At dinner Louisa pours herself a big glass of the pinot noir Annie has set out to go with Pauline’s baked haddock, and she lets the wine’s warmth spread through her. Her hangover is no longer raging, but it is still grumbling. The pinot helps to send it back into its lair.
Abigail and Matty have a small quibble over whether or not Abigail’s elbow—she’s left-handed—has crossed over into Matty’s territory, but it’s minor. Annie tells a funny story about the receptionist at the doctor’s office and then, looking at her husband, says, “Remember that, sweetheart?” The tenderness in her voice brings quick, hot tears to Louisa’s eyes. Her voice is telling the story, but it’s clear that her heart is saying, Please remember that. Just that one little thing.
Martin says, “Montserrat,” and they all turn toward him, alarmed. “Montserrat,” he says, again, pointing at the picture window. The sun is setting so much earlier than it did when they arrived in June. Now dinnertime is the golden hour, with the daylight redder and softer, and the sky preparing for the big sunset show. Passing in front of the window is a glorious yacht, all white, gleaming in the last rays of the sun.
Matty leaves the table to get a closer look. He lifts the binoculars to his eyes. “The flag,” he says. “It’s got a British flag and a person with a harp...”
“ThatisMontserrat,” says Louisa. “Tax haven.” She looks at her father in wonder. “How’d you recognize that one, Dad? From so far away?”
“Don’t know,” Martin says. He shrugs and gets back to his haddock. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”
“Mommy, what is your face doing?” asks Abigail.
“What? Nothing. Why?”
“You were doing something funny with it. Like smiling, but not really.”
“Oh,” says Louisa. “I don’t know. I was just thinking, I guess.”
Louisa imagines, looking at her children, that she can see through their hair and skin and bones, all the way to their hot, pulsing cores: she can see Matty’s first love and Claire’s wish for connection to her newfound aunt and Abigail’s desire for Steven to come up and make them a whole family again.
“You’re still in my spot,” Matty grumbles to Abigail.
“That’s literally impossible, Matty, I’m all the way over here.”
“Hang on,” says Louisa. She stands and moves Abigail’s place mat and dishes to the other side of Matty’s, then she motions for her to stand and moves her chair over too. Abigail sits down and Louisa asks, “Better?”
“Sort of,” concedes Abigail.
“Not really,” says Matty. “But a little bit.”
Once Louisa regains her seat next to Claire she reaches over and gives her leg a squeeze. Claire smiles at her plate. Another boatcrosses in front of the picture window—a schooner on a sunset sail, probably chartered out of Camden. For a moment they are all silent, watching, eating. Even Claire is taking down her haddock with a surprising amount of gusto, and Claire always,alwayscomplains about Fish Night.
Later that night, everyone in bed but Annie and Louisa, Louisa debates the wisdom of what she wants to do. Con: It will really piss off her mother. (Pro: It will really piss off her mother.) Pro: Kristie has a right to stand face-to-face with her own father, the man who relinquished her in favor of a storied career, a storybook family: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear, three seats at the table, three beds in the cottage, no room for anyone else.
Martin has good days and bad days, happy enough hours and wretched ones, and if Kristie comes during the bad or the wretched things could really turn into—well. Con.
There’s also this. Each time Louisa and Kristie have met it’s been accidental or awkward or governed by parameters beyond Kristie’s control. Send this sandwich back, I can’t eat mayo. Come over, but stay on the porch, and leave before my mother gets home. Please put down the cardboard boxes you carry in service of your minimum wage job and entertain my errant daughter. Each interaction has been unbalanced, tipping every time toward the Fitzgeralds. And that’s what finally decides it for Louisa.
She finds her mother at the long dining room table, laying out a game of solitaire.
“Want to play doubles?” Annie asks Louisa. “There’s an extra deck on the hutch.”
Louisa fetches the deck, shuffles, sits across from Annie and lays out her own game. They begin, slowly at first, then picking up speed and momentum, getting into the rhythm of it, ace then two then three, finding comfort in the order and symmetry.
Louisa waits until she is stuck, waiting for Annie to make amove that will unstick her, and says, “Did you know Kristie was dating Danny?”
Annie pauses, a seven of diamonds in her hand, and says, “Kristie? Our Danny?”
Louisa smiles at that. “That’s exactly whatIsaid. But obviously he’s not our Danny.”
“No, of course not.” Annie touches the chain at her neck, tucks her hair behind her ear, lays down the seven. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“He’s his very own Danny.”
“He is,” says Annie.
“But they broke up, I’m sorry to say. Danny told me that.”
