Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Present Day
“ W hen was the last time you drove a stick shift?” Esme snapped up to the window of the rental van and peered in at her first husband, who’d always been very smug about being a very good driver despite a record of speeding tickets and accidents a mile long. They’d agreed to this wild trek across the continent without discussing it first. But Valerie’s hopeful look—and Esme’s desire to see something about the world that she hadn’t before—had won. Victor was a necessity in all of this. But if he didn’t remember how to drive a stick shift, she should probably just call the whole thing off.
“I drove a Porsche with a stick all through the 2010s,” Victor said.
“Oh. A Porsche!” Esme laid on the sarcasm thick. “Good thing it was a Porsche and not a junky station wagon.”
“If you’re referring to the station wagon we got in the eighties, I have to tell you that I still think that was a great car,” Victor said now, ticking off his points on his fingers. “It carried all of our children; we could put the Christmas tree on top, and every time you got into a fender bender, the fender stayed on!”
“Me? I got into fender benders. I seem to remember the year you got into four accidents! All before Labor Day!”
“That was when tourism spiked,” Victor said. “It’s not my fault the tourists don’t know how to drive across Nantucket.”
Esme’s heart blasted in her chest. She thought, Wow, this is familiar territory. Fighting with Victor. Heat zipped through her arms and legs.
She’d forgotten that, during their marriage, their fights had often led elsewhere.
Their fights had often invigorated their relationship.
But they weren’t a couple anymore. They were just very old friends, fighting in a parking lot in San Francisco.
Be mature about this, Esme instructed herself. Maybe this is a story you can tell your grandchildren when you get home.
Esme clambered into the passenger side of the rental van and checked her phone to find several messages from Valerie. Valerie and Alex had returned to Nantucket two days ago to dive headfirst into wedding preparations.
VALERIE: I hope you’re okay, Mom. Let me know if you need backup with Dad. I can always send Alex somewhere across the country to help.
ESME: Don’t worry, sweetie. Your dad and I are on good terms. We’re just two friends hanging out on a road trip.
VALERIE: Okay. If you’re sure.
VALERIE: Love you, Mom. Thank you again.
Before they left, they had to drop off the key at Valerie’s ex-landlord’s office. Victor drove with a jerky hand, yanking the stick shift to-and-fro as they went up a jagged hill and down again.
“This has got to be the toughest city in the world to drive stick in,” Victor complained.
Esme bit her tongue from saying, We can always transfer the van and get an automatic. She knew Victor wasn’t the kind of guy who’d give up on a challenge like this. It was part of his magic. It was also part of why he’d infuriated her from the start.
Esme hurried out to give the key to the landlord, a man she’d met once during her brief stint in San Francisco. The landlord smiled and said, “I’m going to miss Val. She was a great tenant all these years.”
Valerie had told Esme that, with the new contract,the landlord was going to raise the rent more than one thousand dollars per month. But Esme decided to smile and play along.
“I’m thrilled to have her back in the East,” Esme said.
“Of course,” the landlord said. “I’m sorry again about your husband.”
Again, an image of Larry floated through her mind’s eye. Esme’s stomach felt squeezed. Larry, where are you? Larry, I need you.
But she just smiled. “Thank you. It’s been a hard time.”
Esme felt sour when she got in the van. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the flippant way the landlord had said he was sorry for her loss. Perhaps it was the fact that Victor was so arrogant about his driving. Maybe it was the fact that between now and a week from now, they had to drive more than three thousand miles.
“I picked the first song for our road trip,” Victor declared.
Esme gave him a worried, sidelong glance. Things had been markedly strange since she’d slept in his hotel bed for two hours. She’d gotten up with a start, her mouth tasting of candy and pizza and wine, and hurried to her hotel room. There, she’d scrubbed herself down and heaved herself into bed, telling herself not to think of this again.
But now, was Victor going to pick a romantic song? Something to indicate that he wanted her back. Their wedding song, maybe? Or a song they’d kissed to during the early days of their romance back in Boston?
Things are different now, Victor, she wanted to say. You went through a divorce. My husband died. That means you wanted OUT of what you’d built, and I was forced out. Two different experiences.
You cannot understand me.
Maybe you never could.
Victor pressed play.
The van filled with the sounds of Bon Jovi.
Esme cackled with surprise and clapped her hands over her mouth. Obviously, they’d never kissed each other during Bon Jovi’s tunes, but they had played them on the record player, dancing around the living room with their little kids. Joel especially had adored Bon Jovi, swaying his hips from side to side. Little Joel. Maybe he’ll be a musician one day, she’d thought at the time. Before she’d known that Joel wouldn’t become anything.
“Good road trip music?” Victor asked because he always needed approval.
“The best,” Esme agreed. She buckled her seat belt and set her jaw. It was time to go home.
Six hours later, they got a flat tire.
They felt it like an explosion on the right-hand side. Esme went down, screaming, and Victor flailed and finally drove them safely to the side of the highway. Esme gasped and pressed her hand over her chest. Her heart pounded so hard.
On the speaker system, more eighties hits played. Victor turned it down and touched her shoulder. Immediately, Esme remembered that night after the bonfire, when Hank had punched his fist through Victor’s nose, and she’d helped him to first his car and then hers. It was when the fabric of their romance had finally stitched itself together. Only to be torn apart.
“Are you okay?” Victor asked.
“I’m fine.” Esme puffed out her cheeks. “I guess we should call someone?”
