When she wakes up, she has no idea where she is at first. She’s on a couch that smells vaguely of cigarettes; she’s fully clothed and covered by a green chenille blanket. On the coffee table is a glass of water and two cans of Bud Light.
Dylan’s house, she thinks. Shit. Her neck is stiff, so she moves her eyes only—there’s a kitchen to the right and a staircase over by the front door. There’s no sign of Dylan or anyone else. She takes note of the huge train set dominating the living room—Thomas the Tank Engine—and the play workshop against one wall. The toys make her uncomfortable. She has to get out of here, but how? Dylan is most likely upstairs in his bedroom asleep. Should Caroline text him? He works so hard, he deserves to rest; she can order a Lyft. She puts on her sandals, folds the chenille blanket, carefully steps around the train tracks, and opens the front door.
Outside, the air is cool and heavy with mist. When Caroline goes to order a Lyft, it says, No cars available. It’s a quarter to seven in the morning; how can there be no cars available? Don’t people have to get to the ferry, the airport? She checks the street in both directions. Hooper Farm is nothing like Squam Road. This is a mid-island neighborhood, where locals live. Across the street is a small ranch house. The paint of the white trim is peeling; there’s a surfboard leaning against the front steps and a couple of beater cars in the driveway. It’s probably a rental for kids who are here working for the summer. She wonders if anyone works an early shift, if she can bum a ride to town.
She’s about to go knock when she hears the screen door closing behind her. She turns around as a man steps out of Dylan’s house. It’s that guy Jack, the one from the car yesterday, the one her mother was so entranced with.
Ugh, she thinks. Is he staying here?
“Hey,” he says in a hushed voice. He’s wearing a T-shirt advertising something called Finigan’s Bar and Grill. “You’re… Hollis’s daughter? I saw you yesterday, but we weren’t introduced, I’m sorry.” He holds out a hand. “Jack Finigan.”
Caroline has no choice but to shake Jack’s hand, look him in the eye, and say, “Caroline Shaw-Madden.”
The corners of Jack’s mouth lift and a dimple appears in one cheek, but Caroline won’t let herself be charmed. He nods back at the house. “You trying to make a quick getaway?”
Lyft of Shame, she thinks. Except there are no Lyfts, and in the end, there was just the one kiss, no reason for shame. “Yes, I need to get home to film. My mom and her friends have yoga at eight.”
“Is someone coming to get you?”
“I tried ordering a Lyft but they don’t have any cars right now.” She looks longingly down the street. “My car is in town. I could walk, but it’s pretty far.”
“I’ll take you,” Jack says. “I’m sure Kyle left his keys in the van.”
“You don’t have to,” Caroline says. She doesn’t want to drive anywhere with Jack Finigan—although he seems perfectly nice, and how else will she get to town? Her mother has proved unreliable in the ride department.
Jack opens the passenger door to a black panel van that says McKENZIE HEATING AND COOLING on the side and Caroline climbs in. The floor of the van is littered with white paper bags from Henry’s Jr. and coffee cups and discarded Powerball tickets. The back is filled with tools and equipment, lengths of PVC pipe, and insulation sleeves that look like big foil snakes. The van smells of gasoline or oil, not unpleasant but not familiar, and Caroline nearly laughs. She can’t believe her day is starting by riding in a van with a complete stranger. This is how people end up on Dateline.
When Jack turns the key in the ignition, the radio blares, and he reaches to turn it down. “We were listening to Rush last night, sorry.”
That’s what the olds do, Caroline thinks. They sing and dance to old music.
“And I apologize for the mess, though I’ll blame that on Kyle. Kid has always been a slob.” He notices Caroline checking out a Powerball ticket and says, “He’s been trying to win the lottery since we were in high school.”
Caroline dreads getting into a whole “those were the good old days” conversation, but how will she avoid it? “You grew up on Nantucket with my mom?” she says.
“I moved here in seventh grade,” Jack says. “My father took a foreman’s job with a big construction company.”
