by Nancy Thayer
“We need to have an author photo taken of you,” Melissa said. “Sally, I’ll talk with you about that.” Turning to Keely, she said, “You can come back into the city in a month or so, right?”
“Right.” Keely’s head was whirling.
“Okay, we’re set,” Juan declared.
Everyone rose, shook hands or air-kissed, and Melissa escorted Keely and Sally to the elevator. Moments later, they were back on the street.
Sally grinned. “We talk fast in the city, don’t we?”
Keely nodded. “Everything is so—exciting.”
“Yes, there’s nothing like the high of selling your first book. Look, I’ve got meetings now. I suggest you walk back to your hotel. It will be a long haul, but it’s the best way to see the city. You can stop for coffee somewhere. Take your time. Soak it in. Keely Green, new author, strolls the big city. Enjoy it.”
“I’ll do that,” Keely said.
“You fly back tomorrow?”
“I do.”
“Safe travels. We’ll be in touch.” Sally kissed Keely’s cheek and vanished.
Keely walked. Tentatively at first, unsure of her course, and then she found Broadway and headed north. She tried not to grin like a tourist as pedestrians, most of them yelling into phones, grimly strode past her, but she was too happy. She broke into a laugh, and thought, why not? She could talk out loud in this city. Everyone would think she was on Bluetooth.
She walked and walked, fascinated by the shop windows offering anything one could possibly dream of. She allowed herself to gaze upward at the sky-high buildings, because if she looked like a tourist, well, she was a tourist! But she also belonged to this city. She had an agency and a publisher and she was returning for an author photo. She had had lunch with her editor—she had an editor! There was something about New York that made her book more real, more exciting, more fabulous. Her mind was like a three-year-old child at a birthday party, wanting to eat more cake, open more presents, and run around the yard screaming. She kind of wanted to jump up and down, but only tossed her head and kept walking.
When she arrived at the hotel, she was trembling with exhaustion. She fell on the bed. She shouldn’t have walked all that way in high heels. She was jazzed up. She wanted to share this miraculous day with someone. Her mother was working. Tommy would grumble if she called him.
Isabelle. She wanted to share her happiness with Isabelle, who would understand like no one else could what an enormous event this was.
But Isabelle had just been dumped by Gordon—maybe this was the wrong time for Keely to share her good news?
But Tommy had probably told some of his friends, which meant someone had heard the news and called Isabelle.
And Sebastian knew.
Keely called Isabelle.
Isabelle answered her phone with two words: “I know.”
Keely took a deep breath. “You mean you know that I’m going to have a book published?”
“Sebastian called me.”
“Are you on the island?”
“Not yet. I’m packing, but I’m so miserable, I don’t have the energy to move.”
“Well…I’m in New York right now. I’ve just met with my agent—”
“Don’t, Keely. Just don’t. Don’t kick me when I’m down.”
“Isabelle, come on. I’m not trying to hurt you. You’re my best friend. I want to share my happiness with you. Like, okay, like if I have a delicious cake and I want to share a piece with you.”
“No, Keely. You have the whole damned cake and it can’t be divided. You’re going to have a book published and you’ve got Tommy.”
“Whoa, hang on. I’ve only got Tommy because you’ve been in love with Gordon.”
“Rub it in. Add salt. Now I don’t have anything and you have everything.”
“Isabelle! Don’t be this way. I want to share this with you. I mean, I didn’t want to call you right away because you called me about Gordon, and I’m so sorry, he’s an evil shit and you’re a gorgeous woman. You’ll have men around you the moment they know you’re free. We’ve always had the same dream. I want you to celebrate with me.”
“Your dream came true. Not mine.”
“That doesn’t mean your dream won’t come true! You’ve been able to go to the writers’ colony. I’m sure anything you write is better than mine—”
“Stop being so patronizing.”
“Isabelle, I’m not—”
“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be around you anymore, Keely. It hurts too much.”
