This trip never really felt like a vacation to me, mostly because the Kellys weren’t the kind of family who slept in or sat around reading novels in the sun. They took boats out on the water, played badminton or football, organized tennis tournaments and swimming races. They never sat down. It was like spending a week at a weird adult athletic camp with highly competitive campers.
Matt had spent the whole summer focused on Dan Cullen’s senate seat, unable to let go of (what he kept calling) his missed chance. He was obsessed with what he should do next and it was almost impossible to have a conversation with him about anything else. Once, he even (God help us) used the word legacy. He kept mentioning classmates of his from Harvard (all wildly successful, of course) and comparing himself to them, like everyone he graduated with was going to think he was a failure.
Part of me thought he’d be calmer with the Dillons out of town, but it soon became clear that he missed being able to discuss his career with Jimmy and so I became his default sounding board on all things relating to Matt’s Career, and it was wearing on me. It was wearing on us. And I didn’t think a solid week with his family would help the situation.
“All done,” Matt said, zipping up his suitcase. “What about you?”
“Yep,” I said. “All packed and ready to go.”
—
We didn’t get on the road until almost 10:30 the next day, which I knew drove Matt crazy. It only took about an hour and a half to get there, but Matt liked to be the first to arrive, because in the Kelly family, even the drive to vacation could become a competition.
“We’ll be fine,” I said, when we got in the car. “There’s no rush to get there.” What I meant, of course, was I’m in no rush to get there. I picked up the coffee that Matt had gotten for me and took a sip. He’d added just the right amount of cream, and it tasted perfect. I drank my coffee and stared out the window, knowing that this would be the most peaceful part of my week, trying to savor the quiet.
I never considered myself to be unathletic until I started going to St. Michaels with the Kellys. I played volleyball in junior high and soccer in high school and maybe I wasn’t the best on the team, but I certainly wasn’t the worst. I was coordinated. I could stand upright and hit a ball. I played shortstop for the Vanity Fair softball team, for Christ’s sake.
But my first year in St. Michaels, things changed. During a heated volleyball game, Will spiked the ball over the net and it hit me right on the nose. When I opened my eyes, he was watching me through the net with a scrunched-up face. “Everyone, take five,” he shouted to everyone who was playing, as if they didn’t see the blood that was spilling out of my nose. Will led me inside, sat me down in the kitchen, put a bunch of ice cubes in a baggie, and wrapped them in a towel for me to put on my nose. I’d met Will just a few times before this trip, and I was mortified to have him see me like this.
“It’s okay,” I kept saying to him. “Really, I don’t think it’s broken.” I had no idea if it was broken or not, but it felt like I needed to reassure him. He was looking at me nervously, like he was afraid I was going to start crying.
“Keep the ice on as long as you can,” Will said. Matt had taken his nephews out on a kayak, and Will kept looking at the door hoping that he would show up.
“You can go back out,” I said. “I’m okay, I promise.”
“Are you sure?” Will asked.
“Yes, I’m totally fine. I’ll just sit here with the ice.” I wanted desperately for him to leave then, and he finally did after patting me on the shoulder and telling me to “hang in there.” I listened to the volleyball game resume outside, and stayed in the kitchen until the bag of ice started to melt and drip down my face.
My nose wasn’t broken, but it did swell up and I had two light purple bruises underneath my eyes. There’s a group picture from that trip that Babs has hanging in the kitchen, of everyone standing on the dock. Someone must have taken it from a boat on the water, but I don’t remember who. (It seems like something they would have had me do, since we weren’t engaged yet and Babs didn’t like to have non–family members in family pictures.) I always look at the picture when we go to their house—the shot is far away, but you can still see that my nose is lumpy and miscolored.