Chapter Twenty-One Lily
Lily!” I hear a voice shout. “Are you okay?”
I’m pressing my forehead against the cold wrought iron armrest of Lottie’s bench.
I keep my vision fixated on the sunflowers in the garden, half expecting them to blink their large heads back at me.
It’s been nearly a week since the museum trip with Theo.
My heart drops down to my belly button and then back up to my throat, like a yo-yo pulled back after reaching too far a drop.
“Is it a panic attack?” a man’s voice asks.
In my disorientation, it takes me a moment to realize it’s Thomas speaking.
I nod weakly, confused for a moment about how he knows. The gallery called back. Marie Chen.
When I saw the caller ID pop up on my phone, something quick and frantic fluttered in my chest. I wiped my palms on my jeans, tucked my hair behind my ears, smoothing it down as if she could see me, and took a deep breath before answering.
“Hello?” I said, practicing the chirp of a gallerist. Better to start dressing for the part now.
“Hi, is this Lily Gardner?”
“Yes, it is.” The creature in my chest was alive then, batting its wings rapidly against the edges of my rib cage.
“This is Marie calling about your application. I’m sorry to say I cannot accept your request at this time. But thank you for your interest. It was lovely meeting you.”
The wings abruptly stopped their flapping. “Oh, okay.” Before she could hang up, I hurried to fill the dead space. “May I ask why?”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause on the other end of the phone.
I imagined Marie in her undoubtedly fancy kitchen in her undoubtedly fancy home.
I pictured her in an iteration of the outfit she wore the night of the fundraiser: all tailored blazers and the type of expensive leather shoes that have never seen grass.
Marie is someone you could never picture in pajamas.
“You were an assistant for Clive Bozeman, which is very impressive, but when we asked him for a recommendation, he refused. I’m sorry, Lily, but we value transparency here.”
“Well, thank you for your consideration, I really app—” Before I could finish, there was no one on the line left to hear it. Marie had hung up.
How did this happen? How did the three years I worked day and night for Clive come down to this?
Nothing? All those late nights, dry-cleaning runs, the coffee spilled on my shirt before seven in the morning…
I never once complained. I never once said, “This is not in my job description.” I never took vacation days, always worked on holidays.
I didn’t ask for credit for my ideas or complain when he took ownership over them. Now I’m unemployable.
Everything used to be wide open. Now life is solidifying. It is beckoning me like an open door, and everyone else is walking into it, securing a future for themselves, while I stand there, paralyzed by indecision, until all of the doors slam shut.
When did this happen? When did I run out of time to waste?
I think about Henry’s offer again to introduce me to family friends in the industry. This time, with some regret.
“Lily, can you look up at me and take a deep breath?” Thomas’s voice is closer now.
I look up slowly and see that he’s sitting beside me on the bench.
Everything around us, including him, seems to vibrate slightly around the edges.
My heart is speeding ahead of the rest of my body, my hands are shaking, and I can’t seem to take a full breath.
“We’re going to do a little grounding exercise together, okay?” says Thomas. I try to focus on his voice. “Can you name five things you can see?”
I look at the garden behind him. “A green bush, pink peonies, honeysuckles, shingles, and grass.”
“Very good. Now how about four things you can touch?”
I close my eyes and breathe. “The wood of the bench, the iron armrest.” I put my hands on my lap, gripping the sleeves of my sweater. “The cotton of my sweater, the dirt beneath my shoes.”
“Perfect,” says Thomas. He models another deep breath. “Now, how about three things you can hear?”
“Your voice, a passing car, the ocean.” I can sense the waves of panic receding. It’s not gone, but it’s relenting just enough for me to gasp for air.
“Excellent. Two things you can smell?”
“Honeysuckles again, grass.”
“And finally, one thing you can taste?”
Regret, I want to say. “Coffee from breakfast.”
“Wonderful. How do you feel now?”
I open my eyes and look at Thomas’s face, his expression expectant and concerned. “I feel better,” I admit. “Thank you.”
I know the grounding technique he walked me through is called the 5-4-3-2-1 method—Rose taught me it when I first told her about the panic attacks—but I’ve never been able to successfully use it before. Thomas was the one to break through.
