Winter Storms

KELLEY

Columbus Day marks the end of the busy season and Kelley plans a leaf-peeping trip for Mitzi to take her mind off the fact that ten months have passed and not only has there been no new information about Bart but the doctors at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center are reporting that Private William Burke is suffering from memory loss. Kelley would like to quiz the doctors himself. How much memory loss? Can he answer the most basic of questions: Are the other soldiers alive? Will his memory ever come back? Has he handed over any intelligence about where he was being held? Hasn’t modern medicine advanced enough that the doctors can tease information from Private Burke’s mind? Isn’t there some kind of sophisticated, secret mind-reading software?

Bart!

Kelley and Mitzi read the news about Private Burke’s amnesia together, Kelley scanning Mitzi’s expression, searching for a clue to her reaction.

She is quiet for a while, then says, in a matter-of-fact tone that shocks Kelley, “It might have been so awful he blocked it.”

Together, they sigh.

Mitzi’s general demeanor has improved by leaps and bounds since she moved back in. The time in Lenox with George proved to her how much she loved Kelley. When Kelley was given a clean bill of health, Mitzi began living in a state of sustained gratitude. She now practices yoga daily, engages with the guests, and is willing to leave the inn to go on dates and outings with Kelley. They have hiked Sanford Farm; they have slurped oysters at Cru; they have gone swimming at Steps Beach; and Mitzi has even relaxed her no-red-meat rule and enjoyed a couple of Kelley’s expertly grilled burgers.

But will Mitzi be okay with leaving the island for a vacation?

Kelley gives the planning everything he’s got, both strategically and financially. He rents a Jaguar, the height of luxury (and fast, Kelley thinks). They will drive to Boston, have dinner at Alden and Harlow in Cambridge, and stay at the Langham, Mitzi’s favorite hotel-then in the morning, after breakfast in bed, they’ll drive to Deerfield, Massachusetts, and meander through the three-hundred-year-old village. From Deerfield, they’ll head to Hanover, New Hampshire, to have lunch at Dartmouth (Mitzi’s father, Joe, played basketball for Dartmouth in 1953 and Mitzi has always felt an affinity for the place), and then they’ll drive to Stowe, Vermont, and stay at the Topnotch, a resort.

From Stowe, it’s up to Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom to spend the night in St. Johnsbury. From there, they’ll go to Franconia Notch State Park, where they’ll ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway for the ultimate in foliage viewing. They’ll end with a night in charming Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a town Kelley thinks is possibly the best-kept secret in America. He has arranged for a couple’s massage in front of the fire, for them to go apple-picking, on a hayride, out to dinners at fine country inns where bottles of champagne will be chilled and waiting on the tables, and for a personal yoga instructor in Stowe and then again in Portsmouth. He has made a mix of Mitzi’s favorite songs to play on the drive, and he’s packing up pumpkin muffins and his famous snack mix (secret ingredient: Bugles!) in case they get hungry on the road.

He prints out their itinerary on creamy paper and presents it to Mitzi one night before bed.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve read it through,” Kelley says. He fears Mitzi’s knee-jerk reaction will be to say no, they can’t go, what if they miss news about Bart, what if Bart comes home and neither of them is there? Irrational arguments born out of her very real pain.

Mitzi does as he asks and reads the itinerary. When she looks up at him, her eyes are shining with tears.

“You went through all this trouble for me?” she says.

“For us,” he says.

“It looks wonderful,” she says. “I can’t wait.”

JENNIFER

She goes to outpatient drug treatment at Patrick’s insistence and although Jennifer protests initially, she also feels relieved-when caught red-handed by Patrick and Kevin in Norah’s driveway, she had worried that Patrick would ship her off to Hazelden or Betty Ford. Jennifer had also been concerned about Norah. Were Patrick and Kevin going to call the police? Patrick told her not to worry about Norah, to worry only about herself and getting out of the grip of drugs.

Yes, okay. Jennifer has excelled at everything her entire life and she decides she’s going to excel at rehab. She goes through the lectures and the therapy, but it’s harder than anyone can imagine. Jennifer feels like her body hates her. She can’t keep food down; she can’t sleep; she can’t wake up. She shakes, she sweats, she feels ugh, she feels ick.

Patrick is a champion at the beginning. He is the person Jennifer was when Patrick first went to prison-steadfast, supportive, kind. He checks in with her every few hours; he picks up the slack with the kids. But after a few weeks, he seems to believe the problem is solved, the war won. Jennifer is off drugs; her therapy decreases from every day to twice a week to once a week. She pees in a cup; she is pronounced clean.

Patrick is busy trying to get his hedge fund up and running. He has sixteen million dollars from investors, all of them people he has worked with in the past who continue to believe him capable of big things. He would like to double or triple that amount. It’s not easy convincing new investors that he’s legit, but he’s persistent in presenting his business plan and a list of personal references. He’s working out of his and Jennifer’s home office, and he requires absolute silence; he seems resentful that Jennifer is also running a business out of that office-a successful business, she might add-and that she has fabric samples and Pantones lying around everywhere. Jennifer is basically forced to move her operation to the formal dining room-they never use it anyway, but she resents being ousted. Patrick yells at the children when they get home from school. He bans the PlayStation 4. Barrett and Pierce both complain to Jennifer. They start spending the afternoons at their friends’ houses.

Jennifer says to Patrick, “You’re alienating your own children.”

Patrick gives her an incredulous look. “Do you or do you not want money? I have to start from scratch here. I’d like to build something quality, and that takes both time and concentration. I can’t focus when the boys are stealing cars and killing zombies a floor above me, I’m sorry.”

Jennifer’s drug counselor, Sable, a lovely, refined woman in her midfifties, strongly encourages Jennifer to give up all mind-altering substances, including alcohol. But Jennifer can’t, she simply can’t give up her wine. “I’m not an alcoholic,” she tells Sable.

Sable gives her a steady look. Sable has shared bits and pieces of her own history. When she was a slender young woman in her twenties, she worked for a drug dealer on the Canadian border. She kept guns under her bed and had a refrigerator full of money.

“They told me I would be okay as long as I didn’t start using,” Sable said. “And they were right. Once I started using, I sank like a stone.”

