Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Present Day
V ictor was unbelievably nervous when he reached the hotel bar downstairs. Esme hadn’t yet arrived, although he checked all the shadowy corners to make sure before he grabbed a booth and ordered himself a whiskey on the rocks. He flung the tips of his fingers across the table like a maniac piano player, then watched as the bartender restocked the ice and the glasses. Victor had briefly worked as a bartender back in college before his coursework had gotten too demanding, and he’d loved the immediacy of the work. Everything needed to happen then, or the entire bar machine would break down. Ice stocked. Drinks made. Spills cleaned. People tended to. Being a therapist was far more imprecise than that. Victor had led many people astray over the years—either because of his lack of judgment or simply because of the imperfectness of people. Himself included.
The elevator door opened to reveal Esme. She wore a pair of loose jeans and a pretty blouse, and she’d cleaned herself up a little and added a touch of makeup after a difficult day of travel. She was on the phone with one of their children, probably Bethany. It was confirmed a second later when Esme said, “Give Maddie, Tommy, and Phoebe kisses for me.” It was nearly midnight in Nantucket, which meant the children were fast asleep. It meant that he and Esme were exhausted.
Why are we doing this? Victor asked himself. But there was no way he could leave her. He felt so lonely.
“Hi!” Esme said when she hung up the phone. “Sorry, I’m late. Bethany called right when I was heading out the door.”
Esme clearly didn’t want to tell Bethany what she was up to. Already, their daughters looked at them curiously, wondering about the state of their relationship, wondering how deep into this they were going to go. Victor knew they did not approve of their mother getting back together with him. Victor wouldn’t have approved of it either, had he been them. Historically speaking, Victor Sutton was a snake.
What had Victor asked his patients when they were flirting with disaster? What makes you think this person will treat you any differently this time around? Do you really think they’ve changed? And then he’d reminded them of just how often people attempt to change and cannot. Of course, therapy provided the illusion of change; it promised you a better and brighter future. But did Victor truly believe in that?
Esme ordered a glass of white wine and settled across the booth from him. It was the most normal thing in the world. It was also the strangest. Victor raised his glass and said, “I want to make a toast. To all of our children returning home this year.”
Esme raised her glass and clinked it with his. “I can’t believe it.” She pressed her lips together, then added, “It’s because you brought Rebecca back. It started the tidal wave.”
Victor did not say, I was terrified for you, Esme. I wanted to make sure you were all right.
He did not say, Bree kicked me out. I didn’t know what else to do with myself. I was so alone.
Victor set down his glass. He wondered if she was as nervous as he felt. Maybe Esme felt she had nothing to lose. Already this year, she’d lost Larry. Already this year, she’d lost so much. She might as well lean into friendship with her ex-husband. They had so much shared history.
“I can’t believe I’m back in San Francisco already,” Esme said finally, interrupting the silence. “Larry and I hardly traveled through the years. There was too much to do back in Nantucket with the Veterans’ Dinner and the Book Club. We were always needed.” She raised her shoulders. “But now, with Rebecca at the Book Club and Bethany always ready to help out, I find myself with time to think again. Time to figure out what’s next for me.”
Victor’s heart jumped. What’s next for me rang through the air. Was Victor what was next for her? Was that what she was thinking? Stop, Victor urged himself. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
“Of course, the house is chaos with all the grandchildren,” Esme said. Her eyes glinted. “They make everything fun and crazy and messy and wild. I haven’t run around this much since our kids were small. I lost a few pounds this summer despite eating everything that wasn’t glued down. Cookies and cakes and barbecue and popcorn and chips. Kid food. I forgot how delightful it all is.” Esme giggled and pressed her hand over her mouth. “I know the kids will leave the house soon. Rebecca will want to start over someplace else; Bethany will want to take her kids to a new home, probably with Rod. So I’m just trying to enjoy this messy, chaotic time before then. I’ll have quiet sooner than later, and I won’t know what to do with myself.”
Victor’s heart thumped. He had too many things in his head. He couldn’t come up with a sensible thing to say, so he decided, “It’s such a big house for one person.” He winced at that. It sounded sad and lame.
“Exactly,” Esme said. “Maybe I’ll downsize after the kids move out. Or perhaps I should give the house to one of them? But which one? Maybe it’s best to just sell the dang thing and pass out the money right and left.” Esme waved her hand.
Victor tilted his head. “Did you and Larry ever think about leaving?”
Esme nodded and tugged at her golden necklace. With a jolt in his stomach, Victor realized she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. What does that mean? Does it mean this is a date? Shut up, Victor!
“We talked about it,” Esme said. “But you know how I felt about that house. How I feel about it, I mean. We brought Joel home from the hospital there. We raised Joel there. You threw baseballs in the backyard with Joel, taught him how to read, and tucked him in at night. It’s not that I’m proud, necessarily, that his bedroom remains the same. But I adore going in there. I adore seeing his things and imagining it’s thirty years ago, and all that sorrow hasn’t happened to us yet.” Esme folded her lips. “You’re a therapist. I’m sure you’ve coached hundreds of patients through something like this. I’m sure you’ve taught them how to clean up the room, sell the stuff, and move on. But what about the patients who don’t want to move on? Not fully?”
Victor was speechless at that. He hadn’t envisioned them talking about Joel tonight. His heartbeat fluttered.
