He asks his mother if there is anything he can do to help. He is, after all, an able-bodied twenty-two-year-old Marine, still in pretty formidable shape despite everything. Both his parents treat him like a cracked vessel that must be handled gently or it will break in two.
And aren’t they right, in a way?
The only injury Bart sustained overseas was a puncture wound to his right cheek; he was attacked when he was trying to save Centaur’s life. “Take me, not him!” Bart had cried out. He had tried to pull Centaur from the grip of two Bely, the ones the Marines had nicknamed Grim and Reaper; one of them fought him off with a sharpened piece of rebar, which he caught just under his eye. It knocked him out cold, and when he came to, Centaur was gone.
The only other damage done was to Bart’s psyche. He rode high for about six weeks after his return to America. Everything was a cause for celebration: He was free! He was on Nantucket, with his family! Once he’d been captured, he’d lost hope of ever seeing Sankaty Head Light again, of seeing his mother’s eyes again, of seeing the Civil War monument at the top of Main Street or his childhood bedroom or the Atlantic Ocean again.
But then once the holidays passed and civilian life on Nantucket became his new normal, Bart started having nightmares about the Pit. His nightmares were followed by panic attacks during the day. There were times when he became convinced that Centaur was alive, as long as Bart… what? That was the terrifying thing: Bart didn’t know what he had to do to keep Centaur alive. He would lose control of his breathing to the point of hyperventilation. He would sweat, his vision would splotch, he would feel like he was about to pass out. Then reality would intercede. Centaur was dead. Grim and Reaper had marched him off to the Pit.
Bart shakes his head to clear it. See how easy it is to get trapped in the black grip of his mind?
“I don’t want you to see the space before tonight,” Mitzi says. “I want you to be surprised. So I’m going to leave now to take care of last-minute details. You can keep your father company.”
Okay, good idea. Bart has been meaning to have a conversation with Kelley, but his mother is always, always around, and now there are also hospice workers, two placid women who float around with nearly holy authority, like nuns. Bart is afraid of the hospice workers. They seem to know something about death that he doesn’t, and he knows a lot about death.
He knocks on his father’s door and peers in. His father is in bed, of course, listening to something on earphones. When Kelley sees Bart, he pulls an earbud out.
“Happy birthday, son,” he says. “I meant to tackle you and give you twenty-two noogies, but I think my tackling and noogie days are on hold for now.”
Bart breathes, blinks. He loves his father for keeping faith that the tackling and noogie days might return. “What are you listening to? Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Getting rested for tonight?”
“It’s a Danielle Steel novel,” Kelley says. “This one is called The Mistress. Want to have a listen?”
“Not really,” Bart says, but Kelley ignores him. He pulls the earphone jack out, and a man’s melodious, British-accented voice starts describing so-and-so’s sweeping desire.
Kelley pats the bed, indicating Bart should sit down, and Bart does so reluctantly. He doesn’t think he can tolerate Danielle Steel, even if it were narrated by John Cleese or Daniel Craig.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Bart says. “Something serious.”
Kelley smiles benignly, his eyes at half-mast. Bart knows his father is heavily medicated, but Bart also sees this as his only chance. Kelley isn’t going to get any better. His ability to comprehend isn’t getting any sharper. Bart reaches over and pauses the book.
This gets Kelley’s attention. “What’s wrong?” He jerks his head, and Bart remembers that Kelley can see him out of only one eye.
“I want to talk to you, Dad,” Bart says.
Kelley sinks back into his pillows and closes his eyes. “Of course, son. I’m sorry.”
“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve made a decision about my future.” Bart pauses. He hates the drama of the moment. He hates the circumstances—it’s his birthday, Kelley is dying—but he needs to say this. Say it!
“I’m going back to active duty. I’m going back to the Marines.”
Bart feels a thousand times better now that it’s out, but he also braces himself for Kelley’s inevitable rebuttal. If Bart goes back on active duty, who will take care of Mitzi? That’s the issue. Bart wants to go back to active duty because it’s the only thing in his life that he’s proven to be good at. He loves the discipline, he craves the camaraderie. He needs to be regimented; otherwise, he falls apart. He started going to the gym on a regular basis after Christmas, but it was a means to no end. Why work out if there is no mission, no goal? Bart thought he would be able to work at Kevin’s beach shack, at least through the summer, but the endless line of people flustered him, and he found the general sense of triviality—beachgoers losing their temper over how long it took to get their fish tacos and Coronas—off-putting. Didn’t these people realize how privileged they sounded? Did they not realize that people had died—and were dying still—in order to safeguard their freedom? Real things, serious things, were happening in the world. The U.S. was engaged in a war against ISIS, and there were flesh-and-blood soldiers out there fighting it. While Bart and the rest of his platoon had been held prisoner, people in America had been at the beach. While Bart’s fellow soldiers had been randomly selected and marched to the Pit, civilians at home had been going to brunch, then Snapchatting photos of their avocado toast. Bart knows it’s unrealistic of him to think that the entire nation would have hit the pause button on their happy, productive lives and waited with bated breath to find out what had happened to the servicemen gone missing outside of Sangin, Afghanistan, or even that the DoD would have dedicated every cent of its budget to locating the platoon. It was 2014—people went missing but didn’t stay missing. But Bart and the rest of his platoon had been marched off the grid and stayed off the grid for nearly two years.
Kelley hasn’t spoken, but Bart can tell he understands what Bart is telling him.
“I need to go back, Dad,” Bart says.
Kelley opens his mouth to speak. Bart knows what he’s going to say. What about your mother? Bart has to stay on Nantucket and take care of Mitzi. There will be no one else.
Kelley reaches out to squeeze Bart’s hand. “It’s okay,” he says.
What’s okay? It’s okay if Bart returns to active duty? Or maybe Kelley meant that Mitzi will be okay. This is what Bart wants so badly to believe: that his mother is stronger than anyone imagines, that Mitzi will not fold, crumple, or flail. She will bounce back—resilient, strong, capable. If she wants to run the inn, she will hire competent help. If the inn is too much, she’ll sell it and buy a smaller house, maybe even a house on the beach.
Kelley’s eyes close and Bart feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s one of the hospice workers. Laura, he thinks her name is.
“Your father needs to sleep before the party,” she says.
Bart nods in agreement and stands to leave.
“Your brother and sister-in-law are in the kitchen,” Lara says. “They’re anxious to see you.”
Bart heads to the kitchen expecting to see Kevin and Isabelle, a prospect that doesn’t exactly excite him. Growing up, Bart always sensed that Kevin resented him—loved him, of course, because they were brothers, but maybe didn’t like him. Bart, after all, had turned Kevin into more of a middle child than he already was. Since Bart has gotten home, Kevin alone has been tough on him. What are Bart’s plans for the future? What is he going to do with his life? Does he plan on making a career out of sitting in his room and smoking dope? This feels hypocritical coming from Kevin, because back when Bart enlisted, that’s what Kevin was doing. He was living at the inn, managing the Bar, licking his wounds from his disastrous marriage to Norah Vale, doing pretty much nothing productive or worthwhile—and he was far older then than Bart is now. Among the biggest surprises for Bart upon returning home was discovering that Kevin had gotten married, sired a child, moved into a rental cottage, and started a successful business that had nothing to do with the inn.