289 Captain's Walk (Sisters of Edgartown)

by Katie Winters

  Chapter Nineteen

  Olivia was disappointed with Anthony’s text message, to say the least. She stood over her phone for a long time and clacked her recently-painted nails over the bathroom counter. When she brought her eyes to the mirror in front of her, she felt a sudden rush of shame. Why had she put on so much eyeliner? Why had she sprayed herself with perfume? Why had she bothered with any of it?

  It was obvious that he didn’t have feelings for her. It was obvious that Anthony Paulson, who never had anything to do ever, except hang out with her to restore the old house, had decided to take a step back from whatever “romance” they were brewing. Her heart felt like it was about to shatter into a million pieces.

  The bra and a pair of tights she wore sucked around her middle and made it difficult for her to breathe. Feeling annoyed, she paced the bathroom and pressed her phone to her chest. Finally, an idea for a response came to her.

  OLIVIA: No problem. Why don’t we have dinner tomorrow? I told you — I’m pretty killer at risotto.

  She wasn’t going to let this rest and crossed her fingers that he would bite at her bait.

  But after she clicked send, a check-mark didn’t appear next to the message, like it normally did after she pressed send. Panicked, she rushed out of the bathroom, through her bedroom, then down the hall to find Chelsea. Her motions were so frazzled that Chelsea's head whipped around and she blinked at her, incredulous.

  “Mom! What are you wearing?” she demanded.

  Olivia felt all the color drain from her cheeks.

  “That is a lot of eyeliner,” Chelsea said then. She shifted up on the couch and touched the skin beneath her cast as though she had an itch. “What’s going on? You look lost.”

  Olivia lifted her phone and sputtered. “What does it mean when your message isn’t sent to someone?”

  Chelsea arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Like, the checkmark doesn’t appear. Like, he can’t read it? Or?”

  Chelsea placed a finger on her chin. “This has happened to me before.”

  Olivia’s heart thudded away in her chest while she waited for the final verdict from her teenage daughter, the queen of the internet, in her opinion.

  “And there really could be a number of reasons,” Chelsea continued.

  Olivia gaped at her. “Like what?”

  “Like, I mean, his phone could have died. Or, he might have blocked you.”

  “Blocked me?” Olivia’s knees literally rattled together. “What does that mean?”

  “Listen, I don’t know who you’re talking about, exactly ...” Chelsea began.

  “Yes, you do. Don’t play dumb,” Olivia studied her. Even as she said it, she felt the irony of the word “dumb.” She was the one who stood, half-naked, in front of her daughter, demanding dating advice.

  “He probably didn’t block you,” Chelsea said. “I mean, you guys have to restore that old place together. It’s not like he can just bail on you like that.”

  But Olivia knew this wasn’t true. In fact, something she’d learned when Tyler had left was that anyone, anywhere, could bail on you at any one time. Panicked, she flung herself back in her room, donned the dress she’d planned to wear for the night, then rushed out the door. Just before the door clanged shut, Chelsea called, “Where are you going?”

  Olivia didn’t bother with ten-and-two, not on this drive to the mansion. She whipped past Great Aunt Marcia’s old house, where she actually spotted Marnie outside, smoking what looked like a cigarette. Really? Smoking? Olivia hadn’t seen anyone smoke a cigarette in what felt like years. She wondered if Marnie had dug her way through the diaries yet, on the hunt for whatever it was her great-great-grandfather had left behind. Probably, she had gotten bored with the stories of long-dead people.

  Not like Anthony. Anthony didn’t grow bored with anything like that. He seemed endlessly interested in all her stories of loss and woe. And he’d told her countless things about her Great Aunt Marcia that she’d never known — stories Marcia had apparently told him as they had planned the future of the old mansion.

  No. Anthony wasn’t the type to block her.

  Was he?

  Olivia was determined to find out. She felt that fire start in her stomach all over again, that urgent desire to scream and take what was hers, what she dreamed of. This was what Michelle had taught her to not back down. Ever. She didn’t want to forget it again. She owed it to herself to keep going.

