When he emerges from the bedroom, Allegra gives him a sharp look. Or maybe that’s just her makeup.
“Really, Dad?” she says. “The hat?”
“It’s my trademark,” Eddie says.
“Was your trademark,” Allegra says. “Back when you were breaking the law.”
Eddie is very glad he didn’t pursue the fur coat option. “Let’s go,” he says.
They head out to the Cherokee. Allegra, whose range of motion is constricted by her costume, needs help getting in.
“Are you going to be able to dance in that getup?” Eddie asks.
“If I feel like dancing, I’ll take the kimono off,” Allegra says.
“But you do have something on underneath, right?” Eddie says.
“Yes, Dad,” Allegra says. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”
Eddie lets that question slide as rhetorical. As they head out of town, he realizes he has the next twelve minutes alone with his daughter, a rare opportunity.
“How are you feeling about the breakup?” Eddie asks.
Allegra shrugs.
Okay, Eddie thinks. He tries another avenue. “Do you miss your sister?”
“A lot more than I thought I would,” Allegra says. “I feel… I don’t know, abandoned almost. She’s off at school, meeting people, creating a network of friends and connections that will last her the rest of her life. And I’m stuck at home in a dead-end job.”
“It’s not a dead-end job,” Eddie says. “You’re the face of the company.”
“Glenn is the face of the company,” Allegra says.
“You’re the first person people see when they walk through the door,” Eddie says. “And you’re doing a terrific job. In no time you’ll be a sales associate, and then once you take the requisite courses, you’ll be a broker like me.”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Allegra says.
“Understand what?” Eddie says.
“You and Aunt Barbie grew up in New Bedford,” Allegra says. “So for you guys, coming to Nantucket was a big step forward. But I grew up here. And here I remain.”
“Well, I’ll point out,” Eddie says, “you could be stuck somewhere worse. There aren’t many places better than here.”
“I always saw myself someplace more glamorous,” Allegra says. “New York City, London…”
“Tokyo!” Eddie says, but Allegra doesn’t even crack a smile. He understands what she means, but at the same time, he feels hurt. He worked his ass off to be able to raise the twins here—and until his recent misfortunes, their lives had been pretty darn blessed. He’d given them whatever they asked for—fancy Italian leather jackets, three-hundred-dollar jeans, riding lessons, a Jeep, and the expensive college-prep classes that Allegra chose to skip.
There’s no time to bemoan his daughters’ squandered privilege, because now he and Allegra are pulling into the parking lot at the VFW, which is already jam-packed with cars. Eddie feels a surge of excitement. Finally he’s back in the swing of things; he’s where the action is. When he told Glenn and Barbie that he’d been invited to Bart Quinn’s birthday, they were envious. He saw it on their faces.
“Here we are,” Eddie says. “Let’s get this party started.”
It takes Eddie about half a second to realize that he and Allegra are the only ones at the party wearing costumes. Eddie first sees their error in the faces of Mitzi and Bart, who are standing at the entrance to the party greeting the guests. When Mitzi sees Eddie and Allegra, her mouth falls open, then she quickly transitions to a smile. Bart cocks an eyebrow. Eddie feels humiliated, primarily on Allegra’s behalf. He has only dressed as himself. Allegra, on the other hand, looks like she stepped out of Shōgun. Eddie decides he will offer to run Allegra right home so that she can change, but he turns to see her shuffling in tiny steps toward Bart and then executing a deep bow with her hands at prayer in front of her chest.
“Happy birthday,” she says when she rises. Then she holds out a hand. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Allegra Pancik. I was a freshman when you were a senior.”
“I think I do remember you,” Bart says. “And that’s a dynamite outfit. But you know this isn’t a costume party, right?”
“Right,” Allegra says. “However, I always dress up on Halloween.”
Eddie is extremely impressed by the confidence of this answer. Hope may be at Bucknell paving a golden road into her future, but Hope would not be able to finesse a situation as awkward as this and work it to her advantage. Of the twins, Allegra has been blessed with the superior survival skills.
“Come with me, Allegra,” Bart says. “I’ll show you where the bar is.”
They disappear inside before Eddie can remind Allegra that she’s only nineteen years old and also that Ed Kapenash, chief of police, will likely be in attendance tonight. Eddie sighs, then offers his hand to Mitzi. “Sorry, we thought it was a costume party.”
