The glass door slid open and Bea emerged, followed by Diane Knight.
“Here he is, Diane. I just knew we’d find him skulking around somewhere. But it seems we’re interrupting something,” Bea said. She poked her head back inside and called out, “Kyle, look who I found.”
Why was Kyle in the house instead of helping out at the dock?
“You left Sean down there by himself?” Emma said when he appeared. He moved to her side and put his hand on the small of her back.
“Sean is fine. I’m concerned about you.”
“Mark, what are you doing out here?” Diane said.
“He’s just leaving,” Kyle said.
“Excuse me?” said Diane. “Who are you to be so rude?”
“Diane, you do know Mark is Emma’s ex-husband,” Bea said.
Diane folded her arms in front of her chest. “Yes. I’m aware. But that’s ancient history. Why is this somehow an issue?”
“It’s an issue because Mark is here in town fighting Emma for custody of Penny—after being an absentee father her entire life,” Bea said. “He just wants to get his hands on this house. Apparently, he’d do anything for money. Even sleep with you.”
“That’s out of line,” Mark said.
“What’s she talking about?” Diane said. “You never said anything about a custody fight.”
“Oh, it’s not going to happen, my dear,” said Bea. Then, to Mark: “I’ve already told Emma—and I’ll say it again—I will pay any amount of money to bury you in court. You’ll owe so much to your lawyers if you keep fighting this that you’ll never recover. Unless Diane here is your plan B.” She turned back to Diane. “He already asked me for a large check this summer. I’m sure you’re next if he hasn’t hit you up for funds already.”
Diane nervously patted her hair and looked at Mark. “You said you were out here producing a play.”
“Babe, go inside. This doesn’t concern you.”
“It seems like it does,” Diane said, glancing at Bea.
“Don’t feel bad, my dear. All wealthy women are prey to desperate men. We just have to stick together.” She rested her hand on Diane’s shoulder.
After a long pause, Diane turned to Mark. “You need to leave.”
“Well, it seems we have a consensus,” Emma said. “And since this is my house, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you—get out.”
“That’s your cue, buddy,” said Kyle, grabbing Mark by the arm and pulling him away from the house. “Time to say good-bye to Sag Harbor. The party is over.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Rows and rows of white folding chairs and a podium transformed Windsong’s living room into an event space, but there was no mistaking this had once been the home of an artist. A small crowd had gathered in front of Greene Street, 1972, and they stood there as unmoving and silent as if they were standing in an exhibit room in the painting’s onetime home, the Guggenheim Museum. Witnessing this, Emma realized that acting as custodian of Henry Wyatt’s art was a tremendous responsibility. His decision with the house had been capricious, and perhaps not altogether rational. She had to concede that some of Bea’s disbelief and outrage had been justified.
Or maybe she was just emotional after the confrontation with Mark.
“I tried to warn you,” Bea said after Kyle had forced Mark from the premises. “That’s why I texted for you to come back to the house. I asked him to leave but I realized it was futile.”
“It wasn’t futile. You and Kyle made quite a team. Thank you.”
Once the crisis was over, Emma’s first thought was of Penny. Had she noticed the commotion? Had she even seen her father?
More guests filed into the room and took their seats. The front two rows were cordoned off, reserved for sponsors of the event. Emma looked around for Penny, hoping for the chance to talk to her before the auction began. She wondered if she had sneaked off to hide in her room, her anxiety triggered by the crowd.
But no. Emma spotted the unmistakable cascade of curls in the back of the room, just beyond the last row of chairs. Penny stood next to Joyce Carrier-Jones, her face tilted toward the older woman in rapt attention. Joyce held papers in front of her and pointed something out to Penny, who looked at it and nodded with a glowing expression on her face. What were they staring at so intently?
“Are you ready?” Cheryl Meister appeared by Emma’s side and pressed a sheet of paper into her hands. “Don’t forget these names. We have to thank the sponsors.”
“I have them all written down,” Emma said, pulling her notes out of her clutch.
“One more thing,” Cheryl said. “Remember to use the word devastating when talking about the fire. We need to rally these people to bid strong.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got it.”
Diane strode over, reached out, and squeezed Emma’s forearm, spilling a quarter of her glass of champagne in the process. “The show must go on,” she said, slurring.
“Let’s find our seats,” Cheryl said, taking Diane by the elbow.
Emma stepped up to the lectern on the podium. It was slightly elevated, giving Emma a more complete view of the crowd. Servers made their way up and down the rows, filling and refilling wineglasses. After a few minutes, Emma knew the room had quieted as much as it was going to without her actually speaking.
“Welcome, everyone,” she said, leaning toward the microphone and resisting the temptation to ask, Can you hear me? The room settled into silence. All she heard was the rustling of the auction catalogs, the pop of a champagne cork. “Thank you all for being here in support of a very worthy cause, the rebuilding of our beloved Sag Harbor movie theater on Main Street. Since the…devastating fire last December, the community has rallied with the creation of the Save the Cinema group. The most urgent goal is to purchase the lot where the cinema was originally built so that a chain store does not move in. Once we have secured the location, rebuilding can begin. The vision is to replicate the original facade, including the iconic Sag Harbor sign.”
