Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
March 1975
E sme was at the Book Club with her father. She wore a brand-new pair of bell bottoms and a peasant top, whistling to herself as she reshelved book after book, whizzing through the aisles with the book cart, calling out to her father about random thoughts she had when they came to her. Thomas put a record on the record player and sang Earth, Wind, and Fire as loud as he could so that the windows rattled in the panes. Esme thought, I’m happy right now. At least I have that.
It had been three months since Victor Sutton laid his heart out in front of Esme and said take it. Esme had said no. And she hadn’t heard from him. Not once since then.
But Esme thought, Good riddance. Because she’d moved on from Victor and everyone like him. And she was preparing for her first semester this autumn at Rutgers University. She was out of her mind with excitement for it. It was a time in which she’d finally become herself; she’d learn and grow and decide what she really thought about the world—outside the confines of Nantucket. She’d outgrow Hank, Victor, and every Nantucket man who’d ever darkened her door.
Maybe she’d become a writer, an activist or a lawyer. Maybe she’d start a company that did something she’d never even heard of yet. Maybe she’d invent something brand-new.
That was when the phone rang.
Esme’s father cut to the office to answer it. The book cart was empty, and all the books were shelved and in their places; Esme sat on the floor and sighed to herself, thinking about what she would read later. She remembered that LeeAnne had had a doctor’s appointment that morning; she’d been tired lately—but Esme was sure it was just nerves and middle school and the horrors of menstruation. She was sure the doctor would just say, “Puberty.”
She was wrong. She was so wrong.
And these were her final moments of bliss before everything fell apart.
Thomas closed up the Book Club immediately and took them home. He was crying the entire way; he couldn’t speak; his hands around the steering wheel were bright white. Esme was confused and quiet. But she knew better than to say anything.
When they got home, LeeAnne was asleep in her bedroom. Esme, Fran, and Thomas had a meeting in the kitchen. Fran ordered them to keep their voices down so as not to wake up LeeAnne. Esme huddled by the counter, making coffee. She physically couldn’t sit down.
Fran explained everything the doctor said, “LeeAnne has a rapid form of cancer. Leukemia. We have to start treatment right away.”
Esme felt the edges of her life dissolve on the spot.
That night, there was a heavy rain. Esme took Fran’s car to the Book Club, entered with a key, and stalked the aisles until she found as many books as she could about leukemia. Hungry and shivering, she sat at her father’s mahogany desk and read obsessively. What she discovered was just how awful this could get. What she discovered gave her even less hope than she’d bargained for.
Esme threw herself into helping LeeAnne, Fran, and her father every step of the way. She drove LeeAnne to chemotherapy; she held her head as she vomited; she bought her new things to decorate her hair as he faded and then bought her cute hats and wigs when her hair fully fell out. More than anything, she prayed. But she was beginning to feel so alone in that, hunkered at the edge of her bed, whispering in the dark. “Please, God. Please, hear me. Please, save LeeAnne.”
LeeAnne’s first round of chemotherapy finished at the end of May. It was now time to wait and see if it worked—if the cancer was dead if LeeAnne could live again as a normal and healthy fourteen-year-old girl.
Esme did her best to make LeeAnne comfortable that late spring. She set up a beautiful bed of blankets and pillows near the beach so the two could enjoy a day in front of the water. She packed a picnic basket of LeeAnne’s favorite snacks—many of which she hadn’t had an appetite for when the chemotherapy raged through her body. LeeAnne was happy and playful. With a cookie raised, she gazed out across the water and said, “I wonder if anyone will date me before I grow my hair back out.”
“You’ll look so cute with a pixie cut,” Esme said.
LeeAnne made a face. “My cheeks look so weird after the medicine.”
“That will go down,” Esme assured her. “You’ll look exactly like you used to. It’ll happen like that.” She snapped her fingers.
LeeAnne chewed her thumbnail. Esme wanted to tell her not to, but she resisted.
“I heard Mom and Dad talking about you,” LeeAnne confessed.
Esme’s stomach curdled. This was usually not good news. “I’m sure they talk about us all the time,” she said.
“Yeah, but they were talking about you attending university,” LeeAnne said.
Esme wrapped her hand around her throat and tried not to change her face.
“Mom doesn’t think you should go anymore,” LeeAnne explained. “She thinks you’re too old.”
Esme couldn’t resist. She snorted with annoyance. “Mom grew up during a different time. It’s 1975! Women can go to college whenever they want now.”
LeeAnne’s eyes looked injured.
