“We’ll tell them,” Norah says. “I think seeing you and learning what you’ve overcome will help a lot of people who are going through the same thing.”
“Okay, but…” The only word Jennifer can come up with is no. No, she is not going on television and admitting she was addicted to pills! Her family knows—her mother, Kelley and Mitzi, Margaret, even the boys know a little bit—but that’s a very small circle compared with… well, the entire country. Or the portion of the country who watch shelter programs on SinTV.
Leanne will find out. And Grayson Coker. And all the mothers from the kids’ school. And Mandy Pell. And the women who organize the Beacon Hill Holiday House Tour. And all the people Jennifer went to high school with and her classmates from Stanford. It’s not random strangers—Megan Hoffman from wherever—that concern Jennifer; it’s the people she knows, the people who thought they knew her.
“We know it seems scary,” Danko says. “It takes a really brave, really strong person to admit she has fallen prey like that. Believe me, I know. I’ve been in AA for fifteen years.”
Why don’t you do the show then? Jennifer nearly asks. When she looks at Danko, she sees kindness in his eyes. Empathy. He gets it—maybe.
“I can’t,” Jennifer says. “I just… can’t.”
“Why don’t you take some time and think about it?” Norah says. She puts a hand on Jennifer’s leg and leans in. “You would be so great. A role model, a real role model, someone who has been through a rough patch and then come out the other side.”
But I’m still in the rough patch! Jennifer thinks. She came here this morning hoping to score some Ativan!
“Just so you know, the show will pay you thirty-five thousand dollars an episode for the first twelve episodes, with the option to negotiate for the second season,” Danko says. “And I’ll point out that there are also endorsement opportunities, and that any host who broadcasts nationally sees a spike in her own personal design business.”
“Meaning you’ll be the most sought-after designer in Boston,” Norah says. “Tom and Gisele will be hunting you down to redo their kids’ playroom.”
Jennifer smiles—she does have a file at home filled with creative playroom ideas—and at the same time, she’s trying to calculate: thirty-five thousand times twelve. It’s four hundred twenty grand, which is nearly what she lost by giving up Grayson Coker. Plus endorsements. Plus business rolling in, more business than she can handle.
But she has to tell the world she was addicted to pills. The struggle is real, she imagines herself saying into the camera. And it is constant. Could she bring herself to be that honest?
“I need to think about it,” Jennifer says.
“We have some time,” Danko says. “Can you give us an answer before Thanksgiving?”
“Yes,” Jennifer says. “I’ll let you know by the Friday before Thanksgiving. The seventeenth.”
They all stand up, and Norah gives Jennifer a sisterly squeeze. “Just so you know, I don’t get a finder’s fee or anything. When Danko told me about this project, I automatically thought of you. You would be so great on TV.”
“Real-life rehab,” Jennifer says wryly. “That’s me.”
She shakes hands with Danko, who gives her an encouraging smile. “You’d be perfect,” he says. He holds up his hands. “But no pressure. Stay in touch.”
“I will,” Jennifer says as he and Norah walk away.
She sits back down on the bench for a second and picks up her cup of coffee, which she has all but ignored. It’s then that she sees the blond woman with the baby carriage across the street staring her down.
It takes Jennifer a second to realize who the woman is, and another second for her to register the appropriate amount of horror. It’s Isabelle, out for a walk with the baby. Isabelle must have seen Jennifer talking to Norah Vale. Isabelle must have seen Jennifer hugging Norah Vale.
This is bad. For so many reasons.
“Isabelle!” Jennifer calls out. “Isabelle!” She waves at her sister-in-law, but Isabelle pretends not to notice. She turns the carriage around and walks away.
EDDIE
He tries not to let his hopes deflate when he sees the Christys step off the ferry. Masha—for Eddie can think of Marcia Christy only as Masha—told Eddie to look for a woman with yellow hair and a purple coat. Eddie assumed he would be looking for a blond. But in fact, the very first person off the boat is a woman in a puffy purple parka, and she has yellow hair. Yellow, the color of marshmallow Peeps.
“Masha?” Eddie says.
She immediately envelops Eddie in a puffy purple hug. She’s wearing a sharp-smelling perfume, reminiscent of the cheap drugstore brands Eddie’s sister, Barbie, used to wear in high school.
Eddie will not judge Masha. Masha has won Powerball. Masha has more money than 90 percent of the folks who come to Nantucket looking to buy.
“Eddie,” Masha says. “Please meet my husband, Raja.”
“Nice to meet you, Raja,” Eddie says, extending a hand. He doesn’t bother correcting his pronunciation, and neither Masha nor Raja seems to mind or notice. Raja is magnificently ordinary—white, pudgy, balding, bespectacled. He’s wearing a plaid shirt, flat-front Dockers, a red Windbreaker, some comfortable-looking loafers—Hush Puppies, maybe.
Raja’s handshake is a baggie of warm pudding. No surprises there.
“Welcome to Nantucket, both of you,” Eddie says. “My car is parked in the lot. We have six properties to look at, so we’d better get cracking.”
Masha lets out a whoop. “I like you already, Eddie. Ha! I’m a poet and I didn’t know it.”
“Right this way,” Eddie says.
Masha is a talker. Between the parking lot and the top of Main Street, Eddie learns the following: Masha is a hairdresser, grew up in Lynn, Massachusetts, and attended Empire Beauty School in Malden. Raja is also from Lynn. Both Masha and Raja attended Lynn Classical, but Raja was three years ahead, plus he was one of the smarties in the chess club, and Masha—as you can probably guess, Eddie—was a cheerleader who hung out with the real popular kids. Raja is an engineer with National Grid, and for fun he plays chess online. They have a West Highland terrier named Jack, who is “basically our child,” Masha says. Jack went with Masha to buy the Powerball ticket from Lanzilli’s, and three of the numbers Masha picked were the components of Jack’s birthday. So Jack is really the person responsible for the Christys’ good fortune, Masha says.
“Jack isn’t a person.” Raja speaks up from the back.
Masha swats Eddie’s arm. “That’s an engineer for you,” she says. “Hung up on details.”
Eddie laughs, then hopes that Raja doesn’t think Eddie is laughing at his expense.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Masha says. “I never shut up. It’s true. I’m a chatty Kathy. Raja is a man of few words, so I talk for both of us.”