27
Lidia insisted on giving her a ride to the beach. She drove a battered pickup truck, and Elodie settled in the passenger seat with Pearl on her lap. Heading down Commercial, she felt every bump in the road. She realized she hadn’t seen a single traffic light in town.
“So you met my brother-in-law, Tito?” Lidia said.
“Yes. We walked our dogs together.”
“We encouraged him to get a pet because we thought he seemed lonely,” Lidia said. “He never married, you know.”
Elodie glanced over. “Yes, well, not everyone gets married.”
They passed marshes and a long stone jetty. In the far distance, a small island with a lighthouse.
“You can walk the jetty all the way to Long Point,” Lidia said.
She looked out at the jetty. It seemed an unwise endeavor to traverse the uneven rocks out into the water as far as the eye could see. But people were apparently busy doing just that.
“How many miles is that?”
“Six,” said Lidia. “It goes surprisingly quickly. But when my kids were growing up I always warned them not to go out there after dark, and certainly not to go out after they’d been drinking. Just the thought of it kept me awake at night. I’m sure you can imagine.”
Actually, she couldn’t. Why did people always assume that just because she was a woman of a certain age she was also a mother? The only thing more irritating were the people who called her Mrs. Pavlin.
Lidia continued along Province Lands Road. A breeze blew off the salt water and Elodie inhaled. To their right, houses sat high on the grassy hilltops. The road became flanked by sand dunes. They passed a sign that read Entering Cape Cod National Seashore and reached a stretch where the side of the street was filled with dozens of parked bicycles.
“What’s that all about?” Elodie said.
“Oh, that’s just Boy Beach.”
What on earth was “boy beach”? She’d never heard of such a thing. Was she going to “girl beach”? Was there a “middle-aged woman beach”?
They turned in to a large parking lot and the ocean stretched out like a deep blue, undulating blanket. The sand was obscured behind tall seagrass and beach roses. Lidia pulled into a spot but didn’t turn off the engine.
“There’s the entry point to the beach—you’ll see a blue tarp path. Back there are the snacks and bathrooms. Have fun. Let me know if you need a ride back.”
“That’s very kind of you but I’ll get a cab later.”
“Give me a call if you change your mind. Oh—and you’re welcome to join us for dinner tonight. I’m just doing oysters and rice—very simple.”
Elodie thanked her, but she was distracted. Stepping out of the truck, watching Lidia drive away, something deep inside her felt off. Maybe it was the talk of marriage, of loneliness. She ignored it, getting Pearl hooked onto her leash and heading to the clearing where people entered the beach with their fold-up chairs and coolers.
No, it wasn’t the conversation with Lidia that left her unsettled. It was her niece’s fixation on the Electric Rose. She wished her father had never discovered that diamond! She knew, or should have known, from the very beginning that the diamond was cursed. Not in the sensationalist way the stupid tabloids implied, but it was truly a trigger for misfortune. No one could deny that.
The first warning bell should have been that after years of her father bringing her into every meeting, consulting her about everything from brand strategy to design, he was suddenly tight-lipped about the launch of the Electric Rose. All she knew was that he was hosting a black-tie party at the store, with hundreds of press and VIPs invited. She and her mother went to Vera Wang for custom evening gowns, and her mother said with a wink, “Maybe we’ll be coming back here soon for a white dress.” Elodie, who prided herself on being grounded and work-focused, almost swooned.
Her father encouraged her to bring Liam as her date to the party. She hesitated; six months into their relationship, it was their first public outing and she was nervous that he’d find it overwhelming. Growing up in the Manhattan spotlight, like other children of the rich and famous, she was used to cameras and the occasional odd item in the gossip columns. But Liam was from a small town in Pennsylvania. His parents had never even been to New York City. He once told her he hadn’t eaten in a real restaurant until college.
“I want you to be there, but I’m warning you it’ll be a circus,” she said.
The night of the party at Pavlin & Co, they arrived together in a Lincoln Town Car, and when he came around and opened the door for her, she felt beautiful for the first time in her life.
The crush of press outside the store on Fifth Avenue was overwhelming. Security had to help them through the front door, and they traversed a red carpet as if they were going to the Academy Awards.
Paulina arrived in a car with Celeste and Brodie, and photographers called for Paulina by name, jockeying for a photo they could use in gossip columns. She was dressed in hot-pink silk, a vintage Halston gown that tied around her neck and billowed out below her waist. But even her attention-grabbing sister couldn’t outshine the true star of the evening: the Electric Rose. Elodie had devoured that morning’s New York Times article about the remarkable size and clarity of the stone her father was introducing into the public view. It was a heady thing to be custodian of such a treasure. She couldn’t help but feel a touch of reverence for the moment at hand.
The publicity team arranged for the three sisters and their dates to stand side by side next to the podium where her father was speaking. A few feet away, roped off and flanked by armed guards, the pink diamond was displayed on a base of black velvet. The overhead light gave it an otherworldly glow.
“Now, while some notable diamonds have been worn only by movie stars, that will not be the case for the Electric Rose,” Alan said. “This stone will only be worn by one of my daughters standing before you here tonight. Because Pavlin is about family.”
