Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Present Day
It felt impossible that Max Spader was on Nantucket Island at the same time as Nora.
Creeping through the front door of the bookstore, her heart fluttering in her throat, Nora tried to recall the last time she’d seen him.
There was so much she couldn’t articulate about that summer, so much she’d never even told Isaac.
But those final memories of Max and Nantucket were drowned out by the current image of Max, fifty-eight years old now, standing at the front of the bookstore, chatting with one of his fans.
His hair was salt and pepper these days, still curly and wild, as though he’d just stepped off a sailboat, and he wore a pair of black jeans and a black button-down.
On the back of the chair was a dark blue jean jacket, which made her think that he was a “forever young” type, a vagabond who’d written books and traveled the world.
It wasn’t hard to believe he’d become that sort of man.
Despite having been adjacent to the literary world for most of her career, and despite having read numerous books, Nora hadn’t realized that Max Spader was a famous novelist. She hadn’t realized that he’d actually made it work.
Now, she saw lined up on the side table six books written by him, all of which had pronouncements like “New York Times’ Bestseller” on the cover.
Clearly, he was successful. Maybe her friends back in Manhattan had been reading him.
Perhaps, if she’d only pulled her head out of the sand, she’d have noticed his work before.
Leaving Hilary and the other Salt Sisters behind, Nora walked over to the side of the room to look at the back of the book and read the author bio. It was simple, which suited him. Max Spader is a novelist originally from Nantucket Island. He lives between California and Europe.
“Europe?” Nora whispered aloud, surprising herself.
When she glanced back at Max, she saw that he was talking to the bookshop worker, saying that he was ready to begin at any time.
The fan he’d been chatting with looked disappointed, as though she’d decided that Max Spader had come to Nantucket specifically to meet her.
More than forty readers were lined up against the walls and seated in the plastic chairs facing Max. Hilary gestured for Nora to come sit with them. They’d saved her a seat. As Nora slid in beside Hilary, Hilary muttered into her ear, “Are you all right?”
Nora wasn’t sure how honest to be. But because she was caught off guard, she finally whispered back, “I know him.”
Hilary pulled her head away to look Nora in the eye. There was a flicker of understanding, maybe. “You know him well,” Hilary finished.
Nora raised her shoulders and turned back to look at Max Spader.
His fans were quieting, waiting for him to begin.
He sat behind the desk in front of them and flattened his hands on the wood.
He looked comfortable with them, as though he’d done readings like this many times before.
Nora flinched, reaching for her phone to get a handle on his career before now.
A part of her wanted to see if he was married, if he had children.
Why had he ended up in Europe, of all places? And which part?
“Thanks for coming out today,” Max said.
His voice was almost the same as it had been, but maybe deeper and more rugged. Was hers deeper and more rugged? She was certainly not the sixteen-year-old he’d once known.
“I guess many of you know that I’m from Nantucket Island originally,” Max continued. “It’s always quite a rush to be back here. Every corner, every street, every beach is filled with memories. Some of them are good, and some of them… as you know from this book… are not so good.”
There was light laughter in the crowd. Nora’s stomach tightened. She thought back to the title, Nantucket Secret Society, and everything that had happened during that summer so many years ago. Was it possible that he’d put her in this book? Was it possible that everyone from that summer was in it?
Her pulse quickened. She felt strangely naked, although nobody in the crowd noticed her.
Nora fought with herself about what to do. On the one hand, if she got up now, before he began to read, he would most definitely notice her and demand answers. If she waited, she’d have to sit through his reading and face the past. Which was worse?
But she waited too long to make a decision, and time made one for her.
All at once, Max opened his book halfway through and said, “I’m going to read from a chapter where some of the action really gets started, so to speak.
It’s a time during the novel when the protagonist, a young woman who’s come to Nantucket after devastating events transpired in her life, begins to think that the people she’s spending time with aren’t who she thinks they are. ”
Nora’s heart thudded. Devastating events? Like the loss of both of her parents in a car accident? Sweat poured from her pores.
Max said, “It was the seventeenth of June when Naomi was invited to Peter’s yacht.
Apprehension spilled through her. What Melody had insinuated about Peter and where he got his money from was never far from Naomi’s mind.
But that feeling fought hard against Naomi’s intrinsic desire to fit in, to become a part of something bigger than the world she’d left behind.
These people had never lost anything, not the way she had. ”
As Nora listened, she felt as though she was levitating out of the plastic seat beneath her.
Max continued, describing a scene in which the character “Naomi” saw something on that yacht, something that she couldn’t ever forget.
When he finished, all the readers in the room were captivated, clapping euphorically. Nora was filled with dread.
As the applause subsided, the bookstore clerk approached the store's manager to thank both Max and the audience. “We’ll now open the floor for questions,” he said, turning on a microphone. “Who wants to start?”
An elderly woman in the front row asked the first question. It was clear that she’d read the book at least once, maybe more, and knew the ins and outs of the characters. “Do you think a part of Naomi knew what she was getting into?” she asked.
Max picked up his own microphone and laughed gently.
“The way I read Naomi is, I think she wants so desperately to belong somewhere that she’s willing to ignore her instincts.
I think she feels a darkness within these people.
