Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
I t had already been more than a week since Valerie left California for Nantucket. Her memoir document was in a sad state. Just three hundred words, most of which were notes to herself and a list that included both happy memories of herself, her father, and Joel together and all the things her father had done wrong. The bad list wasn’t finished yet. But neither was the list of happy memories.
Valerie had fallen into Nantucket life with an energy that surprised her. When she was supposed to be writing, she was often out on the beach with her nieces and nephews, throwing Frisbees or jumping out into the waves. Her nieces and nephews had really taken to her, too—with Lily sharing secrets from her time at Columbia, Shelby telling her tales of high school woes that she left in Maine, and Phoebe regaling her with all the facts she’d learned about Nantucket thus far. Phoebe was a quirky little thing. Adorable. She wouldn’t necessarily “fit in” later in life. Valerie wanted to squeeze her and tell her that was all right.
Valerie also found herself frequently in the kitchen with her mother, chopping vegetables for fresh salads and listening to Esme’s stories. Because they’d spent so much of their lives apart, it seemed there was no limit to the things Esme could share. There was the vacation she’d taken the girls on when Valerie was no more than four. Valerie’s memories were patchy, but Esme could remember details down to what they’d eaten, where they’d walked, and where Valerie had scream-cried with fear at a dog. Valerie had to bite her tongue to keep from asking where Victor and Joel were in these stories. Back home? Back here in this very house, waiting for the girls to return home?
But Esme was too bright and sunny to drag her into the depths and remind her what she’d lost.
Valerie would always remember the time Esme spent with her in San Francisco. Esme had been up to her ears in grief, terrified to go on after Larry’s death. Valerie had struggled, trying to be there for Esme as much as she could. But she’d also had a particularly grueling list of events to plan that spring. Events for social media moguls. Events for pop stars. Events for important people who never needed to know who Valerie was—unless Valerie made a mistake. Mistakes make you visible, an old client had told Valerie. And she’d always remembered it.
But one afternoon, Valerie returned to her apartment in the Mission District to find her mother wearing Valerie’s wedding ring.
Esme was seated on the edge of the bed Valerie and Alex had once shared, gazing down at the beautiful golden band. The ring was all that Alex had managed to afford because he’d thrown all of his money into Blue Days. It had been ages since Valerie had seen it. It fit Esme perfectly. Valerie staggered to a halt in the middle of the room and let her purse drop to her feet. Esme gazed at her. Questions plagued her eyes. They seemed to say, There’s so much I don’t know about you or any of my children. Why must we keep everything a secret from each other? Why must we tear ourselves apart to be unknown?
“It’s beautiful,” Esme said finally, her voice warbling.
Valerie didn’t want to get into it. She didn’t want to tell her mother about the whirlwind elopement and the safety she’d felt so briefly but so powerfully. So she said, “It didn’t work out.”
Esme’s shoulders fell forward. She inched the ring from her finger and handed it to Valerie, who scooped it up and returned it to the cabinet beneath the mirror.
But a strange thing Valerie had done was bring the ring with her from San Francisco to Nantucket Island. She’d slipped it into her suitcase without a second thought.
Valerie got up from her computer and hunted through her suitcase to unzip the tiny compartment where the ring was hidden in its little velvet case. A part of Valerie knew she should give it back to Alex. She should hunt him down, press it in his hand, and say, You need this. I know you need the money. Alex and Valerie were damaged goods. It was a surprise they’d even managed to try their hand at happiness.
Rebecca had invited Valerie to the Sutton Book Club restaurant that night. Invite wasn’t the right word, exactly. It was more, “Valerie, we really could use your help tonight at the restaurant.” They were understaffed. And because Valerie was such a superb (their words, not Valerie’s) event planner, nearly everything was cooked for the approaching fundraiser party. Marketing flew across the city and the city’s multiple social media networks. They had more than three hundred RSVPs. It seemed likely they’d meet their monetary goal.
Valerie was accustomed to watching events come together like that. But her sisters and mother were so impressed with her that she allowed herself a momentary glow of pride.
Just before Valerie headed to the Sutton Book Club to help Rebecca, she checked her email and found an angry message from Saul.
Valerie,
I’m curious about where the first chapter of your exquisite and mind-bending memoir is. You promised me you could write it. We already have a publishing date in mind. We need it ready in time for your father’s. Otherwise, the plan will fall through.
Remember that you signed a binding contract. I have some of the most powerful lawyers in the world.
And it’s not too late to ask the ghostwriter to put something together. You’re busy; she can write quickly. What do you care if she gets everything exactly right? This is a money and pride thing, isn’t it? Be reasonable.
Saul
Valerie’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Why did I think I could be a writer? Why did I think I could do this?
