by Janna King
“I’m persona non grata,” Jade whispered to Mia. Grace held the door open as the store emptied. She and Jade exchanged a look.
Outside, Lyndon held court in front of the store window, which was obscured by a green-and-beige curtain. Grace took her place off to the side as the crowd grew. Mia held hands with her mom. Presley slid next to Sean, who stood by Cole, while Jade leaned against J.P.
“You both have some balls,” remarked Presley.
Vincent moved around, snapping photos along with a few news media photographers.
“Loss is never easy,” Lyndon said to the group. “But in the words of Helen Keller, ‘So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good.’ Today, we honor the memory of our friend, Grant Byrd.”
Inside the front window, Jill pulled back the curtain. The display was a visual barrage of images of Grant from throughout the summer with the seasonaires. In the center, in bright, bold green letters, were the words:
WEAR A MEMORY
The crowd cheered. Presley clapped with enthusiasm. “Beautiful!”
Sean dropped his head. “That’s so wrong.”
Mia placed a hand on her stomach for a beat. She felt nauseous.
FORTY-FOUR
Remove your robes and lie facedown.” The massage therapist tapped the two padded tables with round holes at the top. “I’ll be back with the other therapist in a few minutes.” She left the room, which smelled like lavender, as guitar muzak played softly over the speakers.
“I’ve never had a spa treatment, unless you consider chemo one,” Kathryn chuckled.
“That’s not even close to funny, Mom,” replied Mia as she and Kathryn slipped off the white terrycloth robes.
At the store, Kathryn had changed alone in the dressing room. Here, Mia tried not to look at her naked body. It was so skeletal that it made Mia’s heart hurt. Kathryn hung her robe on one of the door hooks and climbed on a table, pulling the white sheet over her.
She nodded to Mia. “You look like you could use this more than me.”
“What did you think of the tribute for Grant?” Mia hung her robe on a hook.
“I don’t know anything about marketing, so I can’t really answer that, but what I do know is that Lyndon has very high hopes for you.”
“She does,” replied Mia as she climbed on her table.
“I think she’s afraid I’m going to get in the way of that.” Kathryn positioned herself on her stomach. “She’s trying to butter me up with all this pampering.” There was a light knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Mia.
The two massage therapists entered and started to work. Mia’s and Kathryn’s initial nervous giggles gave way to long breaths and sighs as firm hands kneaded their bodies. The massage therapist rolled her forearms horizontally up Mia’s back, pushing the stress out of her body.
Kathryn’s massage therapist put more oil on her hands. “I’m going to use some tea tree essential oil. It has healing properties.”
“Sounds perfect,” said Kathryn.
Mia thought the “healing” comment was strange. Neither she nor her mom had mentioned anything about Kathryn’s lymphoma. Why would Lyndon or Grace reveal something so private? But her mom’s relaxed sighs calmed Mia. And perhaps the massage therapist simply deduced that something was wrong by her mother’s wasted frame.
“I can see why you don’t want to come home,” said Kathryn, turning her head so she and Mia faced each other.
“You’ve said that twice,” remarked Mia. “It’s starting to sound passive-aggressive.”
“Crazy things happened here,” whispered Kathryn. “I can’t help it if I want to take care of you.”
“You can’t take care of me,” said Mia without whispering.
Kathryn’s eyes showed hurt. She closed them.
Mia sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that I’m an adult.”
Kathryn didn’t respond.
“Great.” Mia groaned. “You’re not going to look at me now?”
After a few moments, Kathryn started wheezing, her eyes remaining shut.
“Mom?” Mia sat up and flipped over, pulling the sheet around her. “Are you okay?”
Kathryn’s wheezes intensified. Her massage therapist opened the door and yelled, “We have an emergency! Help!”
Now the sirens were for Mia’s mom. Mia rode in the back of the ambulance, holding Kathryn’s hand, which felt plump with the swelling. Kathryn had on an oxygen mask, but her eyes were open. She looked terrified.
