113 Katama Rd

by Katie Winters

  “There she is!” Andrea cried.

  Camilla very nearly dropped her coffee cup with all the commotion. Andrea stepped back and fully assessed her. Mid-laughter, she said, “The tides have turned. I’m getting married this Christmas, and you? You’re playing the field.”

  “I wouldn’t call one date playing the field, honey.”

  “Sure. It’s better than that. A handsome doctor asked you out!” Andrea’s smile formed cavernous dimples in her cheeks.

  “I just wanted to come down and see you in action. You sounded good up there,” Camilla told her with a smile. Her daughter seemed endlessly strong. Where did she get it?

  “Oh? I’m glad you can’t hear how much I hate every single part of this job with every fiber of my being. The tips are good, though.”

  Camilla’s smile grew strained. “As long as the tips are good.”

  Camilla and Andrea held one another’s gaze for a moment. The excitement waned.

  “Well, I better get back. I have another tour at four, and I have to clean the boat,” Andrea said.

  Camilla felt another stab of resentment. Her beautiful, intelligent, talented, creative daughter, who’d only just ruled the world from her stance in Brooklyn, now had to clean up tourist trash.

  “Andrea?”

  Andrea paused and slipped a strand of blonde behind her ear. “Yeah, Mom. What’s up?”

  “It really doesn’t bother you? That I’m going to go out with another man?”

  Andrea’s eyes shone. For a moment, Camilla thought Andrea might burst into tears; the next moment, she thought she would, instead.

  “We’ve said it over and over. We have to find a way past all this,” Andrea said softly. “We deserve happiness. Dad has nothing to do with that happiness. Not anymore.”

  JUST AS SHE HAD PROMISED, Andrea did assist Camilla in the construction of the perfect first-date “look.” Camilla felt like a fish out of water as they bounced from boutique to boutique, vintage shop to vintage shop. Andrea paired various colors, ones that Camilla would have never dreamed of, then suited her up in a vintage jean jacket, which, according to Andrea, was the ‘in thing’ right then. Camilla wanted to tell Andrea about the jean jacket she’d had back in the ‘90s when she had first dated Jonathon, but she thought better of it. It was better not to dwell in the past.

  Andrea wasn’t home when Brett actually picked Camilla up for their date. She had agreed to go to dinner with Isaac, whom she hadn’t seen much of the previous week or so. “I guess we have the rest of our lives to spend time together, but even still, I miss him,” Andrea had said as she’d spread lipstick over her plump lips.

  Again, Camilla had thought to herself — looking at Andrea was akin to looking at a photograph. It was eerie.

  Brett rang the bell four minutes past eight. Camilla had managed to convince herself, throughout his four minutes of tardiness, that he had forgotten about her or decided that the entire thing was a joke and not to be bothered with, anyway. In fact, she’d already made up her mind to make popcorn for dinner and open a bottle of wine. She was becoming paranoid. “Dating yourself” was a concept she’d heard about on one of those silly daytime talk shows.

  But no. Tonight, she wouldn’t date herself, apparently. Tonight, she would go out with Brett Oliphant, a man who terrified and thrilled her all at the same time.

  “Hey, there.” She sounded like a nervous teenager as she slipped out of her house and latched the door behind her.

  Brett’s eyes told her that Andrea had done well with her outfit selection. He exhaled slightly and said, “You look amazing.”

  “So do you.” And he did. He wore a t-shirt beneath a suit jacket, along with a pair of dark jeans. He was stylish yet not overdressed with just enough of a glow of cologne around him to make her heart patter with excitement.

  Of course, like most doctors, he drove an expensive car — a Mercedes convertible. He’d brought the top down, as it was a stellar day in June. “I sometimes curse living in the northeast, as it means I can’t drive this as a convertible all the time,” he said as he opened the car door for her, like a gentleman. It was nice to see that chivalry still existed with some. “But then, Martha’s Vineyard rears her beautiful head in the summertime, and I forget all the dark and grey days of winter.”

