“She’s calling it Coleman!” he said. “Can you believe it?”
Estelle genuinely couldn’t believe it. She wondered if it was Rachelle’s way to connect with her roots, if it was a genuine and heartfelt choice. That, or it was Rachelle’s way of bringing an American audience into a Rome restaurant, a way of differentiating herself and her cuisine from the Italian options. Maybe it was all about capitalism, all about money and what she could earn.
Estelle wondered if she’d ever find out the truth.
“It’s remarkable to be as old as I am and learn that your granddaughter named her restaurant after your family name. In Rome of all places,” Chuck said, looking satisfied, his hands on his stomach. “She’s going to be something in the world.”
“She already is,” Estelle said.
Meghan and Oriana peered at her curiously. The topic of Estelle’s long-lost granddaughter was one that nobody was eager to broach, save for Chuck.
But soon, Chuck had moved the conversation on to other things. “Turning one hundred is a strange thing,” he said. “A man never imagines something like that. Certainly, he never imagines reaching a hundred without one of his own children around.” Chuck took a staggered breath. “A man should never outlive one of his children. It isn’t right.”
Estelle felt his words like a knife. The room spun. She knew that she couldn’t stay here, listening to this, not without throwing up. She was on her feet, moving toward the door.
“Estelle?” Oriana called. “Estelle, do you need something? A glass of water?”
Estelle stood in the hallway, heaving into her hands. But by the time Oriana found her, she’d calmed herself down. She smiled gently, hoping that Oriana wouldn’t ask her if she was all right. She was so obviously not all right, and she didn’t want to lie.
Oriana put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “My father really knows how to put his foot in his mouth. He always has.”
Estelle laughed. “It isn’t a big deal.”
“It is a big deal.” Oriana closed her eyes. “It’s really sweet of you to come all this way today to visit us. I don’t want you to run home, okay? Come back to my place after this. Reese and I will cook you something delicious, fatty, and great. You can spend the night if you want to. I hate to think of you in that big house by yourself.”
Estelle wanted to say no. She wanted to get back in her car and take the ferry back home. But she saw from Oriana’s eyes that Oriana wouldn’t take no for an answer.
An hourand a half after that, Oriana found herself on the veranda of Oriana and Reese’s place with a glass of rosé and a bowl of pita chips and hummus before her. The waves rolled gently onto the white sands, and seagulls squawked far overhead. Reese, who was five years out from awful bouts of cancer that had very nearly killed him, looked fresh and happy, reaching for the bottle of rosé to refill his glass. Their daughter, Alexa, was over with her son, Benny, who was nearly ten years old now. Benny played with their dog on the beach, charging up and down the sand as Alexa talked about her brand-new art show in Boston the following weekend. Oriana and Reese beamed with pride.
Estelle prayed that none of them would look at her too harshly, that they wouldn’t ask her how she was doing. She couldn’t take it.
Oriana served steaks, mashed potatoes, and red wine, which felt decadent and grand. Estelle, who was living by herself for the first time, had been feeding herself salads, eggs, and anything simple she could cook in a few minutes. She hadn’t been able to find the will to cook just for herself. She figured that most widows felt this way at first.
After dinner, Alexa and Benny left, and Reese went upstairs to do some reading. This left Oriana and Estelle on the veranda, listening to the waves and finishing the bottle of wine. Estelle braced herself for Oriana’s questions about Estelle’s life post-Roland. But Oriana seemed to know better. She sat quietly, waiting for Estelle to fill the space. Maybe she understood that sometimes, silence was what you needed to get by. Silence with another person.
Estelle’s phone rang, breaking the calm. She checked to see it was her agent, a sort of new one after her last one got out of the business.
“Hi, Anne,” she said. They hadn’t spoken on the phone in ages, and Estelle had been avoiding her.
“You answered!” Anne sounded pleased. “I thought I’d have to leave another voice message that you probably wouldn’t listen to.”
Estelle laughed gently. She told herself to keep breathing.
“Don’t worry,” Anne assured. “I didn’t call to pester you about writing something new. I know this might not be the time for that. I understand. I get it.” She paused. “But I wanted to say that many, many bookstores across this country and also Europe have expressed interest in hosting you. It’s enough for a mini book tour. Is that something you would be interested in?”
Estelle’s eyes widened. She hadn’t left Nantucket Island after Roland’s death till today, which had taken her only as far as Martha’s Vineyard. And now, her agent was asking her to go as far away as Europe? She couldn’t manage it.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Estelle said.
“Things have changed in publishing, Estelle,” Anne continued. “People want to see you in the flesh. They want to meet you, get to know you, and feel that you’re human, especially given all this AI nonsense. If you want to keep selling books and continue having relationships with your readers, you have to put yourself out there. And don’t you think returning to the world, going to London and Paris and New York City, will activate that creative brain of yours?”
Estelle groaned, then laughed at herself. “I’m sorry. It sounds like you’re so far ahead of me on this.”
“I know. I know.” Anne kept her voice upbeat. “What if I send you the potential calendar, and you can tell me what you think? Make sure you give yourself some time to get used to the idea. Talk to your daughters and friends about it. I really believe this is essential, not only to your career but to your healing and your sense of self in the future.”
Estelle might have been annoyed with Anne and all her pushing, were it not for Oriana, sitting beside her, acting as a force of protection.
“I’m going to hang up, now,” Anne said. “I’m sending you the potential schedule now. Don’t tell me no for another three days, okay? We’ll talk soon.”
