They walked to the elevator together, then got on. Albert rode it to the fifth floor, but Estelle had to go up to the twelfth. Before Albert stepped off, he shook her hand and said, “I hope we meet again at another reading. I’ll be the one who isn’t stalking you.”
Estelle laughed. “Good night, Albert. And good luck.”
The elevator doors closed between them.
Back in her room, Estelle got under the covers and shivered. Although Roland had been gone for over a year, she still slept on the right side of the bed, like always, as though she expected him to slide in beside her. She imagined telling Roland about the handsome stranger at the hotel bar, then imagined Roland teasing her for flirting with someone else.
“Never,” she whispered to the darkness over her bed. “I would never flirt with someone else!”
With that, she burst into tears. Maybe it was the wine, or all the attention, or the book tour, pressing hard on her chest. But her body suddenly couldn’t take it.
Minutes later, the door cracked open, and Sam appeared. “Mom? Mom, are you all right?”
Estelle nodded into the darkness. But Sam crept through the room and got into bed with her. Just the feeling of someone else in bed with Estelle felt warm and nice. It allowed her to drift off to sleep. She slept far past dawn and deep into the morning because her body needed it.
11
Darcy was packed up and ready to head back to Nantucket by the time her grandmother got up. Emerging from her bedroom, Estelle looked pretty and red-cheeked and well-slept, although Darcy’s mother had shared that she’d gotten up to hear Estelle crying in the night. Darcy hugged her grandmother goodbye and wished her well. “You’re going to kill it, Grandma,” she said. “I wish I could be there every step of the way.” But of course, Darcy was needed back in Nantucket.
In the car, headed back to the island, Darcy sang songs and drove slowly, conscious of the three people awaiting her safe arrival. At a rest stop, she checked her texts to see that her mother and grandmother were already headed out of New York City, taking the train south for another book signing at a store in Philadelphia. They were on an adventure—one that required no car and plenty of goodwill and conversation.
Darcy reached the island by midafternoon. She found Steven, Gavin, and Remy in the living room, surrounded by heaps of toys. Steven and Gavin were laughing like hyenas, while Remy sat off to the side, furrowing her brow, as though she was confused. Darcy pulled her into her arms and said, “Let’s watchDaddy and Gavin play, shall we?” Remy continued to frown as Steven and Gavin tumbled all over the living room. Sometimes Darcy had to remind them to stop playing so roughly, but mostly, she knew it was good for both of them. She couldn’t play like that. She couldn’t help Gavin release all that boy energy. That was what a father was for.
That night, after bath time, reading time, and bedtime, Darcy and Steven cuddled on the sofa and talked about their time apart. Again, they spoke about how strange Remy was acting.
“Maybe it’s just her personality,” Darcy suggested. “Maybe she’s guarded and nervous and waiting to act.” Darcy remembered being like that when she was younger. She remembered Rachelle as louder, more courageous, and messier, while Darcy, despite being older, waited in the wings.
Steven suggested they watch a television show together, something to help them unwind. But within five minutes of turning it on, Steven was out like a light, leaving Darcy alone with her thoughts. She texted her mother, albeit briefly, and then allowed herself a few minutes on social media. It was only because of these five minutes that she learned about what happened to her sister’s restaurant.
It was a newspaper article from an American expats in Italy site. It read “American-owned Restaurant Coleman Cites Accidental Explosion as Reason for Closure.” Darcy was on her feet, gaping at the headline. The article itself was only a few paragraphs, most of which discussed how excited the American community in Italy had been for Rachelle’s restaurant and how devastating it was that the fire had broken out. The accident had happened about two weeks ago, it said, which meant that, for the past two weeks, Rachelle had been living through inconceivable sorrow and loss. Darcy panged with emotion, wondering what she should do.
Rather than call her sister or her mother or anyone else, Darcy dared herself to look up Rachelle’s social media. She hadn’t blocked her, exactly, but she’d kept a wide berth since they’d stopped talking, just so that she didn’t injure her heart with news of Rachelle.
Rachelle’s page had nothing about the restaurant. The first photo that popped up was of Rachelle and a very handsome man in his thirties, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Rachelle had extended her beautiful hand to show off an ornate, antique engagement ring. Darcy couldn’t breathe. Her sister was getting married! And Darcy and Sam didn’t know!
Darcy was at a loss for words. She paced the living room, then went into the kitchen to force herself to drink some water. Before she could stop herself, she began researching this Riccardo fiancé. It seemed that Riccardo was from a very wealthy Italian family, one with the sort of old-world European wealth that put Grandpa Chuck’s coinage to shame. Darcy couldn’t believe it. According to Riccardo’s personal website, he was a chef, like Rachelle. But he didn’t seem to be working anywhere right now. Darcy wondered if he was leaning on his parents’ wealth in the lead-up to the wedding. She wondered how swanky the wedding would be.
Was Rachelle ever going to tell Darcy about the engagement? Were they ever going to talk again?
Suddenly, Steven appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Darcy hadn’t expected him and let out a shriek of alarm.
“Baby, what’s going on?” Steven asked, extending his arms.
Darcy fell into them and allowed herself a good, honest cry. She couldn’t tell Steven what was on her mind, not really, as it sounded so silly. She didn’t want to talk about Rachelle, anyway.
But instead of any of that, she said, “I’m worried about Remy.”
Steven held her tighter, then whispered, “I’m worried about her, too.”
It tookDarcy another two days to make a doctor’s appointment for Remy. During that time, she concentrated hard on the little girl, trying to make sense of what was going on and why she was so afraid, why she so often pretended not to hear them when they said her name. It was like she wanted to abandon the world. It was like she wanted them to know she wasn’t ready for them.
Darcy and Steven dropped Gavin off at Hilary and Marc’s place en route to the doctor. They didn’t tell anyone it wasn’t a routine checkup. They pretended that everything was all right, which was what you had to do until you really knew anything was wrong. Hilary hugged Darcy tight, as though she could read her face.
“How’s Marc?” Darcy asked.
“He’s resting,” Hilary said, sorrow in her eyes. “But he’ll be fine.”
Darcy knew that her family was aging, that there were things she had to prepare for in the future. One day, all the people she loved wouldn’t be here any longer.
