2142 Green Hollow RD

by Katie Winters

  Jennifer furrowed her brow. “It doesn’t matter. You know that.” She stepped forward and then dropped down beside her father. She placed her finger beneath his chin and tilted it up to force his eyes toward hers. “Dad, are you okay? Does anything feel like it’s broken?”

  Her father shook his head. “Jen. No, no. There’s nothing wrong. I’m right as rain.”

  Jennifer blinked back tears. “Then let’s get you up, shall we? Maybe we can set you up in bed with a TV dinner.”

  As Jennifer helped her father, the once-powerful and very respected police chief of Edgartown, she held her breath. Otherwise, the stench of all the liquor he’d drank over the previous hours overwhelmed her nostrils. As she helped him toward the staircase, she listened to the sad sounds of her mother cleaning up the contents of the pot from the floor.

  Jennifer helped her father dress into pajamas and then helped him slip beneath the covers. She turned on the television in the bedroom to a sports game he was interested in. In seconds, he seemed not to remember she was in the room at all. As she slipped back into the hallway, she glanced at the old hanging photo of herself and Michelle to the right of the television. In the photo, she and Michelle were fifteen or sixteen years old, wearing identical outfits. Both of their smiles said the same thing: The world is ours.

  When Jennifer reappeared downstairs, she found the kitchen largely back to normal. Her mother had poured herself a glass of wine, and she sat at the island on a stool and gazed into space. Jennifer rubbed her mother’s upper back and said, “Are you doing okay, Mom?”

  Her mother nodded, although the answer really felt like a lie. “Sure, honey. Do you want to have a glass of wine with me?”

  Jennifer glanced again at the now-cooling stove. The dinner table had been set for their traditional Friday night dinner, but it was clear that there wouldn’t be food to fill the plates.

  “Of course,” she said. Her voice broke only slightly. She reached for the bottle and poured herself a hefty glass as her mother lifted hers to clink. “What happened tonight?” she finally managed to ask.

  Her mother gave a lackluster shrug. “I don’t know. When I got back from the bakery, he was hammered. Again. Ever since he retired, it’s been easy for him to grab the bottle and go to town on it before evening hits. I don’t know what to do with him. I asked him if he wants some kind of therapy? But he insists that he’s fine. He says this is how his father dealt with everything; why not him?”

  Jennifer’s heart sunk. In the wake of Michelle’s death, she knew that therapy would have helped them through many things. They’d simply been too proud for anything like that.

  And besides. About eight months after Michelle’s death, Jennifer had graduated and she’d given birth to Nick. They’d had new things to focus on; Jennifer had had to grapple with becoming a wife and a mother. Michelle had been gone, but they’d been given so much.

  It was only in the here and now, twenty-three years later, that the Conrad family felt the true density of their loss.

  Jennifer drank her glass of wine with her mother. The conversation stalled several times. Both of them seemed to swim in their own, separate sadness. More than once, Jennifer thought to herself: If only Michelle was here. She would know how to lighten the mood.

  “You must be starving,” her mother said softly. “Why don’t you grab a bite with some of the girls? Give them a call.”

  Jennifer furrowed her brow. “But what about you, Mom?”

  Her mother shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I’ll whip up something for your Dad and me. No big deal.”

  Jennifer dialed Amelia’s number first. As was customary, Amelia answered it on the second ring. She was one of the more reliable of the girls.

  “Hello beautiful!” she said.

  “Hey.” Jennifer’s voice was sallow, dark.

  “What’s up?” Amelia, of course, knew something was amiss almost instantly.

  “I’m just. Um.” Jennifer placed her hand on her forehead and forced herself to breathe deeply. “Do you think you and the girls are up to having dinner, or did you already make plans? I’m starving. And I think the Chowder Company is calling our name.”

