“Nope. We have a deal.”
“Exactly.”
The ferry pulls in, and even though Amy makes this trip several times a week now she still gets caught up in the excitement that permeates the upper deck as people gather their things and get ready to disembark. This excitement is especially palpable on a Friday.
“If she doesn’t want us to know, I say let’s be respectful,” saysGreg. He shrugs, as though it’s just that easy. He stands so they can join the line of people heading down the stairs. Greg may look good in sunglasses, but sometimes the man is downright infuriating.
Amy has to admit, albeit reluctantly, that Jane Wyndham is a good stage manager. In a concession to summer on an island, she has exchanged her long-sleeved black tops for black tank tops, which show off great arm muscles. The muscles aren’t what make her a good stage manager though. She’s got a good rapport with the actors, she’s always at the right part in the script, she’s always right next to Timothy when he needs her. This morning they’re rehearsing act 3, scene 1, in Leonato’s garden, when Hero, Margaret, and Ursula plot to convince Beatrice of Benedick’s love for her.
At one point Amy finds herself getting distracted by what’s happening on the stage, so she puts in the AirPods Henry gave her for Mother’s Day—she thought she’d feel silly with them, but in fact she loves them—and plays music on her phone while she works. When she removes the AirPods she hears a familiar voice. She cocks her head toward the stage. It’s Sam! She’s deep in conversation with Timothy. When they’re done talking, and Timothy calls for a break and picks up his phone, Amy moves closer to the stage, taps Sam on the shoulder, and says, “Hi! I thought Dad was picking you up.”
To Amy’s surprise and very great delight, Sam hugs her, and Amy breathes in the smell of her shampoo, and the scent of the perfume that Amy has noticed is new since New York—something darker and more mysterious than the one she used to wear.
“I got a ride in with Gertie. On her new moped! She’s not called today but she said she wanted to go zipping around. I asked Dad to get you and me at the same time. I wanted to watch part of the rehearsal.”
Timothy looks up from his phone and says, “She had a note!”
“For you?” Amy asks.
“No, silly. Of course not. For Amelia. Sam was spot-on. Something wasn’t flowing in the beginning of the scene.”
“What was the note?”
“Oh, nothing,” says Sam, looking modestly at her flip-flops.
“The lady doth protest too much!” says Timothy (Amy rolls her eyes and is gratified that Sam rolls hers back). “It wasn’t nothing! It definitely wasn’t nothing. It was the line ‘Make proud by princes, that advance their pride/Against the power that bred it.’”
Sam shrugs. “I just said I thought she was pausing too long betweenprideandagainst. You know, because there’s a line break in the script, but there shouldn’t be one when she says it. Which obviously happens all the time in Shakespeare. But something about that one line, she’s not turning the corner the way she should.”
“Turning the corner!” says Amy admiringly. “You’re making your English teacher mother very proud. How’d you know that term?”
Sam ducks her head. “I know things.”
“She sure does,” says Timothy. “The other day she pointed out that Don John was dropping the ball in his scene with Borachio. She’s got a knack for the theater, this one. Although it’s not like we didn’t know that already.” He smiles proudly at Sam like she’s just invented the ice cream cone.
“Well okay, then, Ms. Assistant Director,” says Amy. “Ready to eat? Your dad will be waiting.” To Timothy she says, “Greg is on the island. Do you want to join us for lunch?” She’s hoping he’ll say no; she really wants it to be just her, Greg, and Sam, but she’s trying to be solicitous toward Timothy, in light of their sort-of truce.
“Gosh, I’d love to,” says Timothy regretfully (or at leastactingregretful; who’s to say what’s real?). “But I already have lunch plans.”
“Oh, too bad,” says Amy, taking a stab at regretful herself. “Next time!”
Gertie appears and says, “Ready.”
“Ready,” says Timothy.
“Gertie is your plans?”
“Yup. Gertie is my plans.”
“For old times’ sake?” Amy would have thought ex-spouses living in the same house would see enough of each other as it was, never mind adding in meals during the workday.
“Something like that,” says Gertie, and Amy almost thinks she sees a bit of color creep its way into Gertie’s cheeks.
At McAloon’s they sit outside at one of the tables overlooking Corn Neck Road, watching the beach traffic wind around the curve in the road. They share an order of clam cakes, then Sam orders the burrata salad, Amy the seared tuna salad. Greg gets a burger, well done, because he claims to be allergic to salad, which of course is not true. Greg is in a top-notch mood, having spent the morning at Mansion Beach, which he reports was crowded but not overwhelmingly so. The water was the perfect temperature: cool enough to be refreshing, warm enough to allow for swift entry. After lunch he wants to drive Sam to Floyd’s house and then check out Vaill Beach. The tip of his nose is sunburned, and there’s a stripe of salt from the ocean dried on his cheek.
“I can’t believe we don’t come here all the time,” he tells Amy. “This place is paradise! I can’t believeIdidn’t come here more often, growing up. In fact I can’t believe you don’t want to walk down Memory Lane a couple times a summer.”
Looking around the restaurant at other patrons, some drunk on Irish pints, some drunk on summer sunshine, Amy is tempted to agree. There’s a good lunch crowd across the street on the deck of Yellow Kittens tavern too, and a constant stream of bikes and mopeds rounding the curve toward the north beaches. But it wasn’t always this way. “Maybe in summer this is paradise,” she says. “Believe me, the middle of January is a whole different story. Timmy got out of here the minute he turned eighteen, andafter that, well—it was lonely. The wind can really whip around this place in the winter, and there’s not much to do. There was no Internet in the olden days.”
