“I remember,” says Amy. How could anyone forget? No sooner had Logan climbed aboard the bus to West Virginia than Charlene was plastering a Habitat forHumanitybumper sticker on her car and outfitting herself, Logan’s dad, and Logan’s two younger sisters in matching Habitat T-shirts.
“And Sam...?”
“She’s home,” says Amy. “For the summer.” She doesn’t feel like getting into the details about how Sam is not actually, technically at home.
“Oh,good!” says Charlene. “It must have broken your heart when she didn’t come home for Christmas!” (HowdoesCharlene know everything? It’s like she has an internship with the town crier.) “And then what happened in the spring.”
Amy swallows and looks away.
Charlene peers at her. “Wait a second,” she says. “You know about all of that, right?”
Amy feels her cheeks start to flame. “OfcourseI know,” she says. She hopes her voice sounds steadier than it feels. Damn it! After all these years Charlene can somehow still put her on her back foot.
“I figured,” says Charlene. “Ohmygod, you had me wondering for a minute. Yourface!I wish you could see your own face.”
Amy does not wish she could see her own face. “I’m sorry,” she tells Charlene, “I have to take this.” She indicates her phone, which is not ringing or buzzing, and picks it up as though it’s doing both.
“Hey!” she says, convincingly, she thinks. “I was just about to call you!” She waves at Charlene, who looks slightly annoyed as she gets up to go. “I know!” Amy tells the lovely imaginary person on the other end.
Once Charlene is at a safe distance, she ends the fake call and stares at her phone. She hates that Charlene knows something about Sam that Amy doesn’t know.
That’s it, she tells herself. That’s enough. I can’t do this any longer. I’m googling. Her finger hovers over the phone screen. She’s about to do it! But there’s no time; the announcer comes on the intercom to dispense instructions on disembarking; the opportunity passes, and so too does the desire. Sam has asked her not to google, and she wants that trust to remain unbroken.
Focus, Amy, she tells herself. Focus on the play. You have a job to do.
When Amy gets off the ferry, she calls Timothy, as instructed, and he directs her to where he is in the parking lot. She makes her way down the gangplank and through the throng of day-trippers, finding Timothy leaning against a brick-red Wagoneer. His arms are crossed, he’s got sunglasses on, jeans, expensive-looking loafers without socks. When he sees her, he tips his sunglasses forward and smiles, looking for all the world like the movie star he is. He hasn’t lost his charm. He steps up to her and opens his arms and they hug. It’s been a long time since she’s hugged Timothy. Not since their mother died.
“You look good,” she says. “You look like you made it through the pandemic mostly unscathed.”
“That’s not what my cholesterol numbers tell me,” he says,flashing another smile, bigger this time, if possible. “But thank you. You look good too.” He gestures to the Wagoneer. “Your chariot, madame.”
“Yeah? Really? All for me?”
“All for you.”
“Where’syourchariot?”
“Oh, well. I keep the actual jeep, the sides-off jeep. Not because it’s better...” (It’s better, thinks Amy. Of course it’s better.) “But because I thought you might have, you know, things to lug around. In your capacity as PM.”
“Sure,” she says. “I might lug some things.”
“Key’s inside. Full tank of gas. I’ve arranged with the parking guys here for you to leave it in their lot overnight, so it will always be here. Key to the theater is on the same ring.”
“Perfect,” says Amy. She will not ask Timothy where Sam is. She’s promised herself that she’ll let Sam live her own Block Island life, while Amy livesherown Block Island life. If she happens to run into Sam, that’s one thing. If she happens to check her location on Life360 and then “run into her,” that’s also one thing, just a different one thing. “I have a meeting at eleven with a Realtor about a barn that I’m hoping will work for rehearsals. Do you want to come?”
Timothy checks his watch. “Gertie and I have a casting meeting with New York at eleven-thirty. I’d better not. I leave it in your capable hands.”
Amy looks at her hands. They look careworn, that’s for sure, but are they capable? Well. She hopes so. “Got it,” she says. “We’re bumping up against the beginning of rehearsals, so unless it’s flooded or on fire I’m assuming it will work.”
Timothy grants her another one of his megawatt smiles. “That’s my girl,” he says. “I knew I hired you for a reason.”
Amy tries to bristle at this, but her heart isn’t in it. She’s nomore immune to the famous Timothy Fleming charm than anyone else. “I knew I said yes for a reason.” She taps the Wagoneer, then climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
When Timothy first moved to L.A. he came home every Christmas, first with a ticket that Rose and David paid for and then, once he started making real money, with one he paid for himself. Then he was flying himself first-class, and before too long he couldn’t come at all. He was too busy, or he was on location, or he’d rather fly them all out to him, because wouldn’t it, after all, be nice to spend Christmas in L.A. for a change?
By the time Amy got to college Timothy was here, there, everywhere. Splashed across the cover ofPeoplemagazine. Walking the red carpet of this or that awards show or premiere; associated with this actress or that one. Her junior year Timothy took Amy and her roommates to seeMiss Saigon,front row, then out to the just-opened Lespinasse in the St. Regis. Her roommatescouldn’t believethey were out with Timothy Fleming.
She’s thinking about all of this as she drives the Wagoneer carefully along Water Street, hooking a left on Dodge and then a right to get to Corn Neck. It’s so crowded! So much more crowded than when she and Timothy lived here all those years ago, yet despite the changes the nostalgia tugs hard at her. A tear forms in each of her eyes. Four of them then, two of them left now. She blinks hard; she can’t afford to cry, she doesn’t want to hit a moped.