But she also thinks there’s a darkness within herself.
I think most of us believe we’re not very kind or good all the time.
I think Naomi’s self-worth is in the trash can, especially after what happened to her. ”
The woman nodded and handed the mic off to the next person with a question. Eventually, the mic worked its way back to Hilary, who asked, “Where did the inspiration for this novel come from? I know writers hate that question.”
Max smiled. “I don’t hate that question.
I think it’s fascinating to peel back a writer’s stories and find the real heart beneath.
It’s why we love to read autobiographies about major artists, right?
As I said, I was raised on Nantucket Island.
But unlike many Nantucket residents, I had very little money.
To make up for that, I worked odd jobs for very wealthy people.
I saw their parties; I saw the way they lived.
I saw the way they manipulated one another and did everything they could to maintain their power. It wasn’t pretty.”
“No. It doesn’t sound like it,” Hilary said. “Are any of the characters in your book based on real people?”
Max thought for a moment. He let his eyes flutter to the table. “It’s hard to answer that,” he said. “All the characters have bits and pieces of all the people I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Who is your favorite character in the novel?” Hilary asked, taking two questions for herself. Nora was impressed with her courage. Other readers were dying for the mic.
Max thought for a moment. “There is so much to love about Naomi, obviously. I have a lot of compassion for her, and I’m intrigued by her, too.
I struggled to understand her. I mean, I struggled while writing the book to figure out what she wanted to do next and why.
But I also like her love interest, Mick.
He’s funny and scrappy in a way that, I guess, reminds me of myself back then.
Back when I wanted to live on the outskirts of these people and their fabulous lives.
It’s a way of reassessing my own past and where I’ve been and how I became who I am now. ”
Nora’s head rang. As the microphone passed from Hilary to Tina, she had half a mind to grab it, stand up, and say, “Hello? Aren’t I your Naomi? Aren’t I your inspiration? Didn’t you steal everything from my life for your book?”
But it wasn’t like she could tell him not to do that.
Writers were inspired by everything. You could walk past a writer in the morning and wind up in the chapters of their novel by the afternoon.
You were at the mercy of their imagination.
Nora remained seated, still weighing up whether or not she wanted to leave the bookstore before he noticed her, or stay and face the music.
About twenty minutes later, Nora stood in line with the other Salt Sisters, who wanted Max Spader to sign their novels and look them in the eye.
Nora purchased one of his books from the bookseller, pressing it against her heart as she waited.
Max took his time with each reader, as though he wanted to make sure they knew he cared about them.
But he couldn’t possibly care about all of them, could he?
“Has he ever written a book like this before?” Nora asked the Salt Sisters.
Hilary frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like a story set on Nantucket. A story about wealthy people on this island,” Nora said.
“Never,” Tina said. “He said he never felt ready to write about Nantucket till now. I should have asked what changed his mind about that!”
“Maybe you can ask him when he signs your book,” Stella said.
As the line crept closer, Nora cradled Max’s novel and listened to her heart pound.
She was directly behind Hilary and in front of Tina, meaning that the Salt Sisters would see whatever happened between her and Max.
But what if Max took one look at her and didn’t recognize her?
She laughed at the thought. She was fifty-seven years old: forty-one years older than she’d been when they’d shared that first kiss.
She looked like a completely different person.
Hilary happily chatted with Max, telling him her name and how much she’d loved the book. “I’m sorry that I asked you that question about who the characters are based on,” she said. “I’m sure it’s really personal.”
“I like when things get personal at a Q&A,” Max said. He beamed at Hilary.
For a moment, Nora was seized with fear that Max was flirting with Hilary. But a split-second later, Hilary thanked him and walked off, happy with her signed book. This left Nora, chest heaving, staring at the writer who’d written a book about her.
At first, Max gave her a confused smile.
It was obvious that he was tired and counting down the people until he could return to wherever he was staying, order takeout, and rest. Nora couldn’t smile back.
She was too frightened. But she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him, either.
The air in the room shifted, tightened. Nora could no longer hear what anyone around her was saying. It was just her and Max.
It struck Max like lightning. “Nora?” He was on his feet, gaping at her.
Nora felt the Salt Sisters’ eyes on her, confused, exhilarated.
“Hi, Max,” she said, still pressing his book to her chest.
Max swept his fingers through his hair. “Nora, I can’t believe this. Are you here? In Nantucket?”
“I’m here,” she said.
Max walked around the table to get closer to her, presumably because she still hung too far away from the table, like a frightened child. She told herself to keep smiling. She didn’t want panic to set in.
When Max reached her, he seemed to realize that he was making a scene and that the other readers weren’t happy about it. He hung back, crossing his arms. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Great reading,” Nora said, tilting her head. “I haven’t read the entire book yet.”
“You’re going to read it?” Max asked.
“I bought a copy.” She raised it, then handed it over for him to sign.
He looked down at the book as though he’d never seen it before.
The readers behind the Salt Sisters were getting restless, muttering to one another.
Nora wanted to tell them to stand down and leave the bookstore so she and Max could have a chat.
But all at once, Max returned to his chair, opened her book, and signed To Nora, Our lives are history.
Max. After a dramatic pause, he added an area code and seven digits. He wrote out his cell phone number.