The room burst into applause. Celeste exchanged a surprised glance with Elodie. What was this all about?
“The Electric Rose will be gifted to the first of my daughters to get engaged,” Alan said, beaming.
Someone gasped. It might have been her. Or one of her sisters. She turned to look at Liam. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand, and there was no diamond in the world that was as valuable as the way he made her feel. And yet, she wanted that diamond. It was symbolic; the greatest treasure of Pavlin & Co should go to the daughter who was part of Pavlin & Co. And as her father always reminded them: A diamond says love.
She didn’t want Liam to feel pressured to propose, but a part of her was already fantasizing about it, how it was all coming together for her. The man, the ring, the company. She was the future of Pavlin & Co. The long competition she’d felt with her sisters was over, and she’d won.
Now, all these years later, on a strange beach in a distant town, she was still grieving for what should have been hers.
Celeste insisted on cooking Gemma a farewell dinner. Jack picked up steak at Mac’s market and she bought asparagus at Angel Foods and a bottle of sauvignon blanc from Perry’s. At the last minute, she made a quick trip to Connie’s Bakery for pie.
She set the beat-up picnic table in the back with citronella candles from Good Scents, and the blue and white striped runner in Turkish cotton she’d splurged on at Loveland. Shopping in Provincetown always felt delicious and special and a little bit like she was discovering things no one else had, even though everyone shopped at the same places. But the shop owners were such devoted curators that their passion spilled over into the experience for the buyer. It was a high bar that Celeste strived for with Queen Anne’s Revenge.
“This is delicious. Thanks, Aunt Celeste,” Gemma said.
She was a sweet girl, really. It had been a great idea to bring her along to the estate sale. Gemma enjoyed it, and Celeste had the satisfaction of getting to act like an aunt for the first time in far too long. Still, she was ready for things to get back to normal. She was glad she’d made the offer for Gemma to stay but, at the same time, was a little relieved she insisted on leaving tomorrow morning. The ugliness of the conversation at Liz’s Café was bad energy that she didn’t want to be around. The sooner Gemma and Elodie went back to their own lives, the sooner she could return to her own.
All around them, nocturnal insects clicked and hummed in the bushes. Something scurried nearby, and she wondered if it was one of the baby rabbits she’d seen nibbling in the grass earlier.
“So what did you two ladies get up to today?” Jack said. His tan had deepened after a day on the boat. He’d gone out to the oyster beds with Manny’s son, Marco. Lately, he seemed more interested in spending time on the water than at the store, and Marco’s nascent oyster farm seemed to tap into Jack’s nostalgia for his seafaring days. It was fine—the store was really her baby and she didn’t mind doing most of the work. But until they replaced Alvie, he might need to be more hands-on. It was a conversation for later.
“We went to an estate sale in Wellfleet,” Celeste said.
“You didn’t buy more, did you?”
“I did. Why?” She knew why: Sometimes she spent too much and they didn’t sell-through by the end of the season.
“Celeste, we have a ton of inventory. Please: No more buying until after the Fourth of July. Then we can at least see where we’re at.”
He was right. Always so maddeningly practical. She knew opposites attracted, and opposites balanced each other. But sometimes it was irritating.
“They had beautiful things,” Gemma said, clearly trying to be on Team Celeste. “I couldn’t resist buying a few pieces myself.” She went on and on about the remarkable costume jewelry selection, 1940s pieces by designer Miriam Haskell and a 1950s brooch designed by Elsa Schiaparelli.
“Well, I hope you snatched them up,” Jack said. “Not all sales are treasure troves. We’ve gone to more than our share of duds, right, hon?”
Celeste nodded. “That’s true.”
“Sadly, no,” Gemma said. “They were too expensive. But I did find some collectible pieces that I can use in my own jewelry designs and I bought those.”
“Oh, I wish you’d told me,” Celeste said. “I would have . . . Were they really that expensive?” Maybe she could go back for something and send it to her. She thought of the extravagant pieces Gemma’s mother used to wear—five-carat diamond earrings for a day at the beach—and yet this young woman wouldn’t buy fake jewelry at a house sale.
“It’s fine,” Gemma said with a wave. “I don’t wear that stuff. But I studied a lot of jewelry design history and some of the artisans working with non-precious stones were the most inventive. I admire their work.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, looking at Gemma with interest. “You know a lot about antiques?”
“Just antique jewelry,” she said.
“We do need a new part-timer . . .” he said.
Celeste glared at him. How could he make such a suggestion without discussing it with her first? She’d told him she felt uncomfortable with her family around. She had no interest in turning a casual visit into an employment situation.
“Gemma’s leaving tomorrow,” Celeste said quickly.
Gemma sipped her wine, placing the glass down carefully on the wooden table and not the runner. “Actually, Aunt Celeste, I was rethinking your offer. About staying longer. I really don’t have anything to rush back to. I can manage my Instagram from anywhere, and if you need help in your store, I’m happy to pitch in.”
So this was happening. Paulina’s daughter was moving into her house and working at her store.
“Glad this worked out,” Jack said, pushing his seat back and collecting a few plates. “You two can chat about the details. I’ll go fetch the pie.”