It was possible that Donna’s awful parenting had led Emma to create such a close-knit family. Emma’s years of misery made her stunned and grateful now. And that was not nothing. Emma remembered a line from Cheryl Strayed, a writer she loved:You were a dark teacher, but you were nonetheless a teacher.
“Thank you for everything you did for me,” said Emma. “I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
“It was always you three girls against me,” said Donna.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom,” said Emma. And without regret or acrimony, she left the room.
11
Sylvie
Emma and Rich approached Simon and Sylvie with a careful plan, outlining how they wanted to spend a year with their boys in the coastal village of Mumberton, helping in any way they could with insurance or restoration in exchange for a loan to pay off their debts.
The week after Mac’s funeral, Rich and Emma drove Simon, Sylvie, and Penelope to the airport in Simon’s old Land Rover. “Thank you again,” Rich said to Simon, and Simon said, “Believe me, mate, the pleasure is all mine.”
“You never liked it here,” said Rich.
“No, I did not,” said Simon.
“I don’t get it,” said Rich. Louisa had found Emma and Rich a stone cottage in Mumberton overlooking the estuary, and secured spots at the local school. Emma had already outfitted them all in secondhand waxed jackets and wellies from the St. Mary’s Hospice thrift shop in nearby Millom. The boys spent their days at the football pitch and field in the village, playing with locals who kidded the boys, kindly, about their accents and the way they kept forgetting and calling football “soccer.” For the week he was intown, Isaac gave the boys rides around the village in the G-Wagon, cementing their popularity for years to come.
“Wait til winter, brother,” said Simon.
“Gotcha,” said Rich, shaking his head but grinning.
Donna had recovered enough to fly back to her Margaritaville Conch cottage. When Cleo called to see if she had arrived safely, Noah told them that her feelings were hurt after they “all ignored her” at the wedding, “treating her like an old sofa cushion,” and she refused to come to the phone.
“One of us is going to have to fly down there at some point, you know,” Emma told her sisters.
“Shehasa husband,” said Cleo.
“Lucky,” said Sylvie.
Simon and Sylvie flew with Penelope to Heathrow on a puddle jumper, and then direct to Miami. Florence and Rashid had taken in Wilhelmina, but they were tired of the rescue dog.She barks a lot,said Florence, in a text.Also, the library at school is a disaster! Nothing shelved, overdues all over the place! Come home!
When they were settled in their plane seats and Penelope had inserted her earbuds to listen to the audiobook ofThe Jigsaw Jungle,Simon said to Sylvie, “There may not be any money when this is all over.”
“We have a home,” said Sylvie, thinking about the house she had shared with Alexander on Hibiscus Street. The tomatoes they had planted in the garden and the bed they had shared. She didn’t want to move, but she could replace some things. She could clean out his side of the closet, and even make some room on her bookshelves. It was time to buy new basil and marjoram.
Sylvie took the book she was reading from her backpack. Simon found his book as well. They leaned against each other, settled in for the long flight. Penelope rested against Sylvie, and put her thumb in her mouth.
“She sucks her thumb?” whispered Sylvie.
Simon smiled. “My girls,” he said. Penelope’s weight on Sylvie’s shoulder made her feel anchored, somehownecessary.Sylvie felt, though she still did not believe in a benevolent Father in Heaven, that something, some magic, connected her and Penelope. And belonging to Penelope gave Sylvie an answer to a question she didn’t even know she was desperately asking.
Sylvie and Simon began to read silently, entering fictional worlds that made life’s sharp edges dissipate like smoke. By the time a steward approached with the drink cart, Sylvie, Simon, and Penelope had fallen asleep, curled together, their books abandoned on their laps.
EPILOGUE
CLEO
Isaac and Cleo liked paper papers; the SundayNew York Timeswas strewn across the bed, along with their bagel wrappers and napkins. Cleo snuggled under Isaac’s arm, kissing his neck and then his mouth.
They both had work to do on a Sunday. They both had work to do every day. Isaac and Cleo lived on takeout, gin, and sex. It was wonderful. “I know we have to work, but…” said Cleo, straddling Isaac.
“Work can wait,” said Isaac. “But not for too long.”
“Agree one hundred percent,” said Cleo. She licked cream cheese from the side of his mouth.
