Chapter Twenty-Five Lily #4
Right outside of town is the Goose Pond, where Lottie, Rose, and I once fed the white Pekin ducks that roam there.
We ripped pieces of bread and threw them into the grasses until the fat birds became aggressive, dozens flocking behind us, squawking.
The ducks chased after us as we ran back to the car.
We laughed all the way down the bike path and across the long, flat wooden bridge.
Between laughs, I kept checking to make sure Lottie didn’t fall.
There was no logical reason behind the feeling.
Lottie was comparatively young back then, a healthy and active seventy.
But even then, even before, I was always worried something bad was going to happen.
It was as if I could sense a shift in the air, a ticking clock.
“Do you think I’m being too harsh about William?” I ask Theo.
He shrugs. “I really can’t answer that. That’s for your mom to decide.” He pauses and then grins. “Although, I will say, I was surprised he didn’t offer to split the bill.”
When the check arrived, Rose, Theo, and I all quickly whipped out our credit cards and placed them in the black sleeve. We looked at William, and he was sitting on his hands, smiling a vacant, unselfconscious smile.
Later, when the receipt was returned, we saw they had only charged Rose. She snuck away and must have asked the waitstaff.
“Jeez,” I say. “I feel so bad for my mom about that. I’m going to pay her back, put some money under her pillow like a visit from the tooth fairy.”
“I’ll pay her back,” insists Theo. “And she won’t have to lose any teeth over it.”
I laugh, and we pause on a lamplit street. We’re close to our destination, passing Children’s Beach and winding the corner past the White Elephant, the nicest hotel on island.
Here is another one of my favorite spots on Nantucket: Brant Point lighthouse.
It’s the lighthouse you see when you’re arriving on the ferry, the one Henry and I threw pennies at: a squat building amidst a sea of jagged rocks, the first sign that you’re almost home.
There’s a long white wooden walkway with frayed slats.
The lighthouse is always getting dressed up for holidays: an American flag for the Fourth, wreaths for Christmas with big red bows.
“Wow,” says Theo when we reach it. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here yet.”
It’s empty now, and the stars and the moon are the only source of light beyond the fixed red beacon at the very top. It draws a circle over the dark water like a spotlight in a theatrical production.
“It’s funny,” Theo says as we walk closer. “I feel so comfortable around you, like I’ve known you forever, but there’s still so much I don’t know.”
I hop onto the railing and sit with my legs swinging. It creaks but remains stable. “Well, what do you still want to know?”
It’s so easy to be around Theo, sometimes I forget to feel embarrassed. But when he looks at me now, I remember his mouth on mine last night and have to look away.
“What’s your favorite food?” he asks, breaking the tension.
“My favorite food?” I’m laughing. “Easy. Peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches.”
Theo pushes his body onto the railing opposite of me. “That’s so basic.”
“It’s nostalgic,” I defend. “Anyway, what’s yours?”
“Mine? Definitely pizza.”
“Oh, and that’s somehow more sophisticated than peanut butter sandwiches?” I tease. “Like Domino’s? That’s boring, too!”
“My favorite is Modern Apizza in New Haven. Have you ever been?”
“Of course. We used to live in New Haven.”
“You did? How did I not know this?”
He’s right, it is a little odd how it never came up. “I guess because Nantucket has been home for so long, I never think about where I grew up. I always wanted to leave.”
Besides, once you live by the ocean, nowhere else can ever really be considered home. The ocean always calls back to you.
Theo looks up at the body of the lighthouse, the boulders by the water.
“By the way,” he says. “I get it, about Rose. She reminds me a lot of my own mom actually. She passed away when I was kid. The lottery ticket thing I mentioned earlier… I do that because of her. I know it’s stupid, but she always loved scratch-offs, and whenever I do one, I think of her.”
The sudden confession takes me by surprise. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I had no idea.” In the silence, I can hear the sound of the ocean churning and children laughing, blocks away.
It’s evident Theo feels regretful about the confession, and I want him to know it’s okay. It’s okay to talk about his mom, to not always be the funny, cheery one in the room.
“Will you tell me about her?” I ask.
Theo tells me more then about what happened, how she struggled with her mental health for years, postpartum snowballing into a deeper, more persistent depression.
She took her own life when he was only ten.
When Theo speaks about it, he transforms into someone else.
He tells me about his father remarrying, and his little sister who has Down syndrome.
“She’s my favorite person in the entire world,” Theo says, smiling at the thought of her. It makes me smile, too. “She’s this huge ball of energy and joy.”
I move toward him and reach for his hand, but after a quick squeeze, he drops it. Behind us, the lighthouse continues to blink red, guiding the ships in the harbor, warning them of the dangerously shallow waters and letting us all know that we’re almost home.