“That’s crazy,” Derek said.
John’s eyes found Derek’s for the first time. After a pause, he took a long swig of his beer and then considered his words. “Why don’t you come closer? If you want stories, I got ‘em. Heaps of ‘em.”
Lucky for this guy, Derek was in exactly the right mood to sit at a bar with an islander and listen to his stories. He took his whiskey and shifted on over toward John, where he said, “I’m not from around here, actually. I’m from the city. Whatever knowledge you have of the Vineyard, I’d love to hear it. This place fascinates me.”
“As it should,” John affirmed. “I’ve lived here all my life. My family has been here for generations, as has my wife’s family. We’re Martha’s Vineyard, through and through.”
“That’s the kind of life I would have wanted, I think,” Derek said with a sad smile. “As it went, I got involved with a lot of money and drama over in the city. Feels like I wasted a lot of my life being worried about a lot of things that didn’t really matter much.”
“Worrying about a lot of things that don’t actually matter is a part of life, son,” John told him.
Derek gave a light laugh. “I guess you’re right.”
John turned back toward Bob, the bartender, who’d crossed his arms over his chest to watch the conversation flow between the two of them. John, who seemed to be one of the fastest drinkers Derek had ever witnessed, finished up his beer and rapped his knuckles on the counter. “I guess I’ll be getting us the next round, Bob. This guy wants Edgartown stories, and he’s gonna get Edgartown stories.”
“You’re in for a treat,” Bob said as he collected both of their empty glasses and winked.
Chapter Seventeen
The stories unfurled from the older man’s lips as the night wore on. Derek sipped his whiskey while the man guzzled his beers like they were water. He looked like the kind of man who hadn’t had anyone to speak to in many, many years—the kind of man starved for any kind of affection and love. Derek understood this, as he’d felt himself increasingly moving that way. He could very much see himself like this man, in his late-sixties, totally depressed and washed up.
“I got the police chief job when I was much too young to have anything like it,” John explained. His eyes were glassed over as he reminisced. “And the first case we had was a real doozy. There was a politician staying on the Vineyard at the time. The governor of Nevada, if you can believe it. For some reason, some rednecks from Nevada didn’t like something the governor had done, and they followed him here and actually managed to kidnap the governor’s daughter. It was wild. I’d only ever heard about kidnappings on TV or whatever, and here I was in the middle of one.”
“That’s insane,” Derek said. He full-on belly-laughed, then. “What did you do?”
“Well, lucky for me, these guys who kidnapped the girl were pretty stupid. One of them went to a bar in Oak Bluffs and started bragging about it. One bartender told another bartender who told my man Bob, here. Bob, we’ve been friends for God knows how long, now, haven’t we?”
Bob cackled. “I forgot about that. Yep, I called you right away. You got the girl back to the governor within the week.”
“The worst of it was, she’d fallen head over heels for one of the captors,” John affirmed. “And she didn’t want to go back!”
The stories continued. There was the shark attack that had happened during the early ‘90s, boating accidents, sailing expeditions, stories of countless celebrities and politicians and others who made the island of Martha’s Vineyard a truly spectacular place, one unlike any other across the world. Derek asked questions excitedly, especially as he joined the older man in a drunken stupor, and even suggested a few times that the man write a book about his experiences.
“People would definitely pay to read some of these stories,” he said, his words all slurred together. “Seriously. I can’t believe my luck, sitting here at this bar with you tonight.”
John looked at him strangely, then. He sniffed. “Your luck? Nobody’s ever had luck around me. Not for a long time, at least. My luck dried up a long time ago.”
Derek’s shoulders sagged forward. He recognized that he’d reminded the older man of something he didn’t want to think of. As a way to connect them, he said, “I feel pretty similarly. My wife passed away from an aneurysm about a year ago. I’ve felt lost without her. I’m out here on Martha’s Vineyard, trying to build some kind of life for myself, but everything I do still feels so wrong.”
John grunted. He tapped the top of his already-empty beer glass, and Bob immediately thrust his hand forward, gripped it, and refilled.
“What you’re saying is a lot of the reason I left the police force,” he said finally. With the beer back in his hand, he looked more centered, more focused. “Around twenty-three years ago, something horrible happened. I’d watched all these other people go through the worst days of their lives, you know? People on vacation who’d lost children. People who’d lost their husbands on fishing expeditions. All that type of stuff. And that’s not to say I didn’t see my fair of joy, as well, because I did. There’s always a whole lot of happiness on this island, but the thing about happiness is, to feel it, you have to know the darkness, too.”
Derek thought he’d never heard such wisdom in his life, even though he couldn’t fully remember the concept of “happiness.” Not anymore.
“I had twin daughters,” John said finally. “They were my pride and joy. I loved them with everything I was, you know? I felt that as police chief, I could keep them safe. I could make sure the island was safe. But one night, when they were seventeen years old, they went out to a party on the beach. Only one of them came home that night.”
Derek’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t help it: he compared the whole situation to his own life, imagining himself awake at night back in the city, praying that Emma would make it home all right. He knew that for so many people across the world, their daughters and sons didn’t always make it.
