Guinness loped over, saying the lawn games were about to start. “Jameson!” he called. “Time to get in a burlap bag!”
Jameson stood. “Just think about it, Mom?” he said.
Guinness, already in a sack, hopped to Emma’s Adirondack chair. “Did you tell her?” he asked his brother.
“She said she’d think about it,” said Jameson.
“Jameson,” said Emma, “I did not—”
“WHAT DID SHE SAY?” cried Penelope, who was having trouble maneuvering her own sack. “WHAT DID SHE SAY?”
“Jameson—” said Emma, but he’d run to join his brother and Penelope. As a threesome, they hopped across the lawn to join some other children and Louisa Freck, who held a silver cup in one hand and a megaphone in the other.
4
Sylvie
Across the manicured lawn of Mumberton Castle, a bright blue figure moved toward Sylvie. Just the sight of her mother’s trademark stride made Sylvie feel dizzy, her blood going hot in her veins, scalding her from the inside.
“Darling!” called Donna.
“Mom,” muttered Sylvie.
Each sister reacted differently in Donna’s presence: Emma softened into a fawning, childlike servitude—always worried about Donna, tending to her. Cleo got steely and hard—ready to fight. And Sylvie froze, overwhelmed by her contradictory emotions and terrified heart.
Donna reached her youngest girl and hugged her. When Sylvie smelled her mother’s musty skin and a strong perfume she didn’t recognize, she softened. Donna held Sylvie, then stepped back and looked over Sylvie’s shoulder to the assembled guests. “Where’s the Face Man?” said Donna. “Hmm?”
“What?” said Sylvie.
“Where’s Simon?” said Donna.
“Why would you call him the Face Man? I don’t understand….” Sylvie stammered.
“I’mjoking,” said Donna.
“But what does that mean?” said Sylvie. “Are you insulting him?”
“You’re always so serious, Sylvie. It’s unbecoming,” said Donna dismissively. “So? Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” said Sylvie.
“Runaway groom!” said Donna. “Just kidding. Anyway, I am exhausted. You know you could have had a wedding in America; they do weddings there,” said Donna.
“Uh…” Sylvie faltered, lost.
“And a second wedding at that,” said Donna. “Usually, second weddings are a bit understated. But not for my girl!”
Sylvie took a deep breath. “Mom, thank you for coming,” she said. “It means a lot to me. I’m really—”
“OK, no need for theatrics,” said Donna. “As I said, I’m exhausted. Not an easy trek, but what Sylvie wants, Sylvie gets, right?”
In Miami recently, Sylvie had grabbed an Uber back to her place after a night out with Florence. She’d ended up chatting tipsily with the driver, who was from Barbados. Sylvie told him all about her Donna issues—that her mother was toxic, able to ruin any and every interaction for no discernible reason. Because Donna could. Because she was most comfortable when others were upset. To exert power. Because…who even knew? Serotonin?
Jim from Barbados drove through the streets of Miami listening to Sylvie go on and on and when she was finally silent, he said, “In my country, we laugh at old people and wish them well.”
Well. That hit Sylvie pretty hard. Why couldn’t she laugh at her mother and wish her well? She resolved right then and there to try to laugh if her mother was mean. And then Jim proceededto tell her that in his opinion, many things were better in Miami than in Bridgetown, but that American families were strange as hell.
Remembering Jim and his wisdom, Sylvie tried not to let her mother’s jabs hit their mark. Her mother was old and disoriented; maybe Donna was being rude because she felt nervous. “Have a nice nap, Mom,” said Sylvie through gritted teeth.