“Are you saying you don’t want me to go to college?” Esme furrowed her brow.
LeeAnne raised her shoulders. Overhead, a seagull cawed. “It’s just so far,” she said. Far from me. Far from us.
Esme felt it like a knife through the gut. How many nights had she stayed up, dreaming of that drive to Rutgers, the dorm room she’d have all to herself, the classes she’d study for, the papers she’d write? How many days had she spent dreaming of a future of intellectual promise? Of meeting her potential?
“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” Esme assured her sister. “You just have to focus on getting better.”
LeeAnne bowed her head and watched the water. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. My body does what it wants. It seems like it’s out of my control.”
Esme wrapped her arm around LeeAnne’s shoulders and held her tenderly. A tear rolled down Esme’s cheek, which she brushed away quickly, careful not to let LeeAnne see. Esme, Fran, and Thomas had agreed to put on brave faces when it came to LeeAnne, to show her that they weren’t frightened about her diagnosis and that it was just another era of her teenage life.
But LeeAnne was smart enough to understand what was really going on.
Esme was no longer frightened of going to the grocery store by herself. Maybe that was one positive thing about the world ending; it meant that silly things like high school boyfriends dumping you mattered very little. In fact, in early June, she ran right into Hank himself at the harbor, where she’d gone for a soda with an old girlfriend from high school named Margaret. Margaret was already pregnant—which added an air of awkwardness when Hank approached. I would have been pregnant with his baby by now, Esme thought. And then she thought, Gosh, I’m so glad I’m not!
Hank looked handsome, but he’d always looked handsome. He was more muscular, maybe slightly taller, and wore khaki shorts and sunglasses. He approached with the air of someone coming up to a mountain lion. But Esme put on a big smile and said, “Hey, Hank. How are you?”
Hank looked visibly confused. Apparently, he’d thought he’d damaged Esme far more than this. “I’m doing just fine, Es.” He licked his lip. “I was sorry to hear about LeeAnne.”
Esme wanted to smack him then. How dare he talk about her sister? How dare he pretend to care?
“She’s going to be okay,” Esme informed him because she was so sure the chemo had worked that LeeAnne would return to life as normal. “And I’m going to college this fall.”
Hank raised his eyebrows. It was clear he’d assumed Esme’s life was over for good, especially now that he was out of the picture. It was clear he thought the “college thing” was just a thinly veiled attempt to move on.
But there was also something behind his eyes. A flicker of jealousy, maybe. He’d wanted her to be home all year, weeping over him.
Hank didn’t bother to ask where she was headed to college. Instead, he said, “There’s a beach party tomorrow night. You should swing by.”
Margaret moaned. “Oh, don’t tell me that! I wish I could go.”
“You can go,” Esme said. “Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean your life is over.”
This hadn’t occurred to her, it seemed. Her friend smiled at her. “I’ll only go if you go with me.”
“I can’t.” Esme had to be home with LeeAnne. She had to make dinner, stay up chatting with LeeAnne until she fell asleep, clean the kitchen, and field Fran’s complaints and worries.
“Tell me the last time you had any fun, Esme Rainer,” Margaret said with her hands on her hips.
Hank smiled in a way that made her heart pump harder. She cursed herself. “I really can’t,” she explained. “But you two should go. Have a great time.”
The following day was LeeAnne’s appointment with a cancer specialist in Boston. Esme desperately wanted to go with her family, but Thomas suggested that she stay in Nantucket so that the Veterans’ Dinner could continue. He reminded her that the veterans relied on the Book Club. That many members were lonely. They looked forward to the event all week long.
“Promise you’ll call me the minute you leave the appointment?” Esme demanded of her father.
“We’ll call,” Thomas promised. “Don’t worry.” He pressed his lips to Esme’s forehead.
It occurred to Esme then just how difficult this was for her father. Thomas had already lost his wife, Rose. He’d already watched numerous army men die beside him in the war. Having a child so ill and so young and so weak was no easy feat. Esme resolved to be better, to be stronger for her father. He needed her to pick up his slack.
And right now, he needed her at the Veterans’ Dinner.
The veterans themselves were incredibly kind and conscientious about LeeAnne. Their eyes were shadowed as they asked about her, about the round of chemo they were sure had “gotten it all.” Everyone was so optimistic, presumably because LeeAnne was so young, bright, and friendly. Throughout dinner, Esme had to take several breaks in the kitchen to cry, palms across the counter as her shoulders shook and shook.
