Drake places a hand lightly on the woman’s arm. “Listen,” he says. “I deal with a lot of unlucky mothers. I deal with mothers who have just discovered their five-year-old daughter has stage four brain cancer. I deal with mothers whose three-month-old infant son needs a shunt implanted to relieve the pressure in his skull, or he will die. Can you imagine how hard it is to entrust your three-month-old baby to a surgical team? Or your five-year-old little girl?”
The woman has stopped crying.
“Do you know what I tell those mothers? I tell them to have faith in the good forces of this world. I tell them to hope. I tell them to pray to whatever higher being they believe in. I tell them to trust the medical marvels of our day and age and the natural talent and excellent training of their surgeons.” Drake takes off his glasses and sets them on the table so that he can better look this woman in the eye. “But mostly, I tell them to remain positive. To visualize a positive outcome.”
The woman nods slowly and then—then, there’s a trace of a smile. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you for listening. Thank you for being nice to a complete stranger. My boyfriend and my estranged husband and so many other people treat me like I’m an inmate at the asylum. There isn’t any way to make me feel better, and I understand that’s frustrating for the people who love me. But instead of accepting my grief as real and legitimate, they write me off as crazy.”
Well, the woman is a little crazy as far as Drake can tell. He needs to gently excuse himself and go up to his room. But he feels a small sense of accomplishment because he’s managed to get her calmed down.
She looks at his paperwork as he gathers it up. “You’re a doctor?” she says. “Can you write me a prescription?”
Crazy, he thinks. “Only if you’re a patient,” he says.
“Maybe I’ll become a patient,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“Dr. Carroll,” he says. “But you can call me Drake. What’s yours?”
“Mitzi Quinn,” she says, and without warning, she reaches over to embrace him.
Drake tries to back away but she’s too quick—and surprisingly strong. He is caught in her hug as he processes the name Mitzi Quinn. His brain is swimming in vodka but he knows there’s something alarming about that name—and then it clicks. This is Mitzi.
At that second, the front door swings open and Margaret bursts in wearing her cream-colored cashmere poncho over an ivory turtleneck dress and a very high pair of nude heels. Her red hair is windblown and her cheeks are bright pink. She is the most ravishing creature Drake has ever seen. He disentangles himself from Mitzi’s arms and gets clumsily to his feet, knocking his shin against the coffee table.
He watches Margaret take in the scene: the leather sofa, the fire, Drake, Mitzi.
“Drake?” she says.
“Surprise,” he says weakly. He hears footsteps on the stairs behind him, then he hears Kelley’s voice.
“Margaret!” Kelley says. “Happy Stroll!” Then Kelley sees Mitzi and he does a double take. “Mitzi?”
In the two and a half years they’ve been seeing each other, Drake has never once witnessed Margaret Quinn lose her composure—but she comes close now. She shuts the front door with a little more force than is needed, and takes an extra moment turning around to face everyone. The source of her consternation seems to be Drake. Or Mitzi. Or what she perceives to have been happening between Drake and Mitzi.
“What exactly is going on here?” she asks.
Drake opens his mouth to explain, but no sound comes out.
Mitzi starts to cry.
AVA
It starts out as just a ride home. Nathaniel takes his time driving up Main Street so they can both appreciate the lights on the trees and the shop windows—and then he heads to the right of Pacific National Bank onto Liberty Street. His radio plays classical Christmas music, “What Child Is This?” Ava nearly sings along, but she stops herself. Then she does sing, because singing is easier than talking. They’ll be home in thirty seconds.
Nathaniel slows down as they approach Winter Street and says, “What if we drive to the end of Hinckley Lane and talk? It’s still early. It’s not even nine.”
“Nathaniel,” Ava says.
“What? I promise not to put the moves on you. I just want to talk to you, Ava.”
She sighs. “Okay.”
Nathaniel drives out Cliff Road, then takes a right onto Hinckley Lane—a dirt road that is very, very private, but at this time of year the police won’t be out on the point checking for parkers. And even though it’s Stroll weekend, most of the summer homes are dark and shuttered up.
Nathaniel pulls out to the edge of the bluff. Before them is Nantucket Sound, shining under a crescent moon. The crescent moon has always been Ava’s favorite.
Nathaniel cuts the engine. It’s quiet, and cold. “Do you want my jacket?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Ava says. “Jesus is keeping me warm.”
“What?” Nathaniel says.
“My sweater,” Ava says. She unzips her ski coat to reveal the Birthday Boy. Nathaniel throws his head back and laughs.
“That is classic!”
“I was wearing it at the bar,” Ava says.
“I didn’t notice what you were wearing at the bar,” Nathaniel says. “I was blinded by your smile.”
“Yeah, right,” Ava says.
“I’m serious,” Nathaniel says. He fiddles with the keys in the ignition for a second, then relaxes against his seat. “I miss you so much, Ava. I’m not going to lie—when I got to the Vineyard, I thought, Okay, new place, fresh start. I’ll go out a couple of times, meet some women, start dating.”
Ava feels a wave of unreasonable jealousy. “So,” she asks, “did you date?”
“I did,” he says. “Girl named Yvette, girl named Kendall.”
“Yvette,” Ava says. “Kendall.”
“Nice girls, pretty girls, both unattached, both the right age. Yvette works as a bartender at Atria where I used to eat every night, and Kendall is the sales manager at Nell, this high-end women’s clothing boutique in Edgartown. Kendall went to college with Kirsten Cabot, actually, so I knew of her before I got there…”
“Great,” Ava says. She despises no one on the face of the planet more than Nathaniel’s ex-girlfriend, Kirsten Cabot. Any friend of Kirsten’s is an automatic enemy. “Why do I have to hear about this, Nathaniel?”
“Because they’re great girls, not a thing wrong with them, and yet I only went out with them a couple times apiece before I lost interest. And as I told you earlier, I was working out in Chappy, which gave me more than enough time for self-reflection.”
“And what did you conclude?” Ava asks.
“I concluded…” Here, Nathaniel swallows. He seems overcome. “I thought a lot about… love and what love is and what it would be like to be married, to spend a lifetime with someone. I mean, I know a lot of it is luck like my parents had, but some of it is also who you choose. My grandmother had this saying, ‘Lust is great in the bedroom, but Like is better at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.’” His brow creases. “Or something like that.”
“I get your point,” Ava says.
“I like you, Ava. I enjoy being with you. And also you’re pretty and you’re sexy and I feel insane stupid mindless desire for you, but what I can’t seem to find in anyone else is the friendship part, the breakfast, lunch, and dinner part. You’re the coolest person I know. You’re the person who gets me, you’re the person who fits with me.”
Ava is so taken aback by his words that she feels tears building. “We were great friends and we did get along and I do understand you. But I’m not sure you understand me. I’m not sure you know what I need. I need to feel like the only girl in the world. I need to feel like your sun and your moon. I need to be the woman who crowds your thoughts and makes you crazy. I am that person for Scott.”
“Were you not listening?” he says. “You are that person for me, too. There’s no way you can tell me all your feelings for me have died. There’s no way Scott Skyler came in and replaced me in every way.”