And if Ana thought that her entrance to the library was awkward, walking into the pub was practically accompanied by a social record scratch. People were staring, openly, their faces lit by blue and red neon beer signs. Even Ned looked uncomfortable for her. Ana made a little waving gesture. “Hi, everybody.”
“All right, all right. Quit your gawking,” Ned yelled. “Or I start calling in tabs.”
Heads bent obediently over their beers while Jackie threaded her way through the tables for a booth at the back, the wooden benches nestled carefully against the ancient oak paneling.
“Two Stroh’s, Ned!” Jackie called. “And my usual!”
Ned nodded, holding up two clean glasses. Jackie slid into the empty booth with a sigh, shrugging out of her coat. “So, who’s handling your divorce?”
“That’s…direct,” Ana said, drawing off her hat.
“I’ve practiced family law for the last ten years,” she said, shrugging. “And your case is one of the more interesting ones I’ve seen in a while.”
“Oh, sure, if you think ‘interesting’ is another word for ‘grotesque’ and ‘riddled with asshole-ry,’” Ana said, making Jackie laugh as she took a notebook out of her purse.
“I’m assuming you don’t have representation.”
“No, because so far I haven’t been able to find any divorce lawyers who are willing to take magic beans as payment.”
“What about old friends, who happen to be able to practice in New York—plus a good number of states in the northeast just for job flexibility and bragging rights—and feel like they owe you some kindness?” Jackie asked.
Ana sputtered. “You already paid me back earlier, not letting the crowd burn me at the stake in the library. And we’re not talking about a couple of hours consulting over a weekend. My case could involve months of work, Jackie.”
“So, you pay me a very, very small percentage of your settlement when it comes through,” Jackie said, shrugging. “And then we go after that bitch Dakota and the producers for damages for that lash bar fight. It was clearly engineered and did demonstrable damage to your reputation.”
“You’re insane!” Ana laughed. Jackie did not. She looked absolutely serious, prompting Ana to add, “If you’re sure about this. Let’s just start with my ex.”
“I’m sure,” Jackie said crisply. “Now, just so I walk into this with eyes open, do we need to be worried about you being drawn in on any of Sebastian’s charges?”
“No, once I convinced them that I knew absolutely nothing about Bash’s activities or whereabouts, the feds informed me that I’m of no interest to them. I was free to go. They didn’t even ask me for a forwarding address. My almost-ex was paranoid about keeping things to himself. Bash had seen too many guys trying to hide assets in their wives’ names, only to lose them in a divorce when the wives wised up. And I filed my taxes separately, because I barely earned enough income on my own to pay anything. It was another point of pride for Bash. Sure, I might earn ‘fun money’ with endorsements or product lines, but nothing that reach the kind of money that would support us. He didn’t ever want me to feel like I contributed to his business, or the household income.”
“Why would that be a point of pride?”
Ana pressed her lips together, unsure of whether she was prepared to admit something she’d never really spoken aloud. As a venture capitalist, Bash made his money off knowing what investments would pay off and which ones wouldn’t. Years of selling to people, listening to conversations in cafes while she waited tables helped Ana hone a sharp sense of what people wanted, what they would convince themselves they had to have. Over the years, he’d asked her what she thought of proposals and took advantage of that sense. She’d kept him from investing in several absolute bombs—Google Glass, Wow! Chips, that weird ketchup that came in purple and green to appeal to kids—but Ana’s interest in social media had prompted him to join on the ground floor of several of the world’s most popular apps, not to mention the leading brand of selfie stick and an up-and-coming electric car company.
“Bash made his money predicting trends,” Ana said, fiddling with a coaster. “I don’t think he wanted to admit to himself how much he relied on my advice. In the last year or so, he started pulling away. He didn’t talk to me about potential investments anymore. He started making his own calls, choosing his own proposals. And he picked some real stinkers. I thought maybe that’s why he was distant, because he was ashamed and didn’t want to come back to me for help. But I guess that’s when he started seeing Wren. Boinking your mistress on every available surface requires a certain level of emotional detachment from your marriage.”