  Chapter Two

  Martha’s Vineyard Chowder Company was located in Oak Bluffs, the town to the northwest of Edgartown, there on the little outcropping of the island that burst out between the Nantucket Sound and the Vineyard Sound. Jennifer parked her car near the beautiful white building and then glanced in the mirror to ensure her eyeliner was in-place. Truth be told, she’d spent a tiny bit of the drive with tears dancing across her cheeks. Although she knew the girls would sense her devastation, she wanted to look her best.

  When she entered the bustling restaurant, she spotted Olivia sitting in the back at their favorite table. She stood and flashed an enormous smile. Her black hair glistened with the candlelight of the place, and her brown eyes danced with excitement as Jennifer approached her. She threw her arms around her and cradled her close.

  “I’m so glad to have you on a Friday night!” she said as she dropped back into her chair. “Your parents have taken over Friday night dinner for so long that I thought I would never see the day.”

  Jennifer gave a big-eyed smile as she sat. “I have to admit; it’s nice to be out on a Friday, instead of dealing with all that chaos.”

  Olivia arched her brow. “I already ordered a bottle of wine. Sit yourself down. Talk about it as much or as little as you want.”

  “Thanks, Liv,” Jennifer said.

  The other women arrived one after another. First, there was Mila—the eternal beauty, with her cat-shaped eyes and her long shapely legs. Then, there was Amelia, the Director of Operations and Business Development for Martha’s Vineyard. Jennifer stood to hug both of them as they settled into the restaurant, pulling off their coats and ringing out their hellos.

  “Camilla had to go into the hospital,” Mila said as she adjusted herself in her chair.

  “She’s already worked like four shifts this week!” Jennifer said.

  “I know. But you know Cam. She would do anything for the hospital, and they’re short-staffed right now,” Mila affirmed.

  “She’s always been our superhero,” Jennifer offered.

  The wine was poured. Each of the women lifted their glasses and toasted one another. At that moment, Jennifer’s heart felt light for the first time all day. Within the realm of her sisters, she felt herself completely.

  “Gosh, it’s been a long week,” Olivia said just after they ordered. She rubbed her eye gently and then smeared a bit of black makeup across her cheek.

  “Olivia! Come on,” Mila said with a laugh. She leafed into her bag and grabbed a Kleenex.

  “Shoot. I always do that when I’m stressed,” Olivia said.

  “We know,” the others chimed in.

  “It’s just been so complicated since Great Aunt Marcia passed away,” Olivia continued as she fixed up her makeup delicately in the compact mirror, which Mila held aloft over the white table cloth. “First of all, my dad’s a complete wreck about it. That woman was one of his favorite people in the world.”

  The other women exchanged glances. They’d all really appreciated Great Aunt Marcia, knew her kind face and her regal fashion sensibilities like the backs of their hands. On Martha’s Vineyard, everyone basically knew everyone else. The loss of Great Aunt Marcia had hit them just as hard as nearly every other loss.

  “But next week, apparently, there’s going to be a meeting for the reading of the will,” Olivia continued. “Which sounds really dramatic.

  “Wow. Like a film,” Jennifer said. “Do you think she left anything to you?”

  Olivia’s laugh twinkled out as she finished up with her face. “I don’t think so. Maybe just a few of her books. You know how obsessed I was with her first-editions of those Dickens’ novels.”

  “Ha. Nerd,” Mila teased as she slipped the mirror back into her purse.

  “You sound just like my students,” Olivia said.
“Nobody wants to read anymore. It breaks my heart.”

  The first course of clam chowder arrived. Jennifer slipped the spoon over the first layer of the gooey, thick, gluttonous soup. Mila closed her eyes just after her first bite and cried out, “Ugh. I should never have this. It just reminds me of how sad it is to eat salads for the rest of the week.”

  “We used to eat this for like every meal back in high school, remember?” Amelia said. “It didn’t matter.”

  “We ate anything that wasn’t nailed down,” Jennifer said. “We were black holes. Nick was the same. Now that he’s not at home with me, I’m frankly surprised how little I have to grocery shop.”

  The other ladies cast one another furtive glances. Jennifer could feel it: they were worried about her.

  “Hey! What are all these weird looks about?” Jennifer asked.

