“You make it look amazing,” Rachelle answered honestly. “You make it look chic and sophisticated and very fun. I hope I can do it half as well as you are.”
Estelle smiled. Rachelle knew she’d answered correctly.
When the plane landed, Rachelle and Estelle disembarked, then grabbed a smaller plane that would take them directly to Nantucket Island’s mini airport. Rachelle had flown into that airport infrequently and was a little sad not to take the ferry across Nantucket Sound. Out of the little plane window, she gazed down at the sun-drenched island, which seemed to beckon to her. She couldn’t believe that her entire life, up till age eighteen, had existed right there. Could her entire life fit back on that island again?
Estelle and Rachelle wheeled their suitcases out of the little airport, sliding sunglasses over their eyes. Rachelle couldn’t fathom what time it was, nor how long they’d been traveling. But it was then that her mother yelped and circled her car to scoop Rachelle in a hug. Rachelle let out a sob of recognition. Her mother was here! Her mother didn’t hate her! She squeezed back as hard as she could, then withdrew slightly to get a better look at Sam. She looked the same as ever, beautiful and blond and tanned and strong.
“She’s home!” Sam called out to nobody in particular. “My baby’s home!”
Sam piled their suitcases into the back of her SUV, then drove them out to The Jessabelle House. Rachelle thought it felt strange not to consider going to the Coleman House. But she remembered that Grandpa Roland wasn’t there. It was empty, its large rooms vacuous. Going to The Jessabelle House made more sense. When they pulled into the driveway, Darcy bolted to the edge of the veranda to peer down at them. Realizing it was them, she shot down the stairs, opened the passenger-side door, and dragged Rachelle into a hug. Rachelle couldn’t believe it. After all these years of awkwardness, after so many months of silence, she and Darcy were hugging again.
“Look at you!” Darcy kept saying. “You’re here! You’re home!”
Out on the veranda, Darcy had set out a selection of drinks and snacks and a bouquet. Grandma Estelle sat delicately and reached for a glass of rosé. “The service here is very good,” she said to Rachelle, as though they were still on vacation. “Those Roman restaurants should take note!”
Rachelle laughed and sat next to Darcy, as though she couldn’t get enough of her. Together, the four Coleman women raised their glasses, toasting their first afternoon together in ages.
More than a week after that,Rachelle drove Darcy, Steven, and Remy to the hospital for Remy’s implantation surgery. In the waiting room, Rachelle kissed Remy goodbye, searching the little girl’s eyes for understanding about what was going to happen to her. There was so little they could translate to her, as their sign language was middling at best at this stage. Their hope was that sign language wouldn’t have to come into the equation, that the surgery would be all they needed for a brighter future. But there was fear, too: that the surgery wouldn’t work, that they were doing more harm than good.
The surgery lasted two hours per ear, which put it at a torturous four hours. Incredibly, the procedure was outpatient, so Rachelle was able to drive the three of them home immediately afterward. Remy was awake, her head bandaged, her eyes searching. But because the surgery was over, everyone spoke in a bubbly, excitable way. They’d gotten through this next phase of the story. All they could do was hope and pray and move forward.
To ease the burden on Darcy and Steven, Rachelle invited Gavin to stay at The Jessabelle House for a few nights. That evening, as Gavin bounced off the walls and ate snacks and told Sam and Rachelle a thousand stories, Rachelle allowed herself the briefest moments of regret. “How does she do it?” she asked her mother when Gavin finally fell asleep in the guest bedroom they’d prepped for him. “He’s got more energy than anyone I’ve ever met!”
Sam laughed and collapsed on the sofa. A bag of popcorn was popping in the microwave, and they’d queued up a film for the next few hours. “Darcy’s a better mother than I ever was. I hadtwo little girls, two little quiet, kind-hearted girls. Gavin is as kind as they come. But quiet, he is not.”
Rachelle laughed. She removed the bag of popcorn, filled two bowls, poured some wine, and joined her mother on the couch. Outside, it had begun to rain, and there was a feeling of August on its way out, of autumn overshadowing summer. It was hard to believe that, had she stayed in Italy, Rachelle would have been preparing for her late-September wedding. She would have been counting down the days and counting every calorie. But now, here in Nantucket, she was safe and free and spending every available moment with her family.
It was a relief to everyone that the surgery went very well. Within the week, Remy could hear everything they said to her. She was often very surprised, and she seemed to alternate between crying and laughing, as though her body didn’t know what to do with all this new stimulation. Darcy and Steven were amazed at the switch in Remy’s moods. “It’s like she was inhibited for months and months,” Darcy told Rachelle. “I still feel guilty that it took me so long to realize something was wrong.”