“Good,” he says. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
The attack has mostly dispersed, but I’m left with a trembling exhaustion afterward like a fever has just broken. I shake my head.
“When did you learn that?” I ask him instead.
“After my wife died, I started having some panic attacks.” He looks at the grass when he speaks. “I went to a therapist and they helped me through it.”
“Thank you,” I say again, because as we both know, I’m sorry isn’t enough. “Would you tell me about her?” He looks up, surprised. “I mean, only if you’re comfortable with it.”
A smile crosses his face. Somehow, it still looks tired.
“She was amazing,” he says. “She was passionate, loving, and had the best laugh.” His smile spreads, becomes more genuine.
“She always carried around extra Band-Aids or protein bars or candy. I swear her purse was the biggest thing I ever saw. She always made sure to have extra items on hand in case anyone needed anything. I used to call it her Mary Poppins bag, because it seemed to defy the laws of the universe.”
Thomas laughs, and I do, too. It’s hard not to be in awe of this woman he’s described. I can see the full spectrum of the loss on his face.
“She was also an artist like you,” he says.
“She made these really cool ceramics. Our house back home is covered in them. She was also stubborn. A complete know-it-all.” He laughs again.
“I refused to be anywhere near her when Jeopardy! came on. Plus, she had a wicked temper.” Thomas sighs. “I miss her every day.”
We sit in silence for a few moments.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because even though I know it isn’t enough, it’s the truth. I’m so sorry for his loss.
“Thank you,” Thomas says. “I miss my kids, too. I’m hoping they’ll come visit at the end of the summer.”
“At the cottage?” I suppose they could sleep on the couch, but the guest side is pretty small as it is.
“I’ve actually been looking at property here,” he says. “I’ve been going to some open houses. If possible, I’d love to buy a place, and of course, give you two some privacy.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised. “I thought after the wedding you would want to leave the island altogether, not find a more permanent residence.”
“I’m sorry about that outburst, by the way,” he says, nodding in my direction. “It was unlike me.”
“Don’t be sorry. It was my fault for meddling. Does that mean you’re feeling better about my mom?”
Thomas shifts on the bench, leaning back. “I don’t know. Being back here made me realize how much I miss this place. Plus, I’ve been meeting with my partner from my old company. He has a house in Madaket, so we’ve been spending a lot of time together, dreaming up what might be another idea.”
Once again, I’m taken aback. “I had no idea you were meeting with your business partner while you’re here.”
He eyes me teasingly. “You thought I was just loitering around your mom’s property, waiting around to take relationship advice from a twenty-something-year-old?”
My cheeks burn. When he says it aloud, I realize how ridiculous my idea of him has been. Thomas smiles, and the expression has a warming effect. My mind flashes to the image of the captain’s portrait in my closet.
“Tommy?” I hear from the direction of the cottage.
Thomas stands up immediately, looking flustered. “Hello,” he says to Rose, smoothing down his shirt. She’s standing in the doorway of our side of the cottage, her straw purse by her side and sunglasses blocking her eyes.
Rose stands there stiffly, looking like there’s something she wants to say, until she notices my posture.
“Lily, are you okay?” She rushes to my side. Thomas steps out of her way. “You look pale.” She presses a cold hand to my cheek.
“I’m fine,” I assure Mom. “I’m just tired. I’ll be okay. Thomas helped me.”
Rose looks unconvinced but she knows when to drop a subject, a by-product of her clinical training: Never push a patient before they’re ready.
“I should be going,” says Thomas to her left. “I hope you feel better.”
Rose turns to look at him. “Thank you,” she says with emotion in her voice. “For helping Lily. I really appreciate it.”
He nods solemnly. “Of course.”
With that, he returns to his side of the cottage, taking slow, deliberate steps as if he has to intentionally tell his body where to move next.
Rose turns her attention back to me. “Are you still okay to come with me to the ferry?”
Today is the day my grandfather and aunt arrive for their annual two-week stay. I know Rose has been dreading it, and even though no part of me takes pleasure from seeing either of them, my mom needs my support.
“I’ll be fine.” I force a smile. “I promise.”
An hour later we wait at the dock. We’re down by the wharf, standing on the packed cobblestone streets.
