But Kendall and Minnie were as thick as thieves, Hannah knew. It would be a difficult road, explaining to Minnie howheinous her father’s crimes were. “He didn’t steal millions of dollars because he loved you, honey,” Hannah muttered to the darkness now. “He stole that money because he wanted to win, to take advantage of people he deemed lesser than him. He…” But she trailed off, her heart overwhelmed with the trauma of the day.
The decision tomove to Nantucket Island came from a long, sad scroll through social media. Unable to sleep most nights that first week after the article was published, Hannah catapulted herself into fantasies her friends published online. One of her friends from college, Natalie Johnson, had married a banker who’d bought a glorious house on Nantucket Island, where they were busy raising their three sons, sailing, barbecuing, and taking photographs that made them look like the prettiest and most all-American family around.
Hannah did a little more digging into Nantucket Island. She was drawn in by photographs of cobblestone streets, long, white beaches, 50 percent of the island preserved, gorgeous restaurants, and a tight-knit community that came together during the off-season months. She pictured herself and Minnie on a sailboat, sailing around the island, laughing together in a way they’d never been able to. She pictured Minnie, happy and unafraid and suntanned.
Maybe they’d learn how to play tennis together. Maybe Minnie would go to college nearby—an Ivy League, even! —and call Hannah for advice about boyfriends. Maybe there would be a Nantucket wedding: all green lawns and pristine beaches and champagne.
Hannah could dream, couldn’t she? Maybe she had to dream enough for both of them.
While Minnie kept to herself in her bedroom, still unwilling to talk to her mother or go to school, Hannah researched properties on Nantucket. Most everything was out of her price range, especially given that they would no longer receive anything from Kendall and that Hannah was unemployed. But since Hannah and Minnie would be moving away from Miami, they’d sell almost everything, including the house. And a charming, romantic, and slightly run-down house on the beach of Nantucket Island seemed to match what she could afford.
Out of nowhere, Hannah called Natalie to inquire about the property.
“Hannah! How are you?” Natalie sounded thrilled to hear from her. Hannah couldn’t tell if it was fake enthusiasm. She decided to believe it was real.
Hannah explained what was up. She was in the middle of a divorce (sort of, although it felt far more complicated than that), and she and Minnie were looking for a new home. “Do you know anything about this place off Miacomet Beach? Do you know the area?” she asked, praying that Natalie would give the okay.
“Let me ask around,” Natalie said. “And I can drive by later today.” She hesitated before adding, “What’s the rush? Why not come see it yourself before you buy it?”
“We need to start over as soon as possible,” Hannah said, her throat tight with fear. “It’s hard to explain.”
Natalie said she understood. But how could she? According to her social media presence, the biggest problem Natalie had was choosing which moisturizer to use on her hands.
Hannah waited with bated breath until Natalie called back a few hours later. “It’s a fixer-upper,” Natalie said. “Are you into those house refurbishment shows?”
Too busy with her career, Hannah had never watched a home renovation show. “I love them,” she lied. “I always dreamed about redoing a space one day.”
“Perfect!” Natalie launched into a story about how she and her husband had done a complete restoration of their house on Nantucket, too, before they’d moved in. “Life is what you make of it! And so often, divorce opens a new chapter. It’s exciting for you! And for Minnie,” she cooed.
The next two weeks felt like a whirlwind. Just as soon as it was put on the market, Hannah had an offer on the house in Miami, the house she and Kendall had purchased all those years ago, the house where they’d raised little Minnie into the teenager who now hated her.
Incredibly, the buyers wanted to purchase much of the furniture, which was a godsend, as it meant far fewer tasks for Hannah. The real estate agent explained that they loved the space as it was and the “unique details” that Hannah’s family had selected. Hannah remembered the interior designer that Kendall had insisted on a few years ago, the woman who’d decided how the entire space was decorated. At the time, Hannah had suspected that Kendall and the interior designer were having an affair. But rather than confront him, Hannah had thrown herself even deeper into work. She’d won an award for journalism that year. Kendall had even said the articles she wrote around then were okay.
She’d accepted the compliment. She’d slowly felt the interior designer leave his life, although she’d never asked for sure if they’d had something. She’d been surprised to feel how little she really cared.
After she purchased the house on Nantucket, Hannah communicated everything to Minnie through Minnie’s cracked bedroom door. She explained where Nantucket was, how beautiful the next era of their lives would be, and what Minnieneeded to do to help Hannah prepare. “Pack everything you want to bring with you,” Hannah said. “But try to limit it to a few suitcases. We aren’t bringing anything big.”
Minnie answered with an awful sigh that chilled Hannah to the bone.
The drive from Miami to Hyannis Port, where they would take the ferry to Nantucket Island, was more than fifteen hundred miles. That meant approximately twenty-three hours total of driving, give or take, plus rest and food stops. Hannah charted out the route on a sheet of paper, thinking that Minnie could help her with directions as they went. Thinking they’d drive maybe seven or eight hours per day, she found hotel stops along the way in Georgia and Pennsylvania, hotels with decent breakfasts and good ratings. When she saw Minnie, who was not often in the lead-up to the drive, she tried to pep her up. “We’re going on a great American road trip,” she said. “We’re going to live somewhere so beautiful that people usually only go there on vacation!”
Minnie hardly ever answered her. When she did, she said something like, “We need more bread,” or “We’re out of juice.” It was disheartening, to say the least.
Hannah tried to remind herself that time was not her enemy. The more time passed, the more Minnie would forgive her. She hoped.
On the morning of their departure, Hannah watched as Minnie dragged her three suitcases to the minivan Hannah had purchased secondhand last week, thinking it best to trade in her more expensive vehicle for something more affordable and less of a gas-guzzler. It was not yet seven, but Hannah had been awake since five, panicking and drinking too much coffee. Impossibly, it was the middle of April and a little less than a month since the article had been published. Minnie hadn’t gone back to school once, and although Hannah had officially told thestate that she was homeschooling her, Minnie hadn’t let Hannah close enough to deal with any math problems or agree to read a book. As far as Hannah knew, Minnie had been watching television and scrolling the internet since Gavin had broken up with her, all of her friends had abandoned her, and her father had disappeared without a trace.
Try as she might, Hannah couldn’t help but shed a few tears as they left Miami. Although she wasn’t from that hot Florida city, she’d lived there since her early twenties, and so much of her career had been built here. She considered asking Minnie what she was thinking. But she was too afraid to get screamed at, so she kept her mouth shut.
Minnie had her headphones on, ignoring her mother, her head tucked away in a hood. Hannah bit her lip to keep from crying.
It was clear that Minnie wasn’t going to help her on the route to Nantucket. So Hannah did what she’d done as a younger woman: she followed the signs, kept tabs on traffic, and headed north. She was on her own. She flicked through radio stations, listened to podcasts, and tried to avoid the dark pit in the back of her mind that told her she was awful, that she’d destroyed her life.
Sometimes, unbidden, her mind provided an image of Kendall on a beach somewhere, drinking a cocktail, with a very hot young woman on his arm. It felt impossible that Hannah had ever fallen in love with him, let alone built a life with him.
She’d always been told that she had good instincts when it came to journalism. But it was clear that those same instincts didn’t prompt action when it came to things like falling in love or becoming a mother.Please, forgive me, she wanted to say to Minnie a thousand times a day.
Incredibly, Hannah kept to her driving schedule. They reached their hotels every evening at around six thirty. Theyhopped out, grabbed their backpacks, checked in, then ordered room service and watched a film on the large TV in front of their bed. They were cozy, intimate hours with Minnie, Hannah knew. She was grateful for them. But Minnie still hardly spoke to her.
