“Kelly?” She knelt beside her, shaking her gently. Kelly didn’t stir. It barely seemed like she was breathing. Amelia shook her harder. “Kelly, wake up.”
Amelia shifted position, knocking over a glass of water Kelly had set by the sofa. That’s when she noticed the prescription bottle. Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, she picked it up.
It was empty.
“What did you do?” Amelia shrieked. “Kelly, what did you do?”
Blythe and Marin rushed into the room. “What’s going on?” Blythe asked.
“Call 911!” Amelia yelled, holding Kelly against herself, cradling her like a child and sobbing. She pressed her head down, burying her face in Kelly’s hair, which had come loose from its ponytail. “I need you,” Amelia cried. “I love you. Please, please don’t go…”
Amelia didn’t know what she was saying, she just knew she had to keep talking. She had to keep Kelly with her, even as a man tried to pull her away. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ve got to let us—”
Blythe was beside her, taking her by the arms, forcing her to let Kelly go.
Kelly, goddamn it. Don’t leave me!
Chapter Forty-Five
The Church of Saint Mary of the Harbor was, like most everything in Provincetown, just a little bit different, with its rainbow flag and the carved words over the wooden doorway that read WHERE THE LAND, THE SEA, AND THE SACRED MEET.
The funeral was standing room only. Marin and Blythe made their way to the front. Paul, Bart, and Thomas sat behind them in the second row. Paul sobbed, and Marin reached over to hug him.
“I had no idea it would end like this,” he said, his voice breaking.
“Paul, of course not. How could you?”
“The other day? When we were getting high in the studio? She seemed so peaceful. So calm. I should have known she was going to do something.”
“How would you have known?” Marin said, though she too had struggled with what-ifs. She’d combed through every conversation they’d had since Kelly confided her diagnosis; her fear of losing control, her frustration with not being able to work. Her acceptance of the inevitability of death. That this was her last summer. “And even if you had suspected, you know how strong-willed Kelly was. There was nothing you could have done.”
He cried harder. Marin hugged him harder. She wished she could let it all out like that. She could never cry in public.
“Hey, Marin—I’m so sorry.” She turned to find Luke Duncan. She couldn’t help noticing that he sure cleaned up nice. No wonder Rachel was losing her mind over the whole disastrous fling.
He asked her if she’d seen Rachel.
“We took the car over together but I’m not sure where she is right this second,” Marin said. Luke went off to find her, and she felt a pang. She hadn’t called Julian to tell him about Kelly. As much as she wanted him there, as comforting as it would have been to be in his arms, to feel his steadying hand on her shoulder, she didn’t want to want him. She didn’t need him. Besides, the phone worked both ways. If he’d called, she would have told him. But she wasn’t going to beg him to be by her side.
A stately, handsome older man stopped to talk to her mother. He kissed her on the cheek before moving on to talk to Amelia, who was making her way toward the pew.
“Who’s that?” Marin said.
“Just a friend.”
A friend? From where?
There was no time to speculate because Amelia moved next to her, sitting between her and Rachel. In the three days since Kelly’s death, Amelia had been largely absent, either out of the house making arrangements or closed off in her bedroom. Marin felt utterly useless. Rachel, at least, had found a way to be helpful, cooking for the past two days to host a gathering at the house after the service. Amelia liked the idea, said Kelly would have liked it too.
On the other side of Rachel, her mother. Fran had turned right back around from Cape Cod as soon as she heard the news and set up camp at Thomas and Bart’s house. Rachel complained about her, but Marin knew she was secretly thankful she was there. Marin didn’t know what she would do without her own mother at a time like this.
The minister took her place in the front of the church. Everyone settled into their seats. Marin turned around to see how many more people were trying to squeeze into the hot room and spotted her father standing in the back.
“Dad’s here,” she whispered. Blythe, surprised, turned around, following Marin’s gaze.
“I’m sure he’s concerned about you,” Blythe said.
The quiet murmuring in the room turned to silence.
“Today, we gather to honor the life of our beloved Kelly Hanauer,” the minister said. She had long gray hair, wore a flowing white robe, and spoke with a rich, warm voice. “While I am serving to lead you in prayer, please know that I grieve along with you. As we all know, Kelly was not a fan of organized religion. Of organized anything, frankly.” Nervous laughter. “So some might wonder how I came to know her well—which I am honored to say I did. To answer that question, I ask that you look around. Each one of these magnificent stained-glass windows, a constant joy and comfort for members of our congregation, was created and donated by Kelly. And as I reflected on what to say today in remembrance of Kelly, such a valuable member of the artistic and spiritual community here in Provincetown, I found myself returning to the notion of her life’s work: the mosaic. I know that Kelly’s beloved wife, Amelia, taught her the craft, a family tradition. If we think about the mosaic, the beauty of the mosaic, it is perhaps the art form that most reflects family. All the different bits and pieces, some that clearly fit together, others not so obviously, joining to create one beautiful, colorful whole. Some mosaics are stained glass, others tiles or stones or shells. There is no one way, no right way. Kelly understood this about life; she assembled all the pieces to create a life that worked for her, even when that meant leaving some things behind or being left by people who did not approve of her choices.”