Rachelle told her sister not to beat herself up. “We live, and we do the best we can,” she said. “You’re a wonderful mother.” She swallowed, remembering their trip to Capri, then said, “I’m sorry that I ever asked you to put me above your relationship with your kids.”
Darcy looked surprised. Rachelle remembered how awful she’d felt after Darcy had left Capri, how empty. But now, Darcy hugged Rachelle and said, “You’re my sister. You’re my best friend. You’re so essential to my life that you’re like oxygen for me. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were any less.”
On the day that was meant to be Rachelle’s wedding to Riccardo, Darcy arranged for a little party at The Jessabelle House—a party she called the “Freedom Party.” Rachelle put ona cute dress, did her makeup, and tried and failed not to cry. Many of the Coleman women showed up: Oriana and Meghan, Sophie and Ida, Katrina, Grandma Estelle, Aria and Hilary. A few of Rachelle’s friends from high school came, jittery with nerves and filled with questions about Rachelle’s many years abroad. They toasted Rachelle’s new life in the United States. As the moon rose high and the air chilled, they danced on the veranda, throwing their heads back as they sang their favorite pop songs.
When Rachelle went to the bathroom, she dared herself to stalk Riccardo’s social media, just to see if he’d posted anything. Tactfully, he hadn’t. But Valeria had posted instead: a photograph of the entire family on vacation in August, with a caption written in a frantic Italian script, talking about avoiding “gold diggers” and “Americans.” It was pointed. Rather than let it get to her, Rachelle showed it to Darcy, and they spent the rest of the evening making fun of it.
“He’s going to marry someone wealthy to save his family from financial ruin,” Grandma Estelle said later, when Rachelle showed her the caption. “Albert can’t bail them out at every turn. Riccardo has to do his part.”
It turned out Estelle was right about that. Not long after that, Riccardo was engaged to be married to the daughter of an elite Roman banker. Their plan was to get married in Dubai in the new year. Rachelle felt as though she’d narrowly dodged a bullet. Riccardo seemed like a stranger to her. She didn’t know what to do with the love she’d once had for him. But, she supposed, learning to deal with the complications of life was a part of the deal.
23
Afew weeks before Christmas, Rachelle saw the For Sale sign. Bundled up downtown, Christmas shopping with Darcy as snow fluttered down around them, she pointed at the old colonial house, tucked between the bookstore and the boutique, and asked Darcy, “What used to be there?”
Darcy sipped her coffee and frowned, as though she were trying to visualize it. “Was it that fish restaurant? Or was it the Indian place? Gosh, places come and go. It’s hard to keep track.”
Rachelle couldn’t remember either, although she supposed she hadn’t been around much the past few years. She said a brief prayer for whoever had closed up shop, a prayer of hope that they’d landed on their feet elsewhere, then took a picture of the phone number attached to the For Sale sign. She wondered if this was her chance to make something of her own. Again.
That afternoon, Darcy, Remy, Rachelle, Gavin, and Sam joined Estelle at the Coleman House to bake Christmas cookies and watch Christmas movies—How the Grinch Stole Christmaswas up first. Remy and Gavin were messy with dough and wild with sugar, but they conked out by eight and allowed themselves to be carried upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. This leftDarcy, Rachelle, Sam, and Estelle to their own devices, nibbling on still more Christmas cookies and sipping Italian red wine.
Rachelle showed Grandma Estelle the colonial that was for sale, watching her face to get a sense for how she felt about it. Grandma’s eyes widened. “That used to be the tapas place,” she said, remembering it immediately. “The owner closed up and moved back West to be with her mother.” Estelle was quiet for a moment. “It’s the perfect space for your restaurant.” She understood immediately.
Rachelle’s stomach bubbled with expectation. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so,” Estelle said. She wrote down the phone number and promised she’d call it tomorrow. “We’ll go check out the place this week. Who knows? Maybe you can move in by January.”
Rachelle hadn’t dared imagine herself in a new restaurant space so quickly. When she’d returned to Nantucket, when she’d left her engagement and all her plans behind, she’d told herself to focus on her mental health and her relationship with her family. She’d told herself to heal. But now, four months after her return, she felt ready to open a door to a new reality. Back in Italy, Riccardo was already engaged to someone else. It was as though Rachelle had never been.