  “It’s funny how that happens. When times are good, it’s like all the bad times don’t exist,” Camilla offered with a laugh. Naturally, she wasn’t only talking about the weather.

  He drove them down Katama Rd and discussed the events of his day — that he’d had a phone call with his daughter, who lived in New York City; that he’d played a round of golf with another doctor and that he’d swum laps at the gym. He was easy with the information about himself, as though he really wanted her to know it. Camilla, as a contrast, felt very closed off; beyond that, she literally couldn’t remember what she’d done that day. Did she have a life at all? She’d watched Netflix. Fun times!

  He parked a block away from the Italian restaurant located close to the docks, which was called Cacciapaglia’s, then stepped out of the convertible and rounded to the side to open the door for her, yet again. When she got out, she was conscious of his eyes, assessing her body. Her mother was right; she had lost weight, and her legs were slender and long. Perhaps, even if her mental state wasn’t up to snuff, she was currently hot enough to go on a date with a doctor. So that put her mother’s comment to rest.

  Brett was the epitome of charming. Camilla wished she could record him as he spoke at the restaurant. He ordered an expensive bottle of Nevello that was straight from Sicily itself, then spoke eloquently about the time he had spent there prior to heading to medical school.

  “My daughter was young, and I was still married at the time,” he explained. “We spent about a year on Sicily, going to the beaches and sailing the waters. It was magical.”

  “That’s incredible,” Camilla heard herself say. “I don’t suppose you speak Italian?”

  “Posso ordinare un’altra bottiglia di vino?” he said smoothly, with the grandest accent.

  Camilla’s heart shattered. “Wow. That was beautiful. What did you say?”

  Brett laughed. “It’s about the last thing I remember. ‘May I please order another bottle of wine?’ is what it translates to.”

  “So you still remember the important things, I guess.”

  “You could say that. I guess I replaced all my Italian knowledge with medical school knowledge. Terrible.”

  “Not so terrible for your patients,” Camilla affirmed, flashing a grin.

  “You’re right.” Brett’s eyes glowed as he took a sip of his wine. “Have you always been a nurse?”

  “I didn’t have any wild adventures to Sicily if that’s what you mean.” Camilla studied his face and decided there was no malice to his question. “I always wanted to be a nurse. I even volunteered at the hospital when I was in high school because I was so obsessive about this idea that your time could be used to help others get back to their real lives.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “Maybe. My friends always told me to lighten up. To be honest, I never found it easy to lighten up.”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary,” Brett offered, leaning into the table. “Although you’re funny. You have a light about you that contrasts what you’ve just said.”

  A blush crept up from Camilla’s chest, across her neck, then over her cheeks. This light he saw, was it real? Or was it just some kind of line? Something used to create a kind of false closeness between them?

  Could she ever trust anyone again, after what Jonathon did?

  “That’s sweet of you to say,” Camilla replied, feeling her cheeks heating slightly.

  “It’s just the truth. I wouldn’t lie to you, Camilla. I promise you that.”

  The dinner continued on with the same comfortable vibe as Brett continued oversharing elements of his life, as though she already mattered to him, and Camilla side-stepping around the real iss
ues of her own. Still, they had multiple laughs, and Camilla poured herself a second, then a third glass of wine, grateful to keep the night going.

  Around eleven, the doctor drove her back to her house on Katama Rd. The radio played an old song they’d both loved back in the ‘90s, and they spoke excitedly about their earlier lives, about the things they had once done, about the silly ideas they’d once had. Before she knew it, he parked in her driveway and gazed at her, there beneath the soft light of the Vineyard stars. How strange it was to not know someone at all yet want them in this silly, romantic way.

  “I had a really nice time tonight,” Brett said.

  It sounded so funny—kind of what people said at the end of dates in sitcoms.

  But Camilla didn’t know what else to respond with, except something similar.

  “I had a nice time, too.”

  “Do you think maybe we could do this again sometime?”

  “Yes. I would really like that.”

  Brett leaned closer to her. Camilla sensed the gravity of the situation. He wanted to kiss her.

  And a small part of her wanted him to kiss her, too.