“My God,” Derek breathed.
“I was on the boat when they pulled her out of the water,” John continued as his voice broke. “It was the very worst thing I’ve ever seen or had to go through. I still have nightmares about it. You have this beautiful creature—this beautiful being. And you watch as she grows from a baby to a toddler to a little ballerina to a grown-up teenager, on her way to live the rest of her life. Then, suddenly, all that’s ripped away.”
Derek’s eyes filled with tears. He remembered all those steps with Emma, too. How grateful he was that he’d been allowed even this stage — watching her break apart in the wake of her fiancé’s decision to step away and cancel their wedding.
“I think the worst of it was,” John continued as he cleared his throat, “the fact that we still had our other daughter. Her twin. We put so much of our hope onto her, and she wound up pregnant almost immediately. Heck, I think she was even pregnant when the accident happened. She had the kid, got married, became an adult instantly. It was like—bam! We weren’t parents anymore. That’s not to say we don’t love that grandkid of ours. He’s probably my favorite person on the planet. He’s all grown up with a fiancé of his own, now.”
John clucked his tongue and shook his head, as though the state of the world was something he couldn’t fully comprehend. Derek felt this way, too.
“I heard what Bob said about your wife,” Derek said softly. “The stroke?”
“That’s the newest development,” John affirmed. “I don’t mean to be all ‘woe is me’ all night, but yeah. The woman and I haven’t had much to say to one another for a few godforsaken years. She hates that I drink; I hate that she doesn’t tell me anything about herself anymore. I would say our communication is all but lost. And man, we used to laugh. We used to have this friendship on top of the other stuff. I trusted her with everything. I sometimes wonder, if we hadn’t lost Michelle, would that all still be there? But of course, you can’t go back to what’s happened
. The past stays the past, forever. And now, she’s had a stroke, and she can’t walk. And man. It’s Christmas.”
Derek’s heart ached for the man. He had no idea what he could possibly say to relieve him. He’d lost a daughter; he felt as though he’d lost total control of his life. Probably, that’s why he drank so fast. He wanted to take control in some way—so he pushed himself to the limits of drunkenness, just to escape.
“She’s spent all her time at that godforsaken bakery over the past few years, anyway,” John said with a sigh. “All her time there. Her customers are more like her family than me these days. To tell you the truth, when I heard they were going to tear it down, I praised God above. I never want to see that stupid place again.”
Derek felt the words like a punch to the gut.
He blinked at this man, his mouth ajar, as the realization came over him. This man was Jennifer Conrad’s father. His wife was Jennifer Conrad’s mother.
Which meant that, twenty-three years ago, Jennifer Conrad had had a twin sister.
And now, she no longer did.
Derek stood on shaking legs. He’d drank far past his normal limit. He excused himself to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, and studied his bloodshot eyes.
He had to get John home safely. He felt he owed it to Jennifer, to her mother, to this universe he’d entered that he could never fully understand.
When he reached John at the bar, he said, “Why don’t I walk you back to your place?”
John grunted. “I don’t know. I had plans for another round.”
“Maybe we can meet here again for more stories,” Derek suggested. “I know you’ve got a few more up your sleeves.”
“That’s for damn sure,” John said with a grunt. “You want stories? I’ll give you stories.”
Bob nodded toward Derek and mouthed, “Thank you,” as Derek helped John into a big, worn coat.
“Don’t mention it,” Derek returned to Bob. “What do I owe you?”
Derek paid for both of their tabs, then led John down the road. The snow had kept up over the hours, and a thick fuzzy blanket of it stretched out before them. Their boots ruffled through it as John led Derek, in stumbles and stops and starts, all the way to his house.
“We bought this place forty-two years ago,” he said out front. “It’s my kingdom.”
The place was beautiful: two stories, a big wrap-around porch, a view of the Nantucket Sound out back. Someone had hung Christmas lights over the top of the porch and the top of the second-floor roof and inside, someone had lit up the Christmas tree so that the place hummed with warmth and Christmas cheer. It was exactly the kind of place Derek would have loved to stumble into. Heck, he didn’t think he would have ever left a place like that if he had it.
Family. Warmth. Companionship. Wasn’t that all that mattered?
Suddenly, a figure appeared in the front doorway. From where Derek stood, the figure seemed to be a young man, maybe twenty-something, with broad shoulders and a confident demeanor. As he and John staggered up the driveway, they heard the young man call, “Yep! That’s him. And someone else. Not sure who.”
The young man stepped out onto the porch. He wore only a sweatshirt and he smiled nervously at Derek.
“Hey, Grandpa,” he said. “Looks like you got yourself in a good bit of trouble.”
“Ariane is probably not too pleased,” John said with a sly smile.
“And not my mom, either,” the guy said. He walked up to support his grandfather on the other side and nodded toward Derek. “Thanks, man. I guess he was at the bar off of Main?”
“Yep. That’s where we were,” Derek answered. “Have you been looking for him?”
“Naw. I figured he was at one of them. I was about to go on a rotation to search for him, just because my mom and grandmother are pretty worried.”
