Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
September 2024
S tella left Nantucket Island at seven in the morning and reached Manhattan by one. Feeling like a movie star or a diva, she handed her keys to a valet driver at The Lucerne Hotel in the Upper West Side—one her agent had booked for her—and passed her suitcase to a bellhop. She entered the double-wide doors. The foyer was immaculate, decorated in Art Nouveau stylings and one-hundred-year-old gold-laid mirrors. A woman at the front desk smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Sutton. We’re so pleased to host you.”
Stella was accustomed to being known wherever she went. That was the nature of living in Nantucket. But she hadn’t imagined anyone would recognize her in Manhattan. Her book had been on the market for a little over two weeks. That was nothing.
It’s all thanks to the drama with James.
A blessing? Or a curse?
“Hi,” Stella said, approaching the desk. Her voice wavered. “Thank you. I’d like to check into my room?”
The woman handed her a key card and asked a bellhop to take “Miss Sutton” to her suite. Stella hadn’t expected a full suite. She’d envisioned a single room with a single bed and a single dresser. But the bellhop opened an old wooden door to reveal a suite with a bedroom, an office, and a living and dining area that looked out over the lush green of Central Park. Stella’s heart ballooned.
“Goodness,” Stella said. “Thank you.”
The bellhop looked at her with surprise. She hurried to tip him, then waited till he left and closed the door behind him to hurry to the window and fully freak out. The entire city pulsed beneath her, and Central Park stretched out to miles of green trails and rolling fields and ponds. This was the city of the world, the city where everything happened.
She was so excited. She let herself forget that James hadn’t called her back last night.
Stella didn’t have time to laze around in her ostentatiously expensive suite. That afternoon at four thirty, she had her first interview with a literary podcast that wanted to talk about the art of writing memoirs. She was inexperienced with interviews and practiced talking out loud as she got ready. “The thing about memoir is,” she told the mirror as she put on lipstick, “is that it has to feel real? Ugh. No, Stella. It has to feel…” She winced. Maybe good quotes would come to her when she was in the studio.
Stella took a taxi to the podcast studio, which was located in Brooklyn. She loved crossing the bridge and listening to the taxi driver tell stories about his first years in the city. He’d come from Hungary, he said, but his parents had escaped during the Cold War with the hope that America would offer new opportunities for their son.
“It was difficult when we first got here,” he explained. “But my father fought hard to keep food on the table. Just like me. I’m fighting now, too.”
Stella’s heart went out to him. She thanked him for the brilliant ride and tipped him a little too much. Somehow, his openness with her had reminded her of the Greek men she’d met at the tavernas with James.
It’s like I can relate everything in my life back to that pivotal time.
Stella entered the studio and met the podcasters—sisters named Natasha and Brittany. They were semi-famous novelists who’d begun a podcast to advertise their work.
“But we mostly just podcast now,” Natasha said with a laugh as they got set up. “I haven’t written a word in years.”
“I hope you find your way back to it someday,” Stella said. “I took years off writing. And it found me again.”
“Save it for the recording!” Brittany urged with a smile. “We want to know everything.”
The interview was fluid, for the most part. It was clear that Brittany and Natasha knew how to talk to writers and make them feel at ease. Very soon, Stella forgot she was being recorded and fell into easy conversation.
“Tell us a bit about your life at home in Nantucket,” Natasha said. “You have children, correct?”
“I have two kids. They’re sixteen and eighteen. My son just left for college this past month, which broke my heart a little,” Stella said. “But he’s happy, and we’ve talked a little on the phone.”
“It must be fascinating to release this book right when your son leaves for college,” Brittany said. “It’s clear you’re very familiar with the anxieties of being that age. Did you pass along any advice to your son? Any advice that you could pass to your readers now?”
Stella laughed nervously. “I can’t pretend to offer any advice. I know how complicated that time of your life is. I also know how angry my mother was with me at that time. She wanted me to nail down my career and have a family. But I didn’t know what I wanted!”
“Who does?” Brittany said with a laugh.