She has to be better. She has to be well.
Thomas called ten minutes after the last of the veterans had cleared from the Book Club and rounded the corner. Esme rushed through the halls to reach the phone.
“Dad?” She sounded breathless.
It took Thomas a few seconds to find his voice. “Hi, honey.”
Esme’s heart felt syncopated. She clenched the phone, sat in her father’s massive desk chair, and waited.
“We got the news,” Thomas said. “She needs another round of treatment. We’re going to move her to the hospital here in Boston.”
Esme’s eyes filled with tears. No. No. I’ve misunderstood. But a split second later, her strong and powerful father burst into tears. And she knew this story would get much darker from here on out.
Thomas explained that he and Fran would get a hotel room in Boston near the hospital. LeeAnne was exhausted, and they wanted to let her rest under the watchful eye of trained professionals rather than forcing her into an uncomfortable hotel bed.
Esme said she understood. She reminded him how much she loved him. She reminded him that LeeAnne would get through this.
But her words sounded so hollow. So weak.
It was the first time Esme could remember being at the house by herself. She traced the countertop with the tips of her fingers, watched the evening light dim and tried to come up with something to eat that would sustain her. Outside, a golden retriever raced down the white beach, flashing sand everywhere. His owner ran after him, his muscular legs flexing and stretching.
Why are some people allowed health?
Why is LeeAnne in a hospital bed right now?
Why is the world off its axis?
Esme called Margaret five minutes later. Margaret answered on the second ring. It was clear she was at home and pregnant and uncomfortable and bored. She was on the brink of the biggest change of her life thus far—and she needed to blow off steam.
“I’m thinking about going to that party after all,” Esme said. She made her voice bright and tugged hard at her hair until her forehead stretched.
“You’re kidding! I didn’t know you had it in you,” Margaret chirped. She let a moment of silence pass before she asked, “Are you going because you want to hook up with Hank again?”
Esme yelped. “No!” Although, of course, the thought had come to her already. She wanted to fall into the warm, muscular, comforting arms of the man she’d once agreed to marry. She wanted everything that had happened the past year to magically disappear from the timeline of her life. She wanted to be nineteen, look at wedding dresses, and investigate china patterns.
“Come on. Nobody would blame you. You and Hank were in love for years,” Margaret said. “And I heard he broke up with his college girlfriend.”
Esme flared her nostrils. I’ll meet college boys, too, she reminded herself. I’ll fall in love with someone else, too.
“You didn’t know he had a college girlfriend, I guess?” Margaret sounded tentative. “I’m sorry I said that.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s a college athlete. These things happen.” Don’t panic. It’s all right.
“Just promise you haven’t changed your mind,” Margaret begged. “If I don’t leave the house, I’ll go crazy.”
“I haven’t changed my mind.”
Esme picked up Margaret at nine fifteen and drove them to the beach that traditionally held the best of the best of Nantucket beach parties. Margaret had her hands crossed over her stomach, and she was complaining about her boyfriend—a true idiot, in Esme’s opinion, whom Margaret had fallen head over heels with at the age of thirteen.
“He just doesn’t get that I’m at home alone almost all of the time,” Margaret explained. A small sob escaped her lips. “Or if he does get it, he doesn’t care.”
Margaret eyes Esme with a strange smile across her lips. “Maybe it’s best you didn’t get married.”
Esme felt a jolt of adrenaline. “Maybe it’s better that the love of my life left me at the altar? Is that what you’re saying?”
Margaret’s smile fell. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”
Esme waved her hand. I’m too emotional to be in public. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I understand what you mean.” She swallowed. “But I wanted babies. I wanted marriage. I still do.” Her eyes filled with tears. Keep it together.
“It’ll happen for you,” Margaret breathed. “Maybe Hank will come back after college. Not everyone makes it onto a professional league.”
Esme parked, and the two of them got out and headed for the enormous bonfire around which forty graduated Nantucketers drank beer and laughed together. Esme wondered if she could ever laugh again. She wondered if she would ever feel happy again.
Hank was on the opposite side of the bonfire with a domestic can of beer. He smiled at Esme, locking eyes with her. Esme felt them like “come-hither” eyes. She grabbed herself a beer—although she hadn’t drunk in ages—and kept herself on this side of the party. Margaret cackled at something a guy named Chris was saying. She was looking at him as though she’d always been in love with him. Esme wondered if Margaret’s husband ever made her laugh anymore. It was a dark thought.
