“Powder room down the hall on the left,” Rachel says. “I’m just going to box up these cookies for you to take home. Feel free to wander. Jump on the beds if you want to, shoot a game of pool. I want you to feel at home.”
Masha disappears into the powder room, and Raja stands up, seemingly at a loss without her.
“Want to go back upstairs?” Eddie asks.
“There’s a built-in cigar humidor in one of the master closets,” Rachel says. “I may have forgotten to point that out.”
“A built-in cigar humidor?” Raja says. He seems nervous, almost intimidated. It is a lot of house, Eddie agrees. Maybe it’s too much house for the Christys; they’re both acting sheepish, like this house is a museum where they’re not allowed to touch anything.
“Let’s go take a look,” Eddie says.
“Let Roger go by himself,” Rachel says. “He’s going to be the man of the house, after all. You stay here, Eddie, and keep me company.”
Keeping Rachel company is the last thing Eddie wants to do, but he complies. Rachel McMann has proven to be a master at the art of selling a house.
“So what do you think?” Rachel says. She abandons the dishes in the kitchen sink, links her arm through Eddie’s, and leads him to the front room, which has an enormous picture window that looks out over the garden and the harbor. “Are they for real?”
“Yes,” Eddie says. “I mean, I think so. Hulbert and Lincoln Circle were a bust. They don’t understand the old-money thing.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Rachel says.
“To be honest, I don’t understand the old-money thing,” Eddie says. “That heap on Hulbert is listed at eleven mil.”
“It’ll go for ten,” Rachel says. “The lot alone.” She points out the window at a bench in the garden. “Do you know where that bench originally came from? The Tuileries in Paris.”
“What?” Eddie says. At his former house down the way a bit, they had a bench that originally came from the Tuileries in Paris. It was one of Benton Coe’s big coups, finding Grace that bench. It was one of a hundred ways he seduced her. “Are these Benton Coe–designed gardens?”
“They are,” Rachel says. “I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think his name would mean much to the Christys.”
“It wouldn’t,” Eddie says. It does, however, mean something to him. “Was Benton here a little while ago?”
Rachel shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge. I haven’t seen Benton since the party Tuesday night.”
“Oh,” Eddie says.
“Why do you ask?” Rachel says.
Eddie shakes his head. Benton wasn’t here. He was, likely, checking on one of his other estates out this way—if that was even Benton in the truck. And Grace was just out for a bike ride to get fresh air and exercise before winter descends.
Or is Eddie being naive?
Eddie and the Christys wave good-bye to Rachel—who hands Raja a white bakery box of cookies tied with ribbon—and they pile into the Cherokee.
“So,” Eddie says. “What did you think?”
Raja shocks Eddie by speaking first. “That house was something else.”
Something else: What does that mean? Eddie decides not to press. He can’t remember where they’re headed next. He checks his phone and remembers the text that came in while he was driving.
It’s from Addison Wheeler, canceling the other two houses.
Eddie blows out a stream of frustrated air. He gets the distinct feeling that nobody else in the world of Nantucket real estate is taking his buyers seriously. But Eddie takes them seriously.
“You can be honest with me,” Eddie says. “Did that feel like too much house? Could you see yourself living there? We do have other options, but I just got word from the listing broker that he’s no longer available to show us the other two houses today. So if you still want to look around, I suggest we plan a return trip for you. Maybe over Christmas Stroll weekend?”
“I’d like to put an offer in on the house we just saw,” Raja says.
Eddie’s heart sings.
“I want the inn,” Masha says.
MARGARET
She doesn’t begin the countdown until the final week. Five broadcasts left, then four, then three. She’s in denial, she supposes. Lee Kramer, head of the network, has been running around like Chicken Little since August 1, which was the day that Margaret announced she was retiring.
“But why?” Lee said. “Is it money? You’re already the highest-paid anchor in the business. You make as much as Rather did at the end.” He said this as if Margaret should be thanking him.
“Nothing to do with money,” Margaret said, although a part of her was curious to see how high she could get Lee to go. But no amount of money would make her change her mind. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
“You signed a noncompete!” Lee said.
“My kids needs me,” Margaret said. “Kelley’s cancer is back. He’s dying, Lee.”
Lee blinked. “That’s awful, Margaret. I like Kelley, hell of a guy.” Lee took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But aren’t your kids grown?”
“My last day will be November tenth,” Margaret says. “Friday.”
“November tenth is only three months from now!” Lee said. “How can I possibly replace the most iconic news anchor the world has ever known in three short months?”
“Flattery won’t work, Lee,” Margaret said as she turned and walked out of the office.
“Does this have anything to do with politics?” Lee called after her.
Margaret’s retirement has nothing to do with politics or the polarization of America or the increasingly dire content of the news Margaret has to report. It has to do with Kelley. Their three kids are grown; they are independent, fully functioning adults. They don’t need their mother. But Kelley’s diagnosis—he’s terminal—has brought certain things into focus for Margaret. There is a long list of things she still wants to do. She wants to travel with Drake. She wants to visit her grandbabies. She wants to practice yoga, grow an herb garden; she wants to read.
For all of Margaret’s adult life, the news has been a drug. Her broadcasting career started small. She reported car accidents, fires, robberies, strikes. Her big “break”—and she is loath to call it that—came during her coverage on September 11. She was reporting on that tragic day for NY1, and something about her screen presence caught the attention of the executives at CBS. By the end of that unforgettable week, she had been offered a seat at the evening news desk, and a year later she was the sole anchor.