“It’s not a shivah, Fran,” Rachel said, taking the food from her. “It’s just a gathering to celebrate Kelly.”
In her complete shock and freak-out the night Kelly died, Rachel texted her mother, who by that time was in Cape Cod for the yoga retreat. It had been an impulse; she hadn’t expected her mother to get right back in the car and return to Provincetown. But that’s what she did.
“Are you going to hide in the kitchen all day?” Fran asked.
“I’m not hiding. What are you talking about?”
“Luke is out there waiting to see you.”
Yes, she’d seen Luke at the funeral. Devastatingly handsome in a dark suit.
“Please—don’t. Just because you talked your way—or smoked your way—into crashing at Thomas and Bart’s house doesn’t give you the right to get involved.”
“It’s not about having the right or not having the right. I was there when the ex showed up, and I can tell you that he booted her out so fast it was like the house had a revolving door.”
“You know what? I really don’t care. There are more important things going on here.” Rachel turned back to the fruit, and Fran grabbed her arm.
“You told me the other night at dinner, loud and clear, that I’d never been a good enough mother. I didn’t teach you enough, I didn’t give you any guidance. And maybe I didn’t. But I’m trying to right now: That guy? Luke Duncan? He’s gorgeous. He’s smart. And from what I can tell from the way he talks about you and the way he’s acting, he’s really into you. So don’t blow it.”
Rachel, taken aback, could only stare at her.
“I’m not…hiding in the kitchen” was all she managed.
She wasn’t hiding. She was busy—couldn’t her mother see that? And fine, maybe Luke hadn’t asked his ex-girlfriend to show up. And maybe he didn’t ask her to stay either. But the whole incident made her feel a hurt she’d never experienced before, and frankly it scared her.
Carrying the fruit bowl, she headed to the living room with a glance back at Fran. Happy now?
And there he was, tan and golden, his suit jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. She looked away, but it was too late; accidental eye contact. He crossed the crowded room toward her. She ran back to the kitchen. To hide.
Fine. Her mother was right.
There was a first time for everything.
Marin closed the door to her room. The space, her sanctuary all summer, had turned into the place where fate would deliver its verdict.
Julian sat on the edge of her bed.
“Marin, I feel really terrible that you felt you couldn’t call me when Kelly died. I would have wanted to be with you at the funeral.”
“I couldn’t. Don’t you understand that I can’t get more emotionally invested in you? We might not get the answer we want. And then what? I know you must feel the same way because you haven’t exactly been calling or texting.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I wanted to. I thought about you nonstop, but you’re right—a part of me was holding back. But I could barely wait for an excuse to come here. And if you had called me, I would have jumped at the chance to come sooner. It was wrong that you lost a friend and I wasn’t here for you. It was wrong that I showed up at the house too late for the funeral. It felt really, really wrong.”
She held out the envelope, her hand shaking. “You open it.”
He waited a beat, then took it from her. Their eyes met, and she swallowed hard.
Julian glanced down at the envelope. And then he ripped it into pieces.
Chapter Forty-Seven
It was dark outside. All the visitors were gone, and the house was quiet, quiet in a way she hated—in a way only Kelly fully understood how very much she hated.
Amelia didn’t know when the silence had become her enemy. Maybe it started in the days after Nick and Nadine first left. The silence came to mean loss. And now she would have nothing but silence.
But for tonight, her family was here. Marin, Rachel, and Blythe, under her roof. And, of course, Nadine. Who was probably packing to leave at that very moment.
Amelia didn’t regret her outburst earlier in the day, but it didn’t entirely sit well with her either. Did she really want her to leave? On some level, yes. It was frustrating to have her back and find how little had changed. On the other hand, Nadine was her only remaining child. It was Amelia’s job, her maternal duty, to make things right. She knew that if she didn’t, it would be a fresh emotional wound she would have to live with.
She picked up Nick’s letter from her nightstand, handling it like glass. Then she took the stairs up to the third floor, flinching as she passed Kelly’s studio. Lord only knew how long it would be before she could set foot in there. If ever.
Nadine’s door was open, her room empty. Amelia headed back down the stairs, checking the first floor and the living room. No one. The kitchen—empty. Through the window, by the big table, she saw the glow of a cigarette.
The night had cooled considerably. Or maybe it was just her exhaustion that made Amelia shiver and hug herself. She turned on the porch light.
Startled, Nadine turned.
“I wish you wouldn’t smoke,” Amelia said.
“It’s a bad habit. I’ve been living in Europe my entire adult life.”
Her entire adult life. What an interesting choice of words. Because standing there, watching her sneak a cigarette just as she had thirty years earlier, Amelia had to wonder if her daughter had ever emotionally evolved past the resentful teenager she had been. Maybe, under normal circumstances, Nadine would have worked out her adolescent rage and become a better woman. But when Amelia fell in love with Kelly—well, Nadine had the perfect excuse not to grow. Not to learn about personal accountability. Looking at her middle-aged daughter, illuminated only by the yellow glow of a single lightbulb cutting through the dark, Amelia thought she might as well have been standing next to a fifteen-year-old.
“Nadine, I’m not selling this house. Not for money. Not for anything.”
“I get it,” she said, putting out her cigarette.
“No,” she said. “You don’t.”
Amelia handed her the letter.
“What’s this?” Nadine unfolded it.
“Your brother sent it to Blythe from Italy.”
Nadine froze.
“Go on—read it,” Amelia said. It took a moment, but Nadine finally bent her head over the paper. When she was finished, she looked up at her mother, tears in her eyes.
“Why did you tell me he was miserable?” Amelia said, her voice tight. “Were you lying to me to punish me, or did you truly believe that?”
Nadine cried softly. “We were never whole again after that last summer here.”
“He was moving past it,” Amelia said.