“Isabelle!”
Isabelle had disconnected.
Keely sat on her bed in the lovely hotel watching the lights of the great city blink on. Even here with the window closed, she could hear the rumble of traffic, the massive convoy of cabs, Ubers, trucks, buses, and limos passing through the streets. She could go down to the lobby, find a nearby restaurant, enjoy the city at night. But her feet were killing her, and she was too sad and confused to enjoy anything much at all. She understood Isabelle’s feelings. And how could Keely feel triumphant when Isabelle was so miserable?
She pushed back the crisp white sheets of the bed and lay watching television, because it was the only thing she could do to calm her mind. She was in New York! She was going to have a book published and she had to write another novel!
Isabelle was heartbroken about Gordon.
Keely forced herself to turn off the television, slide down beneath the silky covers, and try to sleep. She was sure she was too excited to sleep at all.
She fell asleep at once.
The next morning, Keely woke early, feeling energetic and rebellious. How could she allow herself to whine because two people she loved, Tommy and Isabelle, didn’t go mad with happiness about her book deal? In the clear light of a new day, she was sure that Isabelle would come around. Why wouldn’t she?
In the meantime, Keely all by herself would go mad with happiness, here and now, in New York City. She took a long shower, dressed and packed, tossing in the necklace she’d bought for her mother and the baseball cap for Tommy. She checked out and took a cab to the airport.
As she waited to board JetBlue to Nantucket, she called Tommy, but she went straight to voicemail. “Call me!” she said. “I’ll be home on the JetBlue flight that gets in at three-twenty. Could you meet me? Let’s celebrate tonight.”
She waited, and waited, for Tommy to call or text. Finally she called her mother and left a message. “Tell the hospital you can’t work tonight. I’m taking you out to dinner. I’ve got big news and big plans.”
And then, so quickly, they boarded the small plane and in a roar and rush of prop jets and power, the plane shivered and shimmied and lifted up into the sky. Keely leaned her head against the window of the plane, for once not caring that she was separated from certain death by a small metal machine. She closed her eyes and remembered what had happened so quickly in the city. Was it all a crazy dream with firecrackers exploding, streaming confetti, balloons, and paper money down around her? It hardly seemed real.
But it was real. Her life had changed. Keely had to start work on the new book. She would have to tell Clean Sweep and the babysitting service she couldn’t work for them anymore.
When the plane hit the tarmac an hour later, Keely rolled her suitcase out to the taxi stand.
She hoped Tommy would be there, waiting to take her home.
No Tommy.
She took a taxi home. On the way, she tried to reach Tommy again, without success.
When she got to her house, she was too wired to unpack, so she pulled on running pants and a top. She was just tying her running shoes when her phone rang. It was Marianne Stanton, the editor of the local newspaper.
“Keely, we’ve just heard from the Hazlitt and Hopkins Literary Agency. You’ve sold a book to Ransome & Ha
wkmore Publishing! Congratulations! When can we come interview you?”
Maybe she wasn’t crazy, Keely thought. Maybe her life had truly changed.
After she’d spoken with Marianne, the phone chimed again.
“Keely!” Janine was almost hyperventilating. “Raul who works at The Inquirer and Mirror just told me you’re going to have a book published? Really?”
Her open laptop on the desk began to ding, notifying her of new messages. Keely forgot her running shoes, fell back on her pillows, and talked with Janine—yes. Yes, it was true. She had written a novel and it was being published.
It was late afternoon before Keely realized that Tommy hadn’t phoned. She tried once more to reach him. She texted him: Where are you?
Immediately, finally, a text from Tommy blinked on her screen.
Off island. Isabelle called me. Needs help packing up. Don’t know when I’ll be back.
Her heart stuttered. Tommy was with Isabelle?
She texted Isabelle, who didn’t respond.
She sat on her bed, staring at the wall, numb with confusion.
