Arietta hadn’t experienced such generosity from a stranger in a long time. She took a breath, searching her mind for a response. But suddenly and horribly, she burst into tears instead.
The woman with the wine stain looked stricken. “Oh, honey. Let’s go outside, all right?”
The woman took Arietta by the hand and led her onto the sunny porch out front, where they grabbed two seats. Another woman who’d seen everything came with a fresh glass of wine for Arietta, which Arietta gripped, feeling like a fool.
“I’m so sorry,” Arietta blubbered to the woman. “I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot!” The woman smiled. “Honestly.” And then she asked in a small voice, “Did something happen?”
Arietta let out a laugh. It seemed that everything had happened. Where should she start?
“I just had a terrible appointment with a therapist,” she said. “I walked out on him. I couldn’t take it.”
“Oh. There’s nothing worse than a bad therapist!” the woman said. She lowered her voice. “I can’t imagine going to a male therapist, honestly. I need the empathy of women.”
“Maybe that was my first mistake,” Arietta said.
The woman smiled, then spread her fingers across her chest. “I’m Stella, by the way. Stella Turnbilt. I was born and raised on Nantucket, which is a rare thing.”
There was a moment of silence. Arietta wondered if she needed to tell this woman who she was. She wondered if she owed her anything, now that Stella had saved her.
“I’m Arietta,” she said finally. “I’ve spent many summers on Nantucket, but I think I’m here for the foreseeable future. I needed a break from the city. I needed a break from everything.”
“I can relate to that,” Stella said.
Arietta was still so achingly embarrassed about her outburst and the wine stain drying on Stella’s dress.
“My daughter told me not to come to the island. She said I’d be lonely,” Arietta said, surprising herself. But maybe it was okay to be honest with strangers.
“Are you lonely?” Stella asked.
“A little,” Arietta admitted.
“I know this is a bit forward,” Stella said. “But a friend of mine is having a get-together tomorrow. It’s our little group called the Salt Sisters. Our tagline is ‘Sisterhood, with a dash of salt.’” She laughed. “It’s silly, maybe, but we love it. We need it. We get together and talk about all the bad things we’ve gone through; we support each other. Like group therapy, but with wine and good conversation and plenty of laughter, too. Please, say you’ll join.”
Arietta was taken aback. She hadn’t expected an invitation like this. More than that, she wasn’t sure if she could get away from Fred for another night.
“Maybe,” she said finally. “Maybe I can try to make it.”
Stella urged her to think about it. She put Arietta’s number in her phone, then texted her so Arietta would have it, too. “I’ll text you the details,” she said. “But we’d love to have you.”
Not long after that, Arietta finally got up the nerve to walk back to her car and get out of there. When she returned home, she found the nurse in Fred’s room, checking his vitals and singing to herself. The sight of Arietta frightened the nurse, so much so that she jumped.
“I’m sorry,” Arietta said.
The nurse smiled. “No worries, honey. I’m almost done.”
Arietta asked if the nurse could come back tomorrow. She said she couldn’t, but she had another friend she could ask. Arietta thanked her, then paid her and walked her to the door.
“Oh, Mrs. Peters, you have a letter,” the nurse said, bending down to pick it up from the welcome mat.
Arietta nearly collapsed on the spot. She reached out, took the letter, and thanked her, trying not to show how frightened she was. She waved goodbye, then closed the door gently and tore open the letter. She read it.
Mrs. Peters, we must remind you that should you not pay us our requested twenty grand sooner rather than later, your family’s dirty laundry will be everywhere, ruining not only your reputation but also your daughters' and your journalism work. Please cooperate, and this will all go away. Yours, Your Guardian Angels
Arietta let out an awful scream. She wanted to tear up the letter and throw the pieces away, but something stopped her.
“Twenty grand,” she muttered to herself, feeling out of her mind. “Twenty grand isn’t that much, is it?” Maybe it would get them out of her hair.
