Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
V alerie was on the beach in front of the Sutton House in her red bikini, legs long and athletic, hair heavy with salt and whipping around her. Lily, Shelby, Maddie, Tommy, Phoebe, and Chad were lined up on either side of her, also in swimsuits, and they faced the Nantucket Sound as though they were prepared to do battle with it. The idea was to race to the water’s edge, swim out fifteen paces, then swim back to this very spot. Whoever got back first won.
Toward the house sat Esme and Bethany with glasses of iced tea. Esme hollered, “Everyone needs to be careful!”
But Bethany called, “My money’s on Pheebs!”
Phoebe turned around and waved like a little cheerleader. She knew how to work her audience.
“All right,” Valerie began, “on your mark. Get set. Go!”
And just like that, the crew burst forth so that sand swept out behind them. They shot into the crisp water and counted their strokes. Valerie, the only “real” adult, save for Lily, kept tabs on the smaller ones, holding back, goading them on. Maddie laughed so much that she got water in her mouth and coughed it up. But before long, they were heaving back on land and racing to the finish line. Valerie ran in slow motion so that everyone else beat her. She fell to her knees and punched the sand for comic effect. “I can’t believe it! I lost! How will I ever recover from this misery?”
The younger nieces and nephews ate up the act and cackled.
“You lost!” Tommy cried. “Ha-ha!”
“I need some iced tea to heal my bruised ego,” Valerie announced. “Anyone else?”
Valerie pretended to limp back to her mother and sister. Her nieces and nephews remained by the water, leaping into the waves and splashing one another. Sunlight glistened across them and made them golden. Lily had plans to head back to Columbia within the week, but she seemed a part of them. It was hard to believe she belonged to the Ivy Leagues, not the splendorous ocean and this beautiful island.
But when Valerie reached Esme and Bethany, she realized something was very wrong. Bethany’s eyes were like saucers. And Esme was clutching something. A newspaper article. They gaped at her.
“What’s up?” Valerie asked.
“Do you remember the guy who was staring at you last night at the wine bar?” Bethany asked.
Valerie felt a violent shiver ripple down her spine. Remember it? I was up all night thinking about it. Wondering why he didn’t come over. Wondering what it means that he just walked on by.
Bethany splayed the newspaper out between them and tapped her fingernail on the top photograph. It featured two men—one laid back on the beach and the other over the top of him, preparing to give him mouth-to-mouth. Valerie’s stomach curdled with recognition. She remembered now what she’d forgotten that Alex had been a lifeguard. He’d been an incredibly strong swimmer, bucking out through the waves and far beyond the plastic buoys, becoming a part of the ocean rather than just a spectator on the side. Beneath that photograph was another with just his face. Alex Garland.
“It was Alex Garland!” Bethany cried. “Joel’s best friend. Mom just brought him up the other day. Remember? He worked in the entertainment business out in California? He came back to work at The Rooster?”
Valerie sat down across from them and filled a glass with iced tea. She shivered despite the heat.
“He must have recognized you,” Esme went on. “Bethany says he looked at you like you were a ghost.”
“He was probably looking at all of us,” Valerie said.
“I just can’t understand why your father wouldn’t have said so yesterday,” Esme said. “He was so shaken up after the incident. Did he not remember him?”
“He must have,” Bethany said. “Joel and Alex were always out here, playing baseball. With you.” She met Valerie’s gaze, and Valerie forced her eyes away.
“He’s almost home,” Esme said. “I’ll ask him when he gets here.” She set her jaw.
Valerie excused herself to head upstairs, change out of her wet swimsuit, and sit on the edge of her bed to stare at the carpet. Her heart pounded in her ears. She felt as though she’d been found out. As though her family had been able to peer through the events of her past and label them. It took everything in her power to affirm the truth: they knew nothing at all.
Valerie put on a big T-shirt that read Nantucket High and sat in front of her computer to see what she’d written thus far for her memoir. Saul still promised to send Victor Sutton’s soon-to-be top seller, which gave her a little extra time. But because she had that little extra time, she’d gotten creative and slightly irresponsible about the content she’d written in her document. She’d begun to write bits and pieces of her time with Alex in San Francisco instead.
It wasn’t that we planned to get pregnant. It just sort of happened, the way it always happened with us. We met again. We fell in love. And then everything transformed into an iconic mess. I think, for me, the biggest surprise was that my body had managed to keep the baby as long as it had. Previously, I’d thought I was infertile. It just seemed normal that a woman as sad and sorry about everything as me wouldn’t be able to handle a baby. But then I took that pregnancy test one day. And I thought everything I’d thought about myself was wrong. (That was wrong, too.)
Alex was smitten. His film was about to come out. His career was about to really begin. He’d gotten married. He was going to be a father. No two people in the history of America have ever been as happy as we two were that year.