They go around the small rotary and head into town on Pleasant Street. In five minutes, maybe six, she’ll be safely in her car.
“The good thing was I played football and we started practicing at the Boys and Girls Club the second week of school, and Kyle was the quarterback of my team. We became friends and he was dating Tatum—”
“They were dating in seventh grade?” Caroline thinks about Tatum saying, I taught him what I liked back when we were both young, and rolls down her window. She needs air.
“It was innocent stuff; they held hands at the movies and passed notes. Tatum was best friends with Hollis, and Kyle and Tatum decided that Hollis and I should be boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Caroline laughs. “They decided?”
“They set us up on a date at the Sweet Shoppe, which was the ice cream parlor downtown back then. Tatum brought your mom, and Kyle brought me. I knew Hollis was too pretty and too popular for me. She had this thick blond ponytail and a smile that lit up her face, she and Tatum were the best girl athletes in our class, plus Hollis was smart—she was in my language arts class and she was always raising her hand. I tried to pay for her ice cream, but she said she had a job opening scallops down on the docks and she would pay for herself. But we called that our first date because by the time we walked out of the Sweet Shoppe, we were somehow ‘going out.’”
Caroline should just let it drop but she feels herself getting sucked in. Her mother’s memories about growing up on Nantucket were pretty selective, and Caroline has never heard about this “date.” She has never heard about Jack Finigan at all. It wasn’t as though Caroline thought her mother was a nun when she met Matthew—but yes, she did kind of think that.
“How long did that last?” Caroline asks.
“We dated all through high school, right up until your mom left for North Carolina,” Jack says. “So a little more than five years.”
Five years! Caroline thinks. Hollis and this dude were together for five years and Caroline is only now hearing about this?
Jack turns onto Summer Street and they wend their way down through the fish lots to Union Street. Caroline has two, maybe three, minutes left. “What was my mom like in high school? I figured she was smart and I know she played sports—”
“Hollis and Tatum were softball stars. They won the state championship junior year and lost in the finals senior year. That game was a heartbreaker.” Jack pauses. “Did you ever know your grandfather?”
“He died when I was little,” Caroline says.
“Well, that’s too bad, but also not surprising because Tom Shaw smoked two packs of Camels a day. Great guy, very well respected, and he raised your mom by himself. He taught her to hunt and to fish, and every Friday night he took her to the Anglers Club. He never once invited me along.”
Fishing? Caroline thinks. Hunting—like, with a gun? Caroline can’t imagine this, and she doesn’t even know where the Anglers Club is.
“The first day of scalloping season every year, Tom would pull Hollis out of school. She’d put on her waders and grab her rake, and the two of them went to their secret spot up in Pocomo.” He laughs. “They never invited me scalloping either.”
“Sounds like my grandfather didn’t like you very much,” Caroline says.
Jack says, “He loved me. I was the son he never had. But…” He shrugs. “Things didn’t work out the way I thought they might.”
He pulls into the parking lot and Caroline points out her Jeep. “I can’t believe my mom knows how to hunt and scallop,” she says. “It sounds like she used to be a completely different person.”
Jack chuckles. “You can be more than one kind of person in your life,” he says. “But I’ve always been a person who loves Hollis Shaw.”
Caroline rears back. “Ohhhh-kay?”
“That just slipped out, sorry,” Jack says. “I know you lost your dad recently. You didn’t need to hear that.”
Caroline reaches for the door handle; she can’t get out of the van fast enough. “Thanks for the ride,” she says.
19. Child’s Pose
Newly minted yoga instructor Avalon Boone cuts her morning meditation short so she’ll be at Hollis Shaw’s on time—but when she pulls into the driveway on Squam Road, the front door is shut tight and all the shades are drawn. Avalon gets the distinct feeling that the household is still asleep.
Hollis is paying Avalon three hundred dollars to lead this practice, money Avalon desperately needs. She’ll wake everyone up with her gong if she has to.