Nantucket Blue

Forty-two





“DAD SAID YOU SAID SOMETHING terrible about that child, drank a mug of pinot grigio, and took off through the backyard like a bat out of hell. I didn’t even know you’d left Nantucket. What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

I started at the beginning, at the memorial service. I told her about the party and Parker and the mean thing I’d said about Jay and his brother. I told her that Zack and I had started dating secretly, that I hadn’t meant for it to happen, but that our relationship seemed to have a life of its own. I told her that it’d become serious.

“How serious?” she asked.

“Serious,” I said.

“Serious serious?” She closed her eyes.

“Yes.”

“I’m not ready for this,” she said, now covering her entire face with her hands. “Were you safe?”

“Mom! I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“As your mother, I have to ask. It’s my job. Were you safe?”

“Fine. Yes.”

“Good. Are you planning on getting serious again soon? We need to make you a doctor’s appointment.”

“Mom, not now.”

“Okay, okay. We can talk about it later.” She cleared her throat. “Are you and Zack still together?”

I told her about Jay and the picture in The Inquirer and Mirror, and how everyone on Nantucket hated me and I couldn’t go back. I told her that we needed to look into boarding schools for the fall. Boarding schools that were at least two states away.

“You’re not going to boarding school,” Mom said.

“Why not?”

“Because you have to face this.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t just run away. Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

Mom smiled. “No hesitation there.”

“I know I love him. But I don’t know what to do.”

“First we need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve broken into the Claytons’ house, that’s why,” she said, a little amused that I couldn’t see this for myself.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I had a feeling. You love this house.”

“How did you get in?”

“You left the door wide open, and all the lights were on, leading right to this room. You may as well have left a trail of bread crumbs. Come on, now. I think we should get some dinner and talk it over.” I shook my head. “I’m craving fried clams.” I moaned. She knows how much I love fried clams. She took my hand and looked me in the eye. “You can handle this.”

“I can’t go back to Nantucket,” I said.

“Right now I’m just asking you to get out of bed and splash water on your face. That’s it.” Okay, I thought. Okay. I can do that. “One leg on the ground,” she said. I put one leg on the floor. “Now the other.” Both feet were on the floor. Once I’d done that, it wasn’t as hard to climb out of those soft Italian sheets. I opened the door to Jules’s little bathroom and ran the cold tap. It’d been a long time since I’d heard that take-charge tone in Mom’s voice. It’d been years.

“I do have some good news,” I said as I brought a handful of water to my face.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Paul Morgan is still in love with you.” I patted my face dry with a hand towel monogrammed with Jules’s loopy initials.

“What? Who’s Paul Morgan?”

“Your first love?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” In the bathroom mirror, I watched her make up the bed. It didn’t look like she was lying. She didn’t seem to be having any emotional reaction at all. She was focused on tucking in the sheets.

“The name Paul Morgan doesn’t ring a single bell?” I asked.

“Not one,” Mom said. She fluffed the pillows.

“Maybe this will help.” I dried my hands and pulled the Emily Dickinson book out of my bag. I fanned the pages until I saw the picture of Mom and the guy. I plucked it out. That’s when I saw the boat-shaped birthmark on Lover Boy’s lower back.

“Oh my god, Paul Morgan wasn’t your first love. Boaty Carmichael was.”