As she tapped a cloth over her cheeks to dry, her eyes dropped toward a pair of earrings on the marble counter. Her heart thudded with sudden panic. She thought maybe that she would collapse on the tiles.
These earrings belonged to Maxine. Janine knew because she’d been there when Maxine had purchased them the previous summer at a little place in Tribeca. Janine backed away from the earrings as though they were explosives. She then stepped into the hallway and scurried for the kitchen, where she found still more signs of her dearly beloved best friend in the world. There sat Maxine’s familiar hand cream, which she had shipped in from Paris. Beside it sat a little purse.
Slowly, Janine stepped out toward the living room, where she realized that one of the bedroom doors had been closed the entire time. This was the door to the room in which Jack slept frequently.
She supposed it was some kind of service to her, not being together in her bedroom, which was her sacred space.
If Jack and Maxine actually were home, then they hadn’t budged from bed in the previous fifteen minutes since Janine’s arrival. Janine stared at the closed door and willed it to remain closed. She couldn’t face them. Seeing the earrings and the purse and the hand cream had already been enough.
This was her home. It had been her home. For so many, many years, she’d felt safe there.
Now, she felt she might fall through the floorboards or have a heart attack in the very center of the living room. Jack and Maxine would find her on that rug they’d purchased from Morocco. The one Jack had said would “bring the room together.”
There wasn’t time to waste. Janine felt poisoned — by the city, by her life, by her husband, by each and every decision that had led her to this point. She had to get away.
But she couldn’t go to Boston and run to Alyssa’s little apartment.
And she really couldn’t manage facing Maggie again, not with the way she looked at her, with so much despair. Her eyes were so hollow, so fearful that her mother was about to go off the rails.
How was it that Janine had only one answer? How was it that this was her conclusion?
In five minutes’ time, Janine packed as much as she could into two suitcases. She grabbed one of her favorite photo albums, which included photos of her and her daughters from fifteen years before when they’d visited Maine together without Jack. When she flicked through, another photo fell out, as it didn’t belong to the collection. There, at her feet, was a photo of herself and Maxine. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, ready to take on the world. Maxine held Maggie in her arms, as Maggie laughed, and had her fingers in her mouth.
The photo mocked her.
She stepped toward her bathroom and placed the photograph beneath Maxine’s earrings for her to find later. She wanted Maxine to know that she would never forget this. She wanted Maxine to know that this ultimate betrayal had ruined both of their lives, in a way.
Yet still, she couldn’t believe it.
Janine left her keys on the counter, collected her things, and headed for the elevator. Her mind screamed as she stepped out; her body ached for her to return to that previous comfort. But in truth, there was nothing for her there any longer.
Jack didn’t have to hold her hostage for her to cooperate.
And no — maybe she wouldn’t get much of his money in the divorce.
But she’d been through worse, hadn’t she? She’d always come out on top. It was the Janine Grimson way, pre-Potter.
When she found her car in the garage, she placed the suitcases in the back trunk tenderly, realizing that she hadn’t been the one to put her own suitcases in a car in probably twenty years. She found she liked performing such a task. It reminded her that with this lack of privilege and fortune, she would be able to free herself of this world she no longer belonged to.
Maybe that was something to celebrate. That, and the full tank of gas, that would surely get her all the way to Woods Hole, Massachusetts, where the ferry left for Martha’s Vineyard, where her mother resided.
Chapter Seven
Janine arrived in Falmouth about an hour after the last ferry departed. As she was limited on funds, she checked herself into a middle-of-the-road hotel and paid in cash, which she watched the front desk manager count out in front of her, his lips moving as he whispered the count-up to himself. When his eyes flashed up to her, he feasted on her: her expensive earrings, her beautiful makeup, her clothing, straight from Paris. She looked every bit like a Manhattan socialite, yet she was stationed there, at the hotel just south of the highway exit. She was a fish out of water.
The front desk manager hesitated as though he wanted to drum up the courage to ask her why she was there. But hotels were havens of secrecy, and he evenly slid into his actual question, which was, “Are you headed to the Vineyard?”
Janine nodded. “I am.”
“I assume you’ve been there before?”
“Never,” Janine told him.
His eyes widened just the slightest bit as he leaned forward. “It’s one of the most magical places in the world.”
The words rattled around in Janine’s skull as she investigated her little, shadowed hotel room. From the window, she could see the highway, where headlights skidded across the top-line and guided the little cars’ routes home. The room had a small television, a rug the color of blood, and a bathroom with tiny, generic soaps. The room had a strange smell, one that had no relation at all to the lavender scents that had flourished through her hotel room in Manhattan.
“Look at your life, Janine Grimson,” she breathed. “This is where you belong.”
When Janine couldn’t sleep, she noticed her daughter was on the messaging service they both used. After a pause, Janine called her. Maggie answered almost immediately.
“Hi, Maggie.” Janine swallowed the lump in her throat. “I wanted to let you know that I got to Falmouth.”
