Page 31 of Sunset on the Solstice

Rebecca knew that many of the Salt Sisters had initially been married to men who’d cheated or wronged them in some way. They’d used up all their money or left them in terrible lurches. They’d dug their wives into holes out of which they’d had to crawl themselves. But no, Chad wasn’t like that. He was a responsible, hard-working, loving young man. Like his father before him. Like his stepfather before him.

Suddenly, Esme picked up her phone and yelped.

“What is it, Mom?” Valerie was stricken.

Esme had her hand over her mouth. Whatever was on her screen captivated her.

“You’re freaking us out, Mom,” Bethany said, her nostrils flared.

Esme’s eyes snapped up, and she put the phone face-down on the table. “The Sutton Book Club just got an email,” she explained.

“A business thing?” Bethany asked.

Esme took a deep breath, then pulled her eyes back to Rebecca. “Yeah. We’ll talk about it in a bit, though. I don’t want to break up the party.”

Hilary seemed to sense that this meant “family-only.” She brushed her thighs with the palms of her hands and said, “We’d better get going, actually. Thanks again for the glass of wine! Always a pleasure to see the Suttons. And you know, you’re always welcome at our little get-togethers.”

Hilary gave Rebecca an especially pointed look as Rebecca, her sisters, and her mother wished Hilary and Stella well.

When Hilary and Stella had turned the corner and left the Sutton women alone at the dark table, around which, now, fireflies and tealights emitted the only light, Rebecca turned to her mother. She demanded, “Was that really just a work email?”

Esme nodded to the right. “No.”

It was clear from her pale and furtive expression that Esme was frightened. Rebecca’s pulse quickened. Maybe someone was threatening the Sutton Book Club again? It seemed like they were always fighting against people who wanted to tear it down to make way for some terrible shopping mall or hotel.

Slowly, Esme picked up the phone and handed it to Rebecca. “It’s best if you read it yourself.”

Rebecca reached for he reading glasses—a relatively new need in her life—and propped them on her nose. She read:

Dear Sutton Family,

You do not know me, and I do not know you. This email feels like a shot in the dark, but I figured that I had to try something, even if my worries are unfounded.

My name is Vivian Lynch. I live in Livingston, Montana, down the stream from a growing family called the Kissingers. I imagine this is ringing a bell for you. If I’m reading your “about” page on the Sutton Book Club website correctly, Shelby is Esme’s granddaughter and Chef Rebecca’s daughter. The only reason I found the site is that Shelby slipped up and told me a little about herself. I never would have imagined her doing that. She’s usually quite cagey.

I first came into contact with Shelby and her three children in May. I was new here in the mountains, and I saw them playing in the stream. I was thrilled to have new neighbors, especially cute kids and a nice-looking mom, so I crossed the stream to say hello. I knew at once that this was the wrong thing to do. Shelby did NOT want me to be over there. Out of politeness, she gave me something to eat, then seemed to stare at me, wanting me to leave, until I did.

But something I noticed that first day was the bruise all over her wrist.

After that, I went on high alert. In town, I asked around who lived in that house and what kind of husband Shelby was married to, and I soon learned that Jared Kissinger is one of the top businessmen in the area. Everyone—and I mean everyone from the guy who cleans the bathrooms at the bar to the guy who sells bus tickets to the woman who makes fresh pastries in town—dislikes him. Everyone wanted to tell me a story about how he had wronged them, or belittled them, or made them feel as though they no longer belonged in a town they’d grown up in.

Obviously, this got me thinking. I didn’t want to immediately assume that the bruises on Shelby’s wrist came from her husband. But if he’s really such a piece of work, I was beginning to believe that his anger and volatility extended to domestic violence, as well.

Here in my cabin, all alone by the stream, I could not sleep. Almost every day, I walked past that area in the stream, praying that Shelby and the kids would come out and play again. But I thought maybe I’d spooked her. I was too scared to go up to the house and ring the doorbell. I knew that Jared was suspicious of strangers in town, and I didn’t want to get Shelby in trouble.

Lucky for me, I finally saw Shelby again at the stream. This was two days ago. This time, I realized that she’s pregnant—which adds even more urgency to my mission, I think. And this time, as I already mentioned, she slipped up and told me about the Sutton Book Club. To me, it seemed like a cry for help. She wanted me to know about her past and her family—a family that I hope still loves her a great deal—if only to help her out of there.

Am I insane to think that? I don’t know. But I don’t like the idea of Shelby raising her four children with that man down the stream. I don’t like the idea of any woman being trapped with a man so domineering and disliked by an entire population of good mountain people.

I don’t know where we go from here. Maybe you’ve been through all this before and are too tired of fighting. But if for some reason you want to fight to get Shelby back, my proximity to her house could be a Godsend.

My number is listed below. Give me a call or write me back if you want to. I’m retired and single with nothing to do but worry. I’ll be available, no matter what.

Yours, Vivian Lynch

Rebecca’s stomach heaved. Already, she was on her feet, trying to find the door. She needed water. She needed a bathroom. She needed to press her face into a pillow and scream. Once inside, she felt her mother’s hand on her back, helping to guide her to the kitchen. Vivian and Bethany were behind her, and they made themselves into a little silent and doomed train, all the way to the sink, where they filled their glasses and blinked at one another.

“I can’t believe it,” Rebecca breathed. “He’s…” She could hardly say it: that Jared was hurting her baby. That there were bruises on her beautiful body. That, even though she was pregnant yet again with his child, he’d decided to abuse her.