Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was late afternoon when the police cars, journalists, and news vans appeared in the driveway of the White Oak Lodge, their lights flashing, their Thanksgiving meals forgotten at home.
The journalists styled their hair in front of tiny mirrors, fixed their lipstick or their eyebrows, and glanced back at the half-burnt Lodge, a place of mystery and buried treasure.
Francesca watched it all from the front porch.
The Whitmores had already eaten their Thanksgiving dinner, and her stomach felt full, her head blurry.
But this would be a Thanksgiving for the ages.
She wasn’t going to miss a second. She wasn’t going to sit down.
When Nina had followed her father and Francesca downstairs and into the tunnels, she’d done so with an air of fear.
Francesca guessed that Nina knew precisely what they’d found.
She knew how this would complicate her relationship with her ex-husband.
She knew that he would be enraged. But when Nina knelt before the treasure and looked at the coins, she knew what they were almost immediately.
“Spanish and Portuguese galleons,” she said.
“Sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Absolutely incredible.” Her eyes shone.
And then she’d looked at her father and said, “We have to call someone. This is bigger news than we know.”
Now, Benjamin appeared on the front porch, drinking a glass of wine and wearing a bemused smile. “I can’t believe how quickly they got here. We haven’t even had pie yet.”
Francesca burst into laughter, then quieted when she saw a string of journalists hurrying up the walkway to the porch.
After their tunnel expedition, Francesca had showered in the one shower available to use at the White Oak Lodge but hadn’t bothered with makeup.
She probably looked older than the galleons in that chest. She turned away and entered the Lodge, listening as the journalists threw questions toward Benjamin.
Benjamin had agreed with his children that news of the treasure would serve as an incredible advertisement for next summer’s tourists.
He answered simple questions, saying, “My family and I have discovered what we believe is pirate treasure under the White Oak Lodge. Once upon a time, the Lodge was an old stay for whalers and other seamen who needed rest and warmth after long months at sea. There is no telling how long the treasure has been hidden in the tunnels.”
Francesca smiled to herself and hurried back to the kitchen to find Charlotte, Nina, Allegra, and Lorelei. The sisters were drying plates and bowls and begging Nina to call her ex-husband and tell him about the treasure and all he’d missed out on. Nina blushed and laughed.
“I’m not petty,” she said.
“Come on,” Allegra said. “It’s too good to pass up.”
“He’ll see it on the news anyway,” Lorelei said. “You should go let yourself get interviewed.”
“Yeah, don’t let Dad take all the credit,” Charlotte teased.
It was at this moment that something occurred to Francesca, something incredible.
She thought of the little makeup bag she’d brought with her, in which she kept all the essentials she’d assumed she’d put on her face before she ate Thanksgiving dinner.
(She hadn’t imagined she’d be too distracted with the treasure to care.) But it was to this bag she rushed.
Carrying it into the bathroom, she considered all the televisions across the continental United States and beyond, most of which were on during Thanksgiving, showing football games and parades and, hopefully, the news.
Her hands shook as she put on foundation and slid lipstick across her lips.
Please be watching, she begged the universe. Please let this lead to something else.
When her makeup was finished, she took a deep breath and pictured her darling Jack’s face.
She remembered him best when he was a teenager, driving around that banged-up truck, listening to songs too loud on the radio, playing with his sister Nina, laughing in Italian with Angelo.
She hadn’t known that Jack was dealing drugs for Angelo, but she had known that something wasn’t right, that Jack was up to no good.
Had she been too weak a mother to figure out what to do?
Maybe. But she wouldn’t be weak right now.
She was facing chemotherapy. She was facing the rest of her limited life. She had to do what was right.
When she returned to the porch, she found Nina midway through an interview with a prominent Boston journalist. Nina spoke in-depth about the treasure discovery and what it meant to the community.
Her words were articulate and intellectual.
Francesca was sure that Nina was bringing her ex-husband to shame. Good riddance, she thought.
When Nina’s interview came to a natural close, Francesca stepped toward her, cleared her throat, and said to the Boston-based journalist, “I have something to say about the White Oak Lodge, about the Whitmores, and about the treasure.”