  After a heavy silence, Mila rolled her eyes and said, “Jen, we just don’t like thinking about you in that big house by yourself. You’ve had quite a strange year. You’ll tell us if you need anything, right?”

  Jennifer gripped the stem of her wine glass and sipped. When she set her wine glass back down, she managed to find a few words. “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know Joel and me were headed toward divorce. We’d been growing apart for years.”

  Amelia shrugged. “But you’d been together since—”

  “I know how long we’d been together,” Jennifer said. Her tone was harsh for only a moment.

  Obviously, her best friends—her sisters—had a right to worry about her.

  “But really. Everything is going well,” Jennifer said. “Joel and I are building a very cool and unique friendship... We understand that Nick will always be a part of both of us and we need to be able to get along.”

  “You should write a book about that,” Amelia said. “I feel like it’s so uncommon.”

  “True,” Olivia said. “Coming from someone whose husband just up and ran off the island.”

  “Tyler never really knew what he wanted,” Jennifer said. “He was always a tiny bit lost.”

  “And now, he’s a tiny bit lost with someone half his age in Boston,” Olivia said with a sigh. “Although I have to hand it to him. He’s gotten a lot better about keeping up with Chelsea. I know she always adored her dad.”

  “It’s always that way, isn’t it?” Mila said. “But it’s better that she doesn’t see all that’s wrong with him.”

  Olivia nodded, her eyes shadowed. “It all worked out the way it was supposed to. I really believe that. At least I have to.”

  “We all do,” Amelia breathed.

  They all sipped their glasses of wine, each stirring in their own contemplation. Over the previous twenty-some years, they’d all seen their fair share of changes and challenges. Babies had been born. Weddings had been celebrated. Funerals—there had been far more funerals than they’d known what to do with.

  Olivia had ultimately married her high school boyfriend, Tyler, and given birth to Chelsea. Tyler had left when Chelsea had been in the midst of her chaotic teenage years, and this had resulted in a number of fights and multiple screams from Chelsea, who’d said things like, “I wish you had left instead of Dad!” Of course, the other women had struggled to help as best as they could.

  Then, there was Amelia. Amelia had always busted her butt professionally. She’d always been the sort to have about ten different “to-do lists” going at any one time, and she’d only bothered with a few dates here and there, always with a flippant, “I’ll date when I’m dead!” Naturally, the others wanted whatever she wanted for herself, although they’d discussed privately that they worried she would never know what it felt like to “fall in love.”

  Whatever falling in love even felt like anymore, Jennifer thought.

  Then, there was Mila. Mila had married a handsome, older man named Peter. At twenty years her senior, he’d been kind and generous and eager to give Mila the world. Through his efforts, she’d been able to open up her own high-end Esthetician Salon, which she’d thrown herself into totally and completely. At the age of fifty-seven, Peter had died four years before, and he’d left behind Mila and the twins, Zane and Isabelle. He’d had a heart attack. “All he ever did was eat right and exercise,” Mila had whispered a few hours before the funeral. “I can’t understand why God wanted to take him away. He didn’t deserve it.”

  Jennifer, of course, had had her own share of heartaches. Michelle’s death had been like a crater through the rest of her life. Joel and then the birth of their son, Nick, had been a welcome relief from all the horrors of that, but of course, life found new ways of building unrest and sadness. By the time Nick was ten years old, Jennifer had recognized it: that she and Joel operated far more like friends than lovers. They went nearly six months without having sex. Sometimes, they spoke about it, saying, “We’re just getting up there in age. It doesn’t matter.” Or, “We’re just stressed. I’m sure it’ll come back.” But by the time they inched toward forty, they sat down and had a serious discussion about it. “If the romance between us is dead, do we want to doom ourselves to no more romance the rest of our lives?” they’d asked.

  When Jennifer had told her sisters about the divorce, they’d been aghast. “You and Joel Porter were supposed to be together forever!” Olivia had cried, which had led her to bite her tongue and apologize.

