“How do you think she got it through the door?”
“Maybe she had it built in here?”
Gelt-like gold coins lay scattered around the base of the ship, interspersed with plastic gems. “What a world. Where do you think her parents are?”
“Maybe they’re back in Boston for the work week?”
“And left Kaitlyn here? I don’t understand rich people.”
From the entryway, we let the—ahem—current carry us to the kitchen, where beer and wine covered the counter. I snagged a rosé can and popped the tab.
Who knew rosé could grow on you so much in one summer?
Jane knocked her Cisco IPA against my drink. “Chime chime.”
“Chime chime.”
We wandered through the house, oohing to each other as the decorations shifted, from a grotto sure to be the scene of many hookups, to a desert island replete with real sand. (Who would be cleaning up later?)
In the massive living room, which had embraced a general beach theme, Jane grabbed my arm. “There’s Sydney.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s she talking to?”
Pranav’s girlfriend stood by a cute boy in board shorts and a collared shirt. “Jane. No. Just because she’s talking to another boy doesn’t mean she’s about to break up with Pranav and you’ll get him all to yourself.”
“But are you sure.”
“Talk to someone else.” I flung an arm out and accidentally smacked a boy in the chest. He gave me a dirty look as he walked by. Oops. “This party is full of boys!”
She surveyed the multitude of Sperrys and Chubbies. “They’re all tools.”
“Jane! You’re the one who wanted to come here.”
Her gaze wandered back to Sydney. “Maybe I should investigate. Make sure nothing weird is going on.”
“You one hundred percent should not.” My gaze latched on a familiar face across the room. “Look, there’s Evan! Let’s talk to him!”
I dragged her over to where Evan stood with someone I didn’t know. Jane glared at our friend. “What the hell. What are you doing here?”
“Uh.” Evan looked confused. He hadn’t dressed up, but as a nod to the occasion, he’d worn a T-shirt with a lobster on it. “Hanging out?”
“You didn’t say a word about coming to this party! I wouldn’t have felt so much like we were crashing if I knew you were here!”
“So glad to know my sole purpose is to invite you to parties.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What else are you hiding from me?”
“I’m going to do a loop and see if I can find Noah,” I said, deeming Jane out of imminent danger. “Have fun fighting!”
I looked for Noah by way of the snack table, methodically eating chips and salsa before I realized it would probably ruin my lipstick. Oops. Also, only sheer luck had saved me from dropping a hunk of tomato on my shimmery gold top. Forcing myself away from the food, I found myself trailing, enthralled, in the wake of a boy who’d dressed as Ursula. I sipped my rosé and examined the construction of his tendrils. Perhaps he planned to grow several sizes and sink the ship in the entryway?
Which was where we’d wound up, the foyer with its teal lights and seashells suspended from the ceiling. Intent on taking a good picture for Niko and company, I lifted my phone, tilting my head to find the best shot—and I caught sight of Noah.
He stood on the second-floor balcony, wearing a captain’s hat and a blue blazer that fit him very, very well. I’d never thought captains were hot before—if I’d been asked to describe one, I would have said scraggly beard and oversized sweater, or all crisp whites.
Noah was undeniably hot.
For a moment I gazed up at him, reveling in the chance to look at him uninterrupted, to absorb how attractive he was, to let my sheer amount of liking for this boy wash over me, warm and sweet and strong enough to make my heart beat extra hard.
Then I slowly took in all the people surrounding him, the people I’d have to make my way through to reach his side. It seemed daunting to approach him, while he was laughing and confident, bracketed by people who belonged to this strange world of underwater parties just as he did.
I needed fresh air.
I slipped out through the living room, out the French doors, past groups of people. At the edge of the property, the land fell away into the dunes, the dunes to the sand, the sand to the sea. I stood on the cliff’s edge. Despite being high summer, the breeze tonight carried a chill. I lifted my gaze to the endless dark and inhaled the night and the ocean.
Did everyone feel this way when facing Nantucket’s sheer nature, like the wind and moon and water stripped them bare? Did everyone, no matter how poised, feel as alone and vulnerable and insignificant as I did when facing the ocean? Perhaps anyone wrapped in wind and salt would be overawed; perhaps this connection to the ocean that felt so personal to me was universal.
I had to talk to Noah about what we were doing. Not talking was tangling me up inside.
“Hello there, Ariel.”
Delight thrilled through me, so strong and instant it burned away every last shadow and doubt. I turned to beam up at him. He’d sought me out. His very presence, even without words or touch, made me glow with happiness. “My hair isn’t red. And your eyes aren’t blue, Prince Eric.”
“Fair. And I don’t remember Ariel being quite so . . .” His gaze ran over me, lingering on my hips, hugged tightly by my metallic leggings, and on the skin exposed by my crop top. “. . . scaly.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. I tapped my chin, studying his achingly familiar face. “Good point. And you’re a captain, not the prince. Maybe I’m one of the sisters, then, not Ariel. Maybe we’re in a different story.”
“Oh?” He took a step closer to me, sliding one hand around my hip. His thumb stroked the bare skin above my waistline. “And how’s our story go?”