Esme’s shoulders were loose. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temples and tried to laugh. “I’ve been overthinking today. It’s like I can’t catch myself this year. I don’t know what I’m going to say or when I’m going to say it. I’m sure it makes me really fun at parties.”
“I know the feeling,” Victor said.
Esme smiled and spread her hands out on either side of her face. “Let’s talk about something else. Something nice.”
Victor filled his mouth with bitter whiskey and wondered, for the first time in decades, why he liked drinking whiskey in the first place. Was it because it made him feel more adult? More like a therapist? Or more like a very rich man who’d wronged everyone in his life to get where he was?
“I’m fielding a lot of ridiculous emails from that publisher right now,” Victor said, brightening his voice. “They’re getting their lawyers involved to look over the paperwork.”
Esme wrinkled her nose. “They aren’t taking it well that you won’t write a book for them.”
“Not in the slightest,” Victor said.
“I still can’t believe they approached Valerie to write a book, too,” Esme said. “Did she show you what she wrote for them? She couldn’t bring herself to throw you under the bus, so she just wrote memory after memory. Most of them are about growing up in Nantucket.” Esme smiled serenely. “I think she’s excited to write a book with you, though. Even if it never gets published, I can only imagine how cathartic it’ll be.”
Victor felt a shadow around his heart. He wondered if he would be able to lend Valerie his full honesty. When was the last time he’d given all of himself to anyone?
“I can’t imagine us sitting down to hash through it,” Victor said.
“Maybe don’t imagine it,” Esme said. “Maybe just sit down and see what happens. If you think about something too much, you won’t do it.”
Victor gazed at her. For whatever reason, now in the soft light of the hotel bar, he was reminded of their very first date. Like now, it had been August, and he’d been just a few days from returning to university for his junior year. He remembered that he’d essentially conned her into going out with him; he’d run into her at the grocery and thrown himself at her. She’d said no, no, no until she’d said yes. And even when they were out with one another that first night, Esme hadn’t seemed thrilled. This had been a rarity for Victor at the time. Victor was one of the most sought-after men at his university. Any woman he’d wanted, he’d dated. Any woman he’d wanted had opened her heart to him totally and then allowed him to break it. Over and over again, he’d broken women’s hearts. He’d developed quite a reputation around his college campus.
And then, that fateful night in August, he’d felt himself fall head-over-heels for Esme.
It wasn’t that Victor hadn’t always been intrigued with Esme. Esme was beautiful, intelligent, successful, and funny. She had just a few friends, which made Victor trust her far more than the girls who gossiped and ran around with twenty or so others. It seemed that Esme handpicked her friends and didn’t budge from their tight-knit community. It made her more mysterious, too.
Esme’s high school boyfriend Hank had been the best jock, the highest-point shooter, and the MVP of the baseball season. He’d also left her just before their wedding.
“Can I ask you a question?” Hank asked now at the hotel bar in San Francisco, fifty years later.
“Okay. Should I be nervous?”
“I don’t think so,” Victor said. “I was just curious if you ever found out what happened to Hank Orson.”
Esme had just taken a sip of wine. She burst into laughter and splattered the table. “I’m so sorry!” she cried, pressing her napkin over the table and glancing at the bartender as though she’d done something wrong. “I just haven’t heard that name in so long.”
Victor chuckled and set his glass down. The server glanced his way, then made him a new drink and set it down without asking. It’s like he can tell we’re going through something, Victor thought.
“Hank Orson! I’m trying to remember the last thing I heard about him,” Esme said. Her hands were in fists near her ears. “You know about his injury, I guess?”
“Remind me.”
“Right. Well, you know he got injured his senior year, so he didn’t get drafted till the next year.”
“It rings a bell.”
Esme bowed her head. “He got drafted for professional basketball after his junior year at U of M. What team was it? Maybe the Bulls? I can’t remember. Something Midwestern and far away. He played half a season before he injured himself again.”
Victor’s heart felt cracked open. He imagined Esme reading this news in the paper. Maybe she’d even told him about it then; perhaps she’d even confessed to being sorry for old Hank. He’d given up everything to play ball.
“What happened next?” Victor asked.
“Somebody told me he trained for the next season but couldn’t come back in the same way,” Esme said. “He retired and married somebody. I looked him up on Facebook when it came out, just for kicks. He was married with three children. All his kids were ten to fifteen years younger than ours. It was bizarre to look at his photographs. All through high school, I’d imagined myself having his babies. I can still remember what those babies looked like in my mind’s eye. But these kids he had? They were bright blond and blue-eyed. They looked nothing like my dreams. And I laughed to myself. Hank and I were never meant to be. Not really. And I spent all those years thinking it was exactly right.”
Victor chuckled. He was grateful they were talking about that loser, Hank Orson, rather than Victor—the man who’d ruined her life. Hank had just been the first act. The loser who’d gotten away.
Victor was beginning to loosen up and ease into the night. Not a date. But I’m so happy.
“What made you think about Hank Orson?” Esme asked.
“I’ve just felt nostalgic lately,” Victor admitted. “I guess it’s just because I’m back in Nantucket permanently. I’m surrounded by old memories.” He paused. “You never left those memories.”
“I’ve learned to carry them,” Esme admitted.
Victor raised his glass. He imagined, later, asking Esme to sleep in bed with him, to hold him, and to kiss him good night. But he knew he wouldn’t, that it would taint the beautiful friendship they were building. The beautiful tapestry of forgiveness and empathy.
“To learning to carry it all,” he said.
“Cheers to that,” Esme said.