She willed Minnie to tell her about her broken heart now, to share how angry she was not only with Hannah but also with Kendall.
Instead, Minnie groaned into Hannah’s arm, “I need to be alone.”
The spell broke. Hannah pulled back, nodding. “I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to offer.
Minnie sniffed and sniffed. She packed up the photograph and her books, then hauled one of her suitcases and her backpack upstairs to her bedroom. Earlier, Hannah had offered to make Minnie’s bed for her, to put the sheets and the pillows on, but Minnie had scoffed and said she could do it on her own.
That first night at the new house, Hannah hardly slept. Although the rain had stopped, the winds seemed only to ramp up, tearing at the siding on the already-busted house. Hannah wore a massive university sweatshirt and a pair of thick sweatpants, but she shivered in bed, worried that Minnie was just as cold down the hall but too stubborn to ask for help.
Too worried about her own life to deal with anyone else’s, especially someone who was probably dead, Hannah had shovedthe shoebox of letters into the bottom drawer of the dresser and promptly forgotten it.
The following morning,after less than three hours of sleep, Hannah hauled herself out of bed, took a lukewarm shower, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Minnie was already up. Hannah could hear her shuffling around her bedroom. They had plans to go to Nantucket High School together this morning, where Hannah would check Minnie in. As there was only a little more than a month left in classes till summer vacation, Hannah had offered to homeschool Minnie, half-hoping Minnie would agree so that they could bond and heal together. But Minnie had said, “If we’re really going to move to Nantucket Island of all places, I guess I want to make a friend or something.” Hannah had agreed that this was rational.
A few minutes before they planned to leave, Minnie appeared downstairs. She wore jeans, a thick coat, and a black turtleneck. She’d put on more eye makeup than Hannah had ever seen her wear. She looked older and sophisticated.
“You look good, honey,” Hannah said.
Minnie half rolled her eyes.
Hannah drove Minnie to a nearby bakery for breakfast, where Minnie selected a pastry with cream. Hannah ate a bagel with cream cheese and drank another coffee. When they returned to the car, it had begun to rain again, and Minnie groaned. “It’s seventy-eight degrees in Miami,” she stammered, buckling her seat belt. “And this car is ugly!”
Hannah didn’t respond. Everything Minnie said was a fact, after all. The car really was ugly.
Inside the Nantucket High School head office, Hannah filled out a form about her daughter’s previous school career. At the same time, the guidance counselor asked Minnie several questions about her interests and plans. Minnie said she wanted to go into business, like her dad. “He always said that the most important thing about managing a team is showing them your confidence, that you don’t second-guess yourself, and that you have a clear vision,” Minnie said proudly.
“It sounds like you have leadership potential,” the counselor beamed. “Are you interested in after-school activities? Maybe the National Honor Society?”
Minnie said she wanted to get her bearings before deciding what kind of student she wanted to be here in Nantucket. Hannah sat quietly as Minnie signed up for her classes—classes she’d spend a month in before transitioning into summer, then her junior year of high school.
“We’re so thrilled to welcome you,” the counselor said. “You’re going to love it.”
When it was time for Minnie to head to first period, Hannah gave her daughter a hug. Minnie was stiff in her embrace, clearly counting the seconds before she was released. “Good luck today, honey,” Hannah murmured.
“I hate it here,” Minnie whispered back, before hurrying after the counselor and disappearing around the corner.
“What a wonderful girl she is,” the woman behind the front desk said, beaming.
Hannah couldn’t speak. Rather than return home to her fixer-upper, she decided to head over to the Nantucket local newspaper. Prior to the move up north, she’d emailed with the head editor a few times, who’d told her to stop in for a chat when she arrived. The editor was a guy named Marshall Albrecht, who’d majored in journalism at Northwestern before working as a travel journalist for many years. After that, he’d moved toNantucket, where he helmed a staff of twelve. By the looks of things, the Nantucket newspaper didn’t exactly move mountains with its publication. They covered pie-eating contests, sailing news, and other local events.
But Hannah needed a job. She wondered if Marshall would be willing to open the paper up to other kinds of stories and harder-hitting news.
She couldn’t imagine herself writing about anything silly. She’d come too far for that. She’d ruined her life for journalism, for the truth.
Upon entering the newspaper offices, the secretary—a twentysomething named Laurie—stood to greet her. “You must be Hannah Moore. He’s ready for you. It’s that door right there.” She pointed toward the only enclosed room in the entire place, where most newspapermen and women and photographers worked at computers.
Hannah entered Marshall’s office to find that it was not unlike Josh’s, as though all newspaper editors around the world followed a similar script. A few years younger than her, Marshall wore horn-rimmed glasses and a button-down shirt and was halfway through a pastry that looked to be from the same bakery she’d taken Minnie to that morning. He stood, brushed the crumbs from his hands, and shook her hand.
“Hannah Moore, it’s a pleasure.”
“Thank you for seeing me.” She sat down and tried to imagine how this conversation would go. She imagined him gushing over her writing and demanding that she come on as a staff member.
“I’ve just finished reading your most recent article for theMiami Times,” Marshall said. “Really fantastic stuff.”
Hannah’s heart fluttered. “Thank you.”
“I mean, really. Some of the best writing I’ve read lately. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is Kendall Moore your…”
“Ex-husband,” she finished.