  But when she reached the old mansion, Anthony’s truck was nowhere to be found. She gaped at the space in the driveway where it almost always rested. She had come to think of it as a permanent part of the grounds.

  Slowly, she shut the door to her vehicle and walked toward the front door, which was unlocked. She then stepped into the foyer and for some stupid reason, actually called out his name. When she reached the kitchen, she found that all the items he had planned to prep with for dinner that night were either in the fridge or out on the counter, including a bottle of wine. Again, she lifted her phone to check if the message had been sent through, but it hadn’t been.

  Now, she felt terribly worried, or was she just overreacting?

  She called Amelia first. Amelia texted back after not answering to say she was in a work thing but would call afterward. Then, Olivia called Camilla, who said she’d be there immediately. Jennifer and Mila both said they were on their way. As Olivia waited, she traipsed upstairs to snoop in his bedroom, where everything seemed completely intact. Even the bed hadn’t been made that morning. Was this proof that he hadn’t known he would leave in such a hurry?

  Why the heck had he canceled on their plans?

  Jennifer arrived first. Olivia was seated on the couch by the fireplace with her face in her hands. Confusion had rattled through her and completely exhausted her, and she hardly moved her body as Jennifer dropped alongside her and wrapped her in a hug. In only a few minutes, the others followed. Silence hung heavy in the room, as though each of them knew that sometimes, words just weren’t enough.

  When Amelia arrived last, she shivered and began to build up a fire in the fireplace. Jennifer jumped into action and headed to the kitchen to pour them each glasses of wine. Olivia leaned her head on Camilla’s shoulder and heaved a sigh.

  “I don’t know why he would do this,” Olivia whispered. “He just left. I’m terrified that he doesn’t feel the same way as me. I’m terrified he’ll never come back. I know that sounds irrational. It’s just been so, so long since ...”

  Olivia couldn’t even fully finish the thought.

  Camilla stroked her long black hair and said, “Whatever happens next, just know you did your best. That’s what I keep trying to tell myself about the divorce. Every day, I wake up and I try to love and be loved as best as I can. Just because the marriage failed doesn’t mean I failed at that.”

  Jennifer reappeared with wine glasses and announced that there would have to be a wine run soon, as there wasn’t enough for the five of them. As Olivia took the glass from Jennifer, she remembered something.

  “Actually, Great Aunt Marcia has a whole wine cellar downstairs. Anthony and I have dipped into it from time to time. It’s pretty extensive. I think she planned to have it here, for when the little bistro opens up at the boutique hotel.”

  “Wow! A private wine cellar, all our own,” Amelia exclaimed. “That’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

  “Terribly,” Mila affirmed. “Show me where it is. I have to see it. It sounds amazing and creepy all at the same time.”

  The girls stood and stepped toward the little doorway, which led to a tight set of stairs. It was dark, somewhat claustrophobic and felt ominous. “To be honest, I’ve never gone down there myself. I always make Anthony go,” Olivia told them.

  “Always?” Jennifer asked. “How many times have you two been at the house drinking all by yourself?”

  Olivia blew out a breath. “I don’t want to talk about that right now. I need a drink.”

 
“Listen. Liv. If he disappointed you like this, maybe he’s not worth it?” Amelia tried.

  “She said she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Mila affirmed. “She just wants to drink. I think we can all appreciate that, can’t we, ladies?”

  Mila then took the first step onto the dark staircase. She walked with her chin held high and her shoulders back, like some kind of Greek goddess or a supermodel. As she strutted down, Olivia again felt a wave of love for her dear friends, who’d come out from all corners of Edgartown to drink wine with her in this dilapidated house.

  Maybe another man had fled, but they would get through it like they always had before.

  “Where is this place?” Mila called up the steps. She lifted her phone and brought up the flashlight app, then turned it around the dark basement. “It’s really creepy down here, just so you guys know.”

  “Better you than me!” Jennifer called out.

