Surfcasting, Griff, the kissing. Margot needed a parking space. She had waved back at Griff, but lamely. What would he make of that? What would he be thinking? The one thing I miss about being married is having someone to talk to late at night, someone to tell the stupid stuff. Did Roger have a picture of Jenna’s face plastered to his dartboard? Was he trying to stick her between the eyes? He would get paid regardless; their father would lose a lot of money if Jenna canceled, but of course that was no reason to go through with the wedding. Edge was coming today, or so Doug had said, but Margot was trying not to care. Of course she did care, but that caring was buried under her concern for Jenna and her urgent desire to salvage the wedding, and her pressing need for a parking space.
In front of her, someone pulled out.
Hallelujah, praise the Lord, Margot thought. She was, after all, going to church.
The Congregational Church, otherwise known as the north church or the white spire church (as opposed to the south church, or the clock tower church, which was Unitarian) was the final place that Beth’s ashes had been scattered. Beth wasn’t a member of this church; she was Episcopalian and had attended St. Paul’s with the rest of the family. Beth had asked for her ashes to be scattered from the Congregational Church tower because it looked out over the whole island. Doug, fearing that tossing his wife’s remains from the tower window might be frowned upon by the church staff, or possibly even deemed illegal, had suggested they smuggle Beth’s ashes up the stairs. They had gone at the very end of the day, after all the other tourists had vacated, and the surreptitious nature of their mission had made it feel mischievous, even fun-and the somberness of the occasion had been alleviated a bit. Margot had stuffed the box of ashes in her Fendi hobo bag, and Kevin had pried open a window at the top. Beth’s remains had fallen softly, like snowflakes. Most of her ashes had landed on the church’s green lawn, but Margot imagined that bits had been carried farther afield by the breeze. She lay in the treetops, on the gambrel roofs; she dusted the streets and fertilized the pocket gardens.
Margot entered the church and checked the sanctuary for Jenna. It was deserted.
The Congregationalists normally asked a volunteer to man the station by the stairway that led to the tower. But today the station was unoccupied. There was a table with a small basket and a card asking for donations of any amount. Margot had no money on her. She silently apologized as she headed up the stairs.
Up, up, up. The stairway was unventilated, and Margot grew dizzy. Those martinis, all that wine, four bites of lobster, Elvis Costello, Warren Zevon, Griff’s brother killed in a highway accident. Chance’s mother at the groomsmen’s house at the same time as Ann Graham. Was that awkward? What was it like for Ann to see the woman whom her husband had had an affair with so many years ago? Margot would someday meet Lily the Pilates instructor; Margot would probably be invited to the wedding, since she and Drum Sr. were still friends. Margot used to love to watch Drum surf; she had been unable to resist him. All her children had his magic, if that was what it was, despite Carson’s near flunking and Ellie’s hoarding; they were all illuminated from within, which was a characteristic inherited from Drum, not from her. Kevin was an ass, Margot didn’t know how Beanie could stand him, and yet she’d been standing him just fine since she was fourteen years old. So there, Margot thought. Love did last. She wondered if her father had read the last page of the Notebook. She must remind him.
Margot was huffing by the time she reached the final flight of stairs. She couldn’t think about anything but the pain in her lungs. And water-she was dying of thirst.
At the top of the tower was the room with the windows. Standing at the window facing east-toward their house on Orange Street-was Jenna.
Margot gasped. She realized she hadn’t actually expected to find anyone up here, perhaps least of all the person she was looking for.
“Hey,” Jenna said. She sounded unsurprised and unimpressed. She was wearing the backless peach dress, which was now so bedraggled that she resembled a character from one of the stories they’d read as children-a street urchin from Dickens, Sara Crewe from A Little Princess, the Little Match Girl. She wore no shoes. If anyone but Margot had discovered Jenna up here, they would have called the police.
“Hey,” Margot said. She tried to keep her voice tender. She wasn’t positive that Jenna hadn’t completely lost her mind.
“I saw you walking up the street,” Jenna said. “I knew you were coming.”
“I had a hard time finding a parking spot,” Margot said. “Have you been here long?”
Jenna shrugged. “A little while.”
Margot moved closer to Jenna. Her eyes were puffy, and her face was streaked with tears, although she wasn’t crying now. She was just staring out the window, over the streets of town and the blue scoop of harbor. Margot followed her gaze. Something about this vantage point transported Margot back 150 years, to the days of Alfred Coates Hamilton and the whaling industry, when Nantucket had been responsible for most of the country’s oil production. Women had stood on rooftops, scanning the horizon for the ships that their husbands or fathers or brothers were sailing on.
“I have a question,” Margot said.
“What’s that?” Jenna asked.
“Did you go to Brant Point?”
“Yes,” Jenna said.
“And did you go to Madaket?”
“Of course,” Jenna said.
“I didn’t see you,” Margot said. “If you had biked to Madaket, I would have seen you.”
“I didn’t bike,” Jenna said. “I hitched a ride.”
“You hitched?” Margot said. “I’m surprised anyone stopped to pick you up. You look like an Alphabet City junkie.”
“Four Bulgarian guys in a red pickup,” Jenna said. “It was pretty funny. They’re baggers at the Stop & Shop.”
“That’s not funny,” Margot said. “They could have taken advantage of you. Who brought you back to town?”
“The guy driving the Santos Rubbish truck.”
“Really?” Margot said.
“Really,” Jenna said.
“But you knew I would come looking for you, right?” Margot said. “You knew I would find you.”
“I figured probably,” Jenna said.
Margot gulped fresh air from the one partially open window. She was sweating, she was very, very thirsty, and Roger-who represented 150 people and over a hundred thousand dollars-was waiting for an answer one way or the other.
“Listen…” Margot said.
“No,” Jenna said. “You listen.”
Margot clamped her mouth shut and nodded once sharply. She hadn’t known what to say next anyway.
“I thought Stuart was different,” Jenna said. “I thought he was a good egg.”
“Jenna,” Margot said. “He is a good egg.”
“He’s just like everyone else,” Jenna said. She cleared her throat, then said, “Finn slept with Nick! She told me she thinks she’s fallen in love with him! After one afternoon on a paddleboard, she thought nothing of letting him join her in the outdoor shower, the second you walked out the door!”
Margot put up a traffic cop hand. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t tell me any details.”