Chapter 7 #2
It was clear that Dorothy’s death had made Aria think about Hilary’s death, as well—about a future in which she’d have to learn the worst news about her mother’s fate and deal with it. Hilary didn’t like making her daughter think about that, but such was life.
It sounded like Aria wasn’t alone. When Hilary pressed her, she explained that her friend Gina from college was over. There was a slight twinge to the word “friend,” which made Hilary curious, but she didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask, not with Gina presumably in the room with Aria.
“But I shouldn’t stay here, right?” Aria asked. “I mean, I’m here doing Dorothy’s interior design work, and Dorothy is gone.”
Hilary took a breath. It was true that it didn’t make sense for Aria to remain in New York.
But the ink had dried on the contract Aria had signed for the interior design work, and the first of Dorothy’s payments had been deposited in Aria’s account.
It put them in a complicated legal situation.
Besides, wouldn’t Dorothy want the Greenwich Village brownstone to be in a better condition prior to its sale?
Who was going to get Dorothy Wagner’s exorbitant wealth, anyway?
“I’m going to call a lawyer tomorrow and see what’s up,” Hilary said.
Aria was quiet. Hilary imagined her in the Greenwich Village brownstone, surrounded by Dorothy’s things from so long ago.
“She was a kind and wonderful woman.” Hilary hoped to lend her daughter a bit of comfort in the face of this strange and unprecedented experience. “She really liked you, Aria. Remember? She wanted you to get out of Nantucket. She wanted you to go to the city and have an adventure.”
Aria made a strange noise in her throat. “Some adventure.”
Hilary searched her daughter’s tone for insight. “Do you want to come home? Immediately? Be honest.”
Aria was quiet. “I don’t know. Something about being in the city helps, I think. I haven’t thought about the breakup in a little while.”
Hilary’s face loosened. “Dorothy was right, I guess?”
“I think she might have been,” Aria said. “But it’s too early to say.”
Hilary reasoned that they had a little bit of time to figure this out, that Aria could stay in the Greenwich Village brownstone a few more days before they understood the legalities involved in their situation.
“Hang tight,” Hilary said. “I’ll let you know what’s going on tomorrow.”
Aria promised she would. Hilary told her she loved her, and Aria said she loved her back. There was a small sob, one that nearly shattered Hilary’s heart, and then Aria hung up. Hilary pressed her phone to her chest and looked over at Sam, who looked pained.
“It never gets easier to have them far away, does it?” Hilary asked, thinking of Sam’s youngest daughter, Rachelle, who lived and worked as a chef in Rome.
“It’s miserable,” Sam agreed.
At least Manhattan wasn’t Rome, Hilary reasoned. At least Aria was just a five-hour drive away.
Sam had been to Rome often, of course. But she confessed that the distance had done something to her relationship with Rachelle.
“More and more, I don’t understand the things she says or does,” she said, cupping her knees as her eyes searched through the gray rain.
“It’s like she’s letting her personality shift away from her, replacing it with something more Italian and less Nantucket. It scares me.”
Hilary touched her sister’s hand. “She’ll always be your little girl. But I guess they have to grow and change and figure out who they’re meant to be.”
Sam laughed gently. “How dare they?” she joked.
When the chill grew too irritating and the rain was too hard, Hilary and Sam went indoors to watch a film.
They opted for While You Were Sleeping , which was much more appropriate for a Christmas afternoon than a late evening in early June, but they didn’t care.
They made popcorn and had tears in their eyes and talked about the allure of Bill Pullman.
They’d seen it enough that they didn’t need to pause it while they spoke.
They knew what was happening as though they’d written it themselves.
“He sort of looks like Marc,” Sam said of Bill.
Hilary laughed with surprise. “Do you think?”
“I really do,” Sam said.
“I wonder if that’s why I was first drawn to him,” Hilary said, mystified. “Does Derek have a celebrity lookalike?”
Sam thought for a moment, and Hilary brought up an image of Sam’s new husband to her mind’s eye. She remembered Sam and Derek on their wedding day, smiling and laughing as they slow-danced to a song that had everyone in the ballroom crying.
“Maybe he looks a little like Colin Farrell,” Hilary decided with a smile.
Sam snapped her fingers. “The hottest celebrity! In my book.”
Hilary laughed and took a few kernels of popcorn in her hand. She thought, Having a sister is the only healing I need.
After the movie, Hilary checked her phone to find a few messages from Aria, including several photographs of Dorothy Wagner and her late husband, Philip Wagner.
Hilary didn’t know much about him, save for the fact that he’d been one of the wealthier men who’d made Nantucket his part-time home.
Strangely, though, she felt sinister about him, as though something in her past indicated that Philip Wagner had been bad news.
Hilary felt that way about many of the wealthiest Nantucketers, though. As though it was impossible to ever trust someone with so much cash flow and so many homes.
ARIA: Gina says that Philip was always cheating on Dorothy.
That he was one of the biggest party animals of NYC during the seventies, eighties, and nineties.
I can’t stop thinking about that. What if Philip was Dorothy’s only love—and he treated her terribly?
What if he’s the reason she decided to lock herself away?
Hilary showed the photographs to Sam, who looked thoughtful. “We have to talk to Mom about this,” she said. “Estelle knows all.”
But when they went to the Coleman House the following late morning to pester Estelle about Dorothy and Philip Wagner, Estelle was distraught about Dorothy’s death and difficult to communicate with.
News had circulated the island, leading everyone to share their favorite memories of Dorothy, a woman they hadn’t really known in many years, yet everyone wanted to claim as their friend despite her refusal to join modern life.
Estelle’s eyes were red-rimmed.
“I can’t believe you were there,” she said to Hilary, throwing her arms around her. “They’re saying she died in her sleep?”
“She seemed okay yesterday.” Hilary sat on the sofa beside her mother and took her hand. “She seemed happy, even. She had so many plans for the future.”
“She just sent Aria to Manhattan!” Estelle declared. “Is she coming back?”
“I told her to hang tight for now,” Hilary said. “I’m going to call Dorothy’s lawyer and see. Technically, Aria’s already been paid for the first month of work up there. The papers have been signed.”
Estelle’s face was pinched. When she didn’t respond, Hilary added, “Technically, I’ve been paid for the next month of work at Dorothy’s estate as well.
And I’ve already begun tearing things apart.
Several of the walls no longer have that hideous eighties wallpaper.
But they’re exposed.” She sipped her coffee and grimaced.
“I can’t imagine that will help the mansion sell. ”
The money Dorothy had already paid Hilary, as well as the money promised to Hilary for the job in the future, was money she was relying on, especially after so many months off in preparation for the wedding (and in celebration of it). Aria certainly needed that money as well.
That was when Hilary remembered to ask her mother a question that weighed heavily on her mind. “I can’t stop thinking about Dorothy’s husband. What happened with Dorothy and Philip? What was that love story?”
Estelle’s eyes glinted with intrigue. She wrapped both hands around her mug of coffee. “Nobody’s talked about Philip Wagner in years.”
“That sounds sinister,” Sam said, cozying up on the sofa next to Hilary.
It was as though they were little girls again, preparing their hearts and minds for a classic Estelle bedtime story.