I amSO NOT AT ALL HAPPYto be back in Nashville. School has already started. It’s really really hot here, like ninety-five degrees and humid, and obvs there’s no ocean. Every day I wake up and wish I was standing on the rocks right now or out on Granddad’s boat. I’d rather pull a hundred lobster traps than spend ten moreminutes here. All anyone here wants to do is make TikToks and buy more makeup. My mom went back to Maine because my grandma’s cousin died but she wouldn’t let me go with her because of school. I was SO MAD.
I wish it was next summer already. Next summer I am going to go to Maine for as long as I can. Next summer cannot come soon enough.
If you want to write back to me my address is at the top of this notepaper—see? Send me your number again.
Xoxoxo
Hazel
Matty reads the letter again, more carefully the second time around, parsing each individual word for meaning, and then he puts it in his pocket for safekeeping. He floats down the stairs, wondering if he can score something to eat before dinner. Floats into the kitchen, where Pauline is considering a blueberry pie resting on the counter—she’s considering it so hard that Matty wonders if the pie is about to say something. She looks up when she hears him.
“Looking for a snack?” He nods. “You can have some of those crackers over there. Or fruit. Dinner’s not too far off.” He nods and selects a plum from the bowl on the counter. He turns to go, and Pauline says, “Matty?”
“Yeah? I mean,yes?”
“Make sure you don’t break Hazel’s heart, okay? She’s a good girl.”
“Me?” (Hazel’sheart?)“No, ma’am. I would never do that.”
“Good.” She turns back to the pie.
He wants to say, Could you please ask her not to breakmyheart? No doubt that is the greater danger. He can still feel the silk of Hazel’s cheeks between his palms, hear the ring of her voice in hisears. Music. “Pauline?” he says. She turns. Her face is watchful—wary. He clears his throat and says, “Granny told me about your cousin. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The smile Pauline releases is like a river winding through a canyon: slow and deliberate, but here and there moving in unexpected bursts. “Thank you, Matty.” Then she is coming toward him, and then she’s hugging him, and for an instant he is allowing himself to lean against her. This is different from receiving a hug from Granny—with Granny your head presses into the sharp plane of her clavicle, and the swing of her hair is like a whisper on your cheek. Pauline’s hair is pulled back, with pieces falling out of the bun, and her body is soft, the bones hidden well beneath the flesh. If you had asked Matty at the beginning of the summer if this was a hug he’d ever be inside of, he would have said,absolutely not,but now that he’s here it’s sort of nice, and worth staying for a moment.
When Pauline releases him from the hug she says, “Hazel’s a good girl. But I’ll tell you what. You’re not so bad yourself, Matty. Not so bad at all.” She swipes at her eyes, which Matty can see are damp. “Damn onions. Been chopping them all day.” When Pauline opens the refrigerator door and pokes her head inside, Matty looks all around the kitchen. He doesn’t see a single onion sitting out. He pats his pocket with Hazel’s letter in it and he thinks,grown-ups.He’ll never understand them.
44.
Louisa
When the night of the dinner arrives Louisa is nervous. Matty and Steven go out for happy hour, and the girls help Louisa set the table. She tries not to think about the example she is setting, the men going out while the women do the housework. But Matty really needed time with Steven. Tomorrow night they can do the dishes.
They’ll have lobsters, and corn chowder, and rolls, and one of Pauline’s blueberry pies. Pauline had three days off for the funeral of her cousin, but now she’s back at it, solemn and thoughtful. Annie offered her more time but Pauline wanted to come back. Claire lays out the metal nutcrackers, and Abigail sets out the plastic bibs and the wooden bowls for the shells. Pauline is in charge of the pie and the chowder, and Steven is going to steam the lobsters in the big pot on the porch as soon as he’s back. Louisa has given herself the bartending role. They’ll have wine, but also the option of cocktails, and plenty of seltzer or ginger ale or lemonade, for Kristie.Beer for Steven and Danny if they’d prefer. Milk or water for the children. Claire puts a lobster bib on like an apron and Louisa has to chase her down to get it back.
Matty and Steven return. Louisa smiles and gives Matty a letter that arrived for him. She has already noted the postmark, and she watches him note it too. She can practically see his heart burst out of his chest. He dashes up the stairs. The ice cubes in Annie’s gin and tonic clink; the air is festive and late-summer cool; the water is blue-gray, with plenty of boat traffic. Louisa surveys the table and reassures herself that hosting this dinner was the right thing to do. Everything is ready. Her hands are sweating. She pours a glass of white wine, drinks it too fast. She wonders if she should have gone for the hard stuff instead. Probably not. Annie goes upstairs to freshen up. She already looks plenty fresh. She’s going to check on Martin too. Just before Kristie and Danny are due to arrive Annie descends the stairs. Her eyebrows are knitted together. Her glass is empty. She shakes her head, and the hand holding the glass is shaking a little bit too. “He’s not up to it, Louisa.”
Louisa’s heartbeat picks up. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not a good evening, for something like this. See for yourself, if you don’t believe me. You can go on up.”
Louisa studies her mother. Her lipstick is perfect. She smells like Shalimar. The air thickens between them. “I believe you,” she says levelly. “I don’t need to see for myself.”
“It can’t be helped,” says Annie. “The timing of things.”
“I know, Mom, I know.”
“He’s not in his own head right now. Pauline can bring him a plate upstairs.”
“He can’t crack a lobster upstairs.”
“Of course not. The chowder, then. The bread.”
“Okay. Okay, Mom.” It’s not about the lobster or the chowder—obviously. It’s about Kristie, who’s expecting to sit down withMartin Fitzgerald after twenty-nine years—who’s expecting to be acknowledged.
The doorbell rings and Annie and Louisa jump and stare at each other alarmed.
“It’s okay. It’ll be fine,” says Louisa, as much to herself as to Annie.
