Francesca talked about the Italian village nearby, the produce she’d grown in her garden, and the conversations she’d had recently with their crazy-intelligent grandfather. Her life seemed slow, simple, easy in a way that didn’t match up with the intensity Francesca Alexander had known back in Nantucket.
For dinner, Charlotte made a glorious pasta with fresh herbs and freshly grated Parmesan cheese. It was warm, and they sat on the veranda, wrapping pasta around their forks and watching the day fade to night. Alexander, who’d quit carbs a few years ago to ensure he retained his “captain physique,” felt as though he’d never tasted anything more delicious in his life. He got himself a second helping. Maybe if the airline never let him return, he could sit around, eat pasta, and enjoy his life again.But I can’t give up on my dream, he thought, remembering how hard he’d worked to get to where he was.
Francesca said good night shortly after she finished her small serving of pasta.
“Are you sure, Mom?” Charlotte asked, popping up to clear the plates.
“I’m sure the three of you have much more to talk about,” Francesca said. “I already laid down ground rules for our conversation. Ground rules have been canceled! Talk about whatever you like after I’m gone.”
“We’d rather spend time with you,” Charlotte insisted.
But Francesca wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll be asleep in half an hour.” She paused at the double-wide door and pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. “I love you, my darlings,” she said in Italian. “Sweet dreams.”
For a little while, the three Whitmore children waited in the dark, sipping the last of their wine and watching the wind rustle through the spooky poplars. August was right around the corner, and Alexander couldn’t help but think about his children back in Los Angeles (wherever they were), getting ready for their firstdays of school. He remembered how nervous Xander had been for first grade, telling him and Janie that he wasn’t prepared because he didn’t know algebra yet. He’d wept and wept. Janie and Alexander had tried to tell him that algebra was for bigger kids, but that had made it worse. It hadn’t occurred to Xander that he’d get big. “I don’t want to move away!” he’d cried.
“Alexander,” Charlotte said, interrupting his reverie, “does the name Seth Green mean anything to you?”
Alexander turned to look at his sister. Seth Green. Was it an actor’s name? A friend of the family? Or was it Charlotte’s newest boyfriend, maybe a guy she’d met back in Nantucket?
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t know the name.”
Charlotte inhaled sharply and looked at Nina, as though asking permission to go on.
“Seth Green is Jack Whitmore’s new name,” Nina said flatly.
Alexander’s stomach curdled. “I’m sorry?”
Charlotte and Nina nodded furiously and began to talk at once, until Alexander demanded that they slow down and walk him through what they knew.
“I left Italy when I was twenty-one or so,” Charlotte explained. “I went to New York City to make documentaries that nobody really cared about or watched. But at one of my screenings, this guy came who looked really familiar. I followed him down the street and into a bar, and then I realized he was my brother. My brother, who was supposed to be dead.” Charlotte’s eyes bugged out, and she turned to look up at what they knew was their mother’s window. It was dark.
“But we spent many years together after that.” Charlotte lowered her voice. “We lived together in Manhattan. He was my best friend. My greatest confidant. I kept making documentaries, and…”
“Wait. Slow down.” Alexander’s heart was pounding. This was his first confirmation that Jack was really and truly alive; itwas his first “spotting” from someone he knew he could believe. “But why? Why did he fake his death? What did he tell you?”
“You said you knew what Jack was up to back then?” Nina asked.
Alexander nodded. “Yeah. Selling drugs for Tio Angelo. With your friend Amos.”
Nina bit her lower lip and glanced at Charlotte. “You remember that the cops were sniffing around before the fire. I think they were onto Tio Angelo’s game.”
“Okay. Yes. I buy that.” Alexander nodded. “But why would Jack, Tio Angelo, and Dad all fake their own deaths?”
“Do you think Dad was selling drugs?” Nina rasped, pressing her hand to her chest.
Alexander remembered Tio Angelo and their father at the summer solstice party in 1996 and how chummy they’d been. It had been two years before the fire, two years before their lives had exploded. But had they been chummy after that? Alexander’s memories were fuzzy.
“I don’t know,” Alexander admitted.
“Dad wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize the White Oak Lodge,” Charlotte said stiffly.
“That’s what I used to think,” Alexander said. “But nothing is for sure anymore.”
They were quiet for a moment, trying to hold on to other people’s secrets and finding them like water in their hands.
“But you must know where Jack is now?” he said finally, looking at Charlotte.
Charlotte winced. “I got engaged in my twenties,” she explained. “I was excited because Jack decided to ‘reveal’ himself to the family at my wedding. We had it all planned out. But before the wedding, there was an accident. Jack was driving, and my fiancé was severely injured. We didn’t think he’d make it. Jack disappeared after that. I think the guilt ate him up.”