A shiver shot through me at his touch, and I fought to keep my body from trembling. “Less murder and self-sacrifice than the original Little Mermaid, I hope.”
His brows rose. “I missed those parts.”
“In the original fairy tale, it felt like a thousand knives stabbed the little mermaid’s feet every time she took a step.” I gave him my most beatific smile. “Her sisters tell her to murder the prince to save herself. She can’t bear to, so she winds up dying.”
He swayed nearer. “Unfortunate.”
“Wait until I tell you what happened to Cinderella’s stepsisters and Snow White’s stepmother.” I tapped his chest. “Disney churns out the sanitized versions. There’s always undercurrents of violence and tragedy.”
“Always?”
“Always.” Our faces were a whisper apart and I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him. We weren’t the little mermaid and her prince. We were a new story, and maybe there didn’t need to be any tragedy here at all. We weren’t our grandparents. We could work.
What are we doing?
Four simple words. Why couldn’t I make them trip off my tongue? Why did I find it so difficult to talk to Noah about us? Was it my damnable pride, my fear of rejection? Because if he said we were just hooking up, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d have to break this off immediately, because it would hurt my heart too much otherwise.
And he would say we were only hooking up, because he was off to school next month, and who wanted to go to college with a girlfriend in high school? He’d broken up with an actual girlfriend when she went to college because he thought having a long-distance partner was such a bad idea.
Maybe it didn’t matter what we were doing, if we were happy while doing it. Maybe we didn’t need to talk about expectations. Ariel hadn’t talked, after all, and—well. It’d worked out for her in the Disney version.
Just not the original one.
What are we doing? I said in my head, the words held in my mouth. I should force them out, propel t
hem into the world with my breath and my tongue and my vocal cords. Because I did need to know what the expectations here were, on both of our sides. I needed us to be on the same page.
“I like your captain’s hat,” I said instead.
“Do you?” His other hand rose past my waist and my throat went dry. “I like your . . .” His forefinger brushed my cheekbone. “Everything.”
What was I supposed to say to that?
Nothing. I couldn’t say anything, because anything I said would ruin things, and this was too precious to ruin. I was incapable of anything other than throwing my arms around him and kissing him, so that’s exactly what I did.
Twenty-Three
The next morning, I woke to find Jane staring at me from her bed. I yawned and scrubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Morning. Why are you being so creepy?”
“I’m not looking at you, I’m staring into the middle distance. But. Since you’re up—” She turned her phone to face me, as though I had good enough sight to read it without my glasses on or contacts in. “Evan asked me out.”
That woke me up more than a splash of cold water. I gaped at her. “Evan? Our Evan?”
“What do I do?” She pulled at the braids on either side of her head.
“Oh my god. What happened?” I propped myself up on my elbow, all sleepiness burned away. When I’d checked in last night, she’d told me to go off with Noah, and she’d be fine getting home on her own. She’d been in bed and asleep when I got back. “Walk me through this.”
“We hung out at the party yesterday, and . . .”
“Did something happen?”
“No! Nothing. Except I guess we flirted. Or—I mentioned Pranav, and he got mad, so I told him about Mason to prove I wasn’t hung up on Pranav, and he was—I don’t know, he was sort of snarky, very unlike him, but also he was giving me vibes? But obviously he’s Evan. Now he’s texting and he wants to hang out.”
“Like a date?”
“No. He literally said, ‘Want to hang out?’” She handed her phone over.
I put on my glasses, Sherlock on the case. “These texts do sound a little flirty. And it’s barely ten, which is an aggressively early time to text if you’re not into someone.”
“Right? Unless you’re so not into someone you aren’t worried about the timing of your texts.”
“Hm. Well. Do you want it to be a thing? Do you like him?”
“Of course I like him, he’s Evan,” she said scornfully, then bent when I gave her a look. “I don’t know! He’s so—so—I don’t know, I’m basically a townie, and he’s super rich, and it’s very complicated.”
“It’s not so complicated. Also, you’re not a townie.”
“Obviously, objectively, he’s very hot.”
“True.” I nodded. “Can confirm.”
“But I’ve never considered liking him. He hardly seems attainable, and then there’s Pranav.”
“Except there isn’t really Pranav.”
“Evan and I have never even hung out alone together. What if we have nothing to say? What if we hate each other?”
“You don’t hate each other. Hang out! Find out! Shonda Rhimes believes in the power of saying yes.”
“Oprah says it’s fine to say no.”
“Well, Oprah’s not here right now.”
“Neither is—”
“Go! Talk!”
She scoffed. “Like you’ve been so good on the talking front.”
“Do what I say, not what I do.”
“I’ll hang out with Evan if you talk to Noah about whether you’re actually dating, because hooking up does not a relationship make.”
“Rude.” I blew out a breath, then straightened my shoulders. “I did tell Noah I’d meet him for lunch today. Maybe I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”
“Hopefully not literally.”
“No, money touches too many hands, gross.”
* * *
I arrived at Golden Doors at noon. When I got off my bike and pulled out my phone, I saw a text from Noah: Sorry, my dad’s grabbing me for a quick talk—you can hang out in the living room if you want, I’ll be done soon.