Marin glanced at the end of the row, at Nadine, who stared straight ahead. She wondered what was going on in her mind. Sensing her gaze, Nadine turned to her and Marin quickly looked down at her hands. She traced her tattoo with her forefinger.
Now, and probably forever, the sight of the tattoo was achingly bittersweet.
Goddamn it, Kelly. It was taking a lot of effort for her not to be angry. How could Kelly do this to Amelia? To all of them? She could have had months left, maybe a year. Who knew? Any time at all would have been better than this. No one got a chance to say a proper good-bye.
“Kelly always did things her way. This was true in the end. It is why we are here today, sooner than we expected, sooner than any of us is prepared to deal with. But in honoring Kelly, we must make peace with the fact that her final choice was part of the big picture of who she was, of what made her so special to all of us. And so, in your grief, I ask that you remember the mosaic. A single piece of one, by itself, might not be a thing of beauty. By itself, it might not be anything we would choose. But when all of the pieces are seen as a whole, we find ourselves in awe. And we sit in gratitude for the gift.”
Amelia sobbed, and Marin held her tightly. Her arm brushed Rachel’s, who was also holding on to Amelia.
That’s when Marin realized Kelly hadn’t been selfish in taking her own life, in choosing the time and circumstance of her death. She’d done it to guarantee that when the end came, Amelia would be surrounded by family.
Her own tears came, a sob that started deep within her and shook her entire body. Huddled together with Amelia and Rachel, she looked up at the ceiling. Okay, Kelly. I get it.
There was a long moment outside of church where everyone emerged, slightly dazed, into the sunlight, and regrouped. Blythe saw Kip making his way toward her and felt a flash of irritation. How was she supposed to move on with her life and accept their divorce if he insisted on hanging around? It was especially irritating how good he looked in his suit. And leave it to Kip to travel with a suit at all times. You ca
n take the lawyer out of the firm…
“How are you holding up?” he said.
“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms. “I’m surprised to see you still in town.”
“When all of this happened, I figured I’d see if there was anything I could do.”
“We’re fine, Kip. I know you’re trying to be supportive of Marin, but we’ve made it through a lot of emotional ups and downs all summer without you. And frankly, it’s making it difficult for me to move on when you’re here.”
“Just a few weeks ago you wanted me here.”
“That was when I thought maybe there was still a chance we’d work things out.” She paused. “But now, Kip, I’m sorry. It’s time for you to go.”
Chapter Forty-Six
It seemed the entire population of Provincetown and then some had shown up at the house to pay their respects to Kelly. The front yard was full of people. The first floor of the house was packed. The backyard was jammed from the door to the last inch of lawn, with the table and both benches covered with trays of food and bottles of wine. Marin recognized the man who owned Provincia. The maître d’ from the Red Inn. The sales clerk from Marine Specialties. The owner of Café Heaven. And then there was the out-of-towner.
Her father looked so distinctly not of Provincetown in his dark suit and John Lobb shoes. It was oddly comforting.
They’d had dinner the evening Kelly died. He said he was just in town for the night, that he had some things for her mother. She assumed he meant papers to sign for the divorce, but when she pressed him on it, he deflected the questions. Now she was just thankful for whatever had brought him to be with them during a difficult time. It seemed meant to be, and she said as much to him as they sat in the crowded living room.
“I’m sure Mom really appreciates it too.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
Rachel tapped her on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but Julian’s looking for you.”
What?
Marin turned, and sure enough, there he was, making his way through the crowd toward them. Her heart soared at the sight of him, but she squashed that with the thought that (a) she hadn’t invited him, and (b) she didn’t need him.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
He looked flustered. “Why didn’t you call to tell me about Kelly?”
“You haven’t called me.”
“Marin, I said I’d be back in nine days. And I’m here. I would have come sooner…”
Nine days.
She’d forgotten all about the test results. Results that were probably sitting in the pile of three days’ worth of unopened mail behind the front desk.
“Kipton Bishop,” her dad said, offering his hand to Julian.
“I’m sorry,” Marin said, flustered. “Julian, this is my father. Dad, this is Julian Rowe.”
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Julian said. “I studied a few of your cases in school.”
A lawyer love-fest ensued. It was surreal to be with the two of them in the same room. She had to admit it felt good—like the threads of her life knitting together. And she could tell they liked one another. Why wouldn’t they? Two ambitious lawyers, one at the start of his career, one at the end.
And they might have something else in common. They each might have loved a woman who carried another man’s child.
She couldn’t take it anymore, the not knowing. For weeks, she’d pushed the uncertainty out of her mind. But Julian was here, the results were probably here, and she couldn’t exist in her little cloud of denial any longer.
“Excuse me for a minute.” They barely heard her. She threaded her way toward the front of the house, to the small office behind the front desk. She closed the door, and against the buzzing backdrop conversation of all the friends and well-wishers, she rifled through the pile of mail. It wasn’t hard to spot the envelope, the bright red-and-green Genie logo in the corner. She tucked it under her arm, made her way back through the crowded living room, and pulled Julian from his conversation with her father. When he hesitated to disengage from Kip, she waved the envelope at him.