The Boston-based journalist blinked at her as though she wasn’t sure she wanted to proceed. But Francesca gave her a look that meant: take me seriously. So she pulled the microphone over to Francesca and asked, “Can you tell me about what happened today?”
Francesca felt her life flash before her eyes: film school in Rome, her wedding day, her children’s births, her flight to Rome, Jefferson’s return to her life, Jefferson’s death, the discovery of the treasure, the discovery of a brand-new life.
“The fire that burned the White Oak Lodge in 1998 was no accident,” Francesca said. “But I want to announce to the world that my husband, Benjamin, was not the culprit. Neither was my son Alexander.”
The journalist looked intrigued.
“The fire that night chased numerous loved ones from my life, including my son Jack,” Francesca went on.
“Jack, we’re using this news broadcast to implore you to come home.
We need you here on Nantucket Island, Jack.
Wherever you are, know you’re always welcome here.
This is your home.” Her voice broke, and she felt her body wavering, as though she might pass out.
Benjamin hurried to steady her. Here, he looked at the camera and said, “Come home, Jack. We need you here. We’ll trade any treasure to have our family complete.”
The journalist seemed vaguely exacerbated. “But who started the fire at the White Oak Lodge that night? It’s been a question on everyone’s minds lately. Set the story straight, Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore, please.”
Francesca pictured her brother, Angelo, the anger in his eyes, and the volatile way he moved through the world.
She could imagine him striking the match.
She could imagine the fire frothing between him and Benjamin and Jack.
Surely, he’d grabbed the money and run. But why had he blackmailed not only Alexander but Benjamin and Jack as well?
He’d wanted to protect himself from them.
But still, Francesca couldn’t give her brother away.
The love for him made her falter. Benjamin took her hand and told the journalist that they didn’t know the answer to that.
“We don’t know if we’ll ever understand what happened that night,” Benjamin said.
“But suffice it to say, we’re regrouping as a family.
We’re reopening the White Oak Lodge in the summer of 2026.
We hope to see all of you there for a luxurious summer season. ”
The journalist called cut and stalked away. Using the last of Francesca’s strength, she hurried across the lawn to touch her shoulder. The journalist whirled around.
“Please,” Francesca whispered. “Please, tell me you’ll air what I said about my son.”
The dark expression on the journalist’s face melted, if only for a moment. “I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “Good luck finding him.”
Three hours later, Francesca, Benjamin, and the rest of the Whitmores and their partners and children were sprawled out on the various sofas and armchairs they’d gathered in the main dining hall of the White Oak Lodge.
Before them was a massive television, upon which was shown a “breaking news” story about “treasure at the White Oak Lodge.” Francesca and Benjamin held hands as the Boston-based journalist spoke about the story, described the tunnels and the scene, and showed the interview with Nina, who knew far more about galleons than she’d initially led on.
Eventually, Francesca appeared on the screen, begging for Jack to come home. But a split-second later, her face was gone, and the news was on to another story. Their moment in the sun was over.
“What happens to the treasure now?” Alexander asked, wrapping his arm around his wife, Janie.
Nina explained that the treasure would need to be analyzed by a team of experts. As the owners of the White Oak Lodge, they would receive money, but probably not as much as the treasure was worth. “It’s priceless. It’s more a relic from the past than anything else,” she said.
“Does he know yet?” Allegra pestered her about her ex-husband.
But Nina pressed her finger to her lips and referred to her children, who didn’t know their father was such a manipulative loser. They’d discover it soon, Francesca knew.
For nearly an hour, Francesca worked on forgetting that Jack had missed the news report. She ate a piece of pie, spoke to Lorelei about her chemotherapy schedule, hugged Benjamin, and played a game with her grandkids. For nearly an hour, she basked in the joy of this wonderfully strange day.
But at nine thirty that night, as people began reaching for their coats and making excuses to go, Charlotte’s phone buzzed in her pocket.
Everyone yanked around to look at her, knowing that she was the single-strongest link to Jack, or “Seth Green.” Francesca’s heart pounded.
Charlotte pulled her phone from her pocket and answered it with a shaking hand.
“Jack?” she whispered, incredulous. “Jack, is it really you?”