  After all, she did only have one life to live and time was passing by. Why should she let Jonathon ruin it?

  Jonathon.

  Jonathon.

  Her husband, Jonathon.

  The only man she’d ever loved.

  Suddenly, she placed her hand on the door handle and pressed open the door of the convertible. Brett jumped back slightly, surprised that she had ducked away from him.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it. I can make it up there myself. I’ve done it before,” Camilla told him.

  Gosh, she sounded cold.

  At the door, she whipped up her hand and waved to him as he fled back down Katama Rd. When she entered the house, the house she and Jonathon had purchased, the house in which they’d made love on the floor when they had only one piece of furniture, she collapsed on the kitchen tile and wailed with a feeling of sorrow she hadn’t known she’d had.

  Chapter Nine

  The Taste of the Vineyard — a glorious festival weekend of food, drink, music, sunshine, and life — was held every mid-June in Edgartown. Kiosks were set up around the city, and traffic was forced to drive around, allowing Edgartown to become a pedestrian-only zone. Over the years, the Sisters of Edgartown had made a point to duck out of work early, bail on other obligations, if only to eat and drink and laugh with their friends. Normally, the afternoon bled into a very late night, which culminated with a bonfire on the beach.

  Needless to say, Camilla had looked forward to it for weeks.

  Since there was no telling how much wine they’d imbibe over the next hours, Camilla took a taxi from Katama Rd up to downtown. As she hopped out onto the sidewalk, she spotted supermodel-Mila at the corner. The breeze whipped against her dark tresses beautifully, and the sun made her healthy skin glow. She owned her own esthetician salon, and therefore, seemed perpetually magazine-ready at all times.

  “There you are!” Mila cried as she wrapped her arms around Camilla. “And looking stunning, I have to say. Where did you get this dress?”

  Camilla glanced down at the black summer dress, which Andrea had dragged out of the back of her closet. “Andrea discovered it. She said I need a closet clear-out but that I’m allowed to keep this. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, you helped me pick it out, like a million years ago.”

  “That makes sense. It looks like my style.”

  “Girls! Hey!” Jennifer rounded the corner then. She carried a glass of wine in her right hand and adjusted her purse on her shoulder with her left.

  “I see you started without us!” Camilla called.

  “Oh, it’s just my first. I couldn’t help myself. I was up late helping Emma with the wedding plans, and the minute I saw the first wine stall, I jumped on it.”

  “Have you seen Olivia or Amelia anywhere?” Mila asked.

  “Amelia is at the burrito stand. Olivia said she’s on her way,” Jennifer affirmed. “Gosh, I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to today. I feel like we haven’t had a day, just us, in forever.”

  Olivia soon arrived. They scampered down the ever-crowding street to find Amelia, who’d just wrapped her hands around a monstrous burrito. She looked mischievous as she said, “I remember all those other years at the festival when you girls were pregnant. I drank wine all day while you feasted. Now it seems like the tables have turned!”

  “Enjoy it while you can, girl,” Olivia said. “I’ll choose my carbs carefully before I take a deep-dive into a bottle of chardonnay.”

  The food was spectacular, as always. Camilla and Amelia waited in line for pulled-pork sandwiches, while Jennifer and Olivia agreed to grab several different types of cheeses, olives, and wines from a nearby French stall. Mila ordered several different types of desserts and showed them off to Camilla as the last of the pulled-pork sandwiches were crafted.

  “I figure we can eat as much cake as we want today,” she said as her eyes sparkled.

  “Not that we don’t eat enough donuts from the Frosted Delights throughout the year,” Camilla returned.

  “That doesn’t really count. That’s supporting our friend.”

  “She never makes us pay,” Camilla countered.

  Mila burst into laughter. “You’re so right. We’re robbing her blind and feasting on sugar to boot. How much longer can we get away with it?”

  “We’re blessed with some kind of good luck, I think,” Amelia said as she gripped the baggie, filled with pulled-pork sandwiches and little bags of chips.