The window of Valerie’s bedroom was cracked to let in a sweep of August breeze. From that came the sound of her father’s voice. Her fingers stalled, and she tipped herself forward to see through the window down to the veranda below. Victor was seated with her mother and Bethany, sharing a pitcher of iced tea. He touched his balding head frequently as though nervous. Valerie couldn’t make out everything he said. She jolted to her feet and hurried downstairs to wade up behind him. She felt like a creep. But she had to know.
“But you must have recognized him,” Esme was saying as she approached, presumably of Alex. “You spent all those years with him.”
“The man’s forty years old now,” Victor said. “It’s been thirty years since I spent any real time with him. But you’re right. There was something about his disposition. Something about his face. I stared at him extra long.” Victor gripped his chin. “I just couldn’t place him. It drove me crazy.”
“What were you doing with him?” Valerie asked suddenly, destroying their quiet moment. Her tone was flat and hard.
Victor, Esme, and Bethany turned to look at her. Bethany gestured for Valerie to sit, but Valerie wanted nothing of it. She wanted to glower over her father. She wanted him to know she knew he was up to something. She stretched out her hands and asked, “I mean, why were you spending time with Alex Garland?”
Victor sucked air from his cheeks. His eyes were damaged. “A documentarian approached me. He wanted to talk about my psychological family practice. He wanted to discuss…” He trailed off. “He wanted to talk about the article that came out about me. The one that questioned my ability to be a good, you know, father. And husband. And psychiatrist. And person.” His cheeks were pale. “I don’t know what any of you think of it. But I imagine it doesn’t make me popular with you, Val.”
Esme raised her eyebrows. She looked gobsmacked.
“And you thought that was a good idea? To make a documentary about it?” Valerie asked, ignoring his last comment.
Victor slumped forward. “I’ve been so embarrassed,” he offered quietly. His eyes were on his grandchildren, leaping through the waves. “I’ve wondered if anything in my life was worthwhile, save for the few years I spent here with all of you. The documentarian told me he didn’t want the doc to be all about me. He wanted it to be about fatherhood. About mistakes. About egos. I thought if I stared it all in the face, it wouldn’t rip me apart so bad.”
Valerie felt the tension in her chest loosen the slightest bit. She was surprised to feel empathy for his situation. Still, she couldn’t speak. She knew vitriol would come out.
Victor raised his chin to look at her. “Ever since you got back, you’ve hardly looked at me, Val. I don’t know what I can say or do to make you see that I want this. I want Nantucket. I want my family. I want to prove myself to you.”
I know you’re writing a book. I know you’re revealing our private life.
But Valerie couldn’t come out and say it. Not in front of her mother and Bethany.
“But I want to cancel the documentary immediately.” Victor slashed the air in front of him with his hands. “The director is a slimeball.”
“The director isn’t Alex?” Bethany asked.
“No. It’s this man named Rowan Collins,” Victor said.
But Bethany’s and Valerie’s eyes widened.
“That’s my patient!” Bethany cried.
They stared at her, waiting for context.
“A couple of weeks back. He had a late-night emergency and minor surgery? I can’t believe he proceeded with the documentary,” Bethany said.
But Valerie was thrust into the wild years of her California life with Alex. She was thrust back into Blue Days.
“I knew him,” Valerie offered quietly. “In California.”
Victor clasped his hands together. His color faded. In the far distance came the sound of Tommy screaming out across the sound. At thirteen, he felt he could conquer the world.
Did Rowan and Alex stay in touch? But that was impossible. After the film fell through, Alex didn’t hear from any of those guys.
Victor stood, looking resolute.
“Where are you going?” Valerie demanded.
“I want to talk to Alex.”
Valerie’s heart felt squeezed. “You can’t.”
Victor looked taken aback. “Why not?”
Because he’s my ex-husband. Because he might tell you the truth about me. Because he knows too much about all of us.
Valerie couldn’t come up with a valid reason to keep him here. All she could do was pray. Please, Alex. Please, don’t tell him. Please, keep the past in the past.
It was all too painful.
Victor kissed Esme’s forehead and squeezed Bethany’s hand. They wished him well. He nodded firmly at Valerie, then added a quiet, “I want you to know that I’m doing the best I can.”
Valerie wanted to call his bluff. But her tongue felt made of sand. She watched him trudge through the lawn and back out front. Next came the sound of his motor and the purr of his wheels as he ran away again.
He was going to talk to her ex-husband. He was going to spend time with him, hear his voice, maybe even make him laugh. Valerie’s stomach twisted up, and she collapsed in the chair beside her mother, the one Victor had vacated.
“Oh, honey,” Esme breathed, squeezing Valerie’s hand. “You have to give your father a break. He loves you. He’s just not very good at showing it.”