“Was the drive okay?” Maggie asked softly. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you drive.”
“It was just like riding a bike,” Janine told her, although this wasn’t technically true. She’d spent a lot of the drive with her hands gripping the steering wheel way too tightly, as other vehicles had whizzed around her and occasionally blared their horns.
“That’s good to hear.”
Behind Maggie’s voice, Janine heard the sound of the TV. Janine could imagine the view: Maggie and Rex, all cuddled up after a long day, watching one of their favorite prestige drama TV-shows.
“What did Grandma Nancy say when you called her?” Maggie asked.
“Not a lot. She just said she has a room for me at her place. And that her husband died this year.”
“That’s so sad,” Maggie murmured.
“It is.” In truth, Janine wasn’t sure what she felt about it. She’d never known this man. Maybe he’d saved her mother’s life. Maybe he had been her true love. Maybe she would never really know why he’d mattered.
“But she just feels like a stranger,” Janine added, which was maybe a step too far. “I hadn’t heard her voice in over ten years.”
“I told you. You can come back up to the city and stay with us if you want to,” Maggie said. “If this is too much for you.”
Janine couldn’t express just how pathetic it felt to lean on her children like this. “It’s okay. I already drove all the way here. I might as well spend the time to figure things out and see what my mother has been up to all these years.”
“Maybe she’ll surprise you,” Maggie offered.
“Maybe.” Janine’s voice was doubtful. Her mother had, in fact, surprised her a number of times over the years: when she had tried to get sober and failed; when she’d forgotten to pick Janine up from daycare, and they hadn’t been able to track her down until nightfall; when she had forgotten to do laundry for so many days that their house had begun to reek, which had led Janine to do her first load of laundry around age five.
“A lot of time has passed. Things change,” Maggie reminded her.
“I love you too, Mom.”
Janine tossed and turned most of the night. Each time she opened her eyes, she found herself struggling to remember where she was. Once, around two in the morning, she reached a hand out in the bed as though she was searching for Jack. All she got was the emptiness that was beside her and the feel of the hotel comforter, which had probably been used by thousands and thousands of strangers. She had never felt quite this alone before.
The following morning, Janine drove toward Woods Hole, where the ferry departed. She parked her car in long-term parking and walked over to the ferry docks, where she purchased a one-way ticket from a teenager with a visor on the top of his head. He pointed toward the ramp, which led up to the boat, and she thanked him while another ferry worker hustled up to take her suitcases and pile them on a luggage cart. She was grateful not to have to lug them with her onto the ferry.
The little cafe on board sold what looked like stale muffins and thick black coffee that had sat too long. She bought both, as her stomach threatened to eat itself, and she nibbled at the edge of the muffin as she gazed out at the ocean beyond the window. The water churned brightly beneath the enormous June sky. It seemed unlikely that a cloud would form to threaten such a beautiful summer day.
Janine thought there was something menacing about such nice weather, especially on this day when her life was in shambles— that she would return to her mother like a wounded animal. Rain would have been more fitting: that, and hailstones.
The ferry arrived in Oak Bluffs at ten in the morning. She joined the bustling vacationers as they marched down onto the docks and collected their luggage. As she waited, Janine scanned her surroundings. The island seemed like an oasis, far from the madness of New York City, and she couldn’t help but think it was somehow too perfect, with the sailboats that dotted the surrounding docks, and the old-world buildings, and the gorgeous, sun-tanned people, who looked absolutely smitten with one another and the island itself.
When Janine grabbed her suitcases, she turned toward the main road, where she hunted for the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa vehicle, which her mother had arranged to pick her up. Sure enough, there was a tan-colored van with the business logo written across it, hovering just to the right of the docks. She marched up to the passenger window and rapped the glass gently. The driver leaped up with surprise, then delivered her a welcoming smile.
The driver appeared on the sidewalk a second later. He was broad-shouldered, with a pot-belly, approximately sixty years old, with hazel eyes and grey-blonde hair.
“You must be Janine!” he said as he beamed at her. “And goodness, I guess you get this all the time, but you look so much like your mother. Both beauties!”
Janine had, back in her teenage years, resented this. No matter how terrible her mother had treated herself back then, her genes had sustained her. Plus, she was only sixteen years older than Janine herself, which meant that now — at forty-three and fifty-nine, they were comparable in age. Right there in the middle of life.
“Hi,” Janine tried, as her throat constricted. “You work for my mother?”
“I worked for the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa,” the man explained as he stepped around to open the trunk. “But it hasn’t re-opened since Neal’s passing; God rest his soul.”
The man placed both suitcases in the back and then smacked his palms together. “I still help Nancy out when she needs me. I’ve been a friend of the Remington family for decades. I can’t imagine not stepping in whenever possible.”
The Remington family. The one her mother had married into.
The man snapped the trunk closed and then opened the back door for Janine to enter. “My name is Jeff,” he explained. “Jeff Maxfield.”
“Nice to meet you,” Janine said as she eased inside the vehicle.
