Christine watched from near the bartender stand as Abby and Gail brought their arms around their dearest friends, jumped up and down in excitement and took some selfies with one another.
It was crazy. Fifteen years old. When she had turned fifteen, her mother had already been dead. She hadn’t felt reason enough to take many photos during those last few summers she had spent on the island, especially as it had seemed as though she’d always run quickly through her friends, getting into silly fights and losing them for good. “Christine is just a bit harder around edges than most,” she’d heard her dad say once to a friend. “We don’t know what to do with her. I’m sure she will come around.”
On this thought, Wes, Lola, Susan, and Scott entered the party. Susan, naturally, held the present and passed it to Abby. The family had gotten them tons of beauty supplies, which Lola had had a field day picking them out. “When you’re fifteen, you’re ready to show the world what you’re made of!” she’d said.
Susan approached with a vibrant smile. “There you are! I thought I’d see you earlier. How did it go with the cake?”
Christine heaved a sigh and told the story as quickly as she could. Susan scrunched her nose. “But you managed to make something else?”
“Yes. Zach helped,” Christine explained.
“You must be disappointed,” Susan said. “But the girls are fifteen. They’re used to eating stuff like pop tarts.”
“I know. I just wanted to...” She shrugged as Lola approached, walking quickly, her gorgeous hair windswept.
“Hey!” she said. She dotted a kiss on Christine’s cheek and said, “My dear, I’m in such a fluster. I got Audrey’s ticket booked this morning and made her a doctor’s appointment for next week. I don’t know anything about the doctors on the island, but I guess this is better than nothing?”
“They seem to take good care of Dad,” Susan offered.
“Right.” Lola’s eyes seemed far away.
“You must be excited to see her,” Christine tried.
Lola’s eyes cut toward her. She gave her a terrible look, one that seemed to translate just how little Christine could possibly understand the situation, given the fact that she wasn’t a mother.
“I want to wring her neck, but yes, I’ve missed her,” she said simply. She then turned back to Susan and began a separate conversation about new developments in pregnancy and childbirth. Susan furrowed her brow and answered in kind. Again, they built a wall between themselves and Christine.
But there was so much to be grateful for at the party. Christine grabbed another glass of wine and sat with her father, Aunt Kerry, and Uncle Trevor, as everyone dug into the chicken tacos, which Zach had prepared for the occasion. The conversation was light and cheerful. Even Wes engaged with her a tiny bit more, something that Christine had always felt was more reserved for Susan or Lola.
After dinner, Uncle Trevor carried the cake outside and splayed it between the twin girls, who stood on either side of a picnic table. Their eyes glowed as he lit the candles. All the guests, from their family to their dearest school friends, sang ‘Happy Birthday,’ and then, the girls reached across the table, gripped one another’s hands, closed their eyes, and blew on the candles at the same time. It was like they had to be united in all things, even in their wishes. Immediately after, everyone erupted into cheers, and the cake was sliced.
Wes pointed at his slice with his fork, his mouth filled with lavender lemon icing. “You made this, Christine?” he asked.
“I did,” Christine said.
“It’s a miracle,” he said. “I think they’ll have to wheel me out of here, but I’m getting another slice.”
Christine stood to grab another glass of wine. On her way to the bartender, she spotted Zach, leaning against the side of the Inn with a beer in his hand. He cut her one of those ridiculously handsome smiles again and said, “You did good today, kid.”
“Ha. No thanks to you,” she replied. After a strange pause, she added, “Actually, no. I don’t mean that. Thank you for helping me put together the cake. I don’t know what I would have done without you—maybe a grocery store cake or something. All I know is I would have been ruined as a pastry chef for good.”
Zach chuckled. “Don’t mention it. But it did get me thinking about something.”
“What’s that?”
“If I know you at all, I know you probably tasted our pastries and baked bread while you’ve been here,” he said.
“I plead the fifth,” Christine said, putting both her hands up as if he pointed a gun at her.