Suddenly, Jennifer Conrad appeared in the doorway behind her son. Her face took on several different emotions, in rapid succession, one after another. First, she showed complete shock, then gladness at her father’s return, then pain, then anger. Unequivocal anger.
“What the heck are you doing here?” she demanded.
Derek stepped away as the grandson helped John back into the house. Jennifer stepped around her father so that she stood in only socks on the porch. It was like she didn’t notice. Her eyes were raging with anger.
Derek was a bit too drunk to know what to do. Over the previous hours, he’d learned much more about this woman than he’d ever set out to. He knew about the innermost scars across her heart. He knew that she’d had a kid when she’d still been a kid herself and that she’d probably gone through a divorce since then (as he hadn’t seen a ring on her finger). He knew that she’d lost a twin sister, something that had probably destroyed her psyche in ways he couldn’t fathom.
He knew so much.
But he also knew that right then, he represented everything in the world she hated.
He was the final “grim reaper.” He’d come to take away her mother’s bakery.
“Get out of here,” Jennifer said coldly. “You are not welcome here. Especially since Martha’s Vineyard is supposed to be a place of community and kindness.”
Derek raised his hands and looked up at her with a somber expression and said, “I’ll go. I’m leaving.”
Jennifer stepped closer to him. “Did you think you could somehow manipulate me through my father? Did you think I wouldn’t bend so easily? What? Tell me. I’m so curious about what is going on in the minds of men like you.”
Derek stuttered with fear and then rage. “I just wanted to help, okay? I didn’t know he was your dad. We were just two lonely old guys at a bar on a cold night.”
“So you’re saying you wouldn’t have helped him if you’d known about his relationship with me?” Jennifer demanded.
Derek stepped back down the steps. He felt trapped. There was nothing he could do or say to make up for what he’d done to Jennifer.
But suddenly, Jennifer did something Derek hadn’t expected at all.
She burst into tears.
Her eyes were brimmed with tears and he watched as they rolled down her cheeks. She placed both hands over her face and shook with sadness. Derek had the biggest urge to stand before her, wrap her in his arms, and cry with her. They’d both been through so much. There was such tremendous loss between them.
The bakery, the big hotel he wanted to build, none of it really mattered. All that mattered was the loneliness in their hearts.
“I’m sorry,” Jennifer breathed. She wiped her face with her sleeve and sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t mean to freak you out. I just. Ugh.” She clenched her eyes tightly. “Maybe my friends were right about the bakery. I don’t know why I’m fighting for it so hard. It’s not like it matters. None of it does.”
With that, she turned on her heel, re-entered the house, and clipped the door closed. Derek remained on the steps of the porch, shivering in the razor-sharp cold. He’d never felt worse in his life.
Chapter Eighteen
It was four days till Christmas. Jennifer’s heart had never felt so black. She stood outside in the crisp winter air; her gloved hands wrapped tightly around her mother’s wheelchair handles, as the nurse continued to translate to her what she could do back at home to ensure her mother got better control over her body in the coming weeks. The nurse was an old friend from high school, and Jennifer really should have been able to focus on her words more — but she found herself demanding more and more explanation until the nurse grew exasperated and said, “I’ll just send you an email with everything I just told you, just in case.”
Back in the car, Jennifer glanced at her mother’s sad reflection in the rearview. That morning, they’d seen the mothers of the Sisters of Edgartown, all of them together at Anita’s place, and her mother’s smile had been brighter than the sun. There was something about the hospital that gave her this lackluster, shadowed face. Probably, it all was a reminder of her own mortality and
of everything that had gone wrong.
Connie called as they drove back to the house. Jen put her on speaker while she drove, which was a mistake, as Connie had news that the bakery was “a frenzy of activity.” “We really need help, Jen!” she said in a panicked voice. “Can you come in to give us a hand?”
“Hey there, Connie!” her mother called.
“Oh, Ariane! I didn’t know you could hear me,” Connie said. She sounded terrifically pleased to speak to her actual boss again. “How are you feeling?”
“About like a dried-up piece of fruit,” Ariane said.
“There it is. That snarkiness,” Connie said. “I sure do miss you in the mornings. Your daughter is a good substitute, but she’s no Ariane.”
“Nobody is,” Jennifer agreed.
“Let’s go to the bakery, Jen,” Ariane said suddenly.
Jennifer furrowed her brow. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to happen. Her mother could still hardly walk; her motions were clumsy. Whatever it was, she wanted to do at the bakery, there was no way she would be able to manage it.
But there was no arguing with Ariane Conrad.
“Come on, Jen. Connie needs us. And I’ve had about enough of sitting around the house watching your father drink himself to death,” Ariane pleaded with her.
Jennifer turned her car in the direction of the bakery. As they drove, Ariane spoke as though she’d been in constant operation of the bakery the past weeks. “With Christmas just days away, we really need to stock up on meat pies and all the dessert pies. They always sell the quickest. And goodness, Christmas cookies? Have you really baked enough? You paid attention to the list I wrote up for you, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mom,” Jennifer said. She tried to keep her voice bright. “I did everything you asked.”
“Well, it still scares me. I don’t want to disappoint anyone around the holidays,” Ariane affirmed.
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