“I’d say, follow your heart,” Stella said. “As cheesy as that sounds. It’s always worked for me. It’s probably why my ex-husband and I are still so close. We’ve been open and honest with each other since the beginning.”
Although I never told him about James.
We talked about everything else.
Even our separation.
Even Mandy.
Even Bruce.
“I love when couples separate and still find ways to be in each other’s lives,” Natasha agreed. “It’s so loving and adult.”
“Agreed,” Brittany said.
“I want to ask the question that’s on everyone’s mind,” Natasha said, wincing as though this were painful for her rather than for Stella. “I want to ask about J.”
“Oh gosh. Yes. We need to know more about J!” Brittany cried. “Is it true that he just showed up out of the blue at the book launch two weeks ago?”
“Those photographs were insane,” Natasha declared. “I mean, the looks on your faces! You both looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
Stella’s heartbeat quickened. Hadn’t her agent told the podcast no questions about James?
But Stella knew Gwen. Gwen knew that talk of James sold books. And Gwen wanted to sell as many books as possible. Didn’t Stella want that, too?
Stella stuttered and smiled. “Well, I mean. The man called J never agreed to be written about. I’d really like to respect his privacy if that’s okay.”
Natasha and Brittany exchanged annoyed glances. Why wasn’t their guest playing along?
“But J came to your book launch,” Brittany pressed. “Doesn’t that mean he wants to be known? Doesn’t that mean he wants to go public about his identity?”
Stella continued to smile. “I don’t know what he wants. But I don’t feel comfortable talking about him. I left the man called J back in 2001. The modern J is nobody I know. He’s a stranger.”
“You’re saying you didn’t meet up after the book launch?” Brittany demanded.
Stella pressed her lips together. She was in hot water. How could she get out of this?
“Like I said, I can’t talk about J,” Stella said. “But I’m happy to answer any other questions about my writing or my time in Greece.”
Natasha and Brittany didn’t press her after that. But they looked annoyed. They’d obviously wanted as much juicy gossip as they could get. But Stella felt she’d already given them enough.
After wrapping up the podcast recording, Stella shook hands with Natasha and Brittany, thanking them politely. Despite their sweet tones, she could tell they were still irritated with her. Stella didn’t mind. She walked out of the studio into the bright September afternoon, pulling her phone from her pocket. There were messages from Gwen, Chloe, Matt, and the radio host she was scheduled to meet next. The radio host was “excited to get into things!”—which likely meant he wanted to talk about James. Stella’s heart pounded with confusion. James still hadn’t called her back.
Why did he give me his card if he didn’t want me to reach out?
Maybe he’d already skipped town. Perhaps he’d gone to London. Maybe he’d decided he didn’t want anything to do with the mess of The Athens Affair.
Stella had to be okay with that.
In the taxi, she read messages from Gwen, Chloe, and Matt. Chloe wished her well and asked where something was she needed for school. Gwen congratulated her on the podcast and wished her luck on the radio interview.
And Matt? He sent:
I’m so anxious to hear how your trip goes. Good luck, Stella. You’re going to kill it.
Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away and shoved her phone into her purse. Matt shouldn’t make me cry, she reminded herself.
That night at the hotel, Stella drew a bath and sat in the calming warmth with a glass of red wine. Through a series of careful maneuvers, she was able to prop up a book without getting it wet, and she read for more than an hour. The stress of the day eased off her shoulders.
When Stella got out of the bath, she called Chloe to make sure she’d found the paper she’d needed for school. Chloe answered happily, “Mom! How did it go?”
Stella tied her fluffy robe and lay back on the king-sized bed. From down below the hotel came the sound of horns. The city was alive. But she was nearly conked out.
“It was great, honey. I have a bazillion appointments tomorrow and the next day, and then I’m off to the next city,” Stella said.
“You’re so famous now,” Chloe said. “A few girls in my class read your book.”
Stella’s ears rang. Had she wanted teenage girls to read her book? She wasn’t sure. Then again, romance was for everyone. Even, or especially, stories of failed romance.
Everyone has a love that failed.