Mitzi says, “I wanted a costume party, but Bart put his foot down.”
“Well, I came dressed as myself, or my former self, but I doubt anyone will notice,” Eddie says.
“I’d like to meet with you before the end of the week about that thing we discussed,” Mitzi says. “Are you free Friday?”
“I have clients coming from off-island to look at houses on Friday,” Eddie says. “How about Thursday?”
“Thursday works for me,” Mitzi says.
“Okay, let’s say Thursday at ten. I’ll come to you, we can do a walk-through and write up a listing sheet. We’ll get you your asking price, I promise.”
Mitzi opens her mouth to speak, but she clams up when Kelley rolls over in a wheelchair pushed by a woman with a stethoscope around her neck and a blood pressure cuff hanging out of her jacket pocket. Costume? Eddie wonders. He takes one look at Kelley and decides the answer is no. That’s a real nurse. Kelley’s complexion is gray, his face is gaunt and sunken; he has a patch over one eye.
But when Kelley sees Eddie, the corners of his mouth turn up. “Eddie,” he says. “Welcome.”
Eddie is rendered speechless. He knew Kelley was sick, of course, but Kelley doesn’t look like he’ll last until tomorrow.
However, Eddie is good at nothing so much as ignoring unpleasant realities, especially those right in front of him, and so Eddie reaches out to shake Kelley’s hand as though everything is just fine, as though Kelley has merely come dressed as someone in a wheelchair—FDR, or Tom Cruise in Born on the Fourth of July.
“Kelley,” Eddie says. “Looking good, man!”
Kelley barely nods. His hand, in Eddie’s, feels like a bunch of brittle sticks. Eddie isn’t sure what else to say. He won’t mention the sale of the inn because clearly it’s a measure Mitzi is taking after Kelley’s death.
“Sounds like a great party already,” Eddie says.
“Go in and get yourself a drink!” Mitzi suggests.
“Yes,” Eddie says. “Yes, I think I’ll do that.”
Eddie weaves and wends his way through the crowd toward the bar. There are some faces he recognizes from the Quinn family—he sees one of the Quinn sons with a pretty blond woman, then he sees the Quinn daughter. Once upon a time, she was the girls’ music teacher. Eddie sees the woman, Kai, who owns the new crystal store in town; she used to be Eddie’s neighbor out in Wauwinet. He sees Chief Kapenash with his wife, Andrea. The chief has been friendly since Eddie’s release—he calls every once in a while to “check in”—but now Ed just raises his glass in front of his face, as if to say, Don’t come over here. And really, can Eddie blame him? The last thing the chief wants is to be seen talking to a convicted felon, the most renowned criminal Nantucket has seen in recent history.
Standing at the bar in front of Eddie is Hunter Bloch Sr., which makes Eddie wonder where Allegra has gotten to. He scans the party. He doesn’t see a geisha girl or anyone else in costume. Eddie can’t help but feel miffed and misled. If you’re throwing a party on Halloween and it’s not a costume party, this should be
explicitly mentioned. No costumes. Eddie realizes he’s still wearing his Panama hat, but he’s hesitant to take it off because what if he loses it? God knows they aren’t cheap.
Hunter Bloch Sr. turns around holding two cocktails—million bucks says he’s come to the party with his broker Rosemary Whelden. He’s always seen in public with Rosemary, never his wife, Kathleen. All of Nantucket seems to accept this without comment. How is it, Eddie wonders, that some people can get away with whatever they want?
Hunter gives Eddie the once-over. “Linen suit, Eddie? Don’t you know it’s almost November?”
Eddie won’t bite. So he’s unseasonal—sue him. “Heard your son stepped out on my daughter,” Eddie says. “Allegra is taking it pretty hard.”
“Is she?” Hunter Bloch Sr. says. “She can’t be taking it too hard, because I just saw her following the guest of honor out the side door, and they had a bottle of tequila with them.” Hunter Bloch Sr. winks at Eddie, a gesture Eddie finds patronizing. “She’ll bounce back. Like father, like daughter. Now, I’ve got to go deliver this drink.”
“Yes,” Eddie says. “Give Rosemary my best.”
Eddie shakes his head. Why was he so anxious to attend this party? He doesn’t like anyone here. And if what Hunter Bloch Sr. says is true, then Eddie has just lost his date. Eddie wonders if he should try to find Allegra. Maybe he should just call her.