That was when Esme realized Victor Sutton was there. A jolt of electricity went from her head, down her neck, and through her legs. She took a long sip of beer and trained her eyes away from where he stood with three other people from his graduating class. Somehow, she’d imagined he would stay at university this summer. It was the summer between his junior and senior years. Shouldn’t he have done an internship? Shouldn’t he have gotten a job?
Victor raised his can of beer to her in acknowledgment. It seemed like a sign of peace. Esme raised hers back and gave him a soft smile. I’m sorry, she might have told him. I just don’t have time to fall in love with you right now.
Unexpectedly, Hank got in front of her. He was large and domineering, and Esme suddenly felt fourteen again and at the mercy of this popular jock. She took a small step back, but he put his hands on her shoulders and tried to pull her in. His touch was horrible. She wanted to whack his hands off.
“I’ve been dreaming about you,” he said.
Esme snorted. “Dreaming of me?”
Hank’s face melted. It was clear he was hurt. “You’re not the only one whose heart was broken last year.”
Esme took a massive step back. She’d only drunk half a beer, but it sizzled in her mind and activated the anger that had been brewing ever since LeeAnne’s diagnosis.
“Come on,” Hank said, wringing his hands. “Things like LeeAnne should put things in perspective for you. We’re important to each other. We’ve always been important to each other.”
Esme flared her nostrils and took an even bigger step back. She remembered herself last year at that disastrous engagement party; remembered how her heart had cracked open, and she’d tossed and turned all night, knowing that the entire island of Nantucket was gossiping about her. He left her for basketball. He left her because she’s got nothing going for her but Nantucket.
Esme found her voice. “You left.”
Hank screwed up his face as though she’d smacked him. “But I’m here, Esme. I’m right here.” He reached for her again.
It occurred to Esme he just wanted to win. He wanted all of her whenever he wanted her, and then he wanted to throw her in the trash.
Esme stuck out her finger and pointed it at him. Her voice was a growl. “Don’t you dare get closer to me.”
Hank took another step forward. A few people around them noticed what was going on; their eyes reflected the firelight as they watched and drank their beers.
Esme thought of LeeAnne, all alone in that hospital bed. She thought of how frightened she’d be if she woke up in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d forget where she was. Maybe she’d call Esme’s name the way she had when she was little.
But suddenly, Victor Sutton was beside her, slipping between them and pressing his hands against Hank’s chest. Under his breath, he said, “I think the lady asked for space.”
Hank brought himself up to his full height, which was a good two inches taller than Victor and glared at him. “I don’t think it’s up to you if I talk to my girlfriend or not.”
Victor sputtered. “You’re even more delusional than I am.”
“Excuse me?” Hank demanded.
It was clear Victor had been drinking. He was sloshy and arrogant. But he was on Esme’s side, for better or for worse.
Victor said, “If you think Esme Rainer plans to take you back after what you did to her, then you’re a bigger idiot than your jock body would suggest.”
Hank raised his fist and punched Victor in the nose.
The party shrieked with surprise. With shock. Esme felt as though she experienced it in slow motion. Victor was strewn out on the sand, Hank was shaking his hand and his head, and Margaret was hugging Chris hard as though he would protect her. Everyone glared at Hank. A few other ex-football players came up and tugged him away.
Esme fell to her knees beside Victor. Blood oozed from his nostrils. His eyes found Esme’s, and he touched his nose and winced.
“Do you think it’s broken?” Esme asked.
“What do you think? Can you tell?”
“I don’t know the first thing about noses,” Esme said.
Victor sniffled into a laugh. After a pause, he said, “Don’t worry. I didn’t do that because I wanted you to fall in love with me.”
Esme gave him a rueful look.
“Okay. Okay.” Victor mopped up his nose with the back of his hand and sat up. “A part of me wondered if standing up to Hank would win your heart. But most of me remembers what you told me. And I respect that.”
Esme gazed at this man in the moonlight, bleeding beside the bonfire, blood caked into his T-shirt, his beer fallen to the ground and gushing yellow liquid. There was something so pathetic about him. Something sad about a powerful, intellectual man who couldn’t get over someone as small and stupid as Esme. Someone who couldn’t even protect LeeAnne.
Esme burst into tears.
Victor’s eyebrows rose. But he didn’t ask any questions. He scooped her into his arms, and she pressed her forehead against his shoulder and wailed, and wailed, and wailed. Her cries echoed out across the beach.
She didn’t know what to do.
She felt so alone.
But Victor was here. And for that reason, she felt safe. If only for a moment.