Rose stands there stiffly, looking like there’s something she wants to say, until she notices my posture.
“Lily, are you okay?” She rushes to my side. Thomas steps out of her way. “You look pale.” She presses a cold hand to my cheek.
“I’m fine,” I assure Mom. “I’m just tired. I’ll be okay. Thomas helped me.”
Rose looks unconvinced but she knows when to drop a subject, a by-product of her clinical training: Never push a patient before they’re ready.
“I should be going,” says Thomas to her left. “I hope you feel better.”
Rose turns to look at him. “Thank you,” she says with emotion in her voice. “For helping Lily. I really appreciate it.”
He nods solemnly. “Of course.”
With that, he returns to his side of the cottage, taking slow, deliberate steps as if he has to intentionally tell his body where to move next.
Rose turns her attention back to me. “Are you still okay to come with me to the ferry?”
Today is the day my grandfather and aunt arrive for their annual two-week stay. I know Rose has been dreading it, and even though no part of me takes pleasure from seeing either of them, my mom needs my support.
“I’ll be fine.” I force a smile. “I promise.”
An hour later we wait at the dock. We’re down by the wharf, standing on the packed cobblestone streets. Tourists mill around, bopping from shop to shop that all sell various Nantucket-shaped merchandise. It’s always struck me as a funny phenomenon, the way we plaster the places we visit across our outerwear, as if it says something about our values to advertise the names of locations we’ve been. Then again, maybe the places we love really are part of us, and I suppose there are worse things to advertise.
It’s a hot July day, and even the breeze coming off the harbor isn’t enough to cool my nerves. I take my sweater off and tie it around my waist, so I’m only in a white T-shirt. We’re early, because, well, Rose is always early.
“Do you think they brought the cat?” Rose asks, adjusting her large sunglasses.
“I guess it depends on the rental. What did Josie find them?”
“There was nothing in their budget, so she’s letting them stay in her family’s guesthouse downtown for half the price. She’s an angel.”
“Wow, does Grandpa know that?” I can’t imagine my grandfather would like being the source of someone else’s pity. His ego would never allow the charity.
Mom rolls her eyes. “No, he still thinks prices are what they were twenty years ago.”
“That’s awfully nice of Josie. So, the two of you made up?”
“She’s the best,” says Mom. “I apologized the other day and thankfully, she forgave me.”
It makes me think of Jade, whom I still haven’t spoken to. I keep waiting, hoping she’ll be the one who breaks the ice first. I want to reach out, but she’s probably busy. She works as a literary assistant at a small firm in SoHo. Her social media is riddled with book parties and nights out with her boyfriend, Mark. It feels like our lives are farther apart than ever.
“Did you explain the history between you and Thomas?”
Mom’s eyes are unreadable beneath the thick shades, but her mouth compresses. “No, I didn’t want to get into it. She still has no idea.”
In the distance, we see the ferry pulling in, its large, imposing body narrowly navigating the crowded docks. During Christmas, it’s tradition for Santa to arrive here by the port, riding in with the Coast Guard. It’s one of my favorite island quirks.
“Do I look okay?” asks Rose, suddenly nervous. She picks up the glasses and uses them to push back her hair. It’s clear she’s dressed up for the occasion: sandals and a nice white linen dress with a belt around the waist.
“You look great. What are you so worried about?”
“You know how my dad can be,” says Rose. I watch her eyes flit across the heads of the new arrivals, searching for her family in the crowd. “I bet you the first thing he says to me is, ‘You look pale.’?”
“You’re being harsh,” I say, but I know she’s probably right. Still, I’ve found my grandfather to have mellowed in age a little bit.
Toward the middle of the departing line—unmistakable in their nearly identical outfits of matching beige crewnecks—are my grandfather and aunt.
“Hi!” yells Elizabeth, waving above the moving crowd. She’s carrying two large suitcases, enough luggage for a yearlong stay, and her blond hair is cut into a short, neat bob.
