A hundred percent honest, because Winnie never lied.
Harlow answered, and then Rosie typed something else. She knew they were checking in on her, and she appreciated it.
Another text, this time from Lark. The Smith family radar had been activated.
Thinking of you, honey! How did today go with Lorenzo?
A nearly identical one from Addie, sweetie instead of honey. She answered them both. One from Grandpop.
I JUST WANT YYYOU TO KNnoW THTAT YOU ARE A FINE PERSON MY DEAR &ADN WHO MADE THESE LETtERS SO SMALL IS THERE A WAY TO MAKE THEM BIGGER FOR MY OLD EYES
She answered them all with the facts. Fine. Got the job. Start tomorrow. I’ll come over and fix that for you, Grandpop. Mom called, and Winnie uttered the same words.
Of course, she was not fine.
Mitchell’s apartment had been so sterile. She just thought he was too busy to decorate. Then there was the way he said all the right things, how he’d moved in slowly. It was not a hookup, no sir. They’d dated—properly, with late-night dinners, walks on the beach, bike rides on the rail trail—for two months before she slept with him. She was practically a pilgrim by today’s standards.
Apparently, he liked to work for it.
Or she’d just been an easy target, this mousy Smith sister.
Addie had reported he’d been in church with his family on Sunday. He was the one who should’ve been ashamed, and yet shame seeped from every molecule of her. She’d slept with another woman’s husband, hadn’t dug deep enough to see if he was lying, somehow thought that a single, good-looking, talented guy would go for her.
Stupid.
She sat on the little patio and stared at the water, drinking. She should get a dog, she thought. Someone who’d truly love her. A Lexus drove by, the passenger window rolled down. A female arm extended, middle finger raised. Winnie waved back, pretending not to care.
Her phone chimed. A text from a 508 number.
You should be ashamed of yourself. Everyone hates you right now, Winnie. How could you try to brake up that sweet family?
Winnie typed back.
You mean “break,” idiot. Also, bite me.
Then she blocked the number and chugged the rest of her wine.
Lorenzo had said she’d have to stay some nights. She went inside, opened her laptop, and sent him an email.
To: [email protected] (for the love of God, that was a long address).
From: [email protected]
Re: Staying over
Lorenzo, if it’s convenient and you are in Boston, I would like to spend a few nights in Chatham to get a feel for what your household needs and to familiarize myself with the property. Please let me know if that’s agreeable.
Winnie
Less than a minute later, she had an answer.
It is.
Thank God. If she had to stay in Wellfleet another minute, she’d burst into tears.
FOUR
WINNIE
