Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Fourth of July was Elise’s favorite holiday and had been ever since she’d moved to Provincetown. In P’town, for her, the holiday was not just a celebration of the country’s independence but a symbol of her own life journey.

At noon, she sat on the steps of Tea by the Sea watching the parade pass by: the floats and music and hordes of people with their faces painted red, white, and blue; the sequined Uncle Sam hats; a sign that read WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT, THAT ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL with the MEN crossed out and replaced in red lettering with PEOPLE.

Sometimes, Elise felt that becoming an adult was a process of unlearning much of what she’d been taught as a child. For most people, growing up was about learning more, and she envied them.

Girls grow up to marry men.

Elise had been six years old when she realized this would never be true for her. It was a big uh-oh moment. It remained a big uh-oh until her twenties.

Falling in love with Fern had changed that. Her sexual orientation was not a problem to be dealt with. It was not a mistake. It was not something to apologize for, not even to her parents.

Another sign passed by: LIFE. LIBERTY. THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.

Together, she and Fern had certainly pursued happiness. But ultimately, it was not their parents or society that had gotten in the way. It was just life, the stumbling blocks that every couple faced.

The question was, how much damage had been done? Elise had not seen Fern in a week. One thing led to another led to another, and she was busy every day in Boston. Fern was there for work and Elise had no reason to believe otherwise, but she couldn’t help thinking back to that night last summer when she went to find her at the piano bar and she was not where she’d said she would be. I’m not having an affair…I’ve thought about it. I mean, things have not been great.

From a purely business standpoint, Fern should be in Provincetown. What could be more important than building up their clientele while they had the summer foot traffic? Fern could spend the fall traveling to expand. It just seemed too convenient that they were arguing over the baby and suddenly Fern felt this urgency to maximize their wholesale opportunities.

Elise pulled her phone out of the pocket of her cargo shorts and dialed Fern. It went straight to voice mail. A few seconds later, a text pinged: Can’t talk.

Fern was manning a Tea by the Sea booth at a big corporate-sponsored outdoor festival that she’d gotten into via one of her old contacts from the financial industry. “It will be great exposure for us,” she’d said when she broke the news that she would be working on the Fourth.

Elise typed, Do you think you’ll make it back in time to catch the tail end of the party?

Elise waited for a response. Dots appeared then disappeared. And then: Doubtful. But have fun!

Have fun? Elise wanted to cry.

  

Picnic tables had been set up in the area between the Barros house and the dock, and disco music played. In the distance, the water was filled with so many boats it looked like a regatta. One brazen seagull wandered over to Elise.

“I don’t have anything for you,” she told it, then let out a deep sigh. The day was beautiful and festive. It was a day meant to be shared. Fern knew what this holiday was like in Provincetown, and yet she’d chosen to stay away. Not a good sign.

Elise parked the stroller at the base of the front steps and carried Mira up to the house. Inside, she found Lidia and Jaci busy cooking. “Marco asked me to bring some seaweed tea,” she told Lidia. She kissed her on the cheek and pulled two tins out of her tote bag. “But I figured I’d take pity on your guests and bring some Strawberry Meadows too.”

“The seaweed is growing on me. No pun intended,” Lidia said, scooping Mira out of Elise’s arms and cradling her. “Oh, this baby. She’s making me impatient for grandchildren.” She turned to Jaci. “Will I get grandchildren someday?”

“I don’t know, Ma. Ask Marco.”

A timer sounded with a shrill ringing.

“That’s my rice,” Lidia said, passing Mira back to Elise. “As much as I’d love to just stand here fawning over her.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“No, no—go outside and relax. I think Marco is out there.”

“Can I go outside and relax?” Jaci said.

“Jaci Barros, sometimes I just want to—”

“Why isn’t Marco in the kitchen? This family is sexist.”

Lidia reached for a pot of oysters. “Marco pulled this out of the sea! You don’t mind sexism when he’s doing the heavy lifting.” She muttered something in Portuguese, shaking her head.

The door slid open and Clifford Henry appeared, his arms laden with wine bottles. “Let the festivities begin!” he said.

“Heavens, Clifford. Did you leave Vin’s with any stock?”

“I was having one of those moments. Indecisiveness is my Achilles’ heel. So I bought some red, some white, some rosé, some fizz…”

Lidia relieved him of two of the bottles.

“Allow me,” Clifford said, setting the bottle of Prosecco on the table and removing the foil from the top. “And hello to you, Ms. Douglas. It’s been a while and I have a bone to pick with you.” He popped the cork, and wine fizzed over the side. Jaci quickly produced a few glasses.

Elise could not imagine what his issue with her could be, but she did not have any interest in finding out.