But there was no time to respond. No time to do anything but prepare for the night ahead and shove Saul’s anger into the back recesses of her mind.
Valerie dressed and rode with Bethany to the Sutton Book Club. Bethany was off today, her first vacation day in over a week, and she wore a white linen suit and her hair in beautiful curls. En route to the Sutton Book Club, she played TLC and whacked the steering wheel. “I just can’t believe it, Val. All these years, I’ve put up with Nick’s crap. And now Rod treats me like a princess.”
Valerie smiled a genuine smile and squeezed Bethany’s hand. “You deserve it.”
Bethany parked in front of the Sutton Book Club and sighed. From the street, they could see Rebecca and their mother setting up tables on the little balcony that lined the second floor of the converted Victorian building.
Valerie had the sudden instinct to tell Bethany everything. Tell her about Dad. Tell her about the book. Maybe she can help you ease Rebecca and Mom into it. Maybe you can turn your backs on Dad together.
But that was when Victor’s car skidded to a halt behind them. The driver’s side door burst open, and Victor scrambled out. He looked frantic and sunburnt. Wordless, Bethany and Valerie got out and stared at him.
Victor staggered toward them and pressed his hand to his heart. “I just saw someone drowning.”
Valerie inhaled sharply. Bethany reached for Victor’s arm and asked, “What happened? Are they all right?”
Esme and Rebecca spotted them from the top level and hurried downstairs. Esme’s face was pinched with worry. She gathered Victor in her arms and led him inside, where the three Sutton sisters watched helplessly as Esme poured him a glass of water and urged him to go on.
“It was at Madequecham Beach,” Victor said. His voice was gravelly.
“What were you doing at Madequecham Beach?” Bethany asked.
Esme shot her a look that meant it doesn’t matter.
“A man was drowning in the water,” Victor said. “A guy I was with went after him. It looked like he wasn’t going to get the swimmer out in time. It was terrifying.”
The four Sutton women were quiet and contemplative. Victor was shaken. He’d rushed to Esme as soon as he could for support. He’s using you, Mom, Valerie thought.
But now wasn’t the time. Esme clamped her arm around his back and announced, “I think we’d better get you home.”
Rebecca, Bethany, and Valerie exchanged glances. It meant that it would be the three of them plus a few staff members that night for dinner. It wasn’t anything they couldn’t hack. But it meant a long night ahead.
Bethany and Rebecca were extra sweet with Victor, reminding him to rest up. Rebecca cut him a big hunk of the beef she’d prepared for dinner that night and urged him to eat it as soon as he got home so that it retained the flavor. He thanked her and kissed her on the cheek, then Bethany. But Valerie shot him a look that meant don’t you dare.
Victor flinched with recognition. He’d sensed that Valerie was still standoffish with him.
Just as soon as Victor and Esme left in Esme’s car, Valerie disappeared into the bathroom to write Saul a message.
Saul,
I apologize for the delay. I’ve been working tirelessly on my memoir. The first chapter—and more—will be ready for you soon.
But I realized I need more information from you to make it the best book it can possibly be. You said you know all of the points my father plans to bring up in his. You know his strategy to garner attention and sympathy. Maybe that means I need to read his manuscript before I proceed.
Please send me what you have of my father’s manuscript as soon as you can.
All the best,
Valerie
Rebecca did not hesitate to put Valerie and Bethany to work. At various times throughout the evening, Bethany muttered, “This is worse than a rush at the hospital.” Valerie’s feet and legs ached by the third hour, and her thighs screamed by the fourth. She must have chatted to twenty different tables that night, asking the tourists where they were from and what they thought about the book collection at the Sutton Book Club. She also told the story of her grandfather and his love of books perhaps ten or fifteen times. But with each table, Valerie fell even more in love with the Sutton Book Club’s story and the family she’d come from (except for Victor, of course).
“It was so weird with Dad earlier,” Valerie said after they locked up for the night and scrubbed the tables. “Why didn’t he tell us what he was doing at the beach? It felt cagey.”
Bethany threw the used towels into a basket and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She looked tired and unwilling to drop into bad-talking their father. “Dad has his life,” she said.
Valerie stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “But what if he’s up to something?”
Bethany rolled her shoulders back. “Like what?” She looked at her as she had as a preteen when Valerie begged her to play outside with her. Please, Bethy! Please!
Rebecca suggested they have a nightcap at the little natural wine bar near the harbor. It was within walking distance, so they abandoned their cars and swept through the balmy night. The Nantucket Historic District was awash with beautifully dressed tourists, who were suntanned and long-limbed, wearing white and cream. Valerie gazed at them, wondering what feeling so free and open to life’s mysticisms was like. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been like that.