Her cellphone dinged. And dinged again. The news of her book was out.
Old friends, former teachers, friends of her mother, all called Keely to congratulate her.
As she’d promised, she took her mother out for a celebration dinner that night. Friends stopped by their table to congratulate her. The maître d’ brought her a bottle of champagne, on the house. Keely smiled and smiled and smiled, but her mind replayed the same thought like an irritating song: Tommy had gone to help Isabelle.
* * *
—
Keely slept fitfully that night, torn between elation about her book and uneasiness about Tommy and Isabelle.
The next morning she took a cup of coffee with her to her desk. She sat down, opened her computer to a new document, and titled it: Poor Girl.
Writing had saved her sanity before. She hoped it would now. She typed sentences and deleted them. She typed more sentences and deleted them. She typed: I’m going crazy.
She didn’t hear from Tommy or Isabelle for three days. The wonderful rush of congratulations from other island friends buoyed her up, kept her floating on happiness for hours at a time.
A large white envelope arrived in the mail on her second day home. Inside was a copy of her signed contract—and a big fat check. Keely’s hands shook. She was being paid for writing a novel! No, two novels, because Rich Girl and Poor Girl were part of one contract, and she had a check for part of her two-book advance. She drove to the bank, deposited her check, and wrote a whopping big check of her own.
That night she handed her mother a beautifully gift-wrapped box with the letter terminating the mortgage inside. Her mother’s face flushed rosy, and tears welled in her eyes.
“Keely! I never dreamed…” Eloise was too choked up to speak.
“I never stopped dreaming,” Keely replied, pleased with herself. She’d never seen her mother look so happy.
* * *
—
Friends came over one evening, and they sat around drinking champagne, which was rapidly becoming Keely’s favorite drink, and talked and laughed until midnight.
“Where’s Tommy?” Janine asked.
“Oh, he’s out in the Berkshires helping Isabelle pack,” Keely said casually, as if she weren’t nervous about this sudden helpfulness of Tommy.
She managed to fall asleep that night. She woke up ready to write.
Around noon, her phone buzzed and she saw Tommy’s name pop up on her screen.
“Tommy! I’m so glad you called!”
Tommy’s voice was somber. “I need to talk to you, Keely.”
“You do? Are you all right? What’s going on?”
“Keely—I’m with Isabelle.”
“What?”
“Yesterday Isabelle and I talked. We, um, reconnected. I’m bringing her home. And we’re getting engaged. We’re going to choose the ring together.”
Keely laughed in surprise and disbelief. “Come on.”
“It’s true, Keely.” The next words came all in a rush. “I’m sorry.”
Keely couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking. Isabelle knew I was miserable because you wouldn’t commit. She, well, I suppose she comforted me. And Isabelle was miserable because Gordon dumped her. We realized we love each other, always have, so…”
“Tommy. Promise me you’re not kidding, not trying some kind of sick joke. Because I can’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry, Keely. We never wanted to hurt you. But it’s done and it’s…right.”
“Why? I don’t understand. Help me understand.”
Tommy was silent for a while. “You know I’m not good with words like you. But, it’s like you and I are on two completely different life paths. You want to write and rush off to New York. I want to live on the island and work for Dad and fish. Maybe even, someday, have my own charter fishing business.”
“But what about Isabelle? What does she want?”
Tommy was silent for a long moment. But his voice was strong when he said, “Isabelle only wants me.”
Keely knew, deep in her heart, that was true. Quietly, she said, “And now she has you.”
“And now she has me.”
Keely pushed back her chair and paced her room.
“What do Isabelle’s parents think? When are you getting married? How are you two going to live, how are you going to afford ever to have a house on the island, what about Isabelle’s writing?”
“She was afraid you’d get hysterical.”
“I’m not hysterical!”
Tommy coughed, always a sign to Keely that he was about to admit something embarrassing. “We’ve already spoken with her parents. They gave us the apartment above the garage, until we can get financially solvent.”