  “It should be off to the left somewhere, behind that pillar?” Olivia suggested. “I’ve only ever seen it from up here. I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, no. I got it.” Mila disappeared for a moment. Her footfalls echoed from wall to wall.

  And then, a moment later, something crashed down. It sounded as loud as an elephant, crashing through the floorboards. Mila screamed louder than Olivia had ever heard her. Olivia burst down the steps faster than she thought she could move to find Mila, just behind the pillar, which had apparently crumbled from the ceiling above. With part of the pillar gone, part of the wall had fallen apart as well. Mila lifted her head and blinked at Olivia, totally petrified.

  “Mila! Are you all right?” Olivia demanded.

  Mila rubbed at her head and nodded. She stared at the pillar like it was her nemesis. “I barely even touched it as I walked past. It nearly took me out.”

  Olivia stepped tenderly through the debris. “My gosh. First Chelsea, now you. This place is a total death trap. I’m so sorry I dragged you out here!”

  Mila slipped her perfectly manicured hand into Olivia’s and allowed herself to be lifted up. She then flashed her hands down her gorgeous skirt and turned her head toward the opening in the wall. “Wow. I never thought my love of wine would try to kill me.”

  “You girls okay down there?” Jennifer called down to them.

  “We’re okay, Mom!” Mila shot back teasingly.

  For a moment, Olivia wondered what Mila actually thought. After all, her husband had died, and she had a very different relationship with death than the others.

  But this wasn’t something they could dwell on now.

  “What’s that?” Mila asked suddenly. She lifted her flashlight toward the gaping hole in the wall, where something golden gleamed back at them.

  Olivia furrowed her brow and followed Mila closer. There, beyond the wood and bricks, up on a little pedestal, sat an antique wooden chest, one about three feet long and two feet wide. Her heart suddenly started to thud harder and faster in her chest, threatening to break free as she realized what it might be.

  Was it possible that this was it? The chest that Marcia’s grandfather had hidden all those years ago?

  Had they really found it like this? After all the work Anthony had put in to find it on his own?

  How could this be?

  “Oh my gosh,” Mila called up the stairs. “You’ll never believe what we just found!”

  “You better say it’s wine, or I’m not letting you back up here,” Camilla joked from the top of the steps. “If we’ve gone through all this turmoil and there’s no wine, then I’m out of here. There is only so much a girl can handle.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Anthony sat on the couch he had once helped reupholster, his hands on his knees, while the woman he’d once loved wept across the living room. On the wall, there were three photos, all of them of Melanie at various ages: four, eight, and fourteen. Now, at the age of sixteen, Anthony wondered what she looked like. Had her face changed? Had she gotten braces, like they’d talked about before he’d left? He could practically smell her in that room, a teenage body spray that he felt sure she’d started to use before Matilda had kicked him out.

  He had hardly been able to speak since his entrance to the house about two minutes before.

  Jim stepped out from the hallway. This was a man Anthony had known for going on twenty years. But here, now, he blinked at Anthony like a stranger. He had stolen Anthony’s wife, his life, and now, he seemed utterly useless. Why hadn’t he managed to keep Melanie safe?

  “So you have no idea where she might have driven off to?” Anthony finally asked, showing his frustration.

  He kind of liked watching Jim stew like that. He slipped his hands into his back pockets and seemed unsure of whether to stay or return to the bedroom. Anthony wondered if they’d at least had the goodwill to get a new bed. He imagined not.

  “She just told me she never wanted to see me again,” Matilda stuttered. “And she got in the car and drove away. Her phone’s been off the entire time. And I’ve called all of her friends. Nobody’s heard from her and her best friend, Evelyn? She said that they’ve hardly talked all week. That Melanie is ‘going through something,’ whatever that means. Apparently, people are giving her space because she’s apt to snap off their heads if they talk to her the wrong way.”

  Anthony knew better than to say what was on his mind: that Melanie sounded a lot like Matilda had been over those last few years. He hadn’t been able to say anything at all, or show a single emotion, for fear she would go off the rails.