Now, Sable says, “Alcohol impairs our judgment. My main fear is you drink, you get hooked back on pills.”

“That won’t happen,” Jennifer assures her.

But one Friday night after a particularly trying week, Jennifer pours herself a second glass of wine, then a third, then a fourth. The boys are out at sleepovers and Jennifer has made veal chops with blue cheese mashed potatoes and a lavish spinach salad for herself and Patrick-but at eight o’clock, Patrick is still locked in “their” office, working.

After her fifth glass of wine, Jennifer pounds on the office door. Patrick opens it. He’s on the phone but she doesn’t care.

“Hang up!” she screams. “Hang! Up!”

What follows is the worst fight of their sixteen-year union. Everything comes out. Jennifer hates what Patrick did, hates the besmirching of their family name, hates that all the parents at the kids’ schools look at her and the kids askance. People say they don’t judge, but of course they do judge. They think Patrick is a cheater and a fraud and that Jennifer is guilty by association. Then it’s Patrick’s turn to retaliate: He can’t believe Jennifer let herself fall prey to the allure of pharmaceuticals. It’s so predictable! he says. He doesn’t understand how she could lose control that way when she was in charge of their children!

“Don’t you dare,” Jennifer says. “Don’t you dare imply that my parenting was in any way compromised.”

“Wasn’t it?” Patrick asks. “Be truthful with me. Be truthful with yourself. Did you ever drive the children while you were high?”

Jennifer fish-mouths. She wants to be indignant, wants to say she would never, ever have done such a thing-but she can’t lie. There were some moments when she parented while high. She got lost driving home from one of Pierce’s away lacrosse games and ended up in Revere. Revere, of all places! While on oxy, she lost her temper with Barrett, used some atrocious language, had an accident in the kitchen. While on Ativan, she fell asleep reading to Jaime more times than she could count, sometimes not even making it through a single page.

She starts to cry. “I failed you,” she says.

“No,” Patrick says. “I failed you. Your addiction to oxy and Ativan is my fault.”

As much as Jennifer would like to hand Patrick the blame, she won’t. “I’m an adult,” she says. “Taking the pills was my decision. Seeking out more-from Norah-was my decision. A decision I made again and again.”

They are no longer angry. Now, they are sad. Patrick opens his arms; Jennifer crawls into them. They make love, possibly the fiercest, most passionate love of their marriage, and Jennifer thinks that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be all right.

Later, they eat the blue cheese mashed potatoes out of the pot while standing in front of the stove. Patrick gnaws on a veal chop while Jennifer attacks the spinach salad.

He says, “I don’t want to ruin our beautiful détente, but we have to talk about my mother.”

Jennifer closes her eyes. Margaret Quinn is now Jennifer’s least favorite subject. Jennifer has over a dozen voice-mail messages from Margaret, but she hasn’t been able to listen to a single one.

“You can’t avoid her forever,” Patrick says. “She’s my mother. She’s the boys’ grandmother.”

“I know,” Jennifer whispers.

“She doesn’t think any less of you,” Patrick says. “She isn’t like that.”

Jennifer spears a cherry tomato, then a slice of white button mushroom. There’s no way to make Patrick understand how mortified Jennifer is that Margaret knows about her addiction. Telling her own mother and Mitzi and Kelley wasn’t great, but it was better than admitting her addiction to Margaret Quinn. The shame of what she’s done and how she’s done it has frozen the previously wonderful relationship Jennifer had with her mother-in-law. Jennifer can’t bring herself to call Margaret back, and texting feels like a cop-out. She has considered writing Margaret a letter but she doesn’t know what she would say.

Margaret doesn’t think any less of Jennifer-that’s a bold-faced lie. Of course Margaret thinks less of her! Jennifer has striven for perfection in every aspect and especially in every aspect Margaret can see. Jennifer has never valued anyone’s opinion or sought anyone’s approval as much as Margaret’s. But now, Jennifer has blown it. She has disgraced herself and proven herself unworthy.

Margaret isn’t like that-true, she isn’t like that. She was very restrained in expressing her disappointment with Patrick. She couldn’t have liked the situation but she remained supportive and nonjudgmental. Jennifer realizes Margaret will probably be understanding-Jennifer was dealing with a lot, her circumstances made her vulnerable-but in her most honest, most secret and forever thoughts, Margaret will see Jennifer as weak.

“I can’t call her,” Jennifer says. “I just can’t.”

“Every day you wait makes it worse,” Patrick says. “Call her right now. Get it over with.”

“I can’t,” Jennifer says. “I’ve been drinking.”

Patrick nods. “In the morning, then.”

“Okay?” Jennifer says. She sets down her fork. She has lost her appetite.

In the morning, Jennifer and Patrick make love again and Jennifer hopes the act is distracting enough that Patrick will forget about Jennifer calling Margaret. But only seconds before he steps into the shower, he turns to Jennifer, who is at the sink brushing her teeth, and says, “My mother. Do it now. You promised.”

She knows for a fact that she didn’t promise; she knows she said Okay? with a question mark in her voice. She had said Okay? only to put the topic to bed. Was he really going to hold her to her Okay?

She nods, spits, shuts off the water, and leaves the bathroom.

She sits on her bed holding her cell phone. She has never dreaded anything in her life as much as she dreads dialing Margaret’s number. But putting it off means having it hang over her head, which is stressful enough to make Jennifer crave an Ativan.

Vicious cycle. She will not fall prey to it.

She dials the number, brings the phone to her ear. It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday morning so Margaret won’t be working, but she may still be asleep, or at the gym, or making Drake an omelet.

“Hello?” Margaret says, sounding fresh and awake.

“Margaret?” Jennifer says. Her heart is slamming in her chest. “It’s Jennifer.”

“Jennifer?” Margaret says. She sounds confused, and Jennifer realizes Margaret doesn’t recognize her voice. Margaret must know five hundred Jennifers, including Lopez, Lawrence, and Aniston.

“Your daughter-in-law,” Jennifer says. She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Jennifer!” Margaret says. “You must think me monstrous. Drake tells me I shouldn’t answer my phone without checking the caller ID, but I can never find my glasses. And I’m supposed to be interviewing a woman named Jennifer to be my new assistant. I thought maybe you were her.”