  Still, Jennifer was almost sure that she and Joel’s decision to divorce had been the right thing to do.

  She hoped, at least.

  Sometimes, when she woke up at night and found the bed empty and cold beside her, she struggled with it. All she’d wanted was someone to grow old with. Now, she would have to watch herself grow older in the mirror, as she stretched ever more toward the very-soon age of forty-one.

  As dinner continued, they found ways toward other topics.

  “We’re still having Christmas dinner at your house this year, right?” Amelia asked Jennifer. It had been a tradition for the previous twenty-three years, a kind of homage to Michelle and all that had happened.

  “Of course,” Jennifer said. Hopefully, Dad’s drinking won’t get out of control.

  “Good. It’s always the best day of the year,” Mila said. Her eyes were heavy with memory. It had been a struggle for her in the wake of Peter’s death to celebrate any kind of holiday. Having her sisters around her always helped.

  It helped all of them.

  Jennifer’s phone buzzed just then as Olivia began to describe something that had happened in her classroom earlier in the day. When she lifted it, a smile stretched from ear to ear.

  It was their last remaining piece of the puzzle. “It’s Camilla! Maybe she can make it after all?”

  Their faces brightened as Jennifer brought the phone to her ear.

  “Cam, hey! We miss you so much. When can you be here?”

  But Camilla’s voice was strained.

  “Jen, hey. Um. I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  Immediately, Jennifer’s heart stopped beating.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mother is here. She’s had a stroke. You need to come right away.”

  Chapter Three

  The women wouldn’t allow Jennifer to go to the hospital by herself.

  Jennifer sat in Mila’s BMW's front seat—something Peter had left behind and blinked into the strange darkness in front of the car. Outside, snow billowed wildly and poured itself across the road. It was the kind of night when roads were apt to grow slick.

  Mila spoke as she drove slowly toward the hospital. Amelia and Olivia, both in the backseat, continued the conversation. Jennifer had no idea what any of them said. She felt like she was drowning. Jennifer had a lump in her throat that threatened to cut off all oxygen and she felt she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

  Mila pulled up to the drop-off point at the hospital. Olivia stepped out of the car and opened the passenger seat. She called to Jennifer and splayed out her palm. “Come on!” she said. “I’ll he
lp you.”

  Jennifer walked on legs that felt like they would buckle at any moment. She, Olivia, and Amelia waded through the glossy white hallways. All the while, Jennifer had flashing images of Michelle’s death, of Michelle’s funeral. She remembered it as though it had just happened three days before.

  They hadn’t been able to have an open casket.

  Which meant that the last time Jennifer had ever seen Michelle’s face—her twin’s face—had been out on that damn boat.

  Her mother had stood at the casket, unable to look at Jennifer. Her hands had stretched over the wood as she’d shaken with both rage and sadness. Jennifer hadn’t been able to think of anything that was appropriate to say. She knew that it pained her mother to look at her face. She knew she was the ultimate reminder of the daughter she’d lost.

  Camilla burst out from the nurse’s station. Her cheeks were blotchy with tears, but her face was stern as she approached them and threw her arms around Jennifer. She was the only blonde of the group, a true bleach-blonde, and her green eyes were just as electric as Jennifer’s, so much so that sometimes, people who didn’t know them asked if they were sisters. “Kind of,” was always their answer.

  “Shhh,” Camilla breathed. “It’s okay.”

  Jennifer shook against her for a long moment. Finally, she forced herself upright and said, “Where is she?” In truth, what she wanted to ask was: Is she still alive? Is she still on this planet? But she didn’t want to give away her wildest fears. Not yet.

  “They told me they just stabilized her,” Camilla said.

  Tears rolled down Jennifer’s cheeks. “She’s okay. She’s—”

  Camilla nodded. “Your father is right this way. Do you feel up to seeing him?”

  Jennifer thought back to how she’d left her mother and father: her father wasted upstairs, while her mother sat downstairs staring into her wine glass.

  “Do you know how it happened?” Jennifer whispered.