She paused to accommodate the light clapping, glanced down at her index cards, then back at the crowd. She spotted Penny in the third row, sitting between Bea and Joyce Carrier-Jones. Her eyes met her daughter’s, and she saw something there she hadn’t seen in a long time: A spark. A happiness.
Emma swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She placed her notes facedown on the lectern. The events of the past few months rushed at her, a kaleidoscope in her mind. The shape of every moment suddenly looked different. It took her breath away.
The audience members watched her expectantly, shifting in their seats. Her pause exceeded any reasonable amount of time.
“Um, I’d like to take a moment to speak of this town’s other loss this year, a far greater one than that of a building, no matter how cherished. This past May, Sag Harbor lost longtime resident and legendary artist Henry Wyatt.”
The crowd stirred with murmurs and nods. She glanced at Bea, who leaned forward in her seat.
“As you know, we are gathered tonight in the house Henry Wyatt designed when he decided to become a full-time resident of this town. Henry, like some of you here tonight, discovered this town as a visitor. But ultimately, he became as much a part of this place as the people who were lucky enough to be born here. I used to see Henry Wyatt every day at The American Hotel, and for a long time I thought of him as a loner. I realize now he was not alone—he was a part of the larger family of Sag Harbor, his adopted town. Henry knew that the people and places you discover along the way in life can be as significant—sometimes more significant—than the family you’re born into.”
Speaking the words, she was aware that these were not new thoughts; it was a version of what she had been saying to Penny the other day by the pool. She had not fully accepted the scope of that truth herself. Not until this moment.
Henry Wyatt had not been capricious with his bequest of the house. In fact, he had not given Penny merely the house and the art.
He had also given her
Bea.
“Henry Wyatt was a brilliant man, as we can see clearly as we sit here surrounded by his art. But I think in the end his greatest gift was drawing us together.” She looked at Penny and then at Bea. She leaned just a bit closer to the microphone, her words finally sure and steady. She felt them fill the room. “For that, I’m forever grateful.”
Bea nodded, just the slightest dip of her regal head. They locked eyes as the audience applauded.
Cheryl jumped up from her seat and made her way to the podium.
“And most important,” Cheryl said, stepping in front of the microphone and elbowing Emma to the side, “we’d like to thank these very special sponsors…”
Bea slipped outside, champagne in hand, and made her way to the tent. For all of her love of art, she had little patience for auctions.
With most of the guests still in the house, Bea had the hors d’oeuvres stations and minibars all to herself. Well, almost to herself.
Angus, dressed in a light blue sports jacket and a striped tie, hovered near the crab legs. She hesitated to approach him. Their last conversation had not gone well, and she didn’t know how quickly she would bounce back from another rebuke. But he did look so very handsome, and it was a beautiful evening, and, well, when had she ever been timid before?
“Great minds think alike,” she said, moving next to him. “Best to get a jump on these things. There’s nothing I hate more than waiting in line for food. Or, heaven forbid, for a drink.”
“Hello there, Bea. I’m actually just taking a look.”
Across the lawn, a string quartet began setting up.
“I begged Emma to consider a seated dinner, but the committee vetoed the idea,” Bea said.
“This arrangement seems more than adequate,” Angus said. “You did a fine job.”
Bea smiled. “Well, thank you, Angus. I’ll accept the compliment. It’s highly preferable to the tenor of our last conversation.”
“Do you ever stop pushing?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips. Just a hint—but she caught it.
“Of course not. That’s how I get things done.”
He didn’t seem to hear her, distracted by something. She turned around and saw Emma making her way toward them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say hi before everything got started,” Emma said to him, out of breath. “Did you see Penny?”
“I did indeed,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek in greeting. “She looks very grown up and she was engrossed in conversation with one of the guests.”
“What are you doing out here so soon? Is the auction finished?” Bea said.
“No. I needed some air—and to get away from Cheryl. I sort of went off topic in my speech and she is not happy about it.”
Bea did not think Emma had gone off topic in the least. How much could one say about a movie theater? “Your speech was perfection,” Bea said. “I did not expect you to mention Henry, but I appreciate that you did. And I’m sure he would have as well.”
“To be honest, it wasn’t planned,” Emma said. “But standing up there, looking out at the audience and seeing Penny sitting next to you, it all sort of hit me, you know?”
Bea suspected she did know. But she couldn’t be sure. She kept herself from saying anything, from trying to urge the moment forward. After a few seconds, Emma spoke haltingly.
“I’ve been going over and over it in my mind,” she said. “The one thing I’ve been saying for as long as I can remember—and Angus, you know this is true—is that I just want Penny to be happy. I want what’s best for her. I realized tonight that I can’t give her that. But Bea, you can.” Her eyes filled.
Bea nodded, stepping closer and giving her a hug. It was the strangest sensation. How long had it been since she’d embraced someone?
“What am I missing here?” Angus said.