“New assistant?” Jennifer says. “What’s happening to Darcy?”

“Darcy will be leaving in a month or so,” Margaret says. “CNN is making her a full producer. She’s moving to Atlanta. Isn’t that the most awful thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Yes,” Jennifer says. “Darcy is… she is…”

“My right hand,” Margaret says. “I don’t know about this other Jennifer. She graduated summa cum laude from Princeton and she sounds very tightly wound. How are you, my darling?”

“Oh,” Jennifer says, her breath coming more easily now. “I’m okay, I guess.”

“Well, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Margaret says.

Here it comes, Jennifer thinks. The inevitable lecture. The scolding. The description of Margaret’s disappointment. Or, worse, a bestowal of forgiveness. If Margaret says something kind, or if she says that each and every one of us is human and therefore susceptible to the occasional failure and it doesn’t make us bad people, Jennifer will cry. She doesn’t deserve to be the recipient of Margaret’s generous understanding.

“Margaret…” Jennifer says. She feels she should preempt Margaret with an apology, but Margaret doesn’t give her a chance.

“I want to throw Isabelle a bridal shower, but I don’t have time to plan it,” Margaret says. “Will you help me? Please? You have the most exquisite taste.”

“I do?” Jennifer says. “I mean, of course I’ll help. I can plan the whole thing, if you’d like.” She can’t believe that Margaret is treating her like a person instead of an addict. The pills didn’t define her, Jennifer realizes then. Tears come, but they are tears of relief, not sadness, and Jennifer wipes them away.

“That would be such a help,” Margaret says. “Thank you, thank you, darling girl. You’re the best.”

AVA

Most people make their resolutions in January, but Ava decided to do it on the first day of school and now, nearly two months in, she has stuck to them quite admirably.

1. Learn to be happy alone.

2. No men.

The second resolution was put there to reinforce the meaning of the first. In order for Ava to be happy alone, she can’t have a boyfriend, and she can’t date. She refuses Nathaniel’s repeated invitations to visit him on Block Island. You’ll love it, he says. It’s like Nantucket, he says, except smaller-only ten square miles-and simpler. There are only 108 children in the school district, and everyone in the seventh grade has to play in the band.

“Isn’t that great?” Nathaniel says.

Ava is sure it’s charming, but she doesn’t want anything simpler than Nantucket. Recently, she’s been having city dreams.

Every once in a while, she’ll get a text from Potter that says, NYC this weekend? It’s tempting, but… Ava wants to stick to her resolutions.

As she tells Shelby, “I’ve been in a relationship with either Nathaniel or Scott for the past three and a half years.”

“Before that, you dated Ben, the visiting art teacher,” Shelby says.

“Oh, that’s right,” Ava says. Ben the visiting art teacher was a real character with his beret and his goatee. He knew about matcha before it was a thing. Mitzi had loved Ben the visiting art teacher; that in itself spoke volumes. Before Ben, there was Moose, a bouncer at the Bar. Moose was six foot six, a man of very few words and of very simple tastes. That relationship had lasted only four months, just long enough for the novelty of his size to wear off. “It’s even worse than I thought. I haven’t been single in six years. I can’t remember who I used to be,” Ava says now.

“I bet you can’t make it to Christmas without getting back into a relationship,” Shelby says.

“I’ll take that bet,” Ava says with a bravado she does not feel. “Shall we say dinner at the Club Car? With caviar?”

“You’re on,” Shelby says.

Avoiding Nathaniel and Potter is one thing-they live elsewhere. But avoiding Scott is quite another matter. Ava has to see him every single day. She keeps the interaction to a nod of the head; if she has any administrative questions, she goes directly to Principal Kubisch.

Ava is amazed at how much leisure time she has without a boyfriend. She has her mountain bike serviced and goes on long, elaborate rides for her autumn Saturdays-up to Altar Rock and over to Jewel Pond, through the state forest to Nobadeer Beach. On weekend nights, she goes to Shelby and Zack’s house, where Zack makes braised short ribs or truffled mac and cheese and they drink red wine and tell stories about the students until they’re in stitches. Or Ava stays home with Kelley and Mitzi; they order Thai food and binge on Ray Donovan, and then always, before bed, they sit in Bart’s bedroom for a few minutes. The light is always kept on in that room as they wait for his return. Then Kelley and Mitzi retire to their bedroom. Ava has noticed how much older Kelley looks since his illness, and he has slowed way down. Mitzi looks older too, but in a more settled and relaxed way. She is more approachable than she has ever been, so approachable that one morning over coffee, Ava says, “How are you feeling about Bart?”

Ava would never have dared ask this question before; Mitzi was far too volatile, the shock and pain of Bart’s disappearance too raw, her psyche too fragile.

Mitzi shakes her head. “I know I should fall further into despair with each day that passes, every day there’s no news. That was what happened last year, when I was with George, and it nearly ruined me. I work very hard on my positive visualization and my faith. In my bones, in my gut, I feel that Bart is alive. That boy, Private Burke, when he regains his faculties is going to give the military the information they need.”

Ava would like to believe this. Private William Burke is conscious and making great strides every day, but he suffers from amnesia. Amnesia-Ava thought this was a fictional condition used as a plot device in the movies. But apparently, it’s real. Private Burke has no memory of the events that brought him to the hospital. He remembers landing in Afghanistan and climbing aboard the convoy. That’s it; the rest is a blank. The doctors aren’t sure if the memory loss was caused by the head trauma he sustained or by the things he experienced while in captivity; perhaps they were so grisly that his mind erased them as a defense mechanism. He sees therapists every day. Ava imagines these counselors as locksmiths trying to insert the key that will free his memory.

“Plus,” Mitzi says, “the DoD is still searching, every day. Eventually, they’re going to find those boys. They’re going to find Bart.”

Find Bart. Now that Ava is finished with men, she has more time to dedicate to thinking about Bart.