Victor groaned and got out to inspect the tire. Esme got out, too, and they stood at the edge of a highway with the entire American blue sky overhead and cars whizzing past. Esme wondered if this flat tire was a bad omen. Maybe she should call Alex right now and have him come help. Maybe she should have someone drive her to the nearest airport and leave Victor here to deal with this himself. The way he left me and the kids behind.
Esme raised her eyebrows at that thought. It had been a long time since she’d cast blame upon Victor for what he’d done. Sometimes, it was hard for her to remember that this seventy-year-old man before her was the same one who’d torn out her heart, broken their children, and abandoned them.
I can’t believe he did that!
“Did you hear what I was saying?” Victor asked.
Esme tried to think back but couldn’t remember. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”
“I’m starving,” Victor repeated.
Esme gestured around the great expanse of the American West. “I hope you like grass.”
Victor laughed, although his eyes looked wounded. “Are you upset about something?”
“No,” Esme lied. Because how could she say right now, I’m really upset that you left me and the kids thirty years ago.
There was a tire to fix. There was dinner to eat. There was a continent to discover.
The auto shop was fifteen minutes west. Victor and Esme ended up at a diner down the road, where they ordered onion rings, a BLT, and a grilled cheese sandwich and split everything down the middle. Because the van wouldn’t be fixed for another three hours, Victor suggested they stay at a hotel in the area and get an early start.
Esme was suddenly terrified about sleeping accommodations. I should have told him point-blank that I didn’t want to sleep in the same room. I should have ensured he understood this trip would have no romance.
But Victor told the concierge they wanted two rooms at the hotel. It didn’t even come up between them. Esme breathed a sigh of relief, then recognized that she was slightly disappointed! Why? Had she wanted to fight with Victor about that, too?
Stop being so complicated, Esme! she wanted to scream at herself.
They grabbed their bags from the van and went upstairs, pausing before they parted ways to look at each other. Esme could see it in Victor’s eyes. He wanted her to ask for a nightcap. But after what happened last time, there was no way she’d ask for a nightcap. They couldn’t be trusted with alcohol late at night. They were like teenagers.
“Good night, Victor,” Esme said sternly. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”
“Six thirty on the dot,” Victor reminded her. “We’re going to make up for today.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Esme said, rolling her eyes, faking sarcasm. “Sleep well.”
But why had she wept when she got to her hotel room and sat alone on the edge of her bed? Tears streamed down her cheeks. She thought of who she could call to talk about this, reasoned with herself, and listed friends’ names.
Perhaps it was stupid to call Rebecca instead. But Esme knew Rebecca’s schedule at the Sutton Book Club like the back of her hand. She knew she was headed home or very nearly back. Esme waited ten more minutes, then made the call. Rebecca answered on the third ring.
“A cross-country road trip with Dad,” Rebecca stated. “What has gotten into you?”
Esme grinned into the phone. “Why do I feel like I’m in trouble with my stepmother, Fran?”
Rebecca chortled. There was a clack of something. Esme imagined her cooking at home, maybe for one of the children. Esme’s heart felt squeezed. She missed her grandbabies.
“I haven’t thought of Fran in ages,” Rebecca said. “Is she still alive?”
“Last I heard,” Esme said.
“Where was it she moved to?” Rebecca asked.
“Wisconsin,” Esme said. “Madison area.”
“That’s right. Bethany and I were always so curious about her. I can’t believe we never met her.”
“Trust me, you dodged a bullet,” Esme assured her.
“But you called her Mom, didn’t you?” Rebecca asked.
Esme splayed herself across the mattress and gazed up at the ceiling. “I did call her that. Yes. She was the only mother I ever really knew.”
“Because Grandma Rose died when you were really little.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca made a soft sound. “Do you ever think about looking Fran up?”
Esme chuckled. “No. I haven’t seen her since 1977.”
“I still can’t believe she left Grandpa like that,” Rebecca said.
“People leave people all the time,” Esme responded, although it was far more complicated.
Her children didn’t know about LeeAnne. She’d never told them. Maybe now it was too late to say anything. It was too late to confess.
Some secrets are better left buried.
And then she remembered, Victor knows all of my secrets. They’re not buried at all.
“That doesn’t make it right,” Rebecca said.
Esme understood that Rebecca was still reeling from her husband’s death. She would be for years, no matter what fresh love she found. No matter what new eras she wrought.
“Your sister left Nick,” Esme reminded her.
“Nick was a creep,” Rebecca said.
Esme giggled. “You girls are so loyal to each other. I just love it.”
Rebecca sighed. “We weren’t always loyal.” She paused, then added, “I wish we would have been. I wish I could turn back time and fix everything.”
Esme remained quiet. Her heart felt so heavy and filled with ache.
“Is that why you’re rekindling your friendship with Dad?” Rebecca asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You want to make it better somehow,” Rebecca said. “You want to fix the past by creating a new era with him. One that covers up the hurt.”
Esme’s eyes filled with tears. But she wouldn’t agree to this. She wouldn’t drop herself into the inky-black darkness of her memories with Rebecca still on the line.
So Esme said, “Your father and I are just old friends. We’re mates, as the English would say. We laugh about old memories and tell funny stories. We aren’t trying to fix anything. We know it’s unfixable. And that’s okay.”
But even as she said it, she wondered if Rebecca was right.
We never tell our children they’re right, she marveled. It’s so hard to give them that power. We’re supposed to be in control. But we never truly are.