by Grace Palmer
“You should speak with a gastroenterologist. I’d recommend mine, but he’s in Miami. Obviously.” Diana played chicken with a tourist, walking straight towards a woman in a sheer swimsuit cover-up and flip flops, head held high. Until she realized the woman wasn’t paying any attention and wouldn’t move. Only then did Diana duck behind Holly to avoid a collision. “Ugh, I do not miss the tourists. This place has way too many fanny packs.”
“Then we should have avoided downtown,” Holly remarked, narrowly avoiding a run-in with a small child throwing a temper tantrum over a spilled ice cream cone. “I have clothes at home, and I know you both packed dresses.”
“Back-up dresses,” Lindsay clarified, wrinkling her nose to make her feelings on the matter clear. “I want to find something better. I don’t have a choice if I want to catch anyone’s eye tonight. Holly was getting all the man candy at brunch, weren’t ya, Hollz?”
This again. When were they going to let the whole Andre thing go? He was just being friendly.
“The only thing I got at brunch was an outrageously expensive bill,” Holly mumbled.
“Lindsay is right,” Diana said. “We have to look hot. Which is why we’re going to—” Diana stopped and gestured to a nearby red-sided building like she was a model on a game show. “Aqua.”
“Aqua.” Lindsay snorted. “Still the dumbest name for a boutique.”
Holly groaned. “Can we not? I haven’t come in here for years for a reason. Emily hates me.”
“Oh, she does not. And stop being snobs. This place is great.” Diana opened the door and disappeared inside before any more protests could be made. Lindsay and Holly begrudgingly followed after her.
Emily Sandoval opened Aqua Boutique the week her trust fund kicked in after graduation, and after a brief controversy where she’d only offered three ridiculously small sizes, she’d become surprisingly inclusive.
Though Holly doubted that inclusivity extended to her. Last time Holly had checked, Emily was still giving her the stink eye in the grocery store for “stealing Pete away from her.” So as soon as she walked through the door, Holly ducked behind a rack of one-piece swimsuits with necklines that plunged down to the belly button.
Diana promptly grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the center aisle. “Would you stop it? You all were sixteen. She has been married and divorced since then. The woman is not still pining after your husband.”
“I don’t know. First loves are hard to forget,” Lindsay said.
“And what would you know about it?” Diana challenged, clearly fed up with her friends and their less-than-sunny attitudes. “Your first love made you swear off men entirely. Or have you, once again, forgotten that?”
Lindsay jabbed a finger in the air towards Diana. “You know, I’m tired of you throwing that in my face. I am a grown woman and—”
“Ladies!” a sing-song voice called from the back of the store, breaking up Lindsay and Diana’s brewing fight. “Welcome, welcome. I wondered if I’d see any familiar faces this week.”
Emily came weaving through the racks of clothes in a one-piece short floral romper, strappy leather sandals, and an oversized hat that looked absolutely ridiculous indoors.
Diana and Lindsay both pasted on smiles, momentarily forgetting their annoyance with one another. “Emily! Hi!”
The three women embraced and caught up, everyone running through their respective spiels, even though Holly knew they’d all kept tabs on each other.
But when it came to Holly, Emily didn’t even bother asking. “And I know what Holly here is doing! I never see you, but I’ve run into Pete a few times.”
It was clear she’d hoped to blindside Holly with the information, but Pete told Holly everything. The last time Emily had run into Pete, it had been a quite literal “run in” just outside his law firm. Apparently, Emily had been on a jog in the neighborhood, despite the fact it was on the opposite end of the island from her shop and her house. Pete said she’d looked freshly showered. Not a bit of sweat on her anywhere.
“He mentioned that.” Holly smiled. “My little sister, Sara, opened a restaurant just a few blocks over, so I’ve driven by your shop a few times. Looks like business is good.”
Emily lifted one shoulder demurely and smirked. “I suppose so. There are enough fashion-forward tourists and locals to keep me in business, thank goodness. I don’t know where everyone else shops. I can’t find a half-decent thing to wear unless I order it myself. Not unless I want to look like a middle-aged mom.”
