“Not that I know of,” Helena said.
Via email, the manager sent her a lease. She printed it, signed it, and sent him a photo. It felt like a long and arduous process. But by the end of that afternoon, she was all set with a lease of her own on Nantucket Island. Was living as she wanted to live really that easy? Why hadn’t she been doing it all this time?
Although she was exhausted, she pushed herself to call her landlord and get out of her lease. Like almost everyone else in town, her landlord was an old friend of her father, and he took pity on her and didn’t require her to pay the next three months of rent, as he might have with anyone else.
“I was hoping you’d get out of here one of these days,” he told her. “I know it’s been a difficult few years for you. But we’re all pulling for you! You can run off and have a big, beautiful life somewhere else. You’re in your forties, aren’t you? Your forties are just getting started.”
Helena laughed at that. But how could he know that she was at the end of her life?
Helena had very few possessions. But over the next two days, she packed everything up in suitcases, carried them out to her Chevy, cleaned what she could of the house, and prepared for her last night in Orangeburg. She had no food in the house, so she decided to take herself out to eat at a little diner in downtown Orangeburg. It was a five-minute walk from her house—a longer walk than she’d dared herself to take in years. Slightly frightened, with her phone gripped in her hand, she walked down the road, taking numerous breaks, then grabbed a seat in the window.
“What can I get for you?” the server asked, a high schooler with a large piece of blue bubblegum between her teeth.
Helena remembered coming here with her mother and father. Always, her father had ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon and a side of baked beans. Her mother had alwaysgotten a patty melt. Helena went for a grilled cheese with fried onions and onion rings.
“You really love onions, I guess?” the server asked, raising her eyebrows.
Helena hadn’t tried to eat such a greasy meal in many years. She took three bites of everything, then packed it all up to take home. For the next hour, she sat in her booth, digesting and watching as a few people walked around downtown in the evening. Was this the last time she’d ever be in Orangeburg? Was this the last time she’d see these sorts of people?
She half expected to see Elliott and Meg walking hand in hand, talking excitedly about the baby and their future together. They had no need for the outside world. They had no need for anyone but one another. And now that Elliott had “cleared his conscience” and told Helena the truth about his affair, they could move forward, just Elliott and Meg against the world.
But Helena found that, now that she had her Nantucket plan, Elliott was fuzzy in her mind’s eye. There was a sense of unreality to thinking about her past. Nantucket was the only real thing.
7
Nantucket Island
It was the first week of June and the first full week of summer vacation. Now that Rod knew about the baby, Bethany felt more comfortable in her reality, more sure that she would be just as good a mother this time around. Maybe she’d be better: more patient, more sure. After all, she was forty-five and softer in her heart and happier with her romantic partner.
Late at night, when Bethany couldn’t sleep, Rod came downstairs with her, put ice in glasses he filled with iced tea, and rubbed her feet till she got comfortable again. In soft tones, she tried to practice telling the kids about the baby. But each time, she imagined Phoebe crying, or Maddie storming out, or Tommy giving her that scary look he’d developed—the one that told her she didn’t know a thing about him anymore, not now that he was sixteen.
“Ugh,” Bethany said into the darkness over the sofa. “Ugh, ugh.”
“Why don’t you tell your mom and sisters first?” Rod suggested. “They’ll be thrilled. And you can use that energy to keep going.”
Bethany thought it sounded like a good plan. She kissed Rod’s cheek. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” Which was true, always.
The following day, Bethany invited her mother and sisters out to lunch. Bethany was off work, and Valerie, Rebecca, and Esme rearranged their schedules to take an extra-long lunch break. Bethany reached the restaurant before the others, grabbing a table in the corner and panic reading the menu until the words made no sense to her.
Esme arrived first. She wore a flowing linen dress and more makeup than she usually did. Her perfume was sensational: jasmine and something Bethany couldn’t place. She hugged her mother close, squeezing her eyes shut. And then, Esme pulled back, gripped Bethany’s shoulders, squinted at her, and said, “There’s something wrong.”
Bethany couldn’t believe it. Could her mother read her so clearly? “No! There’s not. Not really.”
But her mother wouldn’t stop giving her that look. “You usually don’t invite us out to lunch during the week,” she said, sitting down. “There’s something up.”
Rebecca and Valerie arrived just then, distracting Bethany from her mother’s gaze, if only momentarily. After she’d hugged them, she sat back down and tried to avoid Esme’s intensity.
“Bethany is hiding something,” Esme told Valerie and Rebecca mischievously.
“Is she?” Valerie frowned over her menu. “Bethany, what’s up?”
Bethany rolled her eyes.
“You’re so right, Mom,” Rebecca said. “Bethany’s got a secret.”
Bethany’s cheeks were inflamed. She could feel them. “I don’t know why I can’t invite my sisters and mother out for lunch in the middle of the week without being interrogated.”
Esme set down her menu, folded her hands, and raised her eyebrows. Rebecca and Valerie did the same, as though they were waiting for Bethany to put on a performance.
