“No. I mean, do you feel like you’ve been tricked about the American Dream?”
“Not tricked, exactly. It’s more that... I can’t figure out how to say this the right way. Hang on, let me think about it.” Nicola hears Juliana inhale, exhale, keeping her eyes fixed on the green light. “It’s more that they don’t tell you that someone has to be a bridge between classes. You can’t skip that step—you can’t go right from one class to another and be comfortable there.”
Nicola sits with this for a second.
“The money is so confusing,” Juliana adds.
“What’s confusing about it?”
Juliana lets out a puff of air—more than a breath, but not quite a sigh. “I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what’s the rightway to spend it, or not spend it. I don’t have a healthy relationship with it. So I buy this house and throw these parties. But I throw them for the brand, not for myself. I don’t even like parties that much.” She shakes her head. “I can’t find the middle ground—I can’t just enjoy it, like a normal person who grew up around it would be able to. Like Taylor can. I either throw it around, or I hoard it... when I don’t spend it, I feel guilty. And when I do spend it, I feel guilty.”
“So you’re the bridge?”
“I’m the bridge. I’mabridge. No matter how successful this IPO is, or what I accomplish, or how many whatever-under-whatever lists I’m on, I can only ever be the bridge. I’ll never be the one who walks over it.” She pauses. “At least I helped Talia. Besides my foundation, that’s the thing I did that I’m most proud of. She works for me now. She runs the New York office. She’s amazing—she works so hard. She has shares, and I hope this IPO makes her really fucking rich. But she won’t know what to do with it either. She’ll be a bridge too.”
Nicola thinks hard about this, trying to understand. “And who’s going to walk on your backs?”
“Our kids.”
This is the first time Nicola has heard Juliana mention children. She’d assumed that she didn’t want them—that she’d find child-rearing incompatible with her career. Which isn’t fair of her, because a person of Juliana’s means can afford to rear children in any way she wants, buying either the time to do it herself or the people to do it for her. “Do youwantkids?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you could start with a dog,” Nicola suggests. “A little rescue. Then you can get one of those bumper stickers that says something likeAdopt Don’t ShoporMy Dog Thinks I Rescued Him but Really He Rescued Me.” She’s trying to lighten the mood, and she waits to see if it takes.
Juliana snorts. “I’ve never seen that second one.”
“It’s a good one.”
Nicola feels a shift in the air. It’s the first time she’s sensed that they’re turning a corner toward fall—there’s momentarily a briskness, a hint of what is to come. Then the briskness disappears and the air feels just as it has all night: a little heavy, very August-y. This is the kind of night when they would have caught fireflies as kids. Nicola doesn’t know if there were ever fireflies on Block Island but she knows they’re disappearing from many of their native habitats, victims of climate shifts and light pollution. Another vestige of childhood gone.
Then something happens. As the two of them sit there, both training their eyes across the water, the green light at the end of David’s dock goes out. They both start, as though the light’s disappearance had been accompanied by a loud noise. Nicola waits to see if Juliana will say something, acknowledge it in some way. Finally, after a yawning pause, she does.
She says, “Well. I guess that’s that.”
And before Nicola can stop her, she stands at the very edge of the dock, and she jumps off.
***
Lou:There’s three kinds of money on this island. Old money, new money, and no money.
Kelsey:No offense, Lou, but that issucha Boomer thing to say.
Evan:I heard Buchanan Enterprises is abandoning plans for the hotel altogether.
Betsy:They still own a home here, so I’m not betting on that. And they bought that big house out by Great Salt. The one with all the parties.
Lou:Are we going to talk more about what happened the week after that party at Taylor Buchanan’s?
Kelsey:Do we have to?
Evan:I mean, yeah. Isn’t that what we’re here to talk about?
Kelsey:Even this long after, I can’t shake the image. I’ve seen dead bodies before, obviously. But a body that’s been in the water for hours? That’s a whole different story.
Shelly
Shelly’s in the mood for a cocktail. Bikini under her dress, a spring in her step. Why not? To be fair, it’s only four-thirty, and it’s only Monday. But there are just two Mondays left in August, and then there’s Labor Day, and then life around the island will start to slow down, and, who knows, maybe a Monday cocktail won’t even be a possibility for much longer. Gather ye rosebuds and all of that.