The jab landed exactly as Emily had hoped. Holly resisted the urge to pull up her high-waisted jeans and adjust the stretched-out collar of her scoop neck t-shirt. Maybe her fashion had become a little stagnant of late, but she certainly didn’t look like a middle-aged mom. Did she?
“If you all are looking for something to wear to the reunion tonight, I just got a great shipment of dresses from this indie designer out of New York. You’ll die,” Emily said, directing all of her attention to Lindsay and Diana. “The designs are sexy, but so sophisticated. So fun.”
“Sexy but sophisticated is my middle name,” Lindsay joked.
“What a coincidence,” Diana said. “Mine too!”
They both followed Emily around the racks to a wooden beam along the side wall that was filled with an assortment of dresses organized in rainbow color order. Holly started to follow, but Emily stopped and turned back to her. “Oh, and Holly, there is a section in the back I think you’ll like. Just under the sign pointing to the dressing rooms.”
Holly was filled with suspicion, but she walked towards where Emily had pointed, anyway. She passed distressed denim shorts with the pockets hanging out the bottoms, the glittery triangles of teeny tiny bikinis, and high-waisted denim skirts so short, Holly couldn’t imagine how it was possible to sit down in them.
As much as she wished otherwise, Emily’s store really did feel out of her comfort zone. If looking like a middle-aged mom meant wanting all of her bits and bobs covered, then maybe Holly looked like a middle-aged mom.
When she reached the rack just under the dressing room sign, Holly knew her suspicions had been justified.
These weren’t dresses; they were sheet sets. Huge swaths of fabric hung from the rack all the way to the floor without a neckline in sight. Holly had to pick her way through the material to even find where the arm holes were.
Forget “middle-aged mom” dresses—these were “ancient great-grandmother” dresses. These were the dress version of those tube men that waved around outside of car dealerships. Little kids wore these when they wanted to be ghosts for Halloween.
If Holly wore anything from this rack to the reunion, people would mistake her for a walking, talking tablecloth.
“Aren’t these great?” Emily asked, her voice just over Holly’s shoulder. “I’ve really taken to heart some of the comments that my store is a little young, so I put in a rack for a slightly older crowd. I think they are really… dignified.”
“Dignified” was certainly one word to describe the selection. Holly would have opted for drab. Frumpy. Homely.
Steering her towards this section of the store was an insult. Holly knew that. Emily thought Holly was some boring, out of touch housewife.
Fine. Let her think what she wants. Holly knew better. She knew that her friends were right. Andre Wellington had been flirting with her at brunch. Until he’d learned she was married, at least. But still! It counted for something.
And it had woken up a new reality in Holly. There was no reason she needed to pull the same baby blue dress she’d worn to the last three weddings she’d been to out of her closet again. Tonight, she could look hot. She could look sexy, but sophisticated.
The rainbow line-up of dresses that human beings under the age of ninety would actually wear ended in shades of white and black just a few feet from Holly. Without overthinking it, Holly reached out and plucked a black cocktail dress from the rack.
“I was actually thinking something
more like this,” she said, turning to Emily and holding it up.
Immediately, doubts crept in. The dress was shorter than Holly had realized. With a slit that went a good way up the thigh. And thin spaghetti straps. Holly would have to wear a strapless bra. Which she didn’t own.
Emily’s brows rose, disappearing beneath the brim of her hat. “Oh, really? Wow. Okay. It’s a little—”
“Perfect!” Diana squealed, clapping from across the store.
Lindsay nodded in agreement. “Perfect for you, Holls. You’ll look great.”
Holly couldn’t put it back now. Emily had started this fight, but Holly had to finish it. She couldn’t slink off like some wounded animal and show up at the reunion in her blue high-necked, knee-length, long-sleeved formal gown.
Sexy, but sophisticated, she reminded herself. She said it one more time just for good measure.