“Hmmm.” Jackie scribbled in her notebook. “And how do you see yourself after this divorce is over? What’s your ideal situation?”
“Are you asking how much money I’m hoping to get?” Ana asked. “Because I don’t think my chances are very good there. Bash moved most of his assets to secret places we will not be able to track.”
Jackie shook her head. “Not necessarily. What are you hoping for in your life?”
Ana sat back in the booth. Honestly, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She’d been in survival mode for so many weeks. She didn’t really know what she wanted beyond some security. Jackie seemed to sense her hesitation. “OK, first things first. Where do you want to live?”
Her mouth dropped open as she searched for the response that felt right.
“Gustavsson, these are not difficult questions.” Jackie laughed.
“I don’t think I’ll have the means to live in New York, at least not in the way that I was before. I think maybe I could stay on the island, which is more than I could say a few weeks, even a few days, ago. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.”
It surprised her that she meant it. She wasn’t as desperate to escape Espoir as she had been only recently. And of course, that was the moment Ned came to the table with two beers and burgers. If he was having any reaction to her desire to possibly stay on the island, he wasn’t showing it.
“Ladies, two Stroh’s and an olive burger—”
“Yay!” Jackie cheered, making grabby hands at her plate.
“I have never understood the olive burger, in terms of Michigan specialties, that is just gross,” Ana said, cringing as Jackie carefully cut through a burger bun slathered with mayo and chopped green olives. “Then again, I couldn’t eat olives when they were soaked in booze, so if that’s not enough of a reason…”
“I told Smitty not to let an olive within a foot of yours,” Ned told her, rolling his eyes. “It’s Swiss and bacon, your favorite.”
“Thank you,” she said, trying to remember the last time she’d eaten a damn burger, much less cheese or bacon. And Fitzroy’s were seasoned by virtue of a grill that probably hadn’t been cleaned since before Ana was born. But considering how much ramen she’d eaten over the last few weeks, she decided to just shut up and eat the burger.
She would choose to pretend no one heard the indecent noises she made while chewing the first bite.
“Tell Smitty my offer of marriage still stands,” Jackie said, waggling her fingers flirtatiously at the grizzled sixty-seven-year-old cook, who waved back with his spatula. “He will be mine. Oh, yes, he will be mine.”
Ned looked to Ana, who shrugged. “I’ll witness the ceremony in exchange for more burgers. Hell, I’ll even be flower girl.”
“Enjoy your burgers, ya weirdos,” Ned said, shaking his head as he walked away.
Jackie took a huge bite of her briny burger, chewing thoughtfully. “So you don’t want to live in New York and you don’t want to stay here. Somewhere in between, then?”
“Wherever that may be. I don’t expect to live at the same level I was, but I just want to be comfortable. I don’t want to have to worry about where my next meal will come from or whether I can pay my living expenses. I know that sounds entitled, considering I haven’t worked since I was twenty-five—”
&n
bsp; “No, no. You were married to the man for twenty years. Food security and being able to pay your utilities seems more than reasonable, especially when you take into account that you were basically an unpaid consultant whose advice resulted in financial gain,” Jackie agreed. “What about your daughters?”
“Arden turns eighteen in May, so I don’t see the point in asking for child support,” Ana said. “She had early admission to Brown. She’s brilliant and terrifying, and it turns out, very loyal to her father.”
When Jackie frowned in confusion, Ana quickly explained about the Instagram post, which she had almost forgotten in the hubbub of the historical society meeting. Jackie winced, sliding half of her fries to Ana’s plate. “Damn. You need these more than I do.”
“You’re a good woman, Jacqueline Sanditon.”
“Not when I’m in the courtroom, I’m not.”
“Well, when you’re up against Bash’s legal team, you’ll need it,” Ana told her. “They’re good. Like ‘pre-programmed into OJ’s phone’ good.”