“That’s what I thought. And I know you know how— shall we say, lacking they are? But I don’t want it to be like that anymore now that you’re back on the island,” he continued. “I have a vision for this place. I want us to be the go-to bakery on the island. But I need a top-level pastry chef to join the bistro. Someone extremely talented, someone like you.”
Christine’s eyebrows rocketed up her forehead. She had not seen this coming.
“Obviously, you can think about it,” Zach said. “But since we’re already mid-way through July, sooner, rather than later, would be better for everyone. The hours are long, but the people who work here are spectacular.”
“Oh? The people who own the Inn?” Christine said with a smile. “I think I might have heard of them.”
“That’s the kind of sass and sarcasm I need behind my pastry chef,” Zach affirmed. “Say you’ll work for me. Pretty please.”
Chapter Twelve
Hours before the crack of dawn Monday morning, Christine marched into the gleaming kitchen at the Sunrise Cove Inn bistro and snapped on the lights. It was her mission to have freshly baked croissants, baguettes, and French pastries like tartes aux pommes sold to the morning crowd, which she thought would be enough to generate a buzz across Oak Bluffs. She had done this sort of thing before and now, the idea of pouring that love back into the Sunrise Cove Inn thrilled her and gave her a new spark. She felt as though her mother, despite all her confusion about her teenage angst and darker years, would have been proud.
By eight in the morning, after several hours of tireless, soul-affirming work, Christine displayed her glorious results in the little glass display case near the cash register, along with some in the little case near the back walk-up window connected to the kitchen. As she placed the final, fluffy-buttery croissant in the window, she heard Zach call, “My god. I feel like I’ve walked into heaven. The smells in here are amazing.”
Immediately, Christine’s lips purred into a smile. She turned to find the handsome man saunter through the kitchen, preheating the oven and beaming.
“They look fantastic,” he told her. “Thank you for starting right away.”
“I had to save this place. It was drowning without me,” she said with a laugh.
Christine walked Zach toward the back counter, where she had outlined the dessert offerings for the day. “I have three pecan pies baking right now, and I noticed you have buckets of vanilla ice cream in the walk-in freezer. Another option—” She yanked the oven open to reveal gooey chocolate brownies.
“Wow. You really went all out,” he said, impressed. “How do you keep track of everything?”
“My little secret, I guess,” Christine said brightly.
That morning, just before the breakfast rush, Christine signed a tentative contract with Sunrise Cove Inn bistro and then headed to the lobby to find Natalie behind the counter.
“Susan had me come in at the last minute,” she said. “I guess your niece is about to arrive, so it’s a little chaotic at home.”
“Shoot,” Christine said. “I completely forgot about that.”
In a hurry, Christine stepped out of the Inn and walked the forest path toward the house. The moment she arrived, one of the Inn vehicles charged up the driveway, clicking across the gravel. Audrey sat in the front seat, a perfect, spitting image of teenage Lola. When she drew open the car door, her eyes connected with Christine’s. Her smile was s
trained. It looked as though she had cried all the way from Chicago to the steps of their family home.
“Hey, Audrey,” Christine said. She gave her what she hoped was a tender, understanding smile. What she wanted to say was: I know what it’s like when nothing goes your way. I know what it’s like when the world turns on its axis and you feel like you’re left behind. But she hardly knew her niece at all and didn’t want to give any unsolicited advice. She would have hated that at nineteen.
Back in the house, Susan laid out several croissants, which she had apparently picked up from the Inn while Christine had been busy finalizing the pecan pies.
“Here she is! Our beautiful girl,” Susan said, collecting Audrey in a hug.
Lola collapsed on the couch and scrubbed her fingers through her hair. She looked as though she hadn’t slept a wink all night.
“Thanks, Aunt Susie,” Audrey said. “Those look amazing.”
