When the delivery boy dropped the flowers at the front desk and Gavin called out, “Flowers for the birthday girl!” I thought they were from Zack, and my heart pushed against my ribs as I stripped off my pink latex gloves and dove for the card. For a second I thought that maybe he hadn’t been able to return my four phone calls and six texts because Jules had been nearby, but somehow he’d found time to send me flowers. Or maybe, I thought, he felt that because we’d had sex for the first time last night, some higher form of communication was necessary—communication by flowers. But I opened the little white envelope and my eyes landed on the word Mom with a thud.
“They’re from my mom,” I said to Gavin.
“That was lovely of her!” Gavin admonished me gently. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
It had been Liz’s day off. (I was surprised when she didn’t switch with me for my birthday, but she and Shane had both orchestrated Tuesdays as their day off and they were sacred to her. They refused to spend a single Tuesday apart. She was bringing him to my little birthday party.) She’d spent the night at Shane’s, so I hadn’t even been able to tell her what happened. I wondered if Bernadette had been able to sense my anxiety, because she’d been nicer to me than usual, meaning that she left me alone and didn’t make me crawl under beds to hunt the dust bunnies.
The first time I’d seen Liz today was fifteen minutes ago when she placed the crown on my head and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Shane and me to make awkward conversation on the patio. Thankfully, he’d gone inside after a minute, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My head was too busy and too tangled to make small talk. On the one hand, I was thrilled. I’d had sex! I was in love! I was different and my cheeks had been blushing for eight hours straight to prove it. I’d catch glimpses of myself in mirrors and place a hand on my new face. I was warm and glowing. At the same time, guilt and shame washed over me in waves, sending acid to my stomach. All I wanted to do was steal Liz away so that I could tell her everything, and she could both celebrate with me and reassure me that I wasn’t a terrible person, that what I’d done was understandable and okay, that Jules would come around and be happy for me.
I could feel the late afternoon sun burning my arms as I listened to Gavin and Liz gather plates, forks, and glasses for the iced tea for my mini birthday party.
“You look like one conflicted birthday girl,” George said as he walked up the porch steps. He was finally off of his crutches and was carrying something in his hand. It was wrapped in newspaper.
“I have a lot on my mind,” I said, forcing a smile.
“I can see that.” He put the newspaper-wrapped item in front of me. “Here. This is for you. Open it.”
“Wow, thanks, George.” I hadn’t expected a gift from him. I smiled when I saw the Apple logo on the box. “Oh my god, George, is this the new iPad?” It was the one that just came out. “Wow! Are you sure?”
“Yes.” George put his elbow on the table and rested his hand in his palm. He smiled. “Do you like it?”
“I love it! This is so nice.”
“You’ve been a great intern. I couldn’t have done it without you. It’s the least I can do.” He tapped out a beat on the table.
“It’s so cool.” I took it out of its box. “Thank you so much.”
“And check this out,” he said, motioning for me to hand it to him. He showed me a voice-recording app. “I don’t know if working with me this summer will have any influence on you, but just in case, I figure you should be prepared. You never know when you might find yourself in the middle of a great story. They’re happening all the time, and now you can record them.” He nodded at someone inside and put an arm on my shoulder. “Now, cover your ears, Thompson, I don’t want to hurt you with my singing voice.”
“Happy birthday to you…” George started as Gavin carried a dark chocolate cake decorated with a wreath of sugary violets and topped with eighteen sparkling candles out to the patio. Liz followed with a pitcher of iced tea topped with lemon slices, and Shane carried a tray of glasses, forks, and the nice, gold-rimmed china plates.
“Happy birthday to Cricket,” they all sang. “Happy birthday to you!”
As I was blowing out the candles, I wished for two things at once.
Liz shrieked. She was looking at the newspaper the iPad was wrapped in that I’d left on the table. It was The Inquirer and Mirror, the local Nantucket paper. “Cricket, it’s you!” she said, pointing at the cover photograph. “It’s you in your green dress with your secret boyfriend.” It was a big picture of Jay and me, kissing on Main Street. The headline read: “Young Love Blooms in the Perfect Summer Weather.” She laughed. “I guess he’s not your secret boyfriend anymore!”
Thirty-nine
ZACK HAD TO HAVE SEEN THE PAPER. It was everywhere on this island. The Inquirer and Mirror, with Jay’s and my picture on the front page, would not go unnoticed, not in a million years.
After the birthday party, after I’d forced myself to eat a piece of cake and smile and thank everybody for celebrating with me, I decided to go for a run. Liz had made pointed eye contact with me throughout the party. She kept pinching my thigh and asking me if I felt different. I’d managed to nod and give her a thumbs-up and even laugh a little, but it had taken all of my strength.
I didn’t want to talk to her about what had happened anymore. I didn’t even want to try to get her on my side. I wasn’t even on my side. Why would she be? What I had done to Jules, losing my virginity to her little brother only a few months after her mom died, was terrible. And kissing Jay, while it had seemed innocent at the time, even productive in some way, had been a huge betrayal of Zack’s trust. How would I have felt if I saw a picture of Zack kissing another girl on the very same night we’d had sex? Horrible. Miserable. Pissed. I clutched my stomach as though I were swallowing poison, not buttercream frosting. Thankfully, Shane wanted to take Liz surfing, and she never said no to surfing with Shane. So when the party ended, I could just drop the charade and remove the happy mask.