“We’re doing this now?” Julian said.
“We’re doing this now.”
She led him up the stairs to her room.
Blythe was happy to see Julian show up for Marin. She was happier still to see the two of them slipping upstairs together. Young love was so resilient.
Older love, apparently, not so much.
She pulled Kip aside. “Didn’t you hear a word I said to you outside of the church?”
“I did.”
“So why are you here?”
“You made an erroneous assumption.”
“Don’t lawyer me, Kip.”
“You said I was here for Marin. And I thought about it and it’s only partially true. I didn’t fly back here with that box of stuff for Marin.”
“I know. You came with that box so you could deliver your recriminations in person. Look, I get it. It was a lot to ask, and I’m sorry. But if you could have seen Amelia’s face when I gave her the letter…I don’t regret asking it of you.”
“It was a gutsy move on your part.”
“Maybe.”
He took her hands and looked her in the eyes. “You’re a good woman, Blythe.”
“But not good enough,” she whispered.
“No? So why can’t I bring myself to leave?”
Blythe looked at him, incredulous. With some difficulty, she managed to say, “You tell me.”
Kip’s eyes, so steely, always so certain, the eyes that had guided her through a lifetime, locked on her. “Standing in that church, hearing the minister talk about pieces fitting together in unexpected ways—about there not being one right way. Talking about family. You’re my family, Blythe. We’re going to be grandparents.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes,” she murmured. “But that’s not necessarily a reason to stay together.”
“It’s a good place to start.”
Amelia was touched by the turnout for Kelly, her heart warmed by the sight of old friends, new friends, and even some strangers. They were all a comfort—with one exception.
Sandra Crowe was dressed like a widow in a long black dress with cap sleeves and a pillbox hat. It was as if she had been waiting all summer for an excuse to get out of her beach casual wear. Amelia couldn’t help but think she was also delighted for an excuse to be inside the house that she was negotiating to buy.
Blythe had told her about the drop-in when Amelia and Kelly were out of town. Thankfully, Kelly had been out of earshot for that little tidbit or she would have lost it.
Nadine spotted Sandra and made a beeline for her. Amelia’s irritation turned to rage. She marched over to the two of them, but they didn’t notice her. Their heads, bent together in conversation, left Amelia with no doubt about what they were discussing—and it sure as hell wasn’t fond recollections of Kelly. Oh, it was partially Amelia’s fault. She had entertained the idea of selling the house, even tossed a few numbers around with Sandra through Nadine. There had been a brief moment when the idea of a financial windfall for herself and Kelly was appealing. It would also be money she could share with her only surviving child. Guilt money.
But there was nothing left to feel guilty about. At least, not in the way Nadine had led her to believe. She knew that now, thanks to the letter Blythe had miraculously produced and shared with her. How lucky, how very lucky, that it had come before it was too late.
It took Sandra and Nadine a few seconds to even notice her standing there.
“Oh, Amelia. So sorry for your loss,” Sandra said.
“I’m not selling this house!” Amelia yelled, loudly enough that people stopped midconversation to turn and look at her. She didn’t care. The volume, as well as the sentiment she was expressing, was pure release. Maybe there was something left of her after all. She had not died along with Kelly, though the pain made her feel as if sh
e might.
“Amelia, you’re in mourning. Of course this isn’t the time to discuss this,” Sandra said.
“And we’re not,” Nadine jumped in quickly. “We’re not talking about the house.”
Well, maybe her daughter had a shred of decency. But, as they say, too little, too late. Trembling, Amelia looked at Nadine. “You’ve outstayed your welcome. I want you to leave in the morning.”
In the kitchen, Rachel busied herself moving apples and pears from a fruit basket to a serving bowl. She glanced out the window and saw Thomas holding court at the table, reciting poetry.
The houseful of people gave her something to do—gave them all something to do. But what would happen tomorrow? And the day after that?
Fran walked into the room carrying a platter of whole steamed lobsters.
“Look what someone brought! This is the best shivah I’ve ever been to,” she said. “Shellfish and all!”
“It’s not a shivah, Fran,” Rachel said, taking the food from her. “It’s just a gathering to celebrate Kelly.”
In her complete shock and freak-out the night Kelly died, Rachel texted her mother, who by that time was in Cape Cod for the yoga retreat. It had been an impulse; she hadn’t expected her mother to get right back in the car and return to Provincetown. But that’s what she did.
“Are you going to hide in the kitchen all day?” Fran asked.
“I’m not hiding. What are you talking about?”
“Luke is out there waiting to see you.”
Yes, she’d seen Luke at the funeral. Devastatingly handsome in a dark suit.
“Please—don’t. Just because you talked your way—or smoked your way—into crashing at Thomas and Bart’s house doesn’t give you the right to get involved.”
“It’s not about having the right or not having the right. I was there when the ex showed up, and I can tell you that he booted her out so fast it was like the house had a revolving door.”
“You know what? I really don’t care. There are more important things going on here.” Rachel turned back to the fruit, and Fran grabbed her arm.
The Forever Summer Page 29