  They needed therapy—all of them.

  Maybe not Jim, though. He’d always been a simpleton.

  “Okay. Well.” Anthony stood up from the couch and rustled his keys in his coat pocket.

  “Where are you going?” Matilda asked, her face marred with confusion.

  “Matilda, you called me all the way out here. I’m not going to just wait and see if she comes back home. I have to go find her,” Anthony huffed.

  He hated the dark tone in his voice, but he was beyond annoyed. Jim stiffened, as though he wanted to threaten to hit Anthony all over again. Anthony just rolled his eyes, communicating in silence with the man. Today was not the day!

  “We should go look, too,” Matilda said. Her lower lip quivered as she glanced up at Jim.

  “Don’t,” Anthony shot back. “If she comes back, someone needs to be here. She’s a teenager. Maybe she’ll cool off.”

  “You’re not suggesting that I shouldn’t have called you, are you?” Matilda’s tone turned to its own level of danger.

  Anthony palmed the back of his neck in an attempt to cool his own anger. For a moment, he was speechless.

  “Matilda, I’ve literally been waiting for your call for the past year,” he told her. “All I want is to see my daughter. Thank you for calling me. Never call anyone else about this. I’m her father and I’ll find her.”

  With that, Anthony took one fluid step before bolting out the front door. The screen door slammed shut behind him as he careened through snowfall toward his truck. By the time he sat at the steering wheel, he’d recognized tears had fallen along his cheeks and collected at the top of his five-o-clock shadow. He’d meant to shave before Olivia arrived. He had meant to do a lot of things. None of it mattered now.

  Anthony drove through the dark streets of Providence. At every corner, he felt overwhelmed with memories. There was the cafe where he and Matilda had taken Melanie when she’d been just a baby, both grateful to get out of the house and have discussions with other adults about things that weren’t diapers or formula. There was the restaurant where Anthony had taken Matilda for their tenth wedding anniversary. He’d told her that he would always love her, and something in her eyes had told him that she didn’t feel the same. Even still, the pasta had been amazing, and they’d collapsed that night after paying the babysitter with content smiles. There was also the elementary school where Melanie had gone, age four and big-eyed with worry. There, at the middle school where she had been bull
ied for wearing overalls, which apparently weren’t in style anymore. And there, the ice cream shop where he’d taken her in the wake of the overall incident, in order to cry over a banana split and dream that it didn’t matter what the heck you wore to school.

  Anthony drove for hours. He stopped along streets where Melanie’s friends lived or had once lived and scoured the roadside for her car. He breezed past the fast-food restaurants and the cinema and the mall, his eyes hungry for some sign of her. It was difficult as the night’s darkness increased and the snow billowed out from above, but he took a fine-tooth comb through every bit of their little haven of Providence and beyond. He had to find her.

  It annoyed him that his phone was dead. It wasn’t like him to be so badly prepared. After about two hours, he stopped by Matilda’s place to check and see if there had been any sign of her. Matilda said no and that she was considering calling the police. Jim reminded them that they wouldn’t take it seriously, not after only six or so hours. This annoyed Anthony— Jim’s apparent understanding of the law, but he kept his mouth shut and returned to his truck. He didn’t want to waste any more time.

  Was Melanie the type of girl to rush out of Providence and head to New York City or something? She had always been a brave spitfire, but it wasn’t like she had much money. As far as he knew, she worked a part-time gig at a pizza place and spent most of her time practicing the flute and painting. They didn’t have any relatives or friends in New York, so she would have had nowhere to go.

  Just past eleven-fifteen, Anthony blinked through the flurry of white snowflakes. His temples throbbed with the start of a horrible headache. He yanked the car over at a little gas station, jumped out and grabbed a cup of coffee from the small kiosk. The man at the counter commented on the snow, as though he, a resident of Rhode Island, had never seen snow before. Anthony wanted to laugh. Why was it people put themselves through so much small talk?