Jackie grinned at her. “You ever been to a divorce court in Detroit?”
“No. No, I have not.”
Jackie started snickering, and suddenly, Ana was sort of afraid for Bash—not bad enough to do anything about it. But still, the feeling was there.
Temporarily.
6
Ana had forgotten how good her neighbors on Espoir could be to each other.
Once word spread that yes, Ana Gustavsson was really back and living in Fishscale House, her doorbell started ringing.
Also, her doorbell desperately needed to be replaced, because it sounded like something out of The Addams Family.
John Mohlen had dropped three cords of firewood into the storage box on her porch, waving his Stormy Kromer at her when she called out her thanks. Fileted whitefish and apple bread showed up like clockwork every few days. Eddie Burgess and Art Giddner—a couple of “confirmed bachelors” who owned the hardware store together for the last forty years and probably the most functional couple on the island—showed up one afternoon to help Ned with the wiring. Bette Sanditon came by with some extra pots and pans and kitchen stuff. Nell and Smitty came to help with tearing out the cabinets and fixtures.
Combined with the specialists Ned recruited to replace the scale-shaped siding, and replace the staircase spindles, (not granite) countertops, and cabinets, the house was almost unrecognizable. A crew painted the siding a soft gray while the trim was painted a deeper slate color and then white to emphasize the different dimensions. The awful appliances were replaced with units that were not quite luxurious, but they were energy efficient and not harvest gold.
Slowly, day by day, the house became livable, particularly after Ned found a huge soaking tub on claw feet. It was a lot easier to see her herself living on the island permanently—without the usual debilitating despair—while up to her chin in warm, scented water.
And while the cynical part of her thought maybe the sudden outpouring of support had something to do with her taking over the historical society’s efforts, she also knew that people on Espoir helped each other not so they had leverage to hold over each other in a never-ending game of social chess. They helped each other because alone, no one survived on Espoir.
Speaking of which, Jackie had already contacted Bash’s lawyers and filed several motions in divorce court on Ana’s behalf. She seemed to know what she was doing, considering that Bash’s chief lawyer, John H. Houston, had called Ana to say that ‘surely, rushing a divorce process wasn’t what she wanted’ and telling her that it might be best just to wait awhile and let Bash’s lawyers ease the proceeding through court quietly. Houston promised he would represent her interests fairly. All she had to do was “stop complicating the situation.” Ana told Houston to direct all contact to her lawyer before hanging up on him.
She tried to help Ned with the house as much as possible, but eventually he realized that while the spirit was willing, the flesh was an enormous risk to herself and others while handling power tools. There was an incident with the nail gun and poor Smitty’s foot. She was sure it was the talk of Fitzroy’s for days.
Ana carried things and helped him set up or clean up. But eventually, he pretended not to notice while she wordlessly slipped out of the room and into the library. It was a fancy term for what was basically a large office with a ton of built-in bookshelves, and an enormous oak desk decorated with carved, writhing fish that looked like something off of one of those maps that warned, “Here there be dragons.” Ana suspected that the original owners left it behind because they couldn’t move the damn thing.
Still, it was a good place to work on the historical society’s project, if for no other reason, than it didn’t require a lot of work. It was quiet and had been built to let the island’s limited light in. Somehow, Nell had wrangled a laptop and a stack of historical records that provided the sort of information she needed to frame her “struggle narrative.” They were spread across the desk in a banquet of romance and heartbreak and joy.
