marry Esme. But he’d come to Esme’s engagement party anyway. Why had he done that? Out of curiosity? Or had he wanted to rub it in her face?
When Esme had demanded of Hank, “Why didn’t you tell me the recruiter contacted you? Why didn’t you tell me this was a possibility?” Hank had said that he didn’t want to jinx it. “I gave up all of my scholarship options to stay on the island and marry you,” he’d said. “I closed every door for myself. But U of M tore that door down and demanded I try again. I can’t say no.”
Luckily for Esme, her father could get all his deposits back for the wedding. She was even able to return her wedding dress. Not a dime was lost. And now Hank was off in Ann Arbor, Michigan, doing what God put him on this earth for—to play sports for cash.
Esme got out of the car and ambled into the grocery store. She felt exposed and stupid. But she breezed through the veggie section without issue, scooping up peppers and onions and whipping down another aisle to get to the cashier.
She thought the coast was clear. She thought she was okay.
And that was when Hank’s mother appeared and hurried to add herself to the growing line.
Esme felt her heart shatter. She cut back into the aisle and gasped for air, clutching the peppers and onions to her breast. Her eyes fuzzed over with images of the life she’d planned to build with Hank: babies, Christmases, and sailing adventures. She’d planned to make that woman over there a grandmother in less than eighteen months, for crying out loud. However, the rumor was that Hank’s mother would tell anyone who listened how proud she was of her boy for pursuing his dreams.
I had dreams, too! Esme wanted to spout. But what had they been? She’d wanted to be valedictorian. But beyond that? What had her plan been for that big, fat intellect? She just wanted to be in love. She just wanted to be safe.
Worse than that, Hank’s mother had been a sort of stand-in mother for Esme. Esme had adored her, and Esme had thought the feeling was mutual. She’d thought, Fran hates me, but I don’t need her.
Now, all she had was Fran.
“Well, well, well.”
A voice from beside her. Esme whipped around and dropped two onions to the ground. There before her was Victor Sutton. He wore a white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. His muscles bulged, and he was even tanner than at her engagement party. Esme had the strangest sensation, and she wanted to smack him across the face. Not so strange, she reminded herself. He’s the one who told me Hank was planning to leave. He’s the arbiter of doom.
“Can I ask what you’re hiding from?” Victor stepped around to peer from the aisle. He registered Hank’s mother and raised his eyebrows. “I see. The old mother-in-law.”
Esme flared her nostrils and scrambled to pick up the two onions she’d dropped. “Would you mind leaving me alone?” The minute she’d said it, she regretted it. She sounded so juvenile. So silly.
Victor’s face brightened. Clearly, he wanted her to fight like that; he wanted her to dislike him. It amused him.
“I’ve been keeping an eye out for you all summer long,” Victor said. “I haven’t seen you at the beach parties, karaoke parties, or dinner parties. Haven’t seen you at the docks, ice cream parlors, or sailing armada. And everyone goes to the sailing armada, Esme. Absolutely everyone.”
Esme glared at him. She felt trapped between Hank’s mother and this monster. She also hated that she found him so handsome at this moment that his jagged jawline and snapping eyes were practically irresistible. He probably made a lot of women at his university bonkers with love for him. Probably, he’d broken all of their hearts and didn’t think of them once.
Not me. That will never happen to me.
“I’ve been busy,” Esme told him.
Victor raised his chin. “Working all hours of the day and night?”
Esme raised her shoulders. “I have a younger sister. She needs me around.”
“I saw her at the party,” Victor said. “She seems old enough to take care of herself.”
It was true that LeeAnne would be fourteen soon, that she had a life of her own, and that she’d even already had a first boyfriend she’d broken up with. It's funny to think that LeeAnne and Esme had their first breakup around the same time. LeeAnne handled it much better than Esme: with ice cream, records, laughter, and reading. Esme had put her heart on ice and pressed forward.
Esme snuck a look at the cashier to see that Hank’s mother was still four people away. The person checking out now had over fifty items and was, it seemed, a very good friend of the cashier. They had so much to catch up on. The others behind her shifted their weight and glanced at magazines, annoyed. Everyone wanted to get home to make dinner.
“I have a guess,” Victor said. “You don’t want to get in line until your ex-mother-in-law leaves the store.”
Esme set her jaw and nodded. What else could she do? It was obvious.
“Let me check it out for you,” Victor said.
Esme furrowed her brow. “No.” She wouldn’t let this guy help her. His version of “helping” this summer had already broken her heart.