I was too anxious to stay inside. I was too anxious to merely walk. I needed to run. I needed to sprint. I needed to work up a salty sweat and hear my feet pound the pavement and feel the sun searing the back of my neck. I needed to feel my heart pump blood and my breath get ragged and scratchy in my lungs. I needed to jump into the depths of the cold Atlantic Ocean. I needed to plunge my head under the water, open my mouth, and scream so loud the ferries rocked.
I put on my sports bra and bikini bottoms under shorts and a T-shirt and laced up my sneakers tight. I slipped my ponytail through a Red Sox hat that had been lingering in the lost and found for three weeks, and pulled the brim low over my eyebrows. I jogged out of town on Centre Street to Cliff Road.
I was halfway to the beach when I saw the red Volvo coming toward me. That was Parker’s car! Quills of panic pierced my stomach. I bet Parker knew everything. I bet Jules had told her. Parker was confident, fearless, and mean. And she was driving fast. I stopped and turned away from the road, wishing I had a shell to hide under. Was Jules in the car? Was Zack? I tried to make it look like I was tying my shoe. I was shaking, practically hyperventilating.
What had happened back in Providence was an accident. I thought I was doing the right thing by speaking at Nina’s memorial service. I had stood up and spoken with the best of intentions. And no matter what Jules thought, I’d followed her out to Nantucket out of love for her. But what had happened last night was no accident. And kissing Jay wasn’t a mistake, either. I’d kissed him back.
I heard the Volvo slow and I squeezed my eyes shut, covering my face in some primal pose of protection. I heard a window roll down. My heart was knocking desperately against my ribs. “Are you okay?” someone asked. It wasn’t Parker and Jules in the Volvo, but a grandma and grandpa. “Do you need some help, sweetheart?”
“Just a runner’s cramp,” I said, catching my breath. “I’m okay.” I stood up.
“You’re positively crimson. And probab
ly dehydrated.” The woman handed me an Evian. “It’s too hot for running. Do you want a ride somewhere?”
“No. No, thank you,” I said, taking the chilled bottle. They drove off.
It wasn’t Parker, but I couldn’t seem to transmit this message from my brain to the rest of my body. I was shaking. My legs felt like jelly. I couldn’t seem to fill my lungs with the air they needed. I wanted to get back to the inn, turn off the lights, and hide under the covers in my little room with the rose wallpaper and the slanted ceiling. How was I going to get there if I couldn’t walk, if I couldn’t even breathe?
“I’m taking a few days off,” I said to Gavin the next morning. He was sitting at the reception desk, penciling something into the giant reservation book. “I think Bernadette can cover for me.”
“What?” he said with a furrowed brow. He sounded annoyed for the first time since I’d met him. “You know, usually you try to arrange someone to cover for you before you announce that you’re taking time off.”
“I’m really sorry, but it’s a family emergency.” This wasn’t a lie. This did feel like an emergency. Hot tears pricked my eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. I nodded, unable to speak. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” I said. I’d called Dad last night and he was still willing to fly me back to Providence for Alexi’s birthday party. He booked me on a flight that would land in Providence at three thirty. I’d be at his house by four o’clock. I wanted to get off this island as soon as possible. They call Nantucket the faraway island. It’s so self-contained that it really can make you feel like you’re in an enchanted, distant world, that some magical mist separates you from reality. But it can also make you feel trapped and isolated. I wanted to get out of there.
“Cricket,” Gavin called as I walked down the hall. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, without looking at him. “I’ll only be gone for two days.” I’d already hurt and pissed off so many people, what was one more lie?
“You look like hell,” George said when I went to tell him that I’d be gone for a few days. George’s leg was healed, he was off his crutches, and he was almost done with the book. He really didn’t need me anymore.
“It’s a family emergency,” I said. That phrase had stopped Gavin from asking more questions, and it had the same effect on George.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” George said. “Is there anything I can do?” I shook my head. “Okay. Well, you’ll be back by the weekend, right?”
“I think,” I said, looking at the carpet.
“Because I was hoping you’d do an interview for me.”
“For the book?” He nodded. For one quick second I wasn’t thinking about Zack or Jules. “Like, a real live journalist interview?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “A real live journalist interview.”
“Who would I interview?”
“Paul Morgan. He’s a friend of your mom’s, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been going through my notes, and his name comes up more than once. I think he and Boaty were pretty good friends at one point. He might have some unexpected treasure for me.”
“How will I know what to ask?” I wanted to get out of there, but it would have been a shame to miss out on this. It was my chance to really be a part of the book.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “That is, if you think you’ll have time to do it.”
