Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Present Day
V ictor woke up at the hotel in San Francisco with what felt like a stone in his head. The air in the room was stale, smelling of pizza, vodka, and whiskey. He wore just his boxers and a black T-shirt. He tried to map his way through last night and remembered Esme’s panic attack, how she’d shivered and wept against him. He remembered finally getting her to sleep, tucking her into bed beside him, and telling her, you’re safe. It’s okay . But she wasn’t here now. Where had she gone?
Victor rolled out of bed. His head rang as he limped to the bathroom to investigate the damage. How many drinks had he had? Three? Four? Five? It was beyond his body’s capabilities. He was a seventy-year-old man! But here he stood in the mirror, solid, with thick eyebrows and a still-thick head of hair. Here he stood in San Francisco, where his ex-wife wanted to be friends with him, and his youngest daughter wanted help moving all of her things back to their Nantucket home.
Keep it together, Victor, he thought.
Victor took a shower and checked his phone to find a few messages from Esme. None of them mentioned the fact that she’d fallen asleep in his hotel room last night. One suggested they grab coffee and breakfast sandwiches for the “moving out crew” before heading back to Valerie’s. Victor sent a thumb-up.
Suddenly, another text came in as he stood with his phone resting on his palm.
This one was an enormous surprise.
It wasn’t a wanted surprise, either.
brEE: Hey Vic. How are you?
brEE: I wondered if we could chat on the phone sometime this week.
Victor’s heart was syncopated. He set down his phone and hung his head in his hands, remembering, with sudden clarity, his second wife’s beautiful smile and the shine of her blond hair. She was a little bit younger than Victor and Esme—still in her fifties—and when they’d divorced, he knew she’d immediately downloaded a dating app. She’s ready to get back out there, he’d heard a friend of Bree’s say when he stopped by one afternoon to get something.
What would Bree want from Victor? They hadn’t spoken once since he’d signed the divorce papers and moved to Nantucket. She’d sent him a text when he was “canceled,” but Victor had assumed at the time that that was her version of “rubbing it in.”
Victor shoved his phone in his pocket and headed down to the hotel breakfast area to grab a cup of coffee. Esme would meet him downstairs in a half hour, and then they’d pick up breakfast sandwiches and pretend everything was normal. They’d pretend they didn’t have feelings for each other anymore. It would be fine.
Valerie put them to work immediately, which Victor was grateful for. He wanted to put his mind on something, to forget. But when they took a break for lunch, and Valerie looked at her phone for the first time, she shrieked with surprise.
“Oh!”
For whatever reason, Victor’s first thought was that Bree had texted her, too . But he cleared that out with a shake of his head. It didn’t make sense.
“What is it?” Esme furrowed her brow with worry, watching Valerie like a hawk.
Victor set down his water bottle.
“I just got, um, a job offer.” Valerie set back down her phone and twisted around to find Alex’s eyes. “It’s in Nantucket.”
“That’s fantastic, honey!” Esme said. “What is it?”
“It’s a wedding,” Valerie said. “I’m supposed to call for more details. But it sounds like their event planner quit for mental health reasons and left millions of things to do.” She worried her lower lip. “I either have to tell them I can’t do it, or I have to get there as soon as possible.”
Valerie blinked around the apartment with the air of defeat.
Alex touched her back. “If you need to go, we can always come back out to The Bay another time. We can pay another few months of rent. It’s no big deal.”
Valerie rubbed her forehead. “It’s just that I already rented the van. I’m ready to move on.”
“I know,” Alex breathed.
Esme turned to look at Victor. Her eyes were like big dinner plates. Victor rubbed the back of his neck.
We want our children to succeed so desperately. We want them to have the happiness we weren’t allowed to have.
“Why don’t you let us pack everything up?” Victor asked.
Esme raised her eyebrows. Victor wanted to ask her, isn’t that what you wanted me to say? But he’d already offered. It was out there.
Valerie pressed her hands to her cheeks. “You can’t. It’s too much work.”
“It’s not,” Victor told her. “You don’t have much stuff. And like you said, the van has already been rented. It’s here. It’s ready to go.”
“Are you sure?” Valerie breathed.
Victor was not sure. He wasn’t sure of anything. He wasn’t sure why Bree was texting him or what Esme thought of him or what was next for his career—now that he didn’t have patients anymore, now that his book deal had crumbled, now that all he had was his shame and his regrets. And my family, he remembered.
“It’ll be fun.” Esme broke through his reverie and smiled at Valerie. “Your father and I can drive the rental van across the country.”
This seemed to trigger alarm bells in Valerie’s head. Her eyes cut from Victor to Esme and back again. Her expression seemed to say, don’t you dare get back together.
“I really need this,” she said softly.
“We know that, Bean,” Esme said. “I’m not in any hurry. I’m happy to sit and watch the continent go past my window.” She eyed Victor with a mischievous smile. “And your father and I always said we’d go on a road trip. Didn’t we, Vic?”
Valerie threw her arms around her mother. “Thank you! I don’t even know what to say!”
Alex and Victor looked at one another nervously, the odd men out. Why did women find it so easy to show affection like that? Why was it so easy for them to hold one another tight?
Had Joel lived longer, would Victor have found a way to help Joel be tender and loving like his sisters? Or would Victor have instilled a sense of sorrow and solitude in Joel—just as Victor’s father had instilled in him?
Victor and Esme volunteered to grab lunch for everyone so Alex and Valerie could plan to head home. Before they walked out the door, Victor heard Valerie tell Alex that the wedding needed a filmographer as well. “Lucky for them, I’m married to one,” Valerie said happily.
Back on the sidewalk, Victor pressed his hands into his pockets and walked quietly alongside Esme. His heart was in his throat.
When they reached the corner and waited for the light to change, Victor tried to come up with something to say. But Esme beat him.
“I think it’s really nice that you offered your time like that, Victor.”
Victor sniffed. “I would do anything for Valerie. You know that.”
Esme tilted her head forth and back. Her eyes suggested that hadn’t always been true. Victor’s cheeks burned. Should he apologize for tucking her in last night? Should he tell her she didn’t have to worry about him “making a move” on her? I’m not twenty years old anymore. I’m an old man. But before he could come up with anything relevant, they’d reached the quesadilla place Valerie had recommended. Esme pulled out her wallet and spoke in Spanish and English to the woman behind the counter. The woman remembered Esme from her time in San Francisco earlier that year.
Everyone always remembers Esme, Victor thought.
And then, he couldn’t help but drop back into the past.