One afternoon following her bike ride, she slips into the five o’clock Mass at St. Mary’s. She’s wearing her yoga pants and sneakers and so she sits in the last row, hoping God will be happy she actually attended church of her own accord and so will forgive her attire. (When Ava was growing up, Margaret had two steadfast rules for church: no jeans and no eating an hour before Mass.)

She prays for Bart. She prays for Mitzi and Kelley. She begs for forgiveness; she has been so absorbed with the drama of her romantic life that she has, at times, forgotten that her brother is missing, ignored the fact that he is, most likely, suffering. He’s cold, he’s starving, he’d dehydrated, he’s emaciated, he’s being beaten or tortured, he’s worried about all of them worrying about him.

Bart!

Ava lights a candle after Mass. She imagines the flame warming Bart, igniting hope inside him. We will find you, she thinks. You will be returned to us. Mitzi practices positive visualization. She has done this as long as Ava has known her. Mitzi used to visualize parking spots in town; she visualized Patrick getting accepted to Colgate; she visualized Norah deciding to have her python tattoo removed. Sometimes her visualizations worked, sometimes they didn’t.

But why not give it a shot?

Ava visualizes a Special Forces team rescuing Bart. She sees him staggering forward and falling into the soldiers’ arms. He will be exhausted and hungry and injured. He will shed his first tears since he’s been captured.

And then, the trip home. From Afghanistan to Germany to New York; from New York to Boston; from Boston to Nantucket. Ava pictures her brother wearily climbing the front steps of the inn, opening the door, and flinging his rucksack down.

It’s me-Bart, he will say. I’m home.

The first week in November, Ava is due to have her second-grade class observed, and the person who does classroom observations and evaluations is… Scott. There is no way around this. Ava is going to have to endure forty minutes with Scott Skyler sitting in the back of the class with his clipboard.

Last year, Scott observed Ava with her most obnoxious class of fifth-graders. Ava had complained about this particular class all year long-all of the teachers had-but with Mr. Skyler in the back of the class, every student had behaved. Even Topher Fotea; even Ryan Papsycki. Ava remembered feeling in awe of the influence Scott had with the kids. He had power. He had always been Ava’s hero, but during that class, he had been a superhero.

She will not allow herself to feel that way this year. This year, she will teach an inspired lesson about keeping a beat, using wood blocks to demonstrate. She will pretend Scott doesn’t exist.

This is easier said than done. Scott enters the classroom and the second-graders-a darling, sweet group-all gather around him, clamoring for his attention, especially the little girls. Ava suffers an unfortunate image of Scott as the father of all of these children, the kind of magnetic, involved father that every child dreams of. She notices that he’s wearing the blue-checked shirt she bought him for his birthday, and his Vineyard Vines tie printed with cartoon images of fish tacos. Did he wear that shirt and tie on purpose? Of course he did.

The more pressing problem is that as soon as he sets foot in the music room, the air smells like him. Scott always smells deliciously of this certain maple soap that his mother sends him from Vermont. The scent is sweetly reminiscent of pancakes but also contains a tang of evergreen. It’s distracting. Ava claps her hands and asks the second-graders to please use their indoor voices and take their seats.

“Mr. Skyler is here to see if you’re better behaved than Ms. Colby’s class.”

“We are!” they say, and they sit and zip their lips, as Ava has taught them.

After Ava escorts the second-graders back to their classroom, she is to meet with Scott to go over the highs and lows of the lesson. This is the part Ava is really dreading-thirty minutes alone with Scott in her room, the door closed to preserve the confidentiality of his evaluation.

She enters the room and gives him a tight smile. She is wearing a black turtleneck, a black-and-white giraffe-print skirt, and high black suede boots. Since she gave up men and started riding her bike so much, she has lost twelve pounds.

“You look great, Ava,” Scott says. “I can’t get over how great.”

“Is that part of my evaluation?” Ava asks. “The Massachusetts Board of Education wants to know how I look?”

“Ava…”

“Please,” Ava says. “Don’t be unprofessional.”

Scott nods once, sharply, then proceeds to go over his notes. He has given her a five out of five in every category, and as an anecdotal, he has written: Ms. Quinn continues to offer her students a strong and engaging education in music by using innovative, hands-on lesson plans that not only teach students the basic elements of composition but allow them to make music themselves. Ms. Quinn’s classroom management is superlative. Her students respect her; they listen and obey classroom rules. I have no suggestions for improvement. Ms. Quinn would be well advised to, in the words of Bob Dylan, “keep on keepin’ on.” Her skills are obvious; her demeanor admirable. She is a credit to our school and sets a high bar for instruction.

Ava blinks. Is he expressing his honest opinion or just kissing her ass? She doesn’t care. The evaluation is glowing; Ava is free from this torture for another year.

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Ava…”

The bell rings. It’s her lunch period. Tuesday means tuna salad on wheat and clam chowder. The culinary class up at the high school makes the chowder from scratch, and it’s some of the best on the island.

“I have to go,” she says.

“Just give me five minutes,” he says. “There are some things I want to say.”

Ava doesn’t want to hear the things Scott Skyler has to say, but his brown eyes are searching hers in such an earnest way that she doesn’t have the heart to walk away.

“Speak,” she says.

“Ava, I love you,” he says.

She scoffs. “Last Christmas Stroll, you took Roxanne to the hospital on a Good Samaritan mission and you never returned to me. Not really. You skipped the Festival of Trees; you missed Genevieve’s baptism. And then you started dating Roxanne.”

“You were with Nathaniel,” Scott says.

“You never should have gone with Roxanne to the hospital,” Ava says. “If you had stayed with me on Nantucket, we would be engaged by now.”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“But we’re not.”

“Roxanne needed me,” Scott says.

“No,” Ava says. “Roxanne wanted you. Despite the fact that you were my boyfriend. She set her sights on you and you were hers. Women who look like Roxanne Oliveria always get what they want.”

“It wasn’t how she looked…” Scott says.

“Scott,” Ava says. “Come on.”

“Okay,” Scott says and he raises his palms. Ava has always been a sucker for Scott’s hands-broad, strong, capable. She looks down at her desk, where the sheet music for “Annie’s Song” rests. Next week, the fourth-graders receive their recorders and they will begin practicing for graduation. It’s a never-ending cycle of You fill up my senses. “I thought Roxanne was beautiful, yes, I did. I thought, quite frankly, that she was out of my league. Most women are.”

