They decided to make arrangements for Peter and Sarah to come to the Vineyard to spend time at the Harbor House before it was no longer their family’s property.
After a strange couple of weeks of waiting, a time of long walks on the beach, of jotting down notes to herself that didn’t lead to any novel, of trying and failing to bond with Lindsey and Henry, and of failing to go through any of the so-called memorabilia in the Harbor House itself, Sarah and Peter arrived, having come by bus from the city and by ferry to the Vineyard port. Candice picked them up and threw her arms around them. She’d physically ached, not seeing them. She could hardly believe it, but in a week it would be July.
When Sarah and Peter got to the Harbor House, they grabbed the rooms they usually had the few times they’d visited, then put on their swimsuits and went immediately into the sea. Candice and Lindsey were on the veranda, drinking wine, while Henry ordered takeout from their favorite Vineyard burger place.
There was a coziness to this arrangement, Candice decided. Although she and her siblings hadn’t spoken much, they’d sat on this veranda for countless hours. They’d eaten together plenty of times. Maybe they were acting like a real family—the sort of “real family” that didn’t tell one another anything.
“Is Nathan going to come later on?” Lindsey asked. Sunlight glinted in her red wine.
“Probably,” Candice lied. “But he says he’s working a lot right now.”
Lindsey arched her eyebrow. “Have you written anything while we’ve been here?” Implied in what she was saying was that there had been nothing but time.
“I’ve been jotting down some ideas,” Candice said. “What I keep coming back to is the mystery of it all. Of Mom. Of how little we really knew about her. Like how she’s still a mystery, giving away this house like that.”
“She was always obsessed with ‘giving back,’” Lindsey said, using air quotes.
“Yes. True. But you know, when I think about her, about the grand story of her life, there is so little specificity,” Candice said.
“She was secretive,” Lindsey agreed. “I think that’s where I get it from.”
“What secrets are you keeping, Lindsey?” Candice smiled, teasing her.
Lindsey threw her hair behind her shoulders, just as Henry came out to say that the burgers would be there in twenty-five minutes. Lindsey changed the subject swiftly. It was beautiful, the way she could so easily avoid the subject of herself and whatever she was hiding from.
When the food arrived, the five of them sat around the table on the veranda, eating french fries and burgers and sipping soda and wine. Henry had developed a healthy tan, and although he didn’t know Candice’s kids very well, he took to asking them questions about their lives, about Peter’s commitment to sports, and about Sarah’s upcoming freshman year at NYU.
“We all went to NYU!” Henry said joyfully.
Sarah beamed. “I’ve always wanted to go. And Mom and Dad are obviously faculty, so. Maybe they let me in because of that?”
“No way,” Lindsey said. “They don’t let just anyone into that school. Mark my words.”
“Well, they let in Gavin Bell,” Henry said, raising his eyebrows.
Lindsey whacked him on the shoulder playfully. Gavin was her ex-boyfriend and sort of an airhead, although he’d gone on to found a tech company and had more money than any of them.
“If only I could have put up with him,” Lindsey said wistfully. “Imagine what my life would have been like!”
“I think it turned out pretty okay,” Henry said, gesturing at the glorious view before them, the purple and pink sunset, the burgers and fries.
Lindsey sighed and pushed her food aside. “Sure. But we’re here to say goodbye to the good life. We’re here to say goodbye to all this.”
Henry didn’t know what to say to that. He took a bite of a fry.
Later,around ten, when her kids had been alone in their rooms for more than an hour, Candice went upstairs to check on them. Because Sarah’s light was on, she tapped at the door until Sarah offered a soft, “Come in.” When she entered, she found Sarah bundled up in bed wearing a big T-shirt and watching a video on her phone. She smiled, then turned it off, but not before Candice heard the sound of Nathan’s voice.
“What was that?” She asked, sitting at the edge of Sarah’s bed.
“Oh, it’s just that interview Dad did last week,” Sarah said. “I told him I’d watch, but I forgot till right now.”
Candice’s heart twinged. Why hadn’t Nathan mentioned his interview? “Can you show me?”
Sarah turned her phone around to show Nathan, seated beside one of the popular late-night comedian talk show hosts, who asked him questions aboutThe Human Agenda. “I understand that this book hits pretty close to home,” the comedian said, smiling. “Tell me. Does your wife chase you around the house, asking you if what you’ve written about iswhat you’re really up to? Because I could imagine that writing ‘autofiction’ can get you in a world of trouble.”
Nathan smiled that sensational smile of his. “My wife’s a writer, so, you know, she gets it. Everything is content! Passing thoughts about strangers can work their way into all kinds of writing. Nothing is off-limits.”
“So you’re saying that even if something hurts your wife’s feelings, you’ll still write about it?” the comedian asked.