He does neither. It’s his turn at the bar finally. He’ll order a drink.
“Vodka martini, please,” Eddie says.
As the bartender is shaking it up, Eddie feels a poke-poke-poke in his left shoulder. He turns and barely stifles a groan. It’s Rachel McMann.
“Hey, Rachel,” Eddie says. Rachel McMann is a social butterfly. She must know nearly everyone here, so why is she bothering to talk to Eddie? “Happy Halloween.” He’s surprised that Rachel didn’t come in costume. He can easily picture her dressed as Carmen Miranda, with a big basket of fruit on her head.
“Eddie,” Rachel says.
Eddie sees Rachel’s husband, Dr. Andy McMann, standing a few yards away. Dr. Andy used to be Eddie’s dentist, so Eddie can’t exactly ignore him. Eddie waves halfheartedly; Dr. Andy hoists his drink much like Chief Kapenash just did, his body language saying, I’m acknowledging you, but a more in-depth conversation is not necessary.
“Eddie,” Rachel says again. She has positioned herself under his chin; she’s as persistent as a housefly.
“Yes, Rachel,” Eddie says. “What can I do for you?”
“I heard you have the Powerball people coming this week,” Rachel says. “Congratulations.”
“Who told you that?” Eddie asks. He tries to recall whom he told about the Powerball people. Glenn Daley knows, and Barbie, and Grace. And Addison Wheeler, who wants to show the Christys two high-end properties off Polpis Road (one of the properties has its own vineyard, which will likely scare the Christys off).
So actually, there are a couple of ways Rachel could have found out.
“I have a listing in Monomoy,” Rachel says. “I think you should show it to them.”
“How much is it?” Eddie asks.
“Twenty-nine million,” Rachel says.
Eddie fights to keep his poker face. Rachel McMann has a twenty-nine-million-dollar listing. How does that happen? Anyone who owns such a valuable piece of property should have the good sense to use a broker with experience and with more… gravitas. Rachel is about as intellectually substantial as a balloon on a parade float.
“Too high,” Eddie says. “Their max is fifteen.”
“My buyer would settle for twenty-five,” Rachel says. She winces. “Divorce.”
“Still too high,” Eddie says. “Sorry. Thanks for thinking of me.” And stay away from my buyers, he thinks.
Rachel sighs. “Well, I have other properties. Cheaper. One on Medouie Creek Road. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Don’t bother, Eddie thinks. The bartender empties the cold elixir into a martini glass and rubs a lemon twist around the rim. Here, Eddie thinks as he takes the first sip, is the antidote to Rachel McMann. “Please do,” he says.
This is Rachel’s cue to drift away and either find someone else to foist her business on—Hunter Bloch Sr. would do, he always has a stable of millionaires and billionaires on his client list—or go talk to her husband, although Eddie has always found something vaguely pathetic about husband and wife conversing together at parties. But is it any more pathetic than showing up at a party with your daughter—who ditched him at the first possible opportunity, he notes—instead of your wife?
It hardly matters because Rachel remains in front of Eddie, her face upturned and expectant, as though she’s waiting for Eddie to kiss her. Rachel, too, has a son in college. Calgary. (What kind of name is that? Eddie has always wondered. It would really only be acceptable as a name if one grew up in Alberta or if it was a family name, but Eddie gets the feeling that if he asks Rachel, she’ll confide that she just “liked the sound of it.”) Calgary attends… UC Berkeley, where he’s studying Japanese. Possibly Rachel wants to brag about Calgary or ask about Hope or comment on Allegra’s geisha costume. Eddie can’t predict, but one thing is for certain—he isn’t walking around this party with Rachel McMann stuck to him like a burr on his sweater.
He takes another sustaining sip of his drink. “Was there something else?”
“Sort of?” Rachel says. “I’m not sure if I should mention it? I’m not sure if you care?”
Eddie looks down: Is his fly open?
“What is it, Rachel?” he asks. She’s not sure if she should mention it, which means she damn well better mention it. And immediately.
“Benton Coe is here,” Rachel says. “By ‘here’ I mean at this party—he came as a guest of Edith Allemand, who has that gorgeous property at the top of Main Street—but I also mean ‘here’ as in here on Nantucket. Back on Nantucket. For good. He’s finished in Detroit. He’s moving back here and he’s even spending the winter.”
