“It does for me,” Ronald said. He bent down and high-fived Alexander, who smacked his palm with as much energy as he could muster in his little body. Francesca laughed. Maybe Ronald was going to find a way to heal himself with a boat ride, then with mental health. He needed clarity, a new start. He’d be the uncle Alexander needed him to be. He’d be the brother Benjamin wanted.
“Be safe out there,” she told him.
“I always am,” he said.
For the next three hours, Francesca, her children, and Benjamin had a blissful time all together, which was a rarity given that Benjamin had so much to do to prepare the Lodge for the summer season. They played in the sand, watched the water, ate snacks, and laughed. When it hit four thirty, Francesca even said yes to the tiniest of glasses of wine, agreeing with Benjamin that such beautiful days had to be celebrated. She told him about Ronald, about how good he’d looked when he went out sailing, and Benjamin looked relieved beyond measure.
“Do you know what happened in Florida?” Benjamin asked.
Francesca shook her head. “I still don’t know.”
“I wonder if he’ll ever tell us.”
“He’s private,” Francesca offered. “It’s something I have to respect.”
After that, she told Benjamin that Angelo was missing in Italy and that her parents had all but given up on him. “It makes me think I need to visit soon,” she said doubtfully, looking at her young children, who needed her at every moment of every day. She couldn’t leave them. Italy felt farther away than ever.
But as evening approached, a dark and boiling cloud appeared on the horizon and drew closer. The ocean began to churn, casting its froth across the sand, and the wind picked up, howling and shrieking through the stables and the porch beams. Francesca gathered her children and made it into the kitchen right before the rains came, pelting the rooftop. After she’d helped her children settle in, her thoughts returned to Ronald. Surely, he’d seen the storm and brought his sailboat in immediately. He knew that the Nantucket Sound could be a cruel master. He’d been sailing on these waters since he was a boy. He wouldn’t take any risks. Would he?
Benjamin hustled from the stables and into the kitchen, drenching himself in the rain. Francesca put logs in the fireplace and built a fire to keep them warm. Jefferson Albright came in a little after that, his wet hair shaggy and dripping until Francesca fetched him a towel. He met her gaze when he thanked her, but then busied himself in the corner, tidying himself up.
Filled with anxious energy, Francesca made tea for everyone and tried to picture Ronald wherever he was. Maybe he’d taken shelter at a place near the harbor, where he kept his boat. Perhaps he was having a beer with another sailor, watching the lightning crackle through the sky. Not long after that, she served dinner to Benjamin, Jefferson, and Alexander, although she couldn’t manage to eat herself. Her nerves were sizzly. She needed to see Ronald in the flesh. She needed to hear from her brother, Angelo. She needed the world to be put right.
When Benjamin finished his pasta, he stood, walked over to where Francesca watched out the front window, and stood behind her to wrap his arms around her stomach. “He’s going to be all right,” he told Francesca, knowing what was on her mind. “He’s a good sailor. Always has been.” But Francesca was becoming less and less confident.
The storm raged on into the night. Francesca put her children to bed, watching as Alexander’s eyelashes fluttered shut. The sound of the rain and wind seemed to calm him. Jefferson Albright excused himself to his quarters, and Benjamin sat in the living room with a glass of whiskey, listening to whatever radio station crackled in best. Francesca went out onto the covered porch and studied the waves, watching them crash again and again.It was the kind of water you could surf on, she thought. Benjamin poked his head outside and asked her, “Are you going to catch a cold out here?”
Francesca glanced back at him, annoyed that he’d yanked her from her reverie.
“I’m going to bed,” Benjamin said. His tone suggested that she go to bed, too. That nothing could be done about Ronald right now. “See you soon?”
But Francesca knew that if she went upstairs, she’d lie in bed next to her slumbering husband, staring into the darkness, and thinking about Ronald and Angelo, wherever they were, if they were safe or hungry or frightened or dead. That last word rang through her mind, startling her. She hadn’t wanted to think it before, but it was always possible. Angelo dealt with a terrible crowd, maybe even the Mafia, the sort of people who “got rid” of others easily. Ronald didn’t seem to care about his own livelihood. It felt as if everything was about to change.
The rain stopped after that, and a moon rose high over the clouds. Francesca rocked on the porch swing, wondering whattime it was. Maybe she’d stay up till dawn. Perhaps she’d stay up till Alexander waddled downstairs and asked for breakfast.
But just then, a figure appeared on the white beach down below: a man walking tall and proud. Francesca’s first thought was that it was Ronald, back from his sailing expedition. When she realized it was Jefferson Albright instead, she was mystified. She’d thought he was long in bed. As he approached her on the porch, his eyes glowed in the moonlight, and he smiled gently. For a moment, Francesca wondered if she was dreaming. Maybe she’d fallen asleep on the porch.
But then, Jefferson mounted the steps and said, “I can’t sleep either.”
Francesca stood. Dread mounted in her chest. It felt good, at this moment, not to be alone with her fears.
“Do you want to have a glass of wine?” Jefferson asked. “I have a great bottle in my room.”
Francesca felt a blush crawl up her chest, but she nodded. “Just one,” she said.
“Little ones will wake you up early in the morning,” Jefferson said. “I get it.”
During his absence, Francesca’s ears rang with the sound of his wonderful British accent. She felt vaguely flustered and embarrassed, although when he returned with the bottle and two glasses, she played the part of a regal and beautiful Italian woman, the sort who was never caught off guard. Jefferson sat in a lawn chair three respectable feet away from her and raised his glass toward her. “To waiting up,” he said.
“To waiting up.” Francesca sipped the wine and agreed it was quite delicious, an Italian varietal that reminded her of home. She assumed that was why he’d decided to share.
For a little while, they made small talk to distract one another from Ronald and the storm. Francesca asked Jefferson how he liked working at the White Oak Lodge, and he said it waswonderful so far, although he hadn’t yet seen the onslaught of the tourist season. “I’m sure it’ll be stressful,” he said. “How was it for you when you first came to work here?”
Francesca thought back to her first official summer as “one of the Whitmores” and remembered fatigue so great that she’d sometimes accidentally slept through her alarm. “The Lodge has a wonderful energy in the summertime,” she explained instead. “My father first brought my brother and me here back in the sixties, goodness, and we had one of the best summers of our lives. I fell in love with not only the Lodge, but Benjamin too.” Her cheeks were inflamed, as though she felt she shouldn’t be talking to Jefferson about her love of Benjamin.
“But you left after that?” Jefferson asked, tilting his head.
“I did.” Francesca glossed over the details of her two-or-so years back in Italy, how she’d gone to film school and dropped out due to circumstances that felt beyond her control. “I hope Allegra and Lorelei know a different world,” she said. “I hope that, as girls and women, they are given every opportunity.”