“You’re going to be okay, Mom,” Mia smiled at Kathryn.
She breathed in through her mouth, counting to five and releasing for seven through her nose. She willed another panic attack away because she had to be strong for her mother. That was her job. She grimaced and composed a text to Sean.
Grace drove Sean to Nantucket Cottage Hospital. Lyndon had gone back to Manhattan after the store event. Her last words to Mia, her mother, and brother had been “Enjoy, all!”
Sean sat with Grace in the emergency waiting room. He kept turning his phone over on the table to check for a text update from Mia. He’d flip it back over and tap on the Patriots cover.
“This is a top-notch hospital.” Grace put her hand on his arm.
“I don’t care if it’s top-notch,” replied Sean. “We’re at a hospital.”
They jumped up when they saw Mia enter from the hallway.
“She’s okay,” said Mia. “The doctor explained that it was an allergic interaction with the bleomycin Mom takes. It could’ve been the herbs in the massage oil.”
Grace gasped. “Oh, I feel terrible!”
“Don’t,” said Mia. “The massages were a lovely gesture.” She looked at Sean. “After a shot of cortisone, she’s much better.”
“He needs something for the pain!” a woman cried. Mia, Sean, and Grace turned to see a strung-out couple at the admitting desk. The guy, who looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks, was holding his arm, wincing.
The nurse stared at them without sympathy. “I told you before, he’ll have to see a doctor for that. Wait like everyone else.” She waved them off. The guy turned, bumping into Sean. His expression was more pissed than pained as he slogged to a seat.
“They don’t look like everyone else on this island,” Sean whispered to Mia and Grace.
“They’re more common than you think,” replied Grace. “The opioid and heroin epidemic is as big here as it is anywhere else.”
“It’s hidden pretty well.” Sean eyed the junkies.
Grace embraced Mia. “I’m glad your mom’s okay.” She released her. “I’m so sorry, but I have to fly back out. I’ll check in with you later. Send any medical bills to me.” She pointed to Sean, smiling, as she left. “You’re a seasonaire, Sean.”
“Nope,” Sean shook his head. He and Mia headed down the hallway. “What a crock of horseshit.”
“It’s a compliment, Sean,” said Mia with a scoff.
They entered Kathryn’s room as a nurse walked out. Kathryn grinned when she saw them. “They’re releasing me!”
Sean didn’t look nearly as happy as she did. “They don’t want to keep you for observation?”
“No, thank goodness.” Kathryn brushed lint off the blanket. “I’d hate to see a night at that gorgeous hotel go to waste.”
“I’ll call Presley to come get us,” said Mia.
“No.” Sean put his hand up. “That girl is a lot. Let’s get a Lyft.” He reached into his pocket, then remembered. “I left my phone in the waiting room.” He exited.
Mia sat in the chair next to the bed. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“My allergic reaction is your fault?” Kathryn chuckled.
Mia took Kathryn’s hand. “I’m sorry for what I said, about taking care of me.”
“You’re not wrong.” Kathryn gazed into Mia’s eyes. “Sweetheart, you’ve had the world on your shoulders at home for a long, long time.”
&nb
sp; Sean shoved the door open. “My phone’s gone. What complete asshole would steal someone’s phone at a hospital?”
Mia stood. “Ugh, Sean, that sucks.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. “Those two junkies were gone, too.”
“Honey, you should report it to the police,” said Kathryn.
“Don’t you have Find My Phone? asked Mia.
“I haven’t enabled it yet.” Sean rubbed the back of his neck. “I just bought the damn thing, with my hard-earned wages.” His words were aimed at Mia.
“Don’t be pissed at me because you left your phone in the waiting room,” retorted Mia.
“I’m not pissed at you. I’m just pissed.”
Mia threw her arms out to the side. “What are you pissed at? That you were invited to enjoy a couple beautiful days on Nantucket?”
“Does it look like Mom’s enjoying it?” Sean pointed at Kathryn in the hospital bed.
Mia threw her head back. “Lyndon and Grace were trying to do something nice for us!”