“Well, you were right to wonder,” Eddie says. “Because I don’t care.”
Rachel shrugs. “Okay.”
But the fact of the matter is: Eddie does care. He cares very much. Benton Coe, Eddie and Grace’s former landscape architect, Grace’s former lover, is back on Nantucket for good. He’s going to spend the winter here, instead of going wherever he used to go.
Eddie quickly throws back the rest of his martini, then returns to the bar for another one. He should eat something. He’s starving and there’s a lavish buffet, but his first order of business now has to be putting his eyes on Benton Coe.
With his second cocktail in hand, Eddie peruses the crowd. A few people see Eddie looking and wave. Eddie waves back, despite not being quite sure whom he’s waving at. It’s a bad habit—but he can’t be expected to curb his indiscriminate waving when he’s so stressed out.
Benton Coe is here. Here at this party. Here on Nantucket. For good. What are the chances that Rachel is mistaken? Eddie wonders. But no sooner does he entertain this soothing notion than he sees Benton Coe two tables over. The reason Eddie didn’t pick him out right away is because he’s wearing a Groucho Marx glasses-nose-and-mustache combo. It’s horrifically ironic that the only other person at the party in a costume of sorts is Benton Coe. Benton is with Edith Allemand, a spry woman of eighty or so. She is fearsomely WASPy, notoriously old-school Nantucket, persnickety about not only her home and gardens but the historical integrity of Main Street in particular and the island in general. Edith Allemand doesn’t know Eddie Pancik, but if she did, she would not approve of him. She would consider him a wash-ashore, even though he’s been here over twenty years. He’s a real estate broker, and therefore, to Mrs. Allemand, he would represent everything that’s wrong with Nantucket—and that’s before finding out about his recent escapades.
Benton removes his nose and mustache and sets it on the table so that he can dig into a pile of mashed potatoes. Benton looks older, Eddie notes with satisfaction. There�
��s some gray in his red hair and he has wrinkled up a bit, probably thanks to so many hours in the sun. Sun… in Detroit? Isn’t that where Benton Coe has been? Jump-starting gentrification and greening up the most dangerous city in America? Well, Detroit has done Benton Coe no favors.
Eddie approaches the table. He’s not sure what he’s going to say. Maybe he won’t say anything. Maybe he’ll just stand there until Benton Coe notices him, excuses himself from Edith Allemand, and steps with Eddie outside, where they can have words privately.
Eddie steps up. Benton raises his face, sees Eddie, awards him a curt nod, then continues his conversation with Mrs. Allemand.
Eddie throws back the second martini in one long gulp. He will not be dismissed by the man who slept with his wife. He steps right up to Benton’s chair and taps one of his very broad shoulders. He feels brave, but he doesn’t want this to escalate into a physical confrontation, because Eddie will lose. Benton has him by six inches and forty pounds. At least.
And so Eddie tries to manufacture conviviality. “Benton Coe, is that you? I thought that was you, but then I thought, ‘No, my pal Benton lives in Detroit now.’ I figured you’d still be there, hanging out with Justin Verlander and Kid Rock.”
“Eddie,” Benton says. He takes a deep breath, then moves his napkin from his knee to the table and stands up to offer Eddie his hand. They shake. Benton’s grip is firmer than it needs to be, Eddie thinks. Maybe he’s trying to send Eddie a nonverbal warning. “Eddie Pancik, please meet my friend Edith Allemand. Edith, this is Eddie Pancik.”
Edith gives him a tight smile. “Charmed,” she says. She stands, but it’s not to shake Eddie’s hand. “I’m going to excuse myself for a moment, gentlemen. Thank you.”
Eddie is relieved to see her go. He says, “So I hear you’re back?”
“I’m back,” Benton confirms.
“For good?”
“For good,” Benton says. “I may take on projects elsewhere down the road, but for the foreseeable future I have more than enough work here to keep me busy.”
“How was Detroit? Did you meet a girl? Get married? Have a baby?” Eddie is shooting from the hip here, but maybe these questions aren’t so far-fetched. Maybe the reason Benton looks so old and tired is because he’s been up nights warming a bottle for a newborn! Or maybe he married someone much younger who wears him out in the bedroom.
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