“I thought this was going to be an outdoor party,” Bianca said, wandering in. She was wearing her usual all-black garb; today, it was a short-sleeved dress and black mules. Her hair was back in a tight bun.

“Did our merrymaking disturb you?” Clifford said, gesturing for Jaci to hand him one more glass. “You need a drink, my dear. As usual.”

“I do,” Bianca said. “That parade was exhausting.”

“Oh? Were you in it?”

“No. But I suffered through hearing it for three hours straight.”

“How about you, Elise? Was there a Tea by the Sea float?” Clifford asked.

“Maybe next summer,” she said, shifting Mira in her arms. She felt Bianca looking at the baby and wondered how she could gracefully exit.

“Oh! That reminds me,” Clifford said. “Speaking of next summer, my dear, if you enlist me to rent out your house for the season, you must not then decide to move back in. Frankly, it’s bad for business.”

Next summer? She couldn’t even think about next week. If she and Fern broke up, what would happen to Shell Haven? She couldn’t bear to think about it. She refused to think about it.

“You shouldn’t have rented it out to begin with!” Bianca said. “My daughter didn’t sell it to you so you could turn it into some sort of boardinghouse for tourists.”

“Okay, that’s enough, everyone,” Lidia said, shooing them toward the door. “Take the bubbly onto the deck. And while you’re at it, grab the sangria I have in the fridge.”

“Your sangria should come with a warning label,” Clifford said. “And I mean that as the highest compliment.”

Elise hung back and asked for a place to change Mira.

“You can use my room,” Jaci said.

It was a relief to be alone for a minute. She closed the bedroom door and sat at Jaci’s small desk. It was built into the wall, a masterpiece of custom woodworking that Manny had done himself. When Elise had first visited the house, Lidia had proudly detailed all of her husband’s handiwork.

It was wonderful to have a partner.

“But it might just be you and me, kid,” Elise said, resting Mira on her bent knees. She waved at her, and Mira smiled.

She smiled. At her!

“Oh my God. Your first smile!”

A knock at the door.

“Come in,” Elise said.

Jaci peered inside. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering if you needed any help with her. I can watch her for a while if you want to hang out with people and be, like, an adult for the night.”

“Jaci, you won’t believe this. She just smiled! And it wasn’t, like, just a gassy smile that was a reflex. I said something to her and waved, and she smiled back.”

“Aww, that’s amazing, Elise.”

Elise resisted the urge to pick up her phone and text Fern the news. She would have to be satisfied with sharing the moment with Jaci. Jaci, who had been so empathetic when Elise had admitted her sorrow over her failed attempt to have a baby. She understood why Lidia might be frustrated with Jaci, but she was a good kid.

Elise changed Mira quickly, then turned to Jaci. “Let’s go outside and have some fun,” she said.

  

The extra time with Ben had proved to be a frustrating exercise in proximity without closeness. Occasionally, while Ruth worked in the kitchen, he sat at the table for a few minutes and they talked, but the depth of their earlier conversation about the past had not been repeated. And yet, with each interaction, her feelings surfaced more and more, like a plant that had been dormant, the roots still growing belowground, its leaves just now unfolding.

Two days earlier, with the Fourth of July on the horizon and the clock ticking, she had decided she had to say something. It was the “Speak now or forever hold your peace” of their wedding—just more than three decades late. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted or what she could possibly expect from expressing her feelings to him. It just felt imperative to share the thought that maybe, somehow, they had gotten it wrong eighteen years ago. That maybe they should have ridden out the storm. Because now, with all of her striving behind her and their daughter grown, she felt like she was looking at clear skies. The only thing they needed was the willingness to try again.

She’d been trying to find the right moment, but that moment somehow hadn’t presented itself. And so, while they waited on the back porch for Olivia to finish getting dressed for the party, she said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Ben nodded. “I think I know what you’re going to say.”

Her heart soared. “You do?”

“Yes. We haven’t discussed it since that night at the Italian restaurant, but I appreciate you finding that playwriting class for me. I know you’re trying to give me back something that you think I lost. I’ll admit, my first thought was that it was a ridiculous idea. But I found myself thinking about it and thinking about it, and, well, I’ve decided to do it.”

Ruth took a moment to recover and process the turn the conversation had taken. No, he hadn’t been thinking the same thing she had about their relationship. But he had reconsidered the Fine Arts Work Center class, and that meant he would stay in town longer.

Now it seemed unwise to admit her feelings. What if she scared him off and he changed his mind? Maybe she needed to let the situation breathe a little. Why rush and risk blowing it? Especially with the holiday upon them. How could Ben not think of the good times, the best times, when they were celebrating together on the anniversary of the day they had first made love, in the town where they had fallen in love?

And yet, when they got to the party, it felt all wrong.