“But, apparently, not me,” Ava says. She gives a dry, disgusted laugh. “Thanks.”

“Roxanne is beautiful only on the outside,” Scott says. “Inside, she’s needy and narcissistic, flaky and irritating.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying those things about the almost mother of your child.”

Scott winces. “She hasn’t been the same since the miscarriage.”

“My understanding is that few women are the same,” Ava says.

“She’s really messed up,” Scott says. “She goes to a therapist every day. I went the first few times but then I had to stop.”

“Are you two still seeing each other? At all?” Ava hates asking, but she has to know.

“Not really,” he says.

What a wimpy answer! Ava stands up. Her chowder is calling.

“Ava,” he says, “I was just as shocked as you were when Roxanne got pregnant. I was… well, my first response wasn’t joy, I can tell you that.”

“But you’ve always wanted to be a father,” Ava says. She feels herself reaching an emotional edge. Roxanne had given Scott his dream.

He takes both of Ava’s hands. This is not okay, but his grip is so firm, she can’t pull away.

“I wanted to be the father of your children,” he says. “I love you. I never loved Roxanne. I got caught in her web somehow. And then you were with Nathaniel, and a part of me believed you had always wanted to be with Nathaniel…”

“Don’t make this my fault,” Ava says. “I didn’t let Nathaniel get me pregnant.”

“He proposed,” Scott says. “You accepted.”

“You were in Tuscany with Roxanne!” Ava says.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Scott says.

They are both on their feet now, glaring at each other over Ava’s desk. It’s a standoff.

Scott capitulates. “I love you, Ava. I want to be with you now. I want to be with you forever.”

These are words that Ava would have relished at another time, but at the moment, they feel a day late and a dollar short. She loves Scott too; that isn’t the problem. The problem is that he was going to have a baby with Roxanne Oliveria. He was going to be connected with her in an everlasting, irrevocable way, and that had been okay with him. He had bidden Ava good-bye. He had used the term cold turkey.

“I haven’t told anyone this,” Ava says.

Scott’s brown eyes open a little wider. Ava tries to ignore the thick brown hair that she used to grab in moments of passion.

“This is my last year at Nantucket Elementary,” Ava says.

“What?” Scott says.

“Yep,” Ava says. “I’m moving to New York. Next September, I’m teaching there.”

Scott seems to be at a loss. “What?”

“I’m done living at the inn,” Ava says. “I want to grow up. I want to be a person. My own person.”

“Ava…” Scott says.

“Consider this my notice,” Ava says.

KEVIN

Kevin Quinn is the king of the world. At the selectmen’s meeting on Wednesday, November 9, Kevin is granted a three-year liquor license for his venue, Quinns’ on the Beach, at 200 Surfside Road. The total cost, with all of the permitting fees and insurance, is just under a hundred and twenty grand. Kevin figures he will easily make this money back in the first year. Kevin did note that his most vocal champion among the selectmen was none other than Chester Silva, Haven’s uncle, who said he liked to see “local kids” running successful island businesses. Kevin smiles at the word kid. He’s thirty-eight years old. But Chester is in his seventies, so he supposes it’s all relative.

That accomplished, Kevin finds a small, year-round rental on the edge of town. It’s just a cottage, two bedrooms, two baths-but it’s charming and warm. There is a cozy downstairs bedroom for Genevieve, and an airy, spacious loft-type master suite for Kevin and Isabelle. There are granite countertops in the kitchen and a breakfast nook, a claw-foot tub in Genevieve’s bathroom, and a postage-stamp-size yard where, come spring, Genevieve can toddle around.

Once Kevin and Isabelle have moved in-man, does it feel good to have their own space!-Kevin focuses all his energy on the wedding. He has purchased plane tickets for Arnaud and Helene, Isabelle’s parents, who will arrive on December 23 and stay for four nights in room 10 at the inn-George’s old room. The ceremony will be held at the Siasconset Union Chapel at three o’clock in the afternoon. Kevin can’t begin to explain the hoops he had to jump through to make this happen in the off-season-even with space heaters, the chapel will be chilly-but St. Mary’s is busy with Christmas Eve services, and Isabelle is adamant about a church wedding. Kevin has asked Father Paul, the priest the Quinn family grew up with, to return to Nantucket from the mainland to perform the ceremony. The “reception” will be the annual Winter Street Inn Christmas party, only this year the party will be catered because Isabelle isn’t to lift a finger.

Mitzi and Kelley have been very supportive of these plans. The only hiccup came when Kevin brought up the topic of groomsmen. He had initially thought he would be attended by Patrick as best man and Pierre, his boss from the Bar, as the other groomsman, while Isabelle would have Ava and Jennifer.

“But what about Bart?” Mitzi had asked.

Kevin had stared at her, not quite understanding the question.

She said, “He’ll be hurt if you don’t make him a groomsman.”

Kevin nodded slowly. Bart would most definitely want to be a groomsman-if he weren’t being held prisoner in Afghanistan. But Kevin quickly realized that Mitzi’s hopes ran high and if Kevin wanted her full cooperation, he would have to get with the program and proceed as if Bart would be back on Nantucket by December 24.

“Bart will be my groomsman,” Kevin said. “I’ll just have Pierre as backup.”

“You won’t need a backup,” Mitzi said. “Why don’t you ask Pierre to be a reader?”

“Okay,” Kevin said. “That’s what I’ll do.”

JENNIFER

Jennifer throws Isabelle’s bridal shower the weekend before Thanksgiving. Her primary stumbling block is that Isabelle has few friends on the island so there aren’t enough attendees for a full-blown party. She decides to reserve the elegant red dining room upstairs at Le Languedoc. Isabelle will feel comfortable and cozy. There will be French champagne and French bistro food. Jennifer invites Margaret, Mitzi, Ava, Ava’s best friend, Shelby, and then, truly desperate for warm bodies, she asks Mary Rose Garth, George’s girlfriend. Everyone accepts; both Margaret and Mitzi are thrilled, Kevin is grateful, and Jennifer feels more like herself than she has since the day Patrick was indicted. She is helping out, getting things done. Isabelle will have a proper bridal shower in an elegant French restaurant.

