On the subject of her mother, Adrienne said: She was a lovely person. The loveliest. Gracious, kind, funny. She died when I was twelve of ovarian cancer.
I’m sorry, Fiona said. Do you worry that you’ll get it?
Get what?
Cancer.
No.
On the subject of her father: He’s getting married again after sixteen years. To the woman he brought here, Mavis.
Will you go to the wedding?
Yes.
When will that be?
October sixteenth.
Oh, Fiona said. That’s my birthday. I’ll be thirty-six.
This was followed by a space of silence.
On the subject of her travels: My favorite place aside from Nantucket has been Thailand.
Never been, Fiona said. Never been anywhere. Not going anywhere.
Right before Adrienne became aware of the time, she had been regaling Fiona with the story of Doug, the cocaine, the theft of Adrienne’s Future, the arrest. Fiona was shaking her head, coughing. She drank some water, then she poured the last of the champagne, and watching it dribble out of the bottle snapped Adrienne out of her reverie. And Fiona, too, because she said, “I think we should talk about Thatcher.”
“Should we?” Adrienne said. She was drunk now-again-and talking about Thatcher sounded like a bad idea. And yet, the tone of Fiona’s voice made it seem like this had been the point of the whole dinner: to talk about Thatcher.
“We should,” Fiona said. Her long hair hung over the back of her chair and her face had regained its color-lightly suntanned with freckles across her nose. Adrienne felt her eyes drooping, but Fiona seemed as alert as ever. Alert, intense, focused. What was the first thing Thatch had ever said about her? My partner, Fiona. She never sleeps.
“Go ahead,” Adrienne said with a grand sweep of her hand. “Talk.”
Fiona fidgeted with the crusts of bread on her plate. She’d eaten nearly the whole sandwich and half the pickle. “I’ve never talked to one of Thatcher’s girlfriends like this before,” she said.
“He told me he didn’t have girlfriends.”
“He had a girlfriend in high school. Carrie Tolbert. She hated me,” Fiona said. “And he had a girlfriend in college, Bridget, her name was. Hated me. And since he’s been on Nantucket… the occasional one-night stand he never wanted me to find out about.” She took a huge breath, like she was planning on going underwater. “Anyway, here’s what I want to tell you, because I think it’s only fair you should know. Thatcher and I have a special bond.”
For whatever reason, these words incensed Adrienne. They made her as mad as a bee sting, or a glass of ice water in her face, or lemon juice in her eye. Something clicked in her, or unclicked.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Adrienne said. “You can start by telling me how you’ve known each other since you were in diapers. Then you can tell me about how you walked together on the first day of kindergarten and about how he tried to kiss you on top of the slide the night before tenth grade started when you were out drinking on the elementary school playground. I’ve heard it. You pushed him away. But you never let him go. You invited him to Nantucket because you knew he would sell everything he had and hand it over to you. Now it’s twelve years later and the man is as devoted to you as ever. You wonder why he never has girlfriends, and why the ones he did have resented you. You wonder!” Adrienne paused. She felt like a bottle of Laurent-Perrier that had been violently shaken and then opened, spewing everywhere. Restraint was a mountaintop on a faraway continent. She couldn’t stop herself. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to tell me you have a special bond like I am too stupid to have figured it out on my own. Where do you think I’ve been the last three months, Fiona? He’s my boyfriend. I sleep with him every night. But you think I don’t know that you’re in bed with us, too? That you never leave his mind? I get it, Fiona. Your relationship is special. It is more special than my relationship with Thatcher. It is the most special.”
Fiona was quiet, staring out at the moonlit water like she hadn’t even heard. “I was afraid this would happen.”
“What?”
“You’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” Adrienne shouted. “I’d just like some credit for understanding how things are. My first date with the man he ate exactly nothing and left me cold as soon as you called. The night he first told me he loved me he made sure he mentioned that he loved you, too. ‘Differently,’ he said, whatever that means.”
“It means we’re friends,” Fiona said. “Nothing but friends.”
“Nothing but friends!” Adrienne said incredulously. “Thatcher is yours and he’s been yours all along.”
“I’ve never seen him like he is this summer,” Fiona said. “You changed him. He’s different. He’s happy.”
“That may be,” Adrienne said. “But it won’t mean much in the end. You know it and I know it.” She threw her napkin onto her empty plate and moved her chair back from the table. “This was a nice dinner. I enjoyed myself. But just now I can’t figure out why you invited me here. Did you want to gloat?”
“No,” Fiona said. In the moonlight, her tank top and pants looked very white, like she was an angel. Or a ghost. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”
TO: DrDon@toothache.com
FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com
DATE: August 16, 2005, 9:33 A.M.
SUBJECT: the sturgeon moon
The full moon in August is called the sturgeon moon by the Native Americans. There’s a piece of useless trivia to share with your patients.
Did you know that the summer you sent me to Camp Hideaway I lied to all the girls in my cabin? I told them my brother was dying. Jonathan. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t exactly a lie because I did have a brother Jonathan who died. But for years I wondered what it was that made me say that. Why not just say Mom was sick? I wasn’t okay saying she was sick and I’ve never been okay saying that she’s dead. I never learned to deal with it, Dad. I never learned how to make it okay in my own mind.
I know the girls in my cabin had a reunion later that summer. Pammy Ipp told me about it in a letter. They all met at the Cherry Hill Mall and ate at the food court. She wrote to let me know I hadn’t been invited.
Love.
TO: Ade12177@hotmail.com
FROM: DrDon@toothache.com
DATE: August 16, 2005, 10:27 A.M.
SUBJECT: none
Honey, are you all right? Love, love, love.
TO: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com
FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com
DATE: August 16, 2005, 9:42 A.M.
SUBJECT: Another season
I don’t know how things got so messed up. I came here for money and money I now have. I thought that was what I wanted-money saved up for my Future. Then I fell in love and now my wanting is ten-fold but the problem is that what I want doesn’t have a price. It’s this big, important, shapeless thing-I want to be loved in return, I want my situation to be different, somehow, but I don’t even know how. I thought I had problems in Aspen. Ha! I did not. In comparison, I did not.
TO: Ade12177@hotmail.com
FROM: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com
DATE: August 16, 2005, 12:02 P.M.
SUBJECT: Another season