Despite all that, Hannah still let Minnie pick the films they watched—mostly rom-coms that spoke to Minnie’s deep and unending heartbreak about losing Gavin. In each film, Hannah wanted to point out that the heroine always met the love of her life after the “awful” one dumped her. But she didn’t want to call Gavin “awful” so soon after Minnie had lost him.
Once, she allowed herself to think that Kendall was the “awful” one that Hannah had lost, right before meeting the actual love of her life. But one look in the mirror made her laugh at that. She was puffy-eyed, always sleep-deprived, and she’d sold most of her nicer clothes for cash. Who would fall in love with her now?
When they reached Hyannis Port at five thirty on the third day of driving, it was a blustery fifty-two degrees. “In Miami, this would be winter,” Minnie grumbled, wrapping up in another layer as Hannah drove their car onto the ferry.
Hannah felt a strange jolt of fear. For some reason, she’d thought going north and getting out of the Florida humidity and stickiness would be a good thing; that it would feel refreshing. But now, she pictured herself and Minnie just as they’d been in Florida, in separate rooms down the hall from one another, but shivering. Hannah squeezed the steering wheel harder.
The first time they saw Nantucket Island from the middle deck of the ferry was under the cover of darkness. Lights speckled along the edge of the thirty-mile-wide island. As it was still before tourist season, only a few islanders were on the ferry itself. Most of them wore thick coats and rain jackets and hats, showing Hannah just how awfully she’d prepared for the move. She hoped there would be somewhere to shoptomorrow, somewhere where she and Minnie could have a shopping montage that suited one of Minnie’s rom-com films. She imagined them trying on puffy jackets and flipping their hair.
“It’s cold,” Minnie repeated, looking at Hannah as though she’d been the very one to bring the cold rain.
“It’ll warm up,” Hannah said as they headed back to the car after the announcement. “Summers on Nantucket are legendary. You’ll see.” She said it as though she’d experienced one herself.
The drive from the ferry to the new beach house, where Hannah had decided they would live together in the wake of “what she’d done,” was only fifteen minutes. The real estate agent had explained that she’d left the keys under the welcome mat, which felt overly informal but just fine with Hannah. Small places like this had their own sets of rules. But after they pulled into the driveway, Hannah and Minnie sat in silence for a full minute, looking up at their new place. It was more ragged than it had looked on the internet, its shutters mangled from the winds, and a few windows boarded over. Hannah remembered that Natalie had called it a fixer-upper. It was so much more—and less—than that.
Minnie looked on the verge of tears.
“It’s romantic,” Hannah said, attempting to convince both herself and her daughter. “I mean, look at it! It’s got so much to it. Character!”
“It’s filled with ghosts,” Minnie shot back.
Hannah thought this was an apt description, but she didn’t want to agree. “Come on.” She got out, whipped her hood over her head, and hurried to the welcome mat, which she flipped up to find the key. Wonderful. At least that had worked! She used it to open the front door, willing herself to feel a moment of euphoria, of completion. Upon entering, a mildew smell was in the air—and a dripping sound.
Hannah beckoned for Minnie to join her. In the car, Minnie rolled her eyes, then got up, trudging up the walkway and entering the house. By then, Hannah was already in the kitchen, assessing the cabinets and the stove. Some of the bulbs in the house worked, and some didn’t. But the stove worked, as did the fridge. Everything was clean. Still, she couldn’t find the source of the dripping sound—but maybe it was outside?
She heard Minnie let out an awful whimper. Hannah yearned to run into the foyer and wrap her daughter in a hug. But she knew Minnie wouldn’t allow it, that she’d reject her mother.
“Mom,” Minnie called. There was urgency in her voice. “Mom, there’s water on the floor.”
Hannah took off, racing to where Minnie had walked down the hall, toward the bathroom. There, water dripped nonstop from the upper floor, indicating a roof leak and likely far more water on the second floor. Hannah inhaled sharply to mask her inward groan.
Minnie gave Hannah a look that said she blamed her for everything and that she would never forgive her. Hannah shivered. Who had taught Minnie to look at her like that? Of course, it had been Kendall—the man who’d hated Hannah the most.
“It’s a fixer-upper!” Hannah reminded Minnie. “It was built more than a hundred years ago. It has so much history!”
Minnie continued to blink at her. Hannah wondered if she’d ever speak to her again.
4
For twenty years, Julien Mansfield had been harbor master of Nantucket Island, a job that required incredible diligence that bordered on obsession. Now that he was a bachelor, a single man who’d once been married but no longer was for reasons he didn’t like to get into, Julien deduced that he was more or less married to his work. This meant he worked six days a week and had very few vacation days. (If he considered where he might vacation, he couldn’t come up with an answer.)
Most days, he reached the docks at six in the morning and often didn’t leave till the final ferry had gone, long after nine o’clock. Everyone on the docks saw him as reliable. They probably had very little curiosity about his inner life and his thoughts. But that was fine.
He’d lost interest in his own thoughts years ago.
It was a terribly cold day in mid-April. Rain plastered his raincoat as he shuffled out from under an awning to chat with one of the ferry drivers, who’d just clocked off and was headed into the little sailing bar for dock workers and other seamen and women, just off to the side of the harbor. The ferry driver, a guy named Steve, had a gruff face from years of working on thewater. Years and years of storms and salt. Julien guessed that his own face was similarly rugged, although he couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked in a mirror.
“How is it out there?” Julien asked.
“Empty boats,” Steve grunted. “Not prime time for island lovers, that’s for sure. Feels a little wasteful to go back and forth this much.”
Julien tried to nod and smile before remembering why he’d needed to talk to Steve. There was an issue with Steve’s license that needed to be addressed before tourist season ramped up. But Steve continued to look at Julien as though Julien were a stone in his shoe. After all, he was impeding his route to the bar. He was off the clock, for crying out loud.
“Hard to believe the season’s right around the corner,” Julien said, still avoiding the topic.
Steve flinched for a pack of cigarettes, although Julien knew he’d quit three years ago. Maybe the habit, especially post-shift, never really left the body. Suddenly, a horn rang out from the water, and Julien turned to watch as another ferry approached, calm and focused, like a shark that would never quit swimming. When Julien turned back to talk to Steve, Steve was gone, slipping into the bar to escape Julien and his annoying questions. Julien grimaced and followed after him.
Inside, the bar was warm and boisterous. Beers were poured, and oldies’ music played from a scratchy stereo. There was a game on, though it was baseball and, obviously, a rerun. Still, many of the dock workers leaned toward the television screens, rapt, as though they’d never seen anything like it before. Steve was already enmeshed in his quiet group of ferry workers, who had already ordered him a beer in anticipation of his arrival. They nodded hello to Julien. But Julien knew that he’d missed his chance to lecture Steve. To drag Steve out of his group offriends would be the very worst of crimes. It would embarrass Steve and make him an enemy for life.
