CHAPTER NINETEEN
SYLVIA
There was no turning back. The house had been sold, fast, at a dramatically reduced price for an all-cash exchange. They were to move out on Saturday, which felt unimaginable: This was her home, her refuge, the place where she’d transformed from a seventeen-year-old wide-eyed girl into a wife and mother, a pillar in her community. Life had happened here on South Bay Front. It felt sacred, and leaving it, allowing another family to take over its rooms, its hallways, its quiet corners on the patio, it felt as if she’d be leaving part of herself behind.
On the same day they were to move out, Walter had explained that he would deliver the entire sum they received for the house, which would pay off the debt and ensure their safety but leave them almost penniless.
She had allowed herself a full hour, head under the covers, used tissues piled at her side, to sob and wallow in self-pity. She knew there were people far worse off than she was. She knew she should be grateful that they at least still had a place to stay, even if it was a fraction of the size and barely livable, but she wanted to mourn her old life for just a few moments longer. And then, when the hour was up, she got out of bed, threw the pile of soggy tissues in the trash can, bathed, dressed, and made a plan for what was next.
She was going to have to try to steer this ship now. They still hadthe club, and that ensured a connection to the island, but the monthly costs associated with keeping it up and running it were vast, and the memberships were still far too low to even come close to covering the overhead. On Saturday afternoon, the same day as the move, they’d be hosting the Bathing Beauty Contest, which Walter and Sylvia had orchestrated at the Fun Zone every single year that she’d lived there, and despite everything, the show had to go on. There were sponsors; everyone was looking forward to it—the visitors, the locals, the contestants, the onlookers. It was the final shiny bow that signaled the conclusion of Bal Week, and it brought the island a lot of press and business—much-needed money for the local stores, which kept them going until the busy summer months and enticed people to return year after year. But Sylvia’s reasons were personal: She needed to let everyone know that they were fine, that they were not going anywhere. They might be moving into a shack that they had planned to tear down, but she needed to make it clear that they were still the Johnsons, and they weren’t leaving town. This was just a hiccup.
Her housekeeper, Maria, had already started packing up their belongings and when Sylvia walked downstairs, she found her quietly crying as she wrapped their good china in newspaper.
“Come on, Maria,” Sylvia said. “I promise I’ll do my best to make things right.” She hated that her husband’s bad behavior was not only causing her family upheaval, it was also costing Maria and the rest of their staff their jobs too.
When Judith came home from school, she took one look at her mother and Maria amid the packing crates, and the tears began all over again.
“I can’t believe we have to move,” Judith said, rubbing her eyes. “I hate this.”
“I hate this too,” Sylvia said, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“I’ve been looking forward to Bal Week all year, and now I can’t even enjoy it because I can’t stop crying.”
“I know, darling,” Sylvia said, kissing her daughter’s head, but Judithdidn’t want to be consoled and squirmed away. “You can still have fun, Judith. Let us deal with everything here.”
“I just don’t get it, I don’t understand why we have to do this,” Judith said.
“It’s hard to understand,” Sylvia said. “It’s business-related. Your father has to sell the property so that we can focus on the club.”
“Why didn’t he just sell the club?”
“There’s not enough money in the club,” Sylvia said. “Not yet; it’s too new and very costly.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Judith said, more tears streaming down her face, her cheeks getting red.
Of course it didn’t make sense. She was being lied to, but if she was told the truth—that her father had gambled away their life savings—she’d resent her father the way that Sylvia resented Walter. She had to shield her from that.
“Well, I’m going to the Rendezvous tonight. Everyone’s going, so please don’t ruin that for me as well.”
“Of course I won’t ruin it for you. You won’t even know I’m there.”
Judith slumped into a pale-blue linen armchair tucked into the corner of the room.
“Margaret heard girls talking about me today in the locker room,” she said quietly, as if she weren’t sure she should share this information.
Sylvia frowned, immediately feeling protective of her daughter. “What were they saying?”
“That we’re going broke.”
“Who said such a thing?” Sylvia asked, angry now that fourteen-year-old girls would be the ones spreading rumors.
“Apparently Mary-Louise’s mom was talking about it and Mary-Louise overheard, and now everyone at school is talking about us moving out of the house. They’re trying to decide who’s going to host the end-of-school party since we’ll no longer be able to.”
“Who says we won’t be able to host?” Sylvia said, feeling defiant, and burned by Helen, Mary-Louise’s mother, whom she’d always thoughtof as a friend, or at least an acquaintance through Judith’s school. It was awful to think of people talking behind their backs, and for Judith to get roped into it too—the whole thing made her sick.
“Where would we host it?” Judith asked sharply, then rolled her eyes.
Sylvia wanted to say the club, but she didn’t want to make any more false promises, then she was about to suggest a beach party, but who knew if they’d even still be on the island by the time June came around.
