Alicia and Cliff always whined that it was a drag on the weekends when Mortimer came to the island. He insisted on playing tennis with them on Saturday, and sailing with them on Sunday, and both nights eating at the yacht club, where he always commented on their manners. Mortimer told Cliff that his hair was too long. He told Alicia that she was getting fat—he told her that at the dinner table in the club dining room, and Alicia had politely excused herself and gone to the ladies’ room, returning with eyes red from weeping.
Other men and women liked Mortimer, and sought him out. The men mostly wanted insurance advice, and the women wanted to flirt, because Mortimer really was unusually handsome. Alicia and Cliff seemed perplexed at their father’s popularity, when he was so unlikable to them.
During that period of their marriage, Eleanor found it stressful having her husband around, especially on the island, in her family’s house. She tried to enforce her husband’s rules while at the same time allowing her children to have fun. She’d let them drink Cokes even though they had sugar. She told them that if they ever got drunk to call her and she’d come get them and not lecture them. She didn’t want them to drive drunk, and as far as she knew, they never had. It was an enormous responsibility, raising children, and taking care of teenagers was a roller-coaster ride.
Gradually, Eleanor fell out of love with Mortimer. She cared for him. She was grateful for him. Mortimer seemed to find his excitement in the numbers at work. Eleanor, who’d always loved books, read every night of the week.
Those days could never be called difficult. No, Eleanor was spoiled, and she knew it. Furthermore, she had no burning desire to do something exceptional with her life like many of her friends wished. She didn’t have artistic cravings, she couldn’t sing, didn’t want to teach (what could she teach?), had no strong political leanings. She had a really lovely life, with darling children and wonderful friends and a handsome, kind, trustworthy husband.
Did she miss him now? Maybe not a lot. He’d never been in the house often in the summer. He’d never enjoyed walking on the beach during a wailing wave-crashing storm and he’d been hopeless at cooking outside on the grill.
One thing she knew for sure: Mortimer would absolutely approve of Eleanor selling the house.
The thought saddened her. She went down to the kitchen, brewed a cup of utterly boring chamomile tea, took it with her to the dining room, where her jigsaw puzzle was laid out, three-fourths done, and settled in. The colors and shapes calmed her, as always. She pretended that she forgot the chamomile tea.
Four
The slow boat docked early, at four forty-five. One by one, the trucks and cars from Hyannis rumbled over the noisy metal ramp onto the island. Ari’s parents were in their black BMW. Ari followed behind in her Forester, her car packed with duffel bags, suitcases, and boxes of books she needed for the summer. They drove to South Water Street, past the town buildings and shops, past the Dreamland movie theater and the library’s garden, over the bumpy cobblestones of Main Street, and onto Washington Street and the road to ’Sconset.
It was early June, yet some late daffodils lingered along the long straight stretch to the small village on the eastern side of the island. The sun sifted through the budding trees, casting a lime glow in the air. Milestone Road was busy with plumbers, contractors, electricians, carpenters, all going to and from ’Sconset in their trucks. Bicyclists lazily pedaled along the bike path, occasionally passed by someone in bright blue spandex and a pointed helmet. Nearer to the village, several people were walking their dogs, and there was the picture-perfect little town, its main street canopied with the lush green leaves of stately trees. They slowed to twenty-five miles per hour, went around the small rotary and past the post office and the Sconset Market, along the idyllic antique Front Street, and finally around and onto Baxter Road, where grand hedge-hidden mansions looked out over the Atlantic.
Ari’s dashboard lit up as her phone buzzed.
“Hi, Mom, I’m right behind you,” she said.
“Of course you are,” her mother replied. “Now remember. First we celebrate Gram’s birthday, and tomorrow we mention the offer for the house.”
“I know, I know,” Ari grumbled, adding, “but I’m not sure Uncle Cliff will obey your instructions.”
Her mother’s exasperated sigh came through loud and clear. “Cliff never did play by the rules. Oh, here we are, and unless Gram has taken to driving a convertible, Cliff got here before us.”
“He said he was flying in and renting a car,” Ari reminded her.
“I don’t blame him.” Her father’s voice rumbled in the background. “No one likes to be dependent on someone else for a ride.”
Her parents parked in the driveway, behind the convertible. Ari could imagine her mother’s smirk at blocking her brother in. Ari pulled over to the side of the road, half of her car resting on the verge. The roads were narrow here, narrow all over the island.
Ari got out of her car and stretched, breathing in the fresh sea air.
“Come on, come on,” her mother called. “We should go in together.”
Before Ari could reach the front door,