Chloe told Stella about what had happened today at school. Stella could feel her moving through her father’s house, opening and closing doors.
“Where you off to so fast?” Stella asked with a laugh.
Chloe muttered, “I just wanted some privacy. Dad’s downstairs.”
“Okay?” Stella was surprised. And then she asked, “What’s going on?” Her heart fluttered. Why does Chloe want privacy from her father?
“Listen, I think something is going on with Dad and Mandy,” Chloe muttered.
Stella felt a pressure on her chest. She sat up and leaned against the fluffy pillows on the bed. “Oh no.”
“I heard them talking outside earlier,” Chloe went on in a whisper. “Mandy sounded really upset.”
“Honey, I’m sure they were just having a disagreement,” Stella said.
“But that isn’t the first time. They’ve been having these, um, disagreements all summer,” Chloe said. “At first, I thought they were flukes. But this time, I heard Dad say something about breaking up.”
Stella’s eyes widened with surprise.
She’d thought Matt and Mandy were in it for the long haul.
She’d thought they would get married!
She felt the crushing weight of Matt’s disappointment. And she felt sorry for Mandy, too. Failed love was always a trial.
“You’d better get downstairs and spend time with your father,” Stella said now. “If they really broke up, I’m sure he’s having a hard time.” She frowned. “Maybe make him a bowl of ice cream? Butter pecan.” It was his favorite.
“Good idea,” Chloe said.
“You must be upset,” Stella said. “I know how much you like Mandy.”
“She’s fine,” Chloe said. “I’m just worried about Dad.”
“Me too.”
Chloe got off the phone to tend to her father and left Stella alone in the shadows of her hotel room. She felt anonymous and soft and sad.
A part of her wanted to reach out to Matt and tell him how sorry she was. But Matt would tell her about the breakup when he was ready.
If they really broke up.
Maybe they worked it out.
It occurred to Stella now that she’d hardly thought of Bruce Tyler at all in the past few weeks. It had been a year and a half of her life. And she’d let her love—or something like love—slip through her fingers.
Stella fell asleep a little after ten and woke up at three to take off her robe and put on her pajamas. She checked her phone. Still no message from James.
I have to put thoughts of James to rest.
I have to stop this.
But the next afternoon, after Stella got out of a video interview with a Brooklyn broadcast station, she turned her phone back on and immediately received a call. It almost seemed like a fluke, like somebody was watching her.
It was James.
Stella stared down at his name on her screen. Her heart pounded. Again, during that interview, they’d asked her about James, and again, she’d had to tell them she had no contact with him whatsoever. I want to protect his privacy.
But here he was, reaching out.
Did he want to yell at her for pulling him into the public eye?
Stella suddenly felt as though she were aboard the Stella sailboat. The sidewalk beneath her feet felt uneven. Sweat bubbled across her upper lip.
The phone rang on and on. A few people on the sidewalk turned back to look at her, wondering why she didn’t answer it. She probably looked insane.
Finally, she pressed the green button and pulled the phone to her ear. “James.” Her voice was soft and focused.
“Stella.”
Stella’s heart pumped. She thought she might faint. “I didn’t think you would call me back.”
“I wasn’t sure I would, either.”
Stella tried to picture him somewhere—in an office building, in a library, in a music shop. “I’m still in the city.”
“I hoped you were,” James said.
Stella blinked back tears. “Did you want to meet up?” She didn’t want to assume anything.
“I would like that very much,” James said. “But I don’t think we should meet in public.”
“Right.” Stella laughed. “I’ve never been famous before. I don’t know if I like it.”
“Me neither,” James said.
Stella tilted her head. She’d always envisioned that James would become a famous musician one day. He loved attention—or he had loved attention. He could talk to anyone.
Maybe that had changed, too.
“I would invite you to my place, but…” James trailed off.
“Let’s meet at my hotel,” Stella said.
I wouldn’t want him to come to my house in Nantucket, either. It was too intimate, the past and present coming together.
“Sounds great.”
Stella told him which hotel it was, and they agreed on seven that evening. That was four hours from now. Stella’s heart pounded with fear.