“You’ll be here forever, then,” Victor said. “Waiting, waiting. I’m sure even more people you don’t want to see will enter the grocery store. More people who want to talk to you about how sorry they are about everything. ” Victor stuck out his lower lip.
Esme sighed. Her thoughts swirled. For whatever reason, she pictured Hank on a basketball court in Michigan, hitting shot after shot after shot. When he was in the zone, Hank had said he didn’t think about anything. Not her. Not his family. Not God. Nothing. Then where do you go? Esme had asked. And Hank had said, Maybe I just don’t exist anymore. It’s great.
“Fine,” Esme said. “But we need to get new onions. I dropped these.”
Victor followed Esme back to the vegetables with an enormous grin. It was clear he thought he’d won something. Esme added the onions to his grocery basket, where he’d already placed potato chips, beer, and apples. “Breakfast of champions,” she said.
“It’s my last week of summer,” Victor pointed out. “I want to go out in style.”
Esme watched Victor disappear with her vegetables, then scurried through the entrance and hid in her car, careful to duck down when Hank’s mother passed. If she recognized Fran’s vehicle, she didn’t say anything or even flinch. She doesn’t care, Esme thought.
Victor exited the grocery store about ten minutes after Hank’s mother. He was still wearing that big smile. He strode directly up to Fran’s vehicle as though he’d already known Esme was driving it. She got out and accepted her bag of veggies. But he lurched it back before she could take it.
“Not so fast,” he said.
Esme glared at him and reached for her wallet. “Of course. What do I owe you?”
“A date,” Victor said.
Esme’s jaw hung open. “You have got to be kidding me.” Again, she tried to grab the bag, but Victor held it up over her head, and she couldn’t reach it.
“Just one date, Esme,” Victor said. “One date before I head off to university again. Don’t you think you deserve a night out after all you’ve been through?”
“I don’t have time,” Esme insisted. “Give me my stuff.”
Victor sighed. “Okay. When do you have time? I have all week. I can work around your schedule.”
Esme’s eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. She was supposed to be married this week. She was supposed to be safe, in love, and happy. Instead, she was flailing for her vegetables in the grocery store's parking lot. How the mighty have fallen.
“Listen to me,” Esme blared angrily. “You don’t want to go out with me. You just want to make fun of me. You want to pick apart the fact that I was, essentially, left at the altar and remind me that you’re going places and all I’ll ever be is a secretary at my father’s Book Club. That’s why you want to go out with me. Don’t pretend it’s for any other reason.”
Victor raised his eyebrows with surprise. Slowly, he brought the grocery bag down. It was clear he’d never seen her burst with emotion like that. Esme had never allowed anyone to see. But it had been brimming all summer long. And here she was, exploding all over the parking lot. She had nothing to lose.
“That’s not the reason at all,” Victor said quietly.
Esme blinked at him. She was conscious that Fran was at home, angry that she was taking so long. It’s my father’s birthday. I have to go, she imagined herself saying. But she just stood in the eighty-degree heat, staring at Victor Sutton.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“I don’t want to make fun of you,” Victor said. He was demure. “I honestly, truly just want to take you out.”
Esme bit her lower lip. She had a sudden memory of a time she and Victor had locked eyes over their calculus tests, and she’d put her head down hurriedly and ordered herself to think of Hank, only of Hank, of Hank’s kisses and their future together. But Hank wasn’t here anymore.
Esme tore forward to rip the bag of vegetables out of Victor’s hand. His eyes bugged out with surprise.
“I’ll go with you,” Esme blared. “Saturday night. Pick me up at eight.”
Victor wore a massive grin. Esme rolled her eyes.
“This is a huge mistake,” she told him before dropping into Fran’s car’s driver’s seat.
“Don’t you just love those?” Victor asked.
“What?”
“Huge mistakes,” Victor said.
Esme slammed the door and cranked the engine. It had been months since she’d spoken to anyone but LeeAnne, Fran, her father, and a few of her father’s employees, all of whom worked at the Book Club. She felt out of practice. She felt raggedy.
But as she drove home through the soft evening, she felt her heart burgeoning in her chest and her soul shimmering. Her date with Victor was the first thing she’d had to look forward to in what felt like ever. Already, she pictured herself putting on something beautiful. Already, she pictured them fighting on a beach somewhere, then throwing themselves together for an unforgettable kiss.
She imagined Victor telling everyone at the university, There’s this girl back home.
No! Stop, Esme! she begged herself as she drove. Just live in the moment!
She wondered if that was even possible.