Forty
“FIRST OF ALL, thank you so much for meeting me,” I said to Paul Morgan. I’d called him right from the annex, and he’d agreed to meet with me the next morning before my flight. We were sitting in the living room of his house on Union Street. It had wooden floors and a mix of antique furniture and modern things. There were some paintings of boats on the walls, framed nautical charts, and also the kind of unexpected things that Nina would’ve picked out. A bright red rocking chair. A poster from a theater festival in France. The guy had style. Mom would like this place, I thought. I scanned the mantelpiece for pictures of a wife and family, but only saw people who looked like friends. I think it was safe to say that Paul Morgan was single.
“Oh, I’m happy to do it,” Paul said. “My schedule on Nantucket is very open.”
“Well, I really appreciate it. I know your time is valuable.” I was remembering what George said about being polite. He told me how important it was to make the interviewees comfortable so that they’ll reveal their own stories, hand them over like the keys to their house. George said that a lot of journalists were jerks in the way that they tried to get information. They tried to catch people off guard and make them uncomfortable, but George’s philosophy was the opposite.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to record this,” I said, and pressed the screen of my iPad. The chair I sat in was so big that I needed to sit on the very edge of it for my feet to touch the ground.
“I don’t mind a bit,” he said, laughing a little. “I’ve got nothing to hide. So, you’re writing a book about Boaty Carmichael?”
“No, I’m not,” I said. My brow furrowed. He thought that this was some kind of school project. “George Gust the journalist is.”
“George Gust the journalist?”
“He writes for The New York Times and The New Yorker,” I said. George had only been published once in The New Yorker, but it sounded so impressive to me. “The book is being published by Random House. It will be out in the spring.” Paul Morgan nodded, making the “I’m impressed” frown. “I’m his intern,” I continued, “and he thought since you were a special friend of my mother’s that it would be okay if I interviewed you.” I watched his face closely as I said “special friend.” Sure enough, his eyes twinkled. More on this later, I thought. Even if I didn’t come back to Nantucket, it didn’t mean I couldn’t arrange a meeting with Paul and Mom somewhere else. In Boston, maybe.
“Well, what would you like to know?” he asked, and clapped his hands once.
“I guess I’d like to know about any particularly fond memories of Boaty.”
“Well, let’s see. I met Boaty the summer after college. I’ve been coming here all my life, but it was Boaty’s first summer on the island. After a month, he knew everyone. He was very charming. My own mother had a crush on him. I remember him bringing her a birthday present, and forget it, it’s like he was already building his campaign. He had her vote for life.”
“What was the present?”
“A bottle of Oil of Olay!” he said, as if he were realizing for the first time how funny that was. We both laughed. “He was kind of a hick when I first met him, but, boy, he got savvy fast.”
And we were off. Paul settled back in his chair and spoke of a sailing trip they went on, and how Boaty made the best ham-and-pickle sandwich in the world by slipping potato chips under white bread slathered with yellow mustard, and the bonfire beach parties that lasted until dawn. George was right. People liked to talk. I looked at the grandfather clock. An hour had gone by, and with the exception of a few questions asking Paul to elaborate or “tell me more about that,” I’d hardly been able to get a word in. It was almost time for me to go. I wasn’t sure I’d gotten anything out of him that we’d be able to use, but my plane was leaving in a few hours and I needed to wrap it up.
“Thank you so much,” I said at the first awkward silence. “This was very helpful.” I closed my notebook and shut off my iPad.
“So,” Paul said, gripping the edges of his armchair, “your mother and father must be so proud of you, an intern for a journalist and you’re not even out of high school. Are they planning on visiting you?”
“I’m trying to convince my mother,” I said. “But they won’t come together. They’re divorced.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said.
“It happens, I guess.”
“If your mother visits, I’d love to take you two out to dinner.”
“I’ll pass along the message.”
He
smiled at me warmly as he stood from his chair and walked me to the door. I trailed him through the kitchen with the speckled floor and the old-fashioned-looking sink. Blue and white dishes were stacked on open shelves. Lemon-yellow curtains billowed in the breeze. I could definitely see Mom in this kitchen, if she would only give it a chance.
“Oh, here’s a detail you might like,” he said. “Everyone thought Boaty got his nickname because he loved boats so much.”
“Yeah, there’s a story that as a toddler he made a boat out of a laundry basket and insisted on sleeping in it,” I said. Paul opened the front door and we stepped onto the porch into the perfect Nantucket morning—warm, breezy, sweet-smelling.
“That may be true,” Paul Morgan said, “but that’s not how he got his name.”
“Oh. How’d he get it?”
“His little brother gave it to him. He had a big birthmark in the shape of a boat, on his lower back.” I smiled and made a note in my notebook. This was exactly the kind of detail that George was after. I’d succeeded after all!
“You look just like your mother when you smile,” he said. “I bet you’re a real heartbreaker.”
You have no idea, I thought as I shook his hand and thanked him one last time. You have no idea.
Forty-one
DAD PLANTED A KISS on my forehead when I stepped out of the cab. He handed the driver some money and took my duffel bag. There were bunches of balloons tied to the porch railing. In front of the house hung a big colorful banner that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALEXI! in primary colors.
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