Holly smiled thinly at Emily and tipped her head to one side. “I’d love a dressing room.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. But only for a second. Then, customer-service-oriented as ever, Emily plucked the dress out of Holly’s hand with a smile and led her through the lacy white curtains into the dressing room.
Holly couldn’t help but feel like she was walking backstage before a performance. She wasn’t just slipping into a dress. She was slipping into a persona. A more vibrant, stand-out version of herself.
Watch out, Nantucket High School Class of 2006: Holly Goodwin was ready for her close-up.
20
Eliza
Eliza wasn’t ready to go home yet.
It only took ten minutes to get from Winter’s daycare back to the house, but ten minutes wasn’t enough time. How could Eliza get her life together in ten minutes?
The skies had been growing progressively darker since she’d left home. Eliza couldn’t help but take it as some kind of omen. Today felt like a dark day. This week—no, this entire year—felt dark. Eliza had been living under a constant, dreary cover of gray, and she didn’t know if it was possible to experience sunshine again.
She could probably convince Oliver of the truth that she wasn’t cheating on him. But what would happen when he realized how depressed she was?
When they’d first started dating, Oliver had been so impressed with Eliza. Even though she’d crash-landed back in Nantucket, fresh out of a terrible relationship with an addict and pregnant with said addict’s baby, Oliver saw potential in her.
“You’re going to do great things, Eliza Benson,” he’d said on one of their first dates, lifting a glass of beer in a toast to her. “I just hope I’m around to see it.”
What was great about this? Not much, if anything.
Eliza drove up to the four-way stop halfway between their house and daycare. The intersection was well-shaded by large oaks and tulip trees. Usually, Eliza could admire the scenery. The way sunlight sliced through the branches, casting a latticework of light and shadow on the cobblestones. Today, the darkness felt oppressive.
Without thinking, Eliza took a right rather than continue straight, heading towards the water.
The houses lining the street all looked the same. Like the plastic houses from Monopoly. Eliza imagined them as tiny game pieces, with the people living inside them equally unreal.
As the houses began to spread out and the foliage hanging over the road retreated, Eliza took deeper breaths. She followed the road around a roundabout, passing right by the Stop & Shop where she’d had a meltdown the day before. At the time, she’d tried to convince herself it was normal. But Eliza wasn’t normal. None of this was normal. Something was wrong with her.
She took a hard right to get the store out of view.
Driving aimlessly wasn’t possible. Not when Eliza had lived on Nantucket her whole life. Some part of her always knew where she was and where she was going. Physically, at least.
She passed by the silvery gray wood-shingled buildings she’d seen hundreds of times before. The lumber company where her dad would load up his truck with material for new products. The road that dead-ended just before the inlet where she and Holly had learned to catch tadpoles. The liquor store.
The last one stopped her.
The wide parking lot in front of Hatch’s Package Store called to Eliza. Beckoned her to come on in, take a rest. So she did. It was early, just past eight in the morning, but the hours printed on the glass front door said the place opened at eight. So it wasn’t weird when she got out of her car to stretch her legs and stroll across the asphalt lot. The business wouldn’t open at eight if it was unacceptable to be there that early, right?
Eliza just needed a minute, anyway. The vents in her car couldn’t blow enough air to keep her cool. She needed fresh air. And maybe a drink. Her throat felt dry.
Eliza walked up to the doors and pulled, but the metal and glass door jolted in the frame. Locked. Her face burned as she double-checked the hours printed in cracked vinyl on the bottom half of the window. She was still reading the days and hours when someone appeared on the other side of the glass.
“Sorry,” the man called, voice muffled. He unearthed a bulging ring of keys to unlock the bolt and pulled the door open. “Sorry about that. We’re open, but I sometimes forget to unlock the door until nine or ten. Usually, no one’s here this time of morning.”
Eliza’s face burned even hotter. “That’s okay.”
An excuse sat on the end of her tongue. Some explanation for what she was doing here so early. But she didn’t have the energy to lie to this man. And like he’d said, the store was open. This was perfectly normal.