“They taste amazing. Christine made them before anyone on the planet woke up this morning. Have one,” Susan told her. “The pot of coffee is almost ready. You stayed at a hotel in Falmouth last night, didn’t you?” She shuffled toward the coffee pot as she spoke, reminding Christine that she was a woman who would multitask to get anything done.
“Yeah. It was weird to stay there alone,” Audrey said.
“Who is that?” Wes called from the bottom of the staircase as he crept into the room.
“Are you just waking up, Dad?” Christine asked, shocked, as Wes had always been one to wake up around five.
“Felt a little tired this morning,” Wes said, shrugging it off. “Wanted to rest up to see my grandbaby. Audrey, welcome!”
Susan’s eyes flashed toward Christine’s. Together, they seemed to have the same thought: yet again, their dad had surprised them with his memory. Maybe the puzzles were working.
“Good to see you again, Grandpa,” Audrey said. She stood and gave Wes a half-hug, then fell back in the chair again and collected a tiny piece of croissant off the flaky top and placed it on her tongue. Her shoulders fell forward. “Do you guys mind if I take a walk by the water?”
It was clear that she wasn’t ready to talk just yet, although that was all Lola wanted out of her. The Sheridan sisters exchanged glances, until Lola said, “Of course, honey. Take all the time you need.”
Susan poured Audrey’s cup of coffee into a portable canister mug. The sisters and Wes watched as she snuck out the porch door and then walked slowly down the stairs and the hill that led to the water. To Christine, Audrey seemed like a shell of who she had been only a few weeks before. Whatever had happened in Chicago, it had hollowed her out.
“Did she say anything to you on the drive?” Susan asked Lola.
“She said she wasn’t ready to talk yet,” Lola said. “Which I understand. She just finished the internship and only just got back to the east coast. But I’m dying to understand. What went wrong? Why did she do this? I just...” She pressed her palm to her forehead and shook her head slowly. “It makes my head spin.”
Although Christine had been up for hours, she simmered with a ridiculous amount of energy. Instead of heading up for a nap, like she’d planned, she scrubbed up the kitchen and washed the sheets on all the beds. Lola, in a kind of catatonic state on the living room sofa, hardly noticed. Wes perched at the breakfast table in front of another puzzle, and, as Christine marched past with a vacuum in hand, she clicked a few pieces into place.
“He needs to do it himself,” Lola said into her hands, just loud enough for both of them to hear.
Wes’s face crumpled. Immediately, Lola pressed her hands into her eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m going upstairs.”
Around lunchtime, Christine stepped behind the stove and prepared a big vat of white cheddar macaroni and cheese. It had been the girls’ favorites when they’d been younger, something Christine had messed around with, varying up the spices and creaminess levels since she had gone to culinary school. The first smells of it brought Susan back in from the front porch.
“Don’t tell me you’re making mac and cheese,” Susan said. Her groan was fake, just something left over from her old Newark life.
“I guess you haven’t had it in years, right?” Christine asked.
“Nope.” Susan pressed her hand against her lower stomach, still flat, and said, “This place has really destroyed my long-standing avoidance of carbs.”
“Better get used to it, baby,” Christine said with a laugh.
“You’re in a good mood,” Susan said, arching her brow.
Christine shrugged. Throughout her life, she’d hated it when people pointed out her mood, as though whatever she had done needed to be approved by the grand committee. Still, she was in a good mood, probably as a result of her newfound position at the Inn. She had a purpose again.
Out on the back porch, the Sheridan sisters, Audrey, and Wes gathered around bowls of macaroni and cheese. Although it was late July, the sky was strangely overcast, the grey clouds thick. Christine reached for a bottle of cabernet and poured herself a tall glass, something that brought frowns from both Susan and Lola. Since when was she not allowed to drink with lunch? She had worked all day, hadn’t she?
After macaroni, Aunt Kerry arrived to take Wes to another doctor’s appointment. She greeted the girls with a warm wave from the porch that led to the driveway. Together, the girls listened as Wes moseyed out and said, “Really unseasonably cold today, isn’t it? Did you see her in there? My Lola is here from her internship.”