A nice offer, but I didn’t plan to wander through Golden Doors by myself. I shot him a quick text—I’ll be in the gardens!—and headed around back, preferring nature to the imposing gray beauty.
The lawn, like always, was stunning, full of lush summer plants. Emerald green blades carpeted the lawn, their fresh-cut scent mingling with the perfume of flowers. The sky formed a translucent dome, and the sun shot through tree leaves, turning them a transparent, glowing green. Small birds warbled from branches and I caught sight of a rabbit hopping away from me. It was like stepping into a painting.
“There you are, Abigail. I’d been hoping we’d see each other soon.”
Helen stood in the middle of the lawn, at a long table draped in white cloth. She wore pink linen pants and a long-sleeved white sweater. Roses, lilies, dahlias, stalks of greenery, and white baby’s breath lay on the table.
“Come here.”
I trailed over, soft and nervous, my attention caught by her hands. They trembled even when still, and her skin was both crinkled and drawn tight around the bones. But her movements remained decisive as she arranged the plants, the Queen Anne’s lace, the small white roses and larger yellow ones. She cut stems and held the lengths against each other like a painter comparing color swathes. I paused across the table from her. “It looks beautiful.”
“I’m teaching a flower arrangement class later. It’s very popular.” She picked up a green plant with a brown stem and oval leaves. “Do you know what this is?”
I shook my head.
“It’s myrtle. A beautiful scent, but a horrible taste.”
I shifted uneasily. Had her comment been pointed? Surely not. Hoping to contribute something, I said, “Queen Esther’s original name came from the word for myrtle.”
“Hm.” Helen picked up a dahlia, hot pink at the center and edged in white, studied it, then set it back down. She did not look at me. “And what does Abigail mean?”
“Father’s joy. Or source of joy.”
“She was King David’s wife, wasn’t she? Beautiful, like Esther. The Talmud called them two of the four women of surpassing beauty in the world.”
Okay. Was this another weird insult? Or a compliment? Or a statement of fact? Was my Talmudic knowledge being tested? Should I be able to offer up the other two women? (I couldn’t.) “Helen was beautiful, too. Launched a thousand ships.”
She looked up, startled, like I’d said something off script. “So she was.”
I clasped my hands behind my back, nervous, and tried to think of something utterly inoffensive to say.
“Your grandmother,” she said, then sighed and started again. “We met for the first time here, when I was eighteen and she was sixteen. I won’t deny she’d had a hard life, but she acted very put-upon, playing up the poor orphan, the unwanted relation. Still, everyone liked her. I liked her.”
I resisted pointing out how O’ma had been orphaned, and hadn’t even been a relation but a charity case, so it might not have been an act.
Helen held up a piece of baby’s breath against the flowers, studied it, then sliced away a quarter inch of the stem. “There are some people who everyone wants to be around. People with a special energy. Your grandmother was so, despite her mood swings and silences. She drew everyone to her.”
I knew the energy she spoke about, the spear of light striking through a person, magnetic as an iron rod. I saw it in Stella, where it manifested as exuberant extraversion, and in my best friend, Niko, whose sharp wit gathered people close. These were the moving centers of a party, the people who exuded energy instead of drinking it.
“Then there are the rest of us, the moths. The moths get too close to those people, and a
re burned to a crisp.”
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “My husband didn’t choose me. Ruth chose to not be with him. I’ve made my peace with this. But we don’t need history repeating itself. Be careful with my grandson.”
“We’re not—it’s nothing like—”
“You’re not a couple?”
Oof. Great question. “I meant—it’s a different situation.”
“I see.”
All right. If everything I said was going to be difficult and strained, I might as well ask what I really wanted to know. “You knew my grandmother fairly well?”
She nodded slowly. “When we were young. Or at least, we saw each other fairly often.”
I wanted to know about their relationship. Had she been aware of anything between Ruth and Edward? Had she viewed Ruth as competition? But those questions paled compared to the one I’d been carrying all over this island. “Did you know anything about her family?”
“This was her family,” she said without hesitation. “The Barbanels raised her. They raised her from when she arrived on their doorstep.”
I hadn’t thought about it like so before. “They didn’t keep in touch with her, though.”
She pinned me with her gaze. “My mother-in-law called Ruth every week for her entire life.”
“What?” I stared at Helen. My throat closed up. “Really?”
She smiled, the corners of her mouth held up by a myriad of emotions. “Every Sunday.”
“I had no idea.” Impossible. Surely I would have known? Or Mom would have known. Daughters knew these sort of things about their mothers’ lives.
Didn’t we?
It felt almost inappropriate to ask more questions, but when would I get another chance? “What was their relationship like? My grandmother and—Edward’s mother?”
“Better than my own.” Her expression turned stark. “The Barbanels were Ruth’s family more than they were ever mine.”
I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, having a mother-in-law more invested in your husband’s previous partner than you. Only it hadn’t been like that, had it? It was more having a mother-in-law invested in her own daughter.
The Summer of Lost Letters Page 26