Bea pulled back and opened her purse to find a handkerchief for Emma. She passed it to her and turned to Angus. “That woman you saw Penny speaking to? She’s an old friend. The dean of admissions at Manhattan’s best fine-arts high school. She offered Penny a spot in their freshman class. I told Emma I’d be happy to take her to the city for the school year so she can attend.”
Angus appeared stunned for a second. He looked at Emma, then back at Bea.
“Well, this is an unexpected turn, to say the least. It seems you’re taking my job,” he said, smiling.
“I suppose I am,” Bea said. It was a relief to see him looking at her with warmth once again. “So why don’t you finally agree to take my room? It seems a shame to let a perfect view go to waste.” She winked at Emma.
“I think we’ll keep that room for you,” Angus said. “For when you come back on weekends and in the summer.”
“What makes you think I’ll be spending weekends and summers out here?”
He reached for her hand. “Well, I’m hoping you will consider it.”
Chapter Fifty
Penny tried to catch her mother’s eye, but Emma was busy behind the front desk. Every time Penny thought she had an opening, the phone rang and she heard her mother say for the millionth time, “The American Hotel, Emma speaking.”
Penny checked the clock hanging above the backgammon table. It was getting close to noon. She shoved her sketchbook into her overstuffed backpack, pulled out the retractable handle of her suitcase, and propped both bags against the couch. She walked to the front windows, squeezing between two tables, to take a peek outside at Main Street. She looked to the right and her heart beat just a little faster. Across the street, right on schedule, the jitney passed by on its way to the pickup spot.
“Mom, it’s time!” Penny said, rushing back to the couch for her bags.
“Let me help you with the suitcase,” her mother said. But Penny didn’t need her help. She was so energized, she could have lifted a car by herself.
Someday you will find your own superpower.
Outside, it was sunny and hot, an August day that was meant for the beach. But Penny wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything. She crossed bustling Main Street and made a left, heading to the back of the line of people waiting to board the jitney. Penny had watched visitors do this at the end of every summer weekend for as long as she could remember, but she had never imagined that one day she’d be one of the people leaving. She said as much to Bea, who stood waiting while Angus helped load her bags into the undercarriage of the bus.
“Well, I never imagined I’d be one of these people either,” Bea said. “I wish you’d let me call a car service.”
“This is so much more fun!” Penny said.
Really, until Penny actually stepped foot on the jitney, she wouldn’t fully believe it was happening. Her father had dropped his custody fight and her mother was letting her leave town. Her wish had come true. She was getting out in the world. She would continue what she’d started with Henry in the most incredible way imaginable.
The only bad part of the whole thing was that her mom was taking the change pretty hard. At least Kyle had shown up for moral support. He put his arm around her mom, solidifying his status as hero in Penny’s mind. She didn’t know if she could have left her mother all alone. But now, she wouldn’t be.
A woman wearing a green Hampton Jitney polo and holding a clipboard asked Penny for her name.
“Penny Mapson.” She turned to give her mom one last hug and said, “I’ll be back next weekend.”
Her mother didn’t say anything. She just nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Penny felt a lump in her throat. “Mom, don’t be sad.”
“I’m not,” Emma said. “How could I possibly be sad when you’re so happy?” She pulled Penny into her arms. For a minute, Penny didn’t want to leave. But just for a minute.
She disentangled herself from her mother’s embrace, looked into her eyes, and said, “I am happy, Mom. I really am.”
She gave her a quick kiss, then turned away and climbed into the jitney.
Weeks of careful tho
ught and planning had gone into this moment. And now that it was here, Emma was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get through it.
She glanced behind her, back at the hotel. Jack, who was covering the desk for the few minutes she needed to say good-bye to Penny, stood on the front porch and gave her a thumbs-up. Emma had been grateful to have her job back, but perhaps never more so than in that moment. It would be important to stay busy. And as she’d told Jack the night of the auction, the hotel really was her home away from home.
With the jitney idling at the curb, the reality that Penny was on her way to New York City took on a whole new intensity. Tonight, Penny would sleep in Bea Winstead’s Park Avenue apartment. By this time tomorrow, she would be touring her new school.
Emma leaned against Kyle. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” she said.
“You don’t need me to tell you that. Did you see her face?”
Of course she had. And she’d seen her expression the day they’d told her about the opportunity to go to art school in New York City. Penny had not hesitated for a second. It was as if she’d been waiting for a chance like this all along. And having given it to her, Emma felt an immediate shift in their relationship. Just like that, Penny had nothing left to push back against. She was no longer frustrated and angry.
Of course, the move would not solve everything.
“If I hear that you’re not keeping up with your therapy appointments, that you’re not doing the work for your anxiety and OCD, this whole thing is off,” Emma warned her.
“I’ll do the work,” Penny said. “I promise.”
Emma believed her, just as she had trusted herself to make the right decision about New York. There had been plenty of challenging moments in her fourteen years of motherhood, but it didn’t get any harder than letting go.
“She’ll be home next weekend,” Kyle said, rubbing her shoulder. It was true, Penny would be back on weekends, for holidays, and during the summer. Sag Harbor was still her home. Bea and the school in New York were just adding another dimension to her life, like the way Penny always talked about shading and layering in her drawings.
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