“I think you mean Audrey, Wes,” Aunt Kerry returned, giving her brother a frown.
There it was. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Immediately, Audrey’s face scrunched up with sadness, and she burst into volatile tears. Christine, seated next to Audrey, could do nothing but place her hand on Audrey’s upper-back and whisper, “It’s going to be okay,” even though she knew, in matters like this, that wasn’t entirely true.
“Tell us what happened,” Lola said suddenly. She swept her hand over Audrey’s, across the table, and squeezed hard. Her eyes were urgent, with the need to know what happened to her only daughter.
“I just feel so stupid,” Audrey said through sputtered gasps. “I don’t know. He was...he’s this journalist at the newspaper. I thought we were in love.”
Christine’s heart sank. She remembered being nineteen, in love with someone much older and coming to the understanding that she had just been his plaything. It hadn’t been real for him.
“Did you tell him you were pregnant?” Susan asked.
Audrey nodded so that her ponytail flipped around. “He said to get rid of it. I told him no way. I would never. I just...” She dropped her hands to her stomach and glanced down at the flat palms. It was difficult to imagine her as a voluptuous pregnant woman, as she still looked like a beautiful young teenaged girl.
Susan’s eyes burned toward Christine as Audrey shook with more tears. Christine gulped back the rest of her wine and stood to walk back into the house. Susan followed. Inside, she drew her arms over her chest and said, “I think we should give them some space.”
From the living area, they could hear Lola muttering, “I thought we’d been over this a million times. I thought you were using protection. I thought you understood...”
“Mom! I know! You don’t have to lecture me. The deed has already been done,” Audrey cried.
“Maybe you’re right,” Christine agreed. “Poor girl.”
Christine and Susan grabbed their purses and headed to one of the Inn cars. Christine jumped in the driver’s seat, while Susan sat slowly, gazing at something on her phone.
“What is it?” Christine asked.
“Just Amanda. She wants help with something to do with the wedding,” she said.
Christine couldn’t help it: she snorted. Susan gave her another dirty look.
“What?” Christine demanded.
“You don’t have to pretend it isn’t hard fo
r you,” Susan said, turning to look at her little sister.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Christine said. She cranked the engine and shot them out of the driveway toward Edgartown. Had Susan really just brought up the lingering feeling Christine had in her gut all the time? The shame and sadness that she wasn’t a mother and couldn’t have kids?
Christine parked the car near Felix Neck, and the two of them hiked for a bit, walking slowly and avoiding conversation at all costs. When enough time had passed, they returned to the car. Christine had an idea.
“Where are we going?” Susan finally asked, shoving her phone into her purse and drawing one leg over the other.
“You’ll see,” Christine offered.
It was just after four-thirty in the afternoon, which meant the Edgartown Bar had probably only just opened. Stan Ellis was certainly the kind of guy to get there as early as possible—drink himself to death before eight or nine at night and then stumble back to wherever it was he laid his head every night. As Susan and Christine stood outside, looking at the old building, Susan coughed.
“You don’t expect me to go in there, do you?” she asked.
“This is where he hangs out,” Christine said.
“And you just want to accost him? Right here?” Susan asked.
“I don’t know any other way to corner him,” Christine returned.
Again, however, the bar was empty except for a few other stragglers. Rita, the bartender, stood in a dark blue jumpsuit at the front of the bar, near a television that glowed. She seemed focused on a TV game show, a rerun from probably thirty years before.
“It’s like stepping back in time,” Susan murmured.
Christine ordered them both white wines, and they padded toward the back of the bar again. She pointed out the various photographs taken of Stan Ellis from the era when he and their mother had fallen in love. Susan’s eyes glittered mysteriously as she looked at them.
“I don’t like it here,” Susan said slowly.
“Let’s just sit down.”
Firefly Nights Page 8