Patrick and Jennifer arrive on Nantucket for the shower on Saturday afternoon. The streets of town feel deserted because many locals are on Martha’s Vineyard for the annual high school football game known as the Island Cup. Jennifer bought Isabelle a set of plush white towels monogrammed with her and Kevin’s initials, but once Jennifer’s on the island, she goes to Ladybird Lingerie on Centre Street because she wants to get Isabelle something pretty to wear on her honeymoon.

As Jennifer is heading back to the inn with the gift, she sees a black truck rumbling down the cobblestones of Main Street. Jennifer’s heart seizes.

It’s Norah’s truck.

The truck stops abruptly, the driver’s window goes down, and Norah sticks her head out. “Hey, you.”

She sounds normal, friendly, and she looks wonderful. She has gotten her hair colored and styled by someone who knows what he or she is doing, and Norah looks at once younger and more sophisticated.

Drugs, Jennifer thinks. Oxy, Ativan. A familiar longing stirs in her.

“Hey,” Jennifer says. She isn’t sure whether to stop and chat or hurry along up the sidewalk. To stop might make for an uncomfortable situation, but to speed up might seem rude. Jennifer compromises by slowing down somewhat.

Norah nods at Jennifer’s shopping bag from Ladybird. “Get a little something to surprise Paddy?”

“Oh,” Jennifer says. “This is for Isabelle.”

“Kev’s girl?” Norah asks.

Jennifer presses her lips together. She finds herself unable to lie to Norah-but why not?

“Are they getting married?” Norah asks. “Finally?”

Jennifer smiles and keeps walking.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Norah says. “Good for Kev. He deserves to be happy.”

“Yes,” Jennifer says, perhaps more forcefully than she intends. “He does.”

“When is the wedding?” Norah asks.

Jennifer will not tell her. She waves and picks up her pace.

“Okay, then,” Norah says. She drives away.

The shower is sheer perfection, if Jennifer does say so herself. The seven women gather in the vestibule of the restaurant, and everyone is in high spirits, especially Isabelle. She is smiling more brightly than Jennifer has ever seen her smile. Isabelle isn’t a woman who is used to being celebrated, a fact that breaks Jennifer’s heart a little but also makes her happy that Isabelle is marrying Kevin.

Jimmy, the bartender at Le Languedoc and a friend of the Quinn family for many years, leads the women upstairs. The stairs are narrow and steep in a way that promises an arrival-and the room does not disappoint. It is hushed and elegant, the table exquisitely set with white linen, silver, china, crystal, and a low, wide bouquet of fall flowers, a gift from Kevin. There is a magnum of Veuve Clicquot chilling in an ice bucket. At everyone’s place sit two gifts: a wrapped copy of Elin Hilderbrand’s wedding-on-Nantucket novel, Beautiful Day (Isabelle’s copy is in French, and obtaining it took a bit of logistical gymnastics on Jennifer’s part), and a small blue box from Tiffany, tied up with white satin ribbon.

Mary Rose gushes as she takes her seat, marked by a calligraphed place card. “I’ve never been to a shower where I got a present,” she says.

Margaret squeezes Jennifer’s arm. “You did a beautiful job, sweetie,” she says. “You went above and beyond.”

That was by design: Jennifer had badly wanted to impress Margaret and restore herself in her mother-in-law’s good graces. Plus, staging moments like this was Jennifer’s job. She had built a career on making her clients’ homes gracious and comfortable, practical yet inspiring. Essentially, she created set decorations to encourage happy, productive, peaceful lives. But what actually happened in the rooms Jennifer curated was, of course, beyond her control.

Inside each Tiffany box was a heart-shaped silver bookmark engraved with the guest’s initials.

“Inspired!” Ava says. She grins at Jennifer. “I’m never getting married, but if I do, I want you to plan my shower.”

It is one of the most convivial and relaxed evenings Jennifer has had in a long, long time. The service at Le Languedoc is seamless, the food sublime. Isabelle is thrilled with the escargot and the steak-frites. Jennifer orders the chopped salad and the pan-roasted lobster over soft polenta, which she can’t finish and so decides to take it home for Patrick. He’ll be thrilled. They drink one magnum of champagne and order a second. Jennifer had worried about the triumvirate of Margaret, Mitzi, and Mary Rose, but the three of them chat away like sorority sisters. Mitzi is in surprisingly good spirits, considering Thanksgiving is only a week away and Bart still isn’t home. Mary Rose fits into the group easily; they might as well start calling her Aunt Mary Rose.

Before dessert is served-Jennifer requested an opera cake, Isabelle’s favorite-Margaret taps her glass with her spoon then stands to make a toast.

“When my children were growing up,” she says, “I used to joke that I spent five percent of my time taking care of Patrick, five percent of my time taking care of Ava, and ninety percent of my time taking care of Kevin.”

The table chuckles. Jennifer has heard all the stories about Kevin as a kid-the poor grades, the detentions, the scrambling for missing homework and forgotten lunches. Now that Jennifer is the mother of three, she sees that Kevin has long been a victim of birth order, stuck behind Patrick, who is good at everything and driven to do better, and Ava, the baby and only daughter. When Jennifer first met Kevin, she thought he was cute and sweet, a laid-back, less serious version of Patrick, and something about him had appealed to her. Of course, back then Kevin had been defined-absolutely defined-by Norah Vale. Norah had been a black sorceress, leading Kevin down a path of darkness. Kevin had been both afraid of Norah and dependent on her.

Sort of like Jennifer herself had been. Oh boy.

“Of my three children, Kevin has taken the longest to figure out who he wants to be. I’m not going to lie… Kelley and I were worried about him.”

More chuckles. Mitzi raises her hand. “And me.”

“And Mitzi,” Margaret says. She turns to Isabelle, her green eyes shining. “Kevin’s dreams started coming true once he found the right person to share them with. Look at how he has thrived and grown since he met you, Isabelle. He’s become a father. He’s started his own business. And he has a home-finally. So it is from all of Kevin’s concerned parents that I raise my glass to you, Isabelle, and say, Merci beaucoup.”