She’d found surprises in those pages, which was the most surprising part of all. She thought she knew everything about her island. But she’d never heard of Rosalee Nilsson, a teenage girl who managed to save a ship carrying her betrothed in 1823 by maintaining signal fires on the beach in a storm. Ana knew that beach was called Sweethearts Beach, but she thought that was because kids went there to make out. It was because of Rosalee that the town eventually built a lighthouse to lead ships away from the rockier shores of Espoir. She’d never heard of the Espoir Canning Club, a group of women who had taken to harvesting, canning and selling what fruit that grew on the island to keep their families going during the Great Depression. Their men tried to object, according to a record from the church aid society logs, and in response, a woman named Roberta Laine threatened to “irreparably change” her husband with a pair of jar tongs. Apparently, the menfolk decided to put their pride aside fairly quickly after that. And in the most shocking turn, she’d never been told about the winter in 1963, when a local boy nearly died from pneumonia, forcing the local fire department into a borrowed sleigh to drive across the frozen lake, risking their lives on ice they weren’t quite sure would hold them, just to get Petey Gustavsson to the mainland.
How had her father never told her about that? She wasn’t sure she could use it, but seeing her dad’s name written in the fire chief’s duty log was jarring enough to knock open that little door in her heart that she’d tried to close to Espoir. How had these stories been neglected on the school’s Historical Days? How had she not heard those stories around a campfire, instead of Dougie’s attempt at scaring her with “The Hooked-Handed Man on Pine Street?” How had she closed herself off to something that was such a part of her make-up as a person? And what had it gained her? Damn near nothing.
The “new” material made her job easier. Within three weeks, she had enough stories and historical pictures to revamp the posters, the brochures and set up a few pages of the historical society’s new web site. And while she knew that what she’d put together was better than what the society had before, she felt the need to show someone what she was doing, to confirm that it was as good as she thought. And that’s how she found herself walking into Fitzroy’s on a relatively warm Friday night with a laptop bag over her shoulder.
For the first time since she moved back to the Espoir, she walked into a building without group conversation stopping entirely. A few people waved, including Nell, who was standing behind the bar pouring a pint, but it was the least awkward entrance she’d made in months.
She passed the bar, and postmaster Gill Swann, who had occupied the far corner seats every Friday night as long anyone could remember. “Hey, there, Ana, how are ya, honey?”
“I’m doing all right, Mr. Swann, how are you?”
Gill’s prodigious gray brows waggled. “Oh, you know me, Friday night’s meat loaf night, so here I am.”
Liddie Swann was a lovely woman, but her meat loafs
had been known to double as door-stoppers on particularly cold winter nights. Avoiding those meaty bricks had spurred Gill’s Friday night patronage for more than forty years.
“Tell Mrs. Swann that I said hello,” Ana said, laughing and patting him on the back. Nell pointed to a table near the back. “Will do.”
Nell delivered a pitcher to a crowded table of barely-twenty-somethings and brought Ana a Diet Coke. “What brings you out tonight? I thought you were being all hermit-y and contemplating your poor life choices in your lonely haunted house.”
“You know, I think I liked it better when you just punched me in the face as a greeting?” Ana said.
“It’s still an option,” Nell offered as Smitty brought a bacon cheeseburger to the table, kissed Ana on top of her head and walked off without a word. Ana stared after him, her expression fond, as she took her laptop out of her bag.
“I’m good,” she said, taking a bite of cheeseburger as she fired up the computer.
“You know, Smitty bumped a paying customer’s order out of the way to give you your burger first—without you even ordering.” Nell nodded to the burger basket.
“I can’t help it that I’m adored,” Ana said around a mouthful of cheesy goodness.
“Yeah, you’re still paying for that burger,” Nell muttered.
Ana opened the poster design file to show Nell a colorful view of the cliffs on the south shore, where the striped lighthouse loomed amongst the tallest and thickest trees on the island. She’d used a clean, modern font in a gold metallic to write “Espoir Island.” It popped nicely against the blue of the lake. She’d inset several photos of landmarks around town in the less interesting “blank spaces” of the scene—historical houses, blooming fruit trees the courthouse, statues. Under the gold town name, she used a subtle script font to write, “Espoir Island—Let the Winds of Fate Send You Here.”
“And I carried the theme through web site and the brochure—though the brochure talks a lot more about the genealogy center,” Ana said, scrolling through the documents.
I Loved You First Page 13