“Was it really for us, Mia?” Sean glared at her. “I think it’s for you. Or for them. They got plenty of pretty, heartwarming photos to spackle over their shitshow of a summer now.”
“Sean, go to the police station and report your phone,” demanded Kathryn in a terse voice. Sean left. Mia looked at her mom and shook her head.
FORTY-FIVE
They’re siblings. They don’t text?” asked Lyndon, turning to Grace, who held Sean’s smartphone.
“They do, but we’re sisters. Sisters are different. Men are—” Grace clicked around the phone’s screen—“pithier.”
Lyndon looked out over Manhattan. Below her office, the streets bustled during evening rush hour.
Grace punched the few application icons on Sean’s phone: Lyft, Spotify, Candy Crush. “There’s nothing on here that’s meaningful.”
“Any photos?” asked Lyndon.
“He has a photo of a bat in a Boston sporting goods store.” Grace shrugged. “That’s it.”
“What about his social media?” asked Lyndon. “Snapchat, Instagram?”
“Nope.” Grace put the phone on Lyndon’s desk. “Not even Facebook.”
Lyndon touched the new bonsai on her desk. A handwritten card hung from a gold string on the tiny trunk:
It’s not personal. It’s business.—Maz
“I lost Maz. We can’t lose Mia.” Lyndon opened a file folder and ran her fingers over sketches of the Mia dress.
“Dr. Lambert said she agreed to try Ambien for sleep, but nothing else,” said Grace.
“Dr. Lambert shouldn’t be sharing that information.” Lyndon closed the folder.
Grace motioned to her. “You wanted to know what’s happening since—”
Lyndon put her hand up.
Grace pulled her smartphone from her workbag and scrolled. “Vincent’s been turned inward, or upside-down, so he’s not giving us much.”
“He fucked up by getting involved with Grant and he knows it,” remarked Lyndon, walking to her desk. “Anything from Presley?”
“Just the usual narcissistic showboating,” replied Grace, holding her smartphone up to reveal an Instagram post of Presley looking wisftul on the beach at sunset with the caption:
Girl missing boy. #Grant #ForeverWyld
“I can’t have this explode anymore, Grace,” said Lyndon. “It will be the death of us.”
Kathryn was finally asleep in her hotel room. Mia stroked her head, then rose softly from the bed. She moved toward the door, then stopped for a beat, looking back. She left.
Mia passed the room service tray on the floor with the remnants of their dinner: three plates covered with sterling domes. She walked across the hall and knocked on the door. Sean opened it, wearing a Boston College Eagles T-shirt and sweats. He held a tiny bottle of vodka. “I’m going to drink everything in the mini bar.”
“That’s what it’s there for,” said Mia. She walked to the fridge and took out a mini bottle of rum. Unscrewing the top, she drank the entirety, then tossed it in the trash.
“I can see you are learning a lot here,” Sean said, dryly. “Like how to underage drink.”
“Give me a break, Sean,” snickered Mia. “You’ve been drinking since you were ten. And I have learned a lot.”
“If you’re talking about the Mia dress, you haven’t learned anything. You already knew how to do that. Please tell me you didn’t sign any contract.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Good. Because it seems like you’re going along with whatever Lyndon Wyld tells you.”
“That’s not true.” Mia brushed her hair back.
“Why isn’t she letting you come home?” asked Sean.
“‘Letting me?’ It’s not like I’m a prisoner here,” replied Mia.
“You’re not?”
“No.” Mia knelt and clinked around the inside of the fridge door for another mini bottle of rum. She picked it up, then put it back, shutting the door.
Sean stared at her. “You were ‘required’ to stay here on July Fourth, that’s what Presley said.”
“We had a job to do.” Mia glared back. “It was the biggest night of the season and we had to promote our brand at The Rabbit Hole.”
“Our brand, our brand, our brand,” scoffed Sean. “What is that?”
“It’s money, Sean! For us!”
