things from the gingerbread cottage. Though I would have liked to stay in the cottage, the owners were coming for the summer, so I moved into our family’s two-story Colonial on William Street.
Isabelle helped me find a girl who was home from college to come in daily to cook and clean. I imagined that this girl, Bethany, must have been very much like Isabelle when she first left Bridgewater.
“Do you think that we are poor, Jane?” Teddy asked. “You haven’t asked for any money. Do you need any?”
Though it had taken him months to ask, I was still grateful that he thought of it.
“I don’t need money,” I said.
“Then why?”
“I like it at the bakery.”
“Jane, you just can’t do it,” Miranda said. “Think of how it looks.”
“I don’t think anyone cares how it looks.”
“I care,” she said.
She was tanned and wearing a green Lilly Pulitzer dress. Miranda’s face was lined from excessive sun exposure. She should know better. What were all those expensive beauty products for if not to protect her skin? I was surprised Teddy hadn’t said something to her.
“You look better, Jane,” Teddy said. “What have you done to yourself? You look thinner. Have you lost weight?”
I was wearing formfitting jeans and a T-shirt, not one of my usual tent dresses. I’d given them up. I didn’t miss them much, but occasionally I missed their shapeless comfort.
“I got my hair cut,” I said. I thought this might be enough of an answer to satisfy him and make him change the subject.
“Good for you. You look terrific. And your face. You must be using Crème de la Mer. I’ve always said it’s the best.”
“Soap and water,” I said. This wasn’t entirely true. I had invested in some kind of beauty regimen from the drugstore, but I didn’t have to tell him.
“I’m impressed. Very impressed. I’m so proud of you, Jane. Taking a little initiative with yourself.”
“You do look good,” Miranda said. “Different somehow. Maybe even younger. But you’ll have to give up that job. I can’t imagine it will be much of a sacrifice.” Her nasal voice wandered up and down the scale and finally ended on a C-flat.
“I’m not giving up the job,” I said.
“That’s just patently ridiculous,” Teddy said. “I can’t have a daughter of mine working in a bakery.”
“Why not?”
“People will talk. The Fortunes just don’t do that sort of thing.”
“They do now,” I said.
“Someone will have to get the luggage,” Miranda said.
“Have you sprained something?” I asked. She was holding her Louis Vuitton train case. She wore large sunglasses and she looked chic in a
“No,” Miranda said. “Why would you ask that?”
“There’s no Astrid here, Miranda. I hired someone to come in and clean and cook, but she’s not coming until later. I guess you’ll have to get your own luggage.”
Dolores, from her place at the door, said, “I’ll get it.”
“Jane can help you,” Miranda said. “I’ll make coffee.” I didn’t even think she knew how to make coffee.
“I’ll go,” my father said, putting his hand on Dolores’s arm to hold her back.
“I don’t mind helping, Teddy. You know that.” She smiled up at him in a soft and kittenish way. I looked at Miranda, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Though Miranda had come to the island looking as polished as burnished wood, Dolores was a little the worse for wear. The sun had given her freckles and she had gained weight. Since Dolores wasn’t tall, the weight didn’t sit well on her. Some people gain weight all over, while with others, weight gravitates to one place. For Dolores, it was her thighs, and this year she’d be one of the women who would be using every artifice to cover up the one spot on her body over which she had lost control. Dolores also needed a trip to the hairdresser to take care of the dark roots in an otherwise brassy head of hair.
My father didn’t seem to notice any of these changes in Dolores, which was very unlike him. If anything, he paid more attention to her than before they went away. I supposed it was only natural, since they had been living together for months.
I had planned a lobster dinner to welcome them back, and since we didn’t talk anymore about my work at the bakery, we had a pleasant evening. Bethany came over, and together we boiled the lobsters, melted the butter, set the table, and cleaned up afterward.
After the meal, Teddy pushed himself away from the table.
“Thank you, Jane,” he said. He patted his stomach. “This meal was a very nice gesture, and I, for one, appreciate it.” He stood up and took a cigar from his pocket.
“It was very nice, Jane,” Dolores said.
“I don’t know about shellfish,” Miranda said. “Didn’t I read something recently?”
No one answered her.
“I’m going up to the widow’s walk to smoke. Anyone want to come?” Teddy asked.
“I will, Teddy,” Dolores said. She followed him upstairs. Did Miranda understand that if Dolores exchanged Mudd for Fortune—which would no doubt be a happy exchange in name alone—Miranda would be shifted to the role of stepdaughter to a woman over ten years her junior?
“This island air must be good for you, Jane,” Miranda said. She shifted in her seat and stretched into a yoga pose.
“I’ve always liked it here,” I said.
“You and Mom,” she said. “The two of you. You always liked the same things.”
“We did,” I said, and smiled.
“I miss her sometimes,” Miranda said. She stretched backward.
“Me too,” I said. “How long is Dolores staying? I didn’t even know she was coming.”
“Oh, Dolores will stay as long as she likes. We do everything together. I don’t know how I could have coped without her. Not everyone likes to be alone all the time”—she paused—“but you don’t seem to mind it.”
Bethany brought us coffee.
“I wasn’t alone,” I said.
“Oh yes. You’ve been working at that bakery.” She picked up her coffee and thanked Bethany. “You’ll never guess who we ran into in Boston.” They had stayed over a few nights in a hotel on the waterfront on their way to the Vineyard.
“Who?” I asked.
“Guy Callow. Remember him?”
“Your old boyfriend,” I said. This would have been the time to tell her that I, too, had seen Guy Callow. I don’t know why I didn’t, but I didn’t.
“I guess you could call him that. He looks good. He’s coming down here in a few weeks. Daddy says—Daddy called Guy’s father right after we ran into Guy—that the Dutch girl settled a lot of money on Guy when they split. He never even ended up practicing law.”
“That must make you feel better,” I said. “There must be something wrong with a man who lives off a settlement from his ex-wife.”
“Something wrong? Like what?”
If I was going to say anything about seeing Guy, I should do it now. The longer I waited, the more awkward it would become.
“Anyway, I don’t care at all about Guy Callow. He was a mere mosquito bite to me.” Miranda sighed and looked toward the window. “Daddy and Dolores get on so well, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” I said.
Miranda turned back toward me. “Guy told us he ran into you in Vermont,” she said.
“That’s right. I almost forgot.”
