Shelly whistles. “I mean, yeah. That would be great. That would be ideal. But that’s a big get.”
“Right. So.” Amy looks down at her notebook, then back up. “Aren’t you the one who could be the getter?”
“Hmm.” Shelly’s gaze keeps sliding over to Anthony, who has a notebook out and is writing furiously.
“Shelly!” says Amy. She feels like snapping her fingers to bring Shelly’s attention back to her.
“Sure, okay,” says Shelly. She takes a long pull of her dirty chai. “I can try for theTimes.”
“Would you already have had to have done that? Don’t they need to—plan to send someone?”
“I bet they do! It’s a little bit of a process to get here. I’m telling you, this Nantucket wedding took it right out of me for a while. Three days to celebrate, at least four to recover.”
Amy sighs. “Shelly. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought you knew a little more about how publicity works than you seem to.” Shelly looks instantly crestfallen, but Amy is not backing down. “There’s a lot riding on this,” she says. “All we can do is move forward from where we are. But I wish we were somewhere different.” She glances at her watch. “I’m getting the ferry in fifteen minutes.” She needs to call Henry on the way home; she’s been so wrapped up in life on the island that’s she’s scarcely talked to him lately. “Why don’t you make some calls, and report back to me tomorrow?”
“Yes, Captain,” says Shelly. “Aye aye.” She salutes Amy, who never thought she’d say that teenagers were easier to work with than thirty-year-old women.
Sam
When Sam steps out of the theater and into the summer chaos three days later, she can’t see anything for at least twenty seconds: the sun is so bright, and so audacious. After so many full run-throughs, she’s exhausted.
Her vision comes back only partially at first, and when it does she’s positive her eyes are playing tricks on her because she thinks the guy standing in front of the clothing store is Henry. First she’s seeing Tucker everywhere on the island, and now her brother?
Then her vision clears, and itisHenry! He’s walking toward her and smiling, and he wraps her in a big bear hug, squeezing her tight.
“Hey there, little sis,” he says. Next to him is Ava, who’s wearing cutoff shorts and a gray Middlebury T-shirt with navy-blue writing. Somehow she manages to make the outfit look elegant. But that’s Ava for you.
“Hello, Ava!” says Sam. She hugs Ava. “What are you twodoinghere?”
“Mom summoned us. She said with the recent casting change this play is now officially a can’t-miss theater experience. So we wanted to come for opening night. And we thought we’d have a few vacation days while we were at it.”
“That’s amazing! Are you staying with Mom and Dad? Or doyou want to stay at Uncle Timothy’s? I could see what he says—he’s still inside, wrapping up a couple of things. He’s going to be so happy to see you!”
Henry holds up a hand and says, “We got a room at the 1661 Inn.”
Sam whistles. “Wow, Henry,” she says. “The pay for philosophers must really have gone up since I last checked.”
“Ha ha,” says Henry. He’s one of the only people Sam knows who can get away with saying the wordsha hainstead of actually laughing, and not looking ridiculous. “The pay for philosophers remains on the lower end of the scale. This is Ava’s treat.”
Ava smiles modestly and nods, making her long, shiny hair shimmer.
“We were lucky they had a cancellation,” says Henry. “We called at just the right time.”
“Maybe we should go check in?” Ava says to Henry. She puts her hand around Henry’s waist in a way that feels so intimate Sam figures she may as well have said,and test out the bed.
“Sure,” says Henry. “We can walk from here, right?”
“Absolutely,” says Sam. “It’s right up the hill there. I’d drop you off, but I rode my bike.”
“Not a problem,” says Henry. “We love to walk.” Henry holds out his hand for the straps of Ava’s overnight bag and shoulders it. Sam recognizes the bag as the three-pocket duffel by Away in blush color. Many men would have looked out of place carrying it, but Henry manages it; he just looks like a good boyfriend. Sam hopes Ava knows how lucky she is. “I just want to talk to Sam real quick about that thing...” he tells Ava.
“What thing?” Sam asks. Ava steps quietly away to look in a shop window; Classy move, thinks Sam.
“Mom’s worried about ticket sales for the play.”
“She is? She’s worried about ticket sales? She hasn’t told me that!” Sam feels childishly insulted. This was the way she felt infifth grade when she realized Henry had let her go on believing in Santa Claus long after he’d stopped. She’d felt so excluded!
“I don’t think she wanted to makeyouworry. That’s why she told me. I’m a neutral party, that’s all. Not involved in the endeavor.”
