All of George’s gambles have paid off. The night before the wedding, George and Mary Rose wander the streets of town. It’s the first time Mary Rose has been to the island in the summer. They stroll the docks and ogle the great yachts that are in Nantucket for Race Week. They have a romantic dinner on the beach at the Galley. And then, in the morning, at Mitzi’s invitation, they swing by the inn to enjoy one of Kelley’s famous breakfasts—lobster eggs Benedict, made especially for the wedding guests.
George had feared the initial interaction with Kelley and Mitzi would be strained—there was nothing like welcoming your wife’s former lover into the fold!—but it was surprisingly joyous. Kelley and Mitzi greeted George and Mary Rose like old friends; a stranger watching might have thought George and Kelley had once been college roommates or that the four of them had forged a lifelong bond on a cruise to Alaska.
And the hat! Well, the hat makes quite a splash. No sooner has Mary Rose taken her seat at the ceremony than a murmur ripples through the assembled guests. They are talking about the hat—a classic boater made from finely braided leghorn straw with a twelve-inch brim and a lime-green satin band that trails halfway down Mary Rose’s back. At the reception, Mary Rose is approached by none other than Ginny Kramer, the editor of Vogue, who asks who designed the hat.
“Why, my boyfriend, George Umbrau,” Mary Rose says as she tugs on George’s arm. “He’s a milliner.”
“I’d love to feature his hats in the magazine,” Ginny says. She hands George her card. “Send me a few samples?”
“Of course!” George says. He can’t believe his good fortune. His hat business has just hit a plateau after two years of upswing, thanks to a selection in Oprah’s Favorite Things, and he’s been wondering how to reinvigorate sales. A feature or even a mention in Vogue will do the trick. He is in his late sixties and ready to retire. He would like to sell his business to a large retailer such as Talbots or Ann Taylor, and he’d like to get a good price so that he and Mary Rose can travel the globe in style.
After the wedding reception, George and Mary Rose catch a ride back to town with Kelley and Mitzi, and George tells them about his stroke of good fortune.
“It’s not good fortune,” Kelley says. “She recognizes your talent.”
George can’t believe how generous Kelley is being with his praise. He feels almost embarrassed.
“They’re beautiful hats, George,” Mitzi says. George thinks about how Mitzi had gamely tried on several styles before admitting to him that she hated to wear hats. He had known then that things would never work out between them. Mary Rose is a woman who would sleep in a hat if she could.
“Well, thank you both,” George says as Kelley pulls up outside the Castle. “It was a most delightful evening.”
“Yes,” Mary Rose says. “Thank you for including us.”
“The pleasure was ours,” Kelley says. He gets out of the car to help Mary Rose to the curb and to shake George’s hand. “I want to let bygones be bygones. I don’t see why the four of us can’t be friends. Would you guys consider coming back and staying with us at Christmas? Maybe don the red suit one more time?”
“I’d love to,” George says. He can’t believe how happy the offer makes him. He dresses as Santa for a variety of Lions Club events in Lenox but nothing gives him more pleasure than playing Santa on Nantucket.
“With your new svelte physique, you’ll have to get the suit altered,” Kelley says.
“Or I could fatten him up by Christmas,” Mary Rose says, and she and Mitzi laugh.
As Kelley and Mitzi drive away, Mary Rose and George wave good-bye, then George leads Mary Rose by the hand up the stairs of the Castle. He imagines his hats being featured in the windows of Bergdorf Goodman.
“They’re such a nice couple,” Mary Rose says. “I can’t believe you nearly broke them up. Shame on you, George.”
JENNIFER
At eight o’clock the morning after Margaret and Drake’s wedding, despite a tremendous hangover, Jennifer laces up her running shoes.
Patrick rolls over in bed and tugs on her shirt. “Don’t go,” he says. “Come back to bed.”
She turns around and smiles, but even that small effort feels like it’s enough to crack her face in half. After Ava saw Scott at the Bar, she and Jennifer ordered Fireball shots. What a rotten idea! And it had been Jennifer’s. “I’ll be back between nine thirty and ten.”
“Not only a run, but a long run,” Patrick says. “You go, girl.”
Jennifer hopes to slip out of the inn unnoticed, but she bumps into Kevin on the back stairs.
Kevin. Of all people.
“Hey!” he says. He checks his watch. “Where are you off to?”
Jennifer tugs on her tank top. “Going for a run,” she says. She wonders if Kevin remembers the conversation they had the evening before. Did he tuck away the particulars? He’s looking at her strangely, with his head cocked, as if he’s trying to see her from another angle. He thinks she’s having an affair; Jennifer would bet her life on it. Well, let him think that. In some ways, it’s preferable to the truth. “I’m off,” she says.
“Enjoy!” Kevin says.
She goes out the back door of the inn and heads down Liberty Street to Gardner. She figures it’ll take her forty minutes to run to Norah Vale’s house, ten minutes to do the deal, and forty minutes to run home.
She needs more drugs. She has been trying to wean herself off the oxy and at one point, when Patrick was first home, she had made it through an entire day with only one pill. But after that, she felt moody and headachy and sick and she deeply craved the high of the oxy, the sense of order and focus it brought her. She couldn’t live without it. Could not, would not. She had met Norah once in July at their usual spot on Route 3, thinking that would be it. But now that she’s on Nantucket where Norah lives, the temptation is too great to resist. She’s going to buy sixty pills. These sixty will be the end, she tells herself. But she has to get these sixty. The mere thought of so many pills puts her at peace.
Norah had been surprised to hear from Jennifer, or possibly she had only been acting surprised. She knows Jennifer is an addict, and as much as Jennifer would like to blame Norah and think her evil, Jennifer can’t blame anyone but herself. She wishes she had found a dealer who didn’t know her; the connection between her and Norah makes her very uneasy. When Jennifer called two days ago to say she would be on the island, Norah said, “Family vacation?”
Without thinking, Jennifer said, “Margaret is getting married, actually.”
“Really?” Norah said. She then pressed Jennifer for details, and what could Jennifer do but comply? Dr. Drake Carroll, pediatric neurosurgeon, ceremony on the beach at Eel Point, Kelley giving Margaret away. It was confidential information—no one wanted the paparazzi to show up—but Margaret had once been Norah’s mother-in-law, and if Jennifer remembered correctly, Norah had been fond of Margaret. And Margaret had been kind and gracious with Norah because Margaret was kind and gracious with everyone.
“Wow,” Norah said wistfully. “I bet it will be a beautiful wedding.”
Jennifer actually felt bad that Norah hadn’t been invited—which was crazy. The only thing that could confuse and frustrate you more than family was… former family.
Jennifer jogs into the driveway of the Vale family compound at five minutes to nine. Jennifer has been here only once, years and years earlier, when Kevin and Norah were still married. The compound is off Hooper Farm Road—it’s mid-island, where the island businesses are and where the locals live. There are four vehicles in the driveway: Norah’s black truck; an old Jeep Wagoneer, its bumper plastered with beach stickers; and two old taxis, one of which is on blocks, that Jennifer knows used to belong to Norah’s parents. Also in the driveway are two rusted-out bikes, a sun-bleached Big Wheel, half of a brass bed, a pile of scallop shells that stinks to high heaven, and a deflated kiddie pool.
A German shepherd fights its chain in the backyard, barking an announcement of Jennifer Barrett Quinn’s arrival at the low point in her life. She puts her hands on her hips and bends in half to catch her breath. She closes her eyes, but even the black is splotched blood red. Turn around, she thinks. You don’t need the drugs.