They fell into silence as Jeff drove through Oak Bluffs. Janine’s eyes ate up everything — the quaint architecture, the beautiful houses, the people, as they walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk.
“I’m sorry to hear the Katama Lodge closed,” Janine tried then.
Jeff cleared his throat. “It was horrible when Neal died. Nancy and the girls weren’t sure what to do. Especially Elsa. She loved that father of hers to pieces. And gosh, she’s been through a lot herself over the years. Nancy said it was best for everyone to take a step back and regroup.”
“Do you think it’ll re-open?”
“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “I certainly hope so. It was one of the better gigs I ever had. I’m working now as a driver for a hotel in Edgartown, and it’s just not the same.”
Janine marveled at the way Jeff spoke of her mother. It felt as though Nancy was a distant person she’d never met, unconnected to the events of their shared past.
They drove for several minutes and turned out of Oak Bluffs. Janine spotted a golf course on her left, where Martha’s Vineyard’s elite golfers stood out beneath the eggshell blue sky and whipped balls across the green.
“I’d love to be out there today!” Jeff said while he gripped the steering wheel.
“Yeah,” Janine agreed, although she’d never played golf in her life.
When they turned down another road, there was a sudden thump, and the entire car yanked to the right, onto the shoulder of the road. Janine’s heart thudded as Jeff said, “Woah! What was that?” He stopped the vehicle and yanked his head around. “I think we hit something!”
“Oh, no.” Janine splayed her hand across her forehead. This felt like a bad omen.
Jeff checked to make sure nobody drove up behind them, then stepped outside and rushed to the right-hand side of the car. There, he bent down to inspect the tire. Janine opened her door, careful not to look down, just in case.
“Ah-ha!” he said.
“What happened?”
“There’s a nail in the tire!” he replied.
“Shoot.”
“Not to worry. I have a spare in the back,” he said. He snapped back upright and headed toward the trunk while Janine closed the door again and leaned back against the leather seat.
In a way, this actually felt like a blessing, now. It pushed back the time when she’d meet her mother again. It delayed the inevitable.
Time passed. Janine asked Jeff several times if there was anything she could do for him, but each time, he refused. He whistled while he worked, loud enough for the sound to come in through the glass windows. Janine steamed in the car but didn’t want to get out and stand strangely beside Jeff. She didn’t want anyone to see her.
Suddenly, again out of nowhere, a cyclist ripped out from the cross-road and cycled toward the vehicle. It seemed like he’d wanted to stay on the wider shoulder, which wasn’t on the other side of the road, but he hadn’t expected to find a block. When his eyes spotted the vehicle and Jeff mending the tire behind it, they grew enormous, as wide as saucers.
His yelp rang out. He then yanked his bike to the right of the vehicle, narrowly missing Jeff. Because his action was so spontaneous, he lost his balance, and he tumbled into the grass along the side of the road.
“Oh, my god!” Janine cried. She stepped out of the vehicle and found the poor guy in a heap on the ground, with his bike a few feet away from him. “Are you okay?”
Jeff jumped toward the man and extended a hand. The man looked up at him and blinked several times as he moaned. “Oomph. Just give me a minute.”
The man unlatched his helmet and removed it as he tenderly lifted his back up from the ground. He assessed his legs as his dark hair swirled around his ears. They glowed with sweat.
“Man. I feel like a huge idiot,” he said.
Jeff laughed. “I’m just glad you’re okay! That could have ended a whole lot worse.”
The man turned his head gingerly to peer up at
Jeff. Now, Janine got a full view of his profile, his Roman nose, his full lips. With a jolt, she realized she actually knew this man. It wasn’t a welcome feeling.
“Henry?” she said.
The man turned again to look at her, surprised. His eyes were bright with shock. “Oh. Janine.” He cleared his throat as awkwardness folded between them. “Hi.”
“You two know each other!” Jeff was exuberant as he helped Henry to his feet. “What a small world this is.”
“Sure is,” Janine said as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She felt suspicious in almost every way. It seemed like too much of a coincidence. “What brings you to Martha’s Vineyard, Henry? Are you, um, working on a video project?”
She just couldn’t trust him.
“Something like that,” Henry told her. He looked on the verge of explaining himself. But instead, he stepped toward his bicycle and lifted it back to a standing position. “And yourself?”
“Just needed to get out of the city for a bit,” Janine told him.
“Understandable.”
Obviously, he knew all about the scandal and the affair and the drama that had unfolded at her apartment on the night of her daughter’s engagement party. She struggled to remember if he’d actually been there that night. For a while, when Jack Potter had taken an interest in the documentary film making of Henry Dawson, Jack and Henry had palled around together. “I’ve never met an artist like Henry,” Jack had said, as he’d thrown more and more money at Henry’s project. “His vision is something the world deserves to see.”
But Janine reasoned she hadn’t seen Henry since the premiere of his most recent documentary, maybe two years before.
Henry returned his helmet to his head and gathered himself over his bike. He nodded toward Janine, then Jeff.
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