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.