“To Isabelle,” Ava says.

They clink glasses.

Isabelle opens her gifts while they enjoy the opera cake: the towels and tasteful lingerie from Jennifer, some less tasteful lingerie from Mary Rose-which gets the table hooting-a gift certificate to the RJ Miller salon from Shelby, some scented candles and a gift certificate for ten yoga sessions from Mitzi, a gorgeous silver picture frame from Ava, and a pair of Ted Muehling earrings from Margaret. Jennifer has wisely brought a couple of empty shopping bags so that Isabelle can get her haul home.

They leave the restaurant and head out into the frosty autumn air. Isabelle catches up with Jennifer on the street and gives her a hug. Jennifer recognizes that this is a big deal-Isabelle is very reserved and private and she is not touchy-feely in the slightest.

“Merci beaucoup à toi, ma soeur,” Isabelle says. “Thank you with all my heart.”

“Oh, Isabelle, you’re welcome,” Jennifer says, closing her eyes. She’s filled with a warm syrupy feeling that’s a combination of pride and accomplishment and love. But then Jennifer opens her eyes and sees the black truck parked across the street.

It can’t be.

Is it?

Jennifer freezes. Norah Vale waves.

MARGARET

Margaret had hoped her frenetic schedule might calm down a bit after the election, but the short week before Thanksgiving is jam-packed with activity. Margaret and Ava leave Nantucket together the day after Isabelle’s bridal shower and head back to the city. Ava has interviews at four Manhattan private schools, three on Monday and one on Tuesday.

Ava, it seems, is moving to the city.

Margaret will not let herself get too excited, although it’s difficult. A piece of her has yearned for Ava’s daily presence since Kelley moved the three kids up to Nantucket twenty years earlier. Now, the joy of possibly having her daughter in the city on a permanent basis crowds out all other thoughts. It becomes all Margaret wants, and she has to keep herself from offering Ava the moon: She will buy Ava her own apartment! She will hire Ava a driver! She will pay Ava’s gym membership at Equinox. She and Ava will go to the theater every week and brunch at Le Bilboquet every Sunday. Margaret thinks back to when Paddy and Kevin were small and Ava just a baby and how drained she had felt, how shackled. All she had wished for was freedom to pursue her career. Then, when she did pursue her career, she was encumbered with debilitating guilt. It was the challenge of working mothers everywhere, she supposed: wanting to be in two places at once. Margaret had struggled to raise her children while still nurturing herself. Back then, Margaret could never have guessed that, when she was sixty-one, the people she would most want to spend time with-aside from Drake-would be her grown children.

Ava moving to the city is too much to hope for. It’s like an iridescent soap bubble-if Margaret touches it, it will pop. Ava may get to the city and find it noisy and overwhelming, chaotic and dirty, and run back to the safe, close-knit community of Nantucket, where she is a big fish in a small pond. Manhattan can be an intimidating place even when every door is open.

Margaret kisses Ava good-bye on Monday morning. Ava is wearing a blue-and-white DVF wrap dress and a pair of nude Manolo heels, both borrowed from Margaret. She looks beautiful and professional.

“Are you sure you don’t want Raoul to take you around?” Margaret asks. “He’s happy to do it. He’ll welcome the change.”

“I’m sure,” Ava says. “I can walk, and if it starts to rain, I’ll take a taxi.”

“Okay,” Margaret says. “We’ll see you at eight o’clock tonight at Café Cluny.”

“West Twelfth Street,” Ava says.

“Yes,” Margaret says. She picked that restaurant because it’s close to Drake’s apartment, and the plan is-if Ava moves to the city-she will live in Drake’s apartment until she saves enough money to get a place of her own. “But downtown can be confusing. If you want, you can meet me at the studio.”

“Mom,” Ava says. “Stop worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Ava looks better than fine at eight o’clock at Café Cluny. She is already seated when Drake and Margaret arrive. She has changed into jeans, boots, a shimmery top, and a suede fringed jacket.

“How did it go?” Margaret asks. Her heart is in her throat, and Drake squeezes her hand, which is probably a signal that she should moderate her tone. He knows how badly she wants this.

“It was amazing,” Ava says. “I already have verbal offers from two of the three schools.”

Yes! Margaret barely stifles a cheer.

Drake says, “This calls for a toast.”

AVA

She has never been one for princess fantasies, but her first day seeking a new life in New York makes her feel like Cinderella. She goes to interviews at three private schools, schools that might seem elitist to an outsider, but once Ava steps inside the hushed, rarefied atmosphere of learning, she is instantly converted. The commitment to music education and appreciation at all three schools is what Ava has dreamed of. At the first school, the Albany, there is a piano tuner kept on staff. Each of the three music conservatories contains a Steinway baby grand; there is live piano music for every level of ballet class. Ava is invited to sit down at one, and she can’t help showing off, playing the same Schubert impromptu that she played when she was trying to impress Nathaniel. At the second school, Bainbridge Academy, attendance at one full season of the New York Philharmonic is required for graduation. And at the final school, Copper Hill, which is more progressive, there is a bona fide recording studio where students can write and produce their own original songs.

The headmasters at all three schools seem captivated by Ava and she wonders if they know she’s Margaret Quinn’s daughter. If so, they don’t mention it. They are far too discreet and sophisticated, and in this stratum of New York, everyone rubs elbows with the famous all the time. Sophia Loren’s granddaughter goes to the Albany, and Bainbridge Academy has the children of Broadway stars, bestselling novelists, and two starting linemen for the New York Giants. The headmasters seem intrigued by Ava’s teaching career on Nantucket. It’s such a small district, so far out to sea. What is it like? they ask. Aren’t you isolated? Ava starts to feel as though she’s been teaching in Never-Never Land and has only now decided to join the real world.

Her observation notes are excellent, the headmaster at the Albany tells her. Her recommendations are positively glowing. The Albany would like to hire her. The same is true at Bainbridge Academy-and the salaries at both schools are considerably higher than what she presently makes. At Copper Hill, where Ava would be overseeing the entire music department-including band, orchestra, choir, two madrigal groups, two a cappella groups, and the musical theater program-the process is longer and more involved. The headmistress at Copper Hill says she would like Ava to come back the next day to meet with the selection committee.

