Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jack would never be able to explain the thoughts that had come over him when he’d made eye contact with his Tio Angelo across the street from the taco place.
It was as though, in those brief seconds, Jack was sixteen again, waiting for a cue from his uncle about where he was meant to go next.
He felt naive and hopeful and open to whatever happened, just as he’d been as a teenager.
But when his brain registered that Angelo was an aging man, that Jack himself was nearly forty-four years old, that only bad things had happened to him since he’d paired up with Tio Angelo, Jack was ripped back into the present.
As though he sensed this, Tio Angelo rounded the corner, escaping out of sight.
Jack’s heart ached with shock. All he’d wanted in the world was to rush across the street and give Tio Angelo a piece of his mind.
But Tio Angelo was slippery and always a few steps ahead.
He practiced yelling at Angelo in his mind. You don’t know what you did to me! You don’t know how you ruined us! You don’t know what you’ve done!
But he imagined that he would never get the chance to say any of that aloud.
Jack wasn’t necessarily convinced that Detective Bronson or anyone would be able to track Angelo down.
More than that, he wasn’t convinced that the White Oak Lodge wouldn’t burn once more, one day.
Maybe they’d work all year long as a family to reignite the passion behind the Lodge, to restore it to its former glory, only to watch it burn again.
He imagined the fireworks on Fourth of July, exploding through the windows, through the ornate ballroom and gorgeous dining hall, where already they’d shared so many meals.
In his arms, he had a feeling of loss and grief.
But maybe the lodge wasn’t the point, he thought then.
Maybe it never had been. Maybe Tio Angelo had been jealous of the powerful force of the Whitmore family, of the love that he’d known didn’t belong to him.
And maybe he’d wanted to destroy that love.
Along the way, he’d gotten carried away, drawn into provocative worlds of money and drugs and infamy.
But maybe it had all started so simply. Maybe it always did.
“Let’s get out of here,” Addison said, limping over the glass shards left behind by the hot sauce bottle. The guy behind the counter fetched a broom and returned to sweep it all away. Some red residue was left behind, but it seemed that the guy wasn’t paid enough to deal with all that.
Jack had a sudden and urgent desire to get out of Manhattan.
But he felt too exhausted to drive. Addison reminded him they still had a reservation at the hotel and could stay one more night before returning to their kids.
Jack couldn’t get enough time with them, not now that he’d become himself with them.
That night, Addison and Jack stayed up late in the hotel room, ordering room service once more and watching their phones, praying for information from Detective Bronson.
They’d told him about seeing Angelo across the street, of course, but he hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
It was similar to calling the police to report a ghost. Jack felt like a fool: chasing Angelo from Hawaii to Mexico, back to Hawaii, and to Manhattan again.
He called his father to tell him what had happened, only for Benjamin to say, “I think we need to give up on this. Are you open to that? Because I’m tired. I think we’re all tired.”
And it was with a sense of resignation that the following day, Jack and Addison returned to Nantucket Island.
After a five-hour drive, they stood on the top deck of the ferry, in the freezing-cold wind, and watched as their new home approached them on the horizon.
It was three thirty when they got back to the house on Madequecham Beach, where their three children waited for them and greeted them with hugs and kisses and stories of the few days they’d missed.
Their grandmother, Beth, was there as well, grinning and wrapped in one of the sweaters she’d spent that winter knitting back in Hawaii.
She’d knitted sweaters for each of the kids, too, which they wore despite saying they were itchy.
She told them that she’d already filed for divorce from Hugh. Jack watched Addison’s face, wondering if she was going to break down. But she just hugged her mother and told her she was proud of her and so grateful she’d decided to start a new life on Nantucket Island.
That night, they had a big feast at the White Oak Lodge to welcome Addison and Jack back to Nantucket.
Again, with a bit more pomp and circumstance, and without leaving out the story of the German back in Hawaii, they told everyone what had happened and how close they’d gotten to Angelo.
But they confessed that Angelo had probably slipped out of their grasp once again for now.
Francesca hugged Jack close and whispered in his ear in Italian, “I can’t thank you enough for trying to protect us. Thank you for flying all over the world to try to end this story. Maybe it’s a story that has no end? Maybe that’s something we can be grateful for.”
But Jack felt nagged with a sense of incompleteness. He didn’t like the idea that he and the rest of the Whitmores would have to watch out behind them for the rest of their lives, conscious that Angelo might be following. Conscious that he could try to blackmail them at every turn.
After their return from New York, things settled into an easy pattern, one that Jack found himself adoring.
Every day, he, Addison, and Beth did everything they could to prepare the White Oak Lodge for the May reopening.
They painted, sanded, decorated, and put together furniture.
They helped interview candidates for various roles, including chef, event planner, and horse stable manager.
They attended meetings with the other Whitmores, changed their minds, got into minor arguments, and always found a way to compromise.
Almost always at the end of the day, there was a big meal they shared together.
Usually, it was Italian food, because they couldn’t get enough of it, and they knew that Francesca couldn’t resist it, even if she felt too sick from the chemo to eat much.
Jack continued to take his mother to chemotherapy treatments.
She remained powerful and stoic, despite the toll they took on her body.
Sometimes she came into the lodge to help out, but often she remained in bed, reading, writing, and watching television until someone came to fetch her for dinner.
Jack made sure to visit her often throughout the week.
He brought his kids, who’d begun to speak to her in an Italian that frightened him.
They were getting really good at the language, really quickly.
Kids had incredible brains. Jack often spoke to them in Italian at home to practice, until Addison asked them to quit boxing her out.
The doctor maintained his belief that Francesca would probably get better. But there were no guarantees, certainly not in this life. Jack knew that better than most.
Slowly, and then all at once, spring unfurled before them.
Tiny buds popped up on the oak and maple trees that lined the beautiful streets of Nantucket.
After living in Hawaii for so long, Jack found spring to be a total surprise, a total beauty.
It was something you had to earn, he thought.
Living in a warm place meant that it never felt like time passed.
It meant you never really appreciated a warm day because you hadn’t been truly cold.
At the end of March, Francesca had her final chemotherapy treatment. They wouldn’t know for a little while if the cancer was gone. But she was grateful to “have that whole thing over with,” as she always said. Like it was some silly ordeal she had to go through.
To celebrate the end of Francesca’s chemotherapy, Benjamin arranged for a family party at the beginning of April.
Now that the lodge was nearly ready for its May reopening, it felt genuinely surreal to stand on the lush green lawn that wrapped around the grand house.
It was like dropping back into the past. Jack sipped a beer and wrapped his arm around Addison, watching as their three children played with their cousins Will and Fiona, running up and down the beach.
The water was still too cold to swim in, but they tried their luck, dipping their toes in and screaming.
Birds twittered overhead, and flower petals curled from their buds.
On the porch, Jack’s sisters were squabbling about how to set the table and which salad to put out first. His mother sat in the sunlight, her glossy wig set perfectly on her head, her sunglasses enormous and chic.
Benjamin came to sit beside her and take her hand.
This was a feeling of peace that Jack hadn’t felt during all his years in Hawaii.
And then, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket to read Detective Bronson.
He nearly fell to his knees.