The server who seated them knew Rebecca well through the Nantucket service industry crowd and gave them a prime seat with a view of the sailboats creaking in the soft wind. They ordered glasses of wine and a bowl of sea salt-flecked potato chips and Spanish olives.
It suddenly felt to Valerie that she’d spent countless nights with her sisters like this. As though they’d gotten older here on Nantucket. As though they’d been privy to the little nuances in one another’s lives.
Rebecca turned to Valerie. “Tell us, Val. We’re dying to know. Wasn’t there ever someone?”
Valerie felt the knife twist. She raised her glass of wine, filled her mouth, and remembered a single fleeting moment in Las Vegas, when she’d dreamed that her sisters were by her side. But then she’d looked into Alex’s eyes and thought, He’s all I need.
“Come on,” Bethany coaxed. “You’re a gorgeous forty-one-year-old woman. You’ve had a lifetime of experiences. You must have broken a few hearts.”
“I dated around, sure,” Valerie said.
Rebecca leaned her chin on her fist and exhaled. “You never wanted to get married?”
Valerie considered telling them about the handsome and arrogant men who’d filled her twenties and most of her thirties—minus those brief, soft, and wonderful years when she’d been married to Alex. She might have told them about Ralphie, who was Italian and shared that his father was very open about violence toward his wife and children. She might have told them about Craig, who’d been the richest of them all and also the most quietly sinister. She might have told them about Saul, who’d more or less insinuated at the end of their last meeting that he wanted to date her after the memoir came out. Just another arrogant man in the tapestry of my life, she’d thought at the time.
But Valerie suddenly felt something like an itch on her neck. She flinched around and gazed across the veranda of the wine bar. There on the corner was a man. A familiar man with black jeans and a black V-neck shirt, his hair tousled. He stared at her. He stared at her as though she were a ghost.
It was Alex Garland.
Valerie’s heart dropped into her stomach. She still had her glass of wine in her hand, but it was so weightless that she nearly dropped it.
For a soft moment, they gazed at one another. Valerie thought, He’s still so handsome but hasn’t slept. He was always so terrible at sleeping. And then she thought, Does anyone make him coffee in the morning? Does anyone rub his back when it aches?
Alex shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He looked like he was considering coming up onto the veranda. Valerie imagined him striding toward them with his massive hand extended and saying, Hi, I’m your sister’s ex-husband. Hi, I’m your dead brother’s best friend.
But then Bethany interrupted Valerie’s reverie. “Who is that guy? He’s staring at you.”
Valerie glanced at her sister with surprise. For whatever reason, she’d imagined that she was the only person who could see Alex just now. Like she had a superpower. Or was imagining him.
“I’ve never seen him before,” Valerie was quick to lie.
“We should invite him over here!” Rebecca cried, waving.
Valerie lurched forward to grab Rebecca’s hand and pull it down. “No!” she hissed. “I mean, please. Don’t.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes and lowered her hand. “He’s already leaving, anyway.”
Valerie couldn’t breathe. Slowly, she shifted around and blinked at the gap in the sidewalk where Alex so recently stood. How could he leave like that? How could he just go?
“Maybe he recognized you from somewhere,” Rebecca suggested. “Do you think you went to school with him or something?”
“We’ve all changed so much,” Bethany said.
“I think we should get to the bottom of who he is,” Rebecca urged. “Find him, and then give him Val’s number. Val, what do you think? You’ll still be in Nantucket for another few weeks, right? Enough time for a little end-of-summer fling?”
Valerie felt as though her heart was bruised and pulpy. She sighed and closed her eyes.
“Mom just texted,” Bethany said, adjusting her tone and careful to change the subject. “Apparently, Dad fell asleep a little while ago.”
“At the house?” Rebecca asked.
“He’s been sleeping over more and more,” Bethany said.
Valerie’s stomach tied into knots. None of them knew what they were getting into.
Rebecca and Bethany realized Valerie wasn’t keen on chatting and directed the conversation back to things they understood: children, husbands, family life, death, and loss. Valerie curled into herself and wondered where Alex was off to. Maybe he never wanted to see her again. It wasn’t like she could blame him. Not after how they left it. One of them had said I never want to see you again, and it hadn’t been him.
But suddenly there was a message from Saul Isaacson on her phone. Valerie opened it.
Valerie,
You’re certainly a difficult woman to crack.
But yes, I see your point regarding your father’s memoir.
I’m expecting his final draft in about a week. The minute it hits my inbox, I’ll pass it along to you.
Remember that this is of the utmost secrecy. Do not pass along our circumstances to anyone. Remember the contract you signed.
I don’t need to remind you that I have the best lawyers on the West Coast.
But more than that, I don’t want to be so enraged by you that I can’t take you out at the end of this.
Best,
Saul