Ava has an interview scheduled at the Raleigh-Dawes School on the East Side at ten o’clock the next morning but after her last interview today, she decides to cancel. She wants the job at Copper Hill more than she has ever wanted anything in her life. It’s a huge, challenging position where she would run a department, manage a budget, and encourage a philosophy of living a life steeped in the arts! It is so much bigger than her classroom job at Nantucket Elementary School that she feels intimidated. But also energized! This is a career. A career for Ava Quinn!

She expresses her fervent wish to her mother and Drake over dinner at Café Cluny.

“Copper Hill?” Margaret says. “On West Seventieth?”

Ava nods as she dives into her Cluny burger. This place is adorable and the food is delicious, and Ava is pretty sure Darcy picked it out when Margaret told her she needed somewhere that would make Ava feel excited about moving to New York. It does boggle Ava’s mind how great this restaurant is, but there are thirty others just as good in a ten-block radius. The variety! The choices! Ava can’t believe how long it’s taken for her to realize what she’s been missing.

“Lee and Ginny Kramer’s children go to Copper Hill,” Margaret says. “I’m sorry, I heard you say the names of the schools but I didn’t put two and two together until just this second.”

“Oh,” Drake says, raising his eyebrows. “Does Lee sit on the board?”

Margaret laughs. “He hardly has time. And Ginny is even busier than Lee is. But…”

“No,” Ava says. “Don’t.” She doesn’t want any help from the head of CBS and the editor of Vogue, although a phone call from either one would no doubt do the trick. “I want to get this job on my own merits.”

Drake plucks a frite from Margaret’s plate. “Good for you,” he says.

On the way to her second Copper Hill interview in the morning, Ava stops at Holy Trinity and lights a candle for Bart. Is any act truly selfless? she wonders. She aches for Bart’s return as keenly as she ever has, but now there’s even more at stake. She’s likely going to leave Nantucket. Move out of the inn. Kelley and Mitzi will have an empty nest and Ava isn’t sure they can handle that.

Ava is wearing a winter-white dress with black trim and black lace Manolo Blahniks-both her mother’s. She loves dressing up for work and never gets the chance; she would sooner wear roller skates to Nantucket Elementary than heels. The only teacher in the district who wears heels is… Roxanne Oliveria.

Ava can’t think about Roxanne right now. Here she goes!

She knocks the interview out of the park. She pauses and considers before every answer; she is funny, self-effacing, knowledgeable. She draws on her classical training at Peabody, her love of the piano, her practical experience with musical theater. (She directed The King and I, Pippin, and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at the high school.) She sings a few bars from Godspell. Why not? And when they ask if she has anything to add, she says: “My father moved us from Manhattan to Nantucket when I was nine years old. My mother stayed in New York to pursue her career.” Pause. She nearly said her career in broadcasting but then thought better of it. “My father wanted to raise us in a small, close-knit community where we didn’t have to lock our cars, where we knew our neighbors, where we could ride our bikes to school. I love those aspects of Nantucket and I also love the way the island expands socially and intellectually in the summer. But I’m ready to grow beyond the confines of Nantucket. On a personal level, I am unencumbered-no husband, no children-so there is nothing and no one to stop me from getting some air under these wings. I am so excited by the opportunity to lead the music department at Copper Hill. You may have candidates who are more qualified, but you don’t have anyone who will give this position more of him- or herself than me.”

The committee looks-intrigued? Impressed? Ava mists up, then reins in her surging emotions.

The headmistress beams at her. “Thank you, Ava,” she says. “We value nothing at Copper Hill more than heart.”

Ava is all dialed up when she leaves the school. She wants to call her mother but Margaret is filming a 60 Minutes interview with Ellen DeGeneres. Ava doesn’t feel she can call her father, Mitzi, Kevin, or anyone on Nantucket; she fears they won’t understand her brand-new love affair with the city. Shelby will be at school, and even if she took Ava’s call, she would be the worst of the lot. Every time the topic of Ava moving to New York comes up, Shelby starts to cry.

Nathaniel? No.

Scott? Definitely not.

Who does she know who will appreciate her imminent leap into a new, urban life?

Potter Lyons is so excited to hear from Ava that Ava gets excited as well.

“I have a seminar from one to four today,” he says. “Otherwise, I would take you out drinking. I can’t believe you’re here! I can’t believe you’re moving here!”

“Definitely moving,” Ava says. She has the offers from the Albany and Bainbridge Academy, like two gold coins in her pocket. “The question is… great job or dream job?”

“Copper Hill is such a utopia,” Potter says. “If the chairmanship of the literature department became available, I would snap it up.”

“You’d leave the Ivy League?” Ava says.

“The students are ruined by the time they get to me,” Potter says. “I love the wonder of high school kids. Middle school, even better. You can actually mold them, influence them, make a difference.”

He’s speaking her language. That’s what Ava wants. A classroom filled with kids who want to learn.

“You have to have dinner with me tonight,” Potter says. “Can you? There’s a place called Fish down on Bleecker. It’s basically a dive with cold PBR and a ridiculous raw bar. A guy shucks ten kinds of oysters while you throw peanut shells on the floor.”

“Sounds divine,” Ava says. Margaret and Drake have a benefit for the Boys and Girls Clubs tonight, so she was on her own anyway. “I’ll meet you there at seven.”

It is only when Ava sees Potter standing in front of Fish that she wonders if this counts as a date. Potter is wearing jeans and a black crewneck sweater and black suede loafers without socks, even though it’s November.

He is too good-looking for her, yet he beams when Ava emerges from the cab.

He nearly picks her up off the ground in his embrace. She feels the surge of desire she experienced on the Sunfish in Anguilla and then again at the Bar after her mother’s wedding.

Fresh perspective, she thinks. She raises her face, and Potter doesn’t hesitate. He kisses her until she feels light-headed and has to grab his arms. His sweater is so soft. It’s cashmere.

Two things occur to Ava in that moment: She is going to owe Shelby dinner at the Club Car. With caviar. And no matter which job she takes, she will never have to teach the recorder again.