"You were lucky," her father said. "Last week they had to divert three flights to Hyannis because of the fog. Some poor souls had to wait for the last ferry over."
The conversation flowed easily as they ate - questions about Jess's work, queries about Julian’s and her bridal party’s arrival details, updates on neighbors she half-remembered, gentle teasing between her parents that revealed the comfortable rhythm of their decades-together marriage. Jess found herself relaxing into the familiar pattern, the wine and the delicious food softening the edges of her earlier discomfort.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Marianne said, as she ate the sourdough, “The Morgans’ bakery was saved from developers last-minute at Christmas. The whole town got involved - fundraisers, petitions, the works. It was quite dramatic."
"The Flour Jar?" Jess queried, thinking again about the beloved local family bakery where she'd bought gingerbread cookies every Christmas throughout her childhood, and the one that had prepared this very sourdough. "I didn't realize it was in trouble."
“Nasty business.” Her dad shook his head. “Some developer living in Nantucket Shores wanted to turn a whole block on Willow Street into yet another upscale hotel."
"The community wouldn't stand for it though," Marianne added proudly. "The bakery's been there for fifty years! In the end, Clara decided to come home and take over. The Christmas stollen last year was the best it's ever been."
Jess nodded, trying to remember the Morgans’ only daughter, Clara. A couple years older than her, she thought. Quiet girl with dark hair who'd mostly kept to herself at school.
"And speaking of Nantucket Shores …” Jess’s mother continued, referencing the newer, exclusive gated community on the eastern shore of the island. "One of the Walker & Reedsummer families was involved in a hit-and-run a while back. Very dramatic.”
Jess took another sip of wine, listening to the familiar cadence of island gossip. There was something comforting about it - the way everyone knew everyone else's business, the intricate web of connections that made Nantucket feel like a world unto itself. In Manhattan, she could walk for blocks without recognizing a single face; here, it was impossible to stop for coffee without running into someone who had known her since childhood.
"Oh, and poor Ellen Doyle is quite ill, you know," Marianne went on, casually spearing a roasted carrot with her fork. "Someone new is taking over Sea Glass Bridal - her niece, I think."
The fork in Jess's hand froze, the piece of cod dangling precariously for a moment before she carefully lowered it back to her plate. "What do you mean, taking over?"
“Ellen’s been very unwell for some time sadly,” her mother continued. “Cancer. Very sad. She's been such a fixture on the island."
"I didn't know that,” Jess said gently. "Is she OK - how serious is it?"
"Quite serious, from what I hear," her father said gently. “Not long left, I believe.”
"But she seemed fine when I spoke to her on the phone last month,” Jess protested, as if this fact might somehow negate Ellen's fate. “To arrange my final fitting."
"You know Ellen," Marianne replied, reaching for the salad. "She's always been private about personal matters. Apparently she's been poorly for over a year, just didn't want everyone fussing. So her niece is coming to take over - Caroline, I think her name is. From Chicago."
"But my dress …” Jess said, the words escaping before she could stop them. "My final fitting is this Thursday."
Her mother gave her a sharp look. "I'm sure her niece is perfectly capable, Jessica. Ellen wouldn't leave any of her brides in the lurch."
"I know, but..." Jess trailed off, keenly aware of how selfish she sounded. Poor Ellen Doyle was dying, and here she was fretting about her wedding dress.
But it wasn't just any dress. Ellen herself had helped Jess find it years ago - a vintage-inspired gown with antique lace sleeves and delicate beadwork on the skirt and bodice.
And she’d chosen it long before her groom.
Sea Glass Bridal was a Nantucket institution for more reasons than one. Ellen’s bridal shop, housed in a converted whaling captain's home on Centre Street, was known not just for its personalized service, but Ellen's almost mystical ability to match brides with their perfect dress.
Jess had always assumed Ellen would be there when the moment came, making last-minute adjustments and offering calm reassurance before her big day.
"Your dress will be fine," her father assured her, evidently reading her mind.
“No I was just thinking about Ellen," Jess said, the guilt settling in her stomach alongside the anxiety. “I should pop in on Monday to see how she is.”
And to check whether her dress would still be ready in time for the wedding, though Jess kept this thought to herself and felt terrible for even thinking it.
The cod on her plate, so delicious moments ago, now seemed unappetizing. Jess pushed it around with her fork, trying to appear engaged as her parents moved on to discussing the weather forecast for the wedding day.
"They're predicting clear skies all the way,” Marianne was saying. "I spoke to Nadine about arranging a backup tent just in case, but I think we'll be fine with the reception inside with the doors open. Oh I do hope the weather holds. A sunset ceremony on the Harbor Hotel terrace will be just perfect.”
Jess nodded automatically, but her thoughts were elsewhere. "Yes," she agreed, her voice steady despite the growing unease inside. "Perfect."
4