She walked casually down two aisles before she found the wine section, almost as if by accident. The selection was overwhelming, but she didn’t need anything fancy. Just something cheap to drink casually. A glass or two here or there to take the edge off in the evenings.
She reached for the bottom shelf and pulled out a five-dollar bottle of cabernet. The same price as the useless pills she’d bought the day before. And unlike the pills, she’d actually enjoy the wine. It seemed worth the expense.
Eliza carried the bottle to the counter and dug through her purse. She hoped to find some cash hidden in a pocket somewhere, but she was out. So she grabbed her card.
“Five dollars and forty cents,” the man said. He smiled, but Eliza couldn’t help but feel like he was assessing her.
She kept her head down and swiped her card, ignoring the crush of anxiety that arose every time she went to pay for anything. It was only five measly dollars. They had at least that much in their account.
Except, instead of a happy ding ding of a successful purchase, the card reader buzzed at Eliza.
“Try swiping it,” the man said, shaking his head. “This darn machine is so finnicky.”
Immediately, her palms began to sweat. Eliza grabbed her card and swiped it, her heart in her throat. Again, the reader buzzed. It sounded more like a train horn. A warning to get off the tracks before you were crushed.
Eliza wanted to run for her life.
“Huh?” The man turned the card reader around and held out his hand for her card. “Let me try it. Sometimes it takes a special touch.”
Oh God. It was happening. The account was empty. Overdrawn.
And Eliza was finding out in the line at a liquor store. She’d tunneled straight past rock bottom to the molten layer beyond. Her only hope now was that she’d burn alive in the magma.
“Oh no, it’s okay,” she said, voice shaking. “I’ll just—”
“I’ve got it.” An arm reached around Eliza, setting a case of champagne on the counter next to her. “Just add it on to mine.”
“No, really. It’s fine.” Eliza turned and froze when she realized who was standing behind her.
Cindy. From All that Jazz.
The hairdresser who did wonders for Lauren’s mom’s gray hairs—and Mae’s, and Debra’s, and Lola’s, and damn near every other woman on the island. For the second time that morning, Eliza had to marvel at what
a ridiculously, overbearingly small world she lived in.
“You don’t have to do that,” Eliza continued. “I’ll just come back later with a different card. Pick it up then. I’m not in a rush.”
Lies. She would never come into this liquor store again.
Cindy smiled and shook her head, her freshly blown out hair swaying with the movement. “Don’t be silly. I’ll take care of it. I’m buying champagne for an open house we’re having at the salon. What’s an extra five dollars?”
Eliza wanted to argue, but she knew the fastest way out of here would be to agree. So she stepped aside and reluctantly, quietly, shamefully let Cindy pay for her wine. When the owner handed the bottle to Eliza with a smile that looked more like a wince, she wanted to slip through a crack in the floor and disappear.
“Thanks again,” she mumbled to Cindy, her throat closing up around the words.
“No problem, dear,” Cindy said, hoisting the box of champagne on her hip. “If you see your mom, tell her I said hello.”
So Cindy recognized her, too. Great. Eliza had only met the woman once, when she’d driven her mom to a hair appointment after she’d had her eyes dilated at the optometrist. But that was all it took, apparently. On an island like Nantucket, there weren’t as many names and faces to get mixed up. What Eliza wouldn’t give to be a nameless stranger on the streets of Manhattan right now!
“Better yet,” Cindy continued, “tell her about the open house. I’d love to see her tonight.”
So Cindy could tell Mae about seeing her daughter in a liquor store at eight AM? Fat chance of that happening. Eliza waved at the woman and hurried back to her car.
Now, she wanted to be home more than anything so she wouldn’t run into anyone else. So she wouldn’t waste the precious gas in her tank zigzagging randomly around the island.
The bottle rolled across the passenger seat next to her as she turned out of the parking lot. Eliza couldn’t even look at it. At the next stop sign, she reached over and shoved the bottle under the seat.
Out of sight, out of mind.
