Marin woke up feeling as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all, even though she’d gotten ten hours. She wanted to go back to sleep, but at ten in the morning, Commercial Street sounded like Times Square on New Year’s Eve at midnight. Somewhere in the distance, an early firework exploded.
She groaned and burrowed under the covers.
By this time tomorrow, she would be driving back to New York City. She had to admit, there were a few things she would miss about Provincetown. At the top of the list, Kelly.
Marin looked at the flower inside her wrist. Kelly had pulled her right out of her funk, if only for a little while. She was thankful she’d run into her in the hallway the morning she’d meant to slink off and drive away. That ride to the East End, the wind blowing through the truck’s open windows, the sun on her face—it had been a pure moment of summer, a deep exhale.
She decided she would get her alone so she could thank her—if it wasn’t too late. She’d probably left to watch the parade. And then they were all going to Sandra Crowe’s house that night, so she might not have time alone with her at all.
At that hour, breakfast was over. She looked out her window, and, sure enough, only her mother and Amelia were still at the table. They looked deep in conversation; Amelia was downright transfixed by whatever her mother was saying. Good. Hopefully they’d be at it for a few more minutes and she’d have time for some private words with Kelly.
She went down to find her.
The sound of blaring pop music and raucous cheering on Commercial Street reached them even in the back of the house. There had been a time when Amelia wouldn’t have missed a second of the parade. But she felt oddly removed this year. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have the pressure to show Beach Rose Inn guests the way the Fourth of July was done in Provincetown. Or maybe because she was so consumed with meeting her new granddaughters, figuring out what it all meant. The usual P-Town revelry was no match for the happiness Rachel and Marin had brought her.
“I really appreciate you having us here,” Blythe said.
Amelia poured them both more coffee. “Oh, my dear. You can’t imagine how much it’s meant to me. I’m sorry to see you go! Though if you have to leave, we will at least give you a spectacular send-off tonight. We do the Fourth of July like no one else.”
Blythe nodded. “Yes. Well, before we leave, I feel like there’s something I should tell you. That you deserve to know.”
Amelia looked at her expectantly, but it took Blythe a moment to speak. It was clear she was struggling with whatever it was she had to say. Amelia had to hold herself back from prompting her, afraid she would shut her down completely. The sounds from the street seemed to grow more boisterous in the silence.
“Nick wasn’t my sperm donor,” Blythe said.
What? Amelia felt an immediate sense of loss. Marin wasn’t Nick’s daughter? How could that be? She looked just like him.
“I don’t understand…”
“He was my lover. We had an affair.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Nick had known this woman? Loved this woman?
“Oh my God.”
Blythe nodded, openly sobbing now. “I’ve never told anyone—not in all these years. It was the summer, and he left to visit Nadine in Italy, and I never saw him again. By the time I realized I was pregnant with Marin, Nick was long gone and I was working on my marriage.”
Amelia began crying herself and reached for Blythe’s hand.
“Oh, dear. What secrets we all keep. It must have been difficult.”
Blythe nodded, trying to pull it together.
“Thank you,” Amelia said. “Thank you for telling me.” She looked at Blythe as if seeing her through fresh eyes. Imagining her as her son might have seen her thirty years ago. It was the closest Amelia had felt to Nick in a long time.
Amelia leaned forward, embracing her, and they cried together for the man they had both lost.
Marin climbed the stairs to the third floor. The door to the studio was closed, but she heard Kelly’s voice from inside.
“I appreciate the follow-up call. I just have to process—yes, I know. Look, if you need me to say that you’ve made my options clear so that you feel you’ve done your job as my oncologist, then consider it said.”
Marin froze.
The door opened.
“Hey,” Kelly said casually—so casually that if Marin hadn’t just overheard the snippet of conversation, she wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.
“What’s going on?” Marin said.
“Nothing.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Marin. “We got drunk that first week and I told you all my messy shit.” She flashed her wrist tattoo.
“Marin, not now.”
“Then when? I’m leaving in the morning. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not a fixture here like everyone else in this town.”
Kelly seemed to consider this. “Fine. If you’re leaving tomorrow, you can take a secret with you.”
Marin nodded.
“I don’t want to talk here.”
“Where, then?”
The A-House was decked out in Fourth of July splendor, complete with red, white, and blue pinwheels on the bar, mini–American flag toothpicks garnishing every drink, and a shirtless bartender wearing an Uncle Sam hat. The bar was packed, standing room only. Kelly elbowed her way to a spot in the corner closest to the video screen and waved the bartender over. He poured two kamikaze shots. Marin downed hers, even though it was not yet noon, even though she’d sworn off alcohol for the duration of her trip. Because on a gut level, she knew she was going to need it.
“So,” Kelly said over the music—Whitney Houston’s rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” complete with video accompaniment. “It appears that my cancer is back. It’s in my lungs now.”
The words stung like a slap in the face. Think of something positive to say.
“I’m really sorry, Kelly. I know this is not good news, not at all what anyone wants to hear. But—at the risk of sounding like a massive cliché—you can beat this.”
Kelly shook her head. “Well, that’s the thing, gorgeous. I can’t beat it—the doctor was pretty clear on that. I can just maybe buy some time. Hence his follow-up call this morning to make sure I didn’t pull a Virginia Woolf.”
It took a beat for Marin to get the reference.
“Oh, Kelly! How does your doctor know for sure?”
Kelly smiled. “Marin, come on. We’re both grown-ups here.”
“You need a second opinion. Come to New York. My former boss knows the head at—”
“Marin, no. There isn’t a fancy doctor in New York or in Boston or on the moon who can fix this. It’s spread to my lungs, and my brain could be next. He said I’d be lucky to get six months. And who knows what state I’ll be in by the end.”
Kelly called out for another shot. “Can you imagine that? To me, there’s nothing worse. Actual death isn’t as bad as living death.”
“Kelly, don’t go there. You have to think positive. They say your mental outlook is really important—”