“Bullshit, Mia. You’re lying to yourself if you think that’s the whole truth. You like it here—all the parties, the attention. You’ve become . . . what’s it called? Insta-famous.”
“You have no right to judge me!”
“You’re so much better than this, Mia.” Sean motioned around.
“What does that even mean?” Mia spun around, throwing her hands in the air.
“These people you’re living with, they’re walking ads. They’re pictures, not people.”
“No, they’re people who have become my friends, my family, while I’m here!” Mia heard herself say the words, which rung in her ears like they were hollow.
“Those two uppity British chicks”—Sean leaned in to Mia—”you’re their Cinderella story. You remember that story, don’t you? I mean, you watched the movie on a damn loop when we were little.”
“I don’t need a refresher course, no.”
“At midnight, everything turned to shit and then she had to depend on some prince to save her. Is that what you want? Who’s going to save you? That Cole guy? Because he’s not real either.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mia.
“I thought he was. He seemed like a nice guy, but when I left the police station today, I saw him there. He didn’t see me. Why was he there?”
“I don’t know.” Mia paced. “His roommate was murdered!”
Sean put his hand on Mia’s shoulder to stop her pacing. “Let me ask you another thing.”
“Please don’t.”
Sean pressed, “Why aren’t they shutting down this whole fucking charade, huh?”
“The grief counselor said we have to get back to a sense of normalcy.”
“Do you know anything about this grief counselor?” asked Sean.
“No,” said Mia. “Do you?”
“I know that she’s on the Lyndon Wyld payroll.”
Mia looked into Sean’s face. “When did you lose all sense of trust, Sean?”
“The exact same time you did.”
Some memories never faded. Mia was six. It was a hot July Fourth and their parents had been fighting like they did every day. Seeing her mom cry always made Mia cry, so Sean brought her outside, where the neighbor kids were playing in the fire hydrant spray. The water came down in giant drops, like the rain Mia loved because she and Sean would search the sky for rainbows. They weren’t fans of summer because there weren’t rainbows. Their dad called them inside, handed them towels, and motioned them into the living room. Their parents’ bedroom door was closed. Mia could hear their mom weeping as their dad told them he was leaving. “Some people just
can’t be together,” he said in a pragmatic tone that wasn’t meant for children. “If your mom and I stay together, one of us won’t get out alive.” He’d never tried to win Kathryn back. And though he was the one who left, Mia’s mom was the one who wouldn’t get out alive.
Now, Mia looked around the luxurious hotel room. “You’re ungrateful, Sean.”
Sean turned away from her.
“When you took extra shifts at work because you quote ‘wanted’ to—” Mia continued.
“Wanted to?” Sean huffed in disbelief.
“You wanted to so you didn’t have to take care of Mom. You would do anything to leave it all to me. Now I’m here for one freakin’ summer, and you won’t even give me that!” Mia headed for the door, then stopped. “You know what? This is for me.” She slammed the door behind her.
Sean couldn’t sleep. He stared at one of the beams that stretched across the high ceiling, at a knot that was more interesting than any of the hand-painted flourishes in this flowery room. There was a knock on his door. He waited a long beat. At another knock, he winced and pushed himself off the bed. He didn’t bother to put on his T-shirt, which was flung over the white wicker rocker.
“Go back to Mom’s, Mia.” He opened the door to see Presley.
“I am definitely not your sister,” said Presley, her eyes landing on his bare chest.
Sean wasn’t moved by her attire: tiny sleep shorts, a Rho Pi sweatshirt unzipped to the perfect amount of cleavage, and fur-covered slides on her pedicured feet. She tapped her nails on the door frame. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“It’s late, Presley.”
She slid past him into the room. “I feel like you got the shaft.”
“I’m fine,” replied Sean with an exasperated chuckle.
“Well then, I got the shaft,” said Presley. “You’re leaving in the morning and we barely had time to learn about each other.” She ran a finger along Sean’s shoulder.
“Shit happens.” Sean plucked Presley’s hand off him. “And shit is tiring.” He ushered her back to the door.