  They wandered out toward the water and sat on picnic blankets as they ate their first course. The smells were sultry. Smoked meats and various cheeses, salty sea air, baked bread and sweets wafted around them. Even their suntan lotion, which simmered with coconut, added a welcome and familiar flair to everything else. If Camilla closed her eyes, she could fully pretend this was any other year — that they were twenty-two or twenty-eight or thirty-five. It didn’t matter. The food was the same. The company was the same. The laughter was the same.

  “Camilla, you’ve been pretty hush-hush about that date you went on,” Amelia finally said.

  “And you have a bit of BBQ sauce on your cheek,” Camilla returned.

  Amelia rolled her eyes as she snuck a napkin across the incorrect cheek. “Don’t think you can get out of it that easily.”

  “Yeah. Come on, Camilla. We want the hot deets!” Mila said. “It’s not every day one of us goes out with a handsome, rich, successful doctor.”

  “A doctor who speaks Italian, even.” Camilla watched as her friends’ faces grew illuminated with excitement.

  “What! That’s so attractive,” Jennifer cried.

  Camilla had thought long and hard about how to translate the events of the date to her friends. On paper, the date had been spectacular — the stuff of magic. He’d been so polite; he had looked sinfully handsome; the food had been stupendous and she had felt sexy and wanted.

  But it had still been all wrong.

  “Ah. But look at her eyes,” Olivia affirmed then. “You don’t look like someone who had a great date.”

  “What happened, Cam? Was he super arrogant or something?” Amelia asked. “I’ll kill him if he did something wrong.”

  Camilla chuckled. “That’s sweet, Amelia.”

  “You know I have your back. We all do.”

  Camilla furrowed her brow. Out far beyond, near the lighthouse, a large vessel approached. Camilla knew that Andrea’s tour boat planned to arrive at the docks around five-thirty, at which time she planned to join them. She hadn’t been particularly open about the events of her date with Andrea, either, which had frustrated Andrea to no end.

  “He’s a good guy and so handsome. But it just felt like... I don’t know. Weird, I guess, to be with someone else. Someone who wasn’t Jonathon,” Camilla said softly.

  Mila gripped
Camilla’s upper arm. Camilla’s eyes found hers.

  “My first few dates after Peter died felt unnatural and awkward. Nobody could compare, and I felt out of my element, like I shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. But things change and it does get easier. Don’t give up just yet.”

  “Yeah! Even if this isn’t the guy, you should still put yourself out there,” Jennifer added.

  Jennifer, who’d only been divorced for literally a second before she’d found another man wasn’t exactly high on Camilla’s “oh, she’ll understand my torment” list.

  Not that she wanted to be the kind of woman who kept score. And Jennifer had certainly had her own overwhelming rounds of hardship.

  Don’t be bitter, Camilla told herself.

  The afternoon continued on. More wine was drunk and more food was eaten. Frequently, the girls got up and wandered the streets, running into old friends and acquaintances. The weather was perfect, just a smooth eggshell blue sky, and it drew out every Vineyard resident from all walks of life. Mid-way through Main Street, they stumbled into Susan Sheridan and her father, Wes, who pushed a baby stroller, in which Audrey Sheridan’s baby, Max, lay fast asleep.

  “Hi, ladies. We’re babysitting!” Susan beamed. “It’s crazy because I’m so zonked with work and with the wedding next weekend, but I can always make time for little Max and for this festival. Edgartown always pulls out all the stops. I know that’s mostly thanks to you, Amelia.”

  Amelia’s smile was electric. All the Sisters were terribly proud when one of their own was met with a compliment — especially Amelia, who worked so hard for the residents of Martha’s Vineyard.

  “Good luck on the trial, Susan,” Camilla said as they parted ways. “It sounds like a rough one.”

  “It is. I have to admit that it reminds me of my old career as a criminal lawyer back in Newark. Glad I can be of service here on the Vineyard. Wouldn’t have had it any other way,” Susan finished as she lifted her hand to wave goodbye.

  Far down the road, Camilla spotted Lola, Christine, Audrey, and Amanda Sheridan, in line for the burrito stand. Her heart swelled for their family; they’d been through so much.