Tourists mill around, bopping from shop to shop that all sell various Nantucket-shaped merchandise.
It’s always struck me as a funny phenomenon, the way we plaster the places we visit across our outerwear, as if it says something about our values to advertise the names of locations we’ve been.
Then again, maybe the places we love really are part of us, and I suppose there are worse things to advertise.
It’s a hot July day, and even the breeze coming off the harbor isn’t enough to cool my nerves. I take my sweater off and tie it around my waist, so I’m only in a white T-shirt. We’re early, because, well, Rose is always early.
“Do you think they brought the cat?” Rose asks, adjusting her large sunglasses.
“I guess it depends on the rental. What did Josie find them?”
“There was nothing in their budget, so she’s letting them stay in her family’s guesthouse downtown for half the price. She’s an angel.”
“Wow, does Grandpa know that?” I can’t imagine my grandfather would like being the source of someone else’s pity. His ego would never allow the charity.
Mom rolls her eyes. “No, he still thinks prices are what they were twenty years ago.”
“That’s awfully nice of Josie. So, the two of you made up?”
“She’s the best,” says Mom. “I apologized the other day and thankfully, she forgave me.”
It makes me think of Jade, whom I still haven’t spoken to.
I keep waiting, hoping she’ll be the one who breaks the ice first. I want to reach out, but she’s probably busy.
She works as a literary assistant at a small firm in SoHo.
Her social media is riddled with book parties and nights out with her boyfriend, Mark.
It feels like our lives are farther apart than ever.
“Did you explain the history between you and Thomas?”
Mom’s eyes are unreadable beneath the thick shades, but her mouth compresses. “No, I didn’t want to get into it. She still has no idea.”
In the distance, we see the ferry pulling in, its large, imposing body narrowly navigating the crowded docks. During Christmas, it’s tradition for Santa to arrive here by the port, riding in with the Coast Guard. It’s one of my favorite island quirks.
“Do I look okay?” asks Rose, suddenly nervous. She picks up the glasses and uses them to push back her hair. It’s clear she’s dressed up for the occasion: sandals and a nice white linen dress with a belt around the waist.
“You look great. What are you so worried about?”
“You know how my dad can be,” says Rose. I watch her eyes flit across the heads of the new arrivals, searching for her family in the crowd. “I bet you the first thing he says to me is, ‘You look pale.’ ”
“You’re being harsh,” I say, but I know she’s probably right. Still, I’ve found my grandfather to have mellowed in age a little bit.
Toward the middle of the departing line—unmistakable in their nearly identical outfits of matching beige crewnecks—are my grandfather and aunt.
“Hi!” yells Elizabeth, waving above the moving crowd. She’s carrying two large suitcases, enough luggage for a yearlong stay, and her blond hair is cut into a short, neat bob.
To her left, my grandfather looks as stately as ever with his tall stature, thick white hair, and proud features.
His chin is perpetually haughty, raised parallel to the ground.
Both of them are freshly tanned, probably due to another lavish vacation they can’t afford or a trip to the tanning beds they adore.
“Here comes the gruesome twosome,” Mom mumbles to me under her breath before fixing a smile on her face.
“Lily, my dear,” says my grandfather when he reaches us.
He leans down to plant a kiss on my cheek.
“Looking fine as ever.” I try not to wonder if he means the statement more as an insult or a compliment.
“And dear Rosie! My child, have you been working away all summer? You’re looking even paler than usual. ”
Leave it to my grandfather to comment first on our appearance.
It’s the greatest disappointment of his life that we look more like his late wife than we do him.
At least he has Elizabeth to fulfill her duties as the great carrier of both his vanity and his genome.
The two of them—tall, slender, blond, and tan—look more like twins than father-daughter.
Elizabeth’s tiny white Persian cat, named Mrs. Clay, shakes in a pink carrier. Her onyx eyes stare us down, as judgmental as its owner.
“And look who we ran into on the ferry!” says Elizabeth as she leans over to give me a hug.
My grandfather moves aside to reveal their surprise guest. The appearance is so incongruous with my every expectation of the afternoon that it takes me a few seconds to register the sight. There, standing between my grandfather and aunt, is my father.
“Surprise!” he says, jazz hands at the ready.