Keely nodded to herself. This one detail made it all true. “You won’t have to pay rent.”
Tommy was offended. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but no, we won’t be paying rent. Isabelle’s going to work at her father’s office. I’ll work for my dad. We’ll save.”
“Very tidy.”
“Be honest. You care about your writing way more than you care about me.”
“That’s absurd,” Keely snapped, although secretly she knew he was right.
Tommy continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Isabelle has always loved me. You want to be a writer more than you want anything else. But Isabelle wants me more than anything.”
Before Keely could reply, she heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Let me speak to her.”
“Isabelle is with you?” Why did this seem like even more of a treachery, an invasion? “Damn, am I on speakerphone?” Keely bristled at the intrusion—Isabelle overhearing Keely’s words.
Isabelle began to speak. Her voice was shaking. “Listen, Keely. Remember how we used to call ourselves Surfside Sisters? We were the ones who leapt into the ocean. No matter how cold, how stormy. Remember? Well, Tommy wanted to marry you, and you didn’t choose him. You didn’t leap. Or rather, you ran. You leapt toward New York. But I leapt to Tommy. He is more important to me than any ‘work’ I might do.”
“Wow. You sound—smug.”
“I am smug, Keely.” Her voice changed, became warmer, kinder. “Keely. Keely, come on. I know everything about you. We both know you’re truly in love with Sebastian. Tommy was only ever second best.”
“Sebastian,” Keely said and his name in her mouth conjured his beautiful face and his humor and his kindness and his body, his body that his Swedish sweetheart was probably kissing right now. She would never have Sebastian. “Sebastian has always been just a dream.” All at once Keely was dragged down with exhaustion, as if she’d been lifting bags of sand. That family, that
fortunate Maxwell family! Isabelle wanted Tommy—and she got him. Anger and jealousy burned inside her, a toxic mixture that flamed so high it extinguished her rational thoughts. She wasn’t angry about losing Tommy. She was angry—she was furious—that Isabelle had him.
And she was heartbroken that Tommy had Isabelle. That was the loss that struck most deeply.
Isabelle was still talking. “I hope you can forgive me someday, Keely. You know I thought deeply about this. You and I always meant to be brave and strong, choosing what we love, doing what is right for us, and the hell with what other people think. You always knew I would choose Tommy and I have. I know about you, too. I know you want to be a writer more than you want anything else, certainly more than you want to be with Tommy. So all I can say is that if we hurt you, I’m sorry.” Isabelle’s voice changed again, and Keely could clearly hear how Isabelle was grinning. “Sorry, not sorry, as they say.”
Isabelle’s smugness infuriated Keely. “Got it. Well, I’m done. Goodbye, Isabelle.”
Keely collapsed on her bed and curled up in a fetal ball. This must be what people feel like when they’re shot, she thought. It was like a hurricane, a lightning bolt. In a matter of minutes, everything in her life had changed.
She wanted to talk with her mother. Instead, she opened her laptop and went to Isabelle’s page on Facebook. She had already added a post announcing triumphantly that she and Tommy were back together and as soon as they got back to the island, they’d look for an engagement ring. She’d posted a selfie, too. Tommy was there, shoulders straight, his smile bright enough to light a firecracker. Isabelle looked completely blissed out with her arms around him.
Keely’s thoughts jangled. Her heart skipped a few beats. She tried to sort through her emotions.
To be completely true to herself, Keely had to admit that she wasn’t absolutely heartbroken by Tommy’s desertion. And she understood Isabelle’s actions. But it stung. It felt wrong, unfair.
And it seemed like one more barrier between her and Isabelle. It was an error, a jagged break between them. As girls, she and Isabelle had dreamed of their weddings. They’d planned to be each other’s maid of honor. As things were now, whenever Isabelle and Tommy got married, Keely wouldn’t even be a bridesmaid. She might not even be invited!