Ruth had imagined cocktails and loose mingling by the water; Amelia and Rachel and Luke and everyone else who had known one another forever would be chatting away, and Ben—a newcomer—would gravitate to her, and they would have a moment. Maybe an entire evening of moments.

Instead, Lidia had put out picnic tables, and as the early evening transitioned to twilight, all the guests seemed happy to sit where they were, much as they had the night of Rachel and Luke’s backyard party. There was no mingling, and Ruth was left to figure out how to reposition the highly undesirable seating arrangement. She had ended up sandwiched between Tito and Bianca, leaving Ruth with the double whammy of awkwardness with Tito and separation from Ben.

She had run into Tito just one time since the night she’d canceled their dinner. Lidia had invited her over for coffee, and Tito had stopped by, as Ruth had expected he might. She didn’t know if he just happened to be there at the same time or if Lidia was playing matchmaker, but either way, their small talk had been awkward. Tito finally said, on his way out the door, “Anytime you want to get back out on the water, just let me know.”

Tonight, he did not mention the boat or any scenario of getting together. They exchanged pleasantries and chatted amiably enough about the weather, the parade, and Marco’s seaweed farming until Ruth, emboldened by her second or third glass of sangria, finally said, “I owe you an apology.”

He turned to face the water. “Well, I don’t see that at all.”

“That day on the boat, you told me how you never married because the sea life is a selfish life. You were really smart to recognize that, to see your own limitations. Now you’re in a position to meet someone without having a lot of emotional baggage. But unfortunately, that’s not the case for me.”

“Most people have baggage, Ruth. It’s not fatal.”

“I know. But in my case, I’m realizing I have to deal with some of it before I can move forward. I’ve always been so busy; it was easy to just pack it all away. But now, like you said, life slows down. And now I have to reckon with it. As much as I enjoyed spending time with you, and as much as my impulse was to do more of that, I can’t do that in a way that would be fair to you. Does that make any sense?”

“It does,” he said. “I don’t like hearing it, but it does.”

She held out her hand. “Friends?” she said.

Above the table, fireflies blinked their bioluminescence, a reminder that darkness was setting in and the fireworks would begin soon.

Bianca stood up and announced, “I’m heading to the pier to watch the fireworks.”

“We’re going to watch them from here, Bianca,” Tito said.

“It’s a better view from the pier.”

“It’s exactly the same,” Lidia said from across the table.

“Well, to each his own,” Bianca said. Then, to Ben, “Care to join me?”

To Ruth’s horror, Ben stood up. “Sure, why not?”

Why not? Ruth could think of half a dozen reasons why not, starting with the fact that his family was at the party. Why would he leave with a stranger? But then she noticed Olivia was no longer at the table. And clearly, Ben did not share her nostalgia for what the night represented. She realized how foolish it would have been to admit her feelings and what a mistake it had been to convince him to stay longer.

Hand shaking, she reached for her wineglass as Clifford Henry slid into Bianca’s now-vacant chair.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you all night,” he said. “I have some good news.”

Ruth just nodded, her eyes cast down as she tried to collect herself. Why would Ben leave with Bianca? She was so awful; even her own brother knew she was awful. How could Ben not see that? Did he find her attractive? Was she attractive?

“Earth to Ruth,” Clifford said, snapping his fingers.

She looked up at him. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“I think I found you a house. A perfect, glorious, to-die-for house. With the right offer, you could be moving in by Labor Day.”

“Really?”

He nodded, grinning and raising his glass to toast.

“I can’t wait to see it,” she said. What was that saying? One door closes, another door opens. She would be getting her house after all.

Now she just had to figure out a way to repack her baggage so she could move in.

  

It was like there was no one else in the room. Or, to be more accurate, no one else on the dock.

Olivia increasingly felt this way around Marco, that everything else blurred into the background, like a professionally crafted portrait shot on a camera. On a night like this, she wished Provincetown wasn’t so…Provincetown. That everyone wasn’t expected to celebrate together. There would be no enjoying the night for just the two of them except for this moment they’d managed to steal behind the house.

For weeks now, they’d been sneaking around like a pair of teenagers, spending their time tucked away at his apartment, never at Shell Haven or a restaurant on Commercial. This strategy was unspoken but obvious to both of them; the last thing they wanted was to feed the town gossip mill. After all, this was just a casual thing. Nothing to get too excited about.

And yet they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

They stepped around Manny Barros’s tools, and Marco pulled her close and kissed her. In the near distance, she heard the din of the party. She glanced back toward the water, hoping no one could see them.

Marco, sensing her discomfort, said, “What do you say we cut out of here and have our own private fireworks viewing at my place?”

Um…yes! “You go first. I’ll meet you in front of the house,” she said.

Marco rented an apartment in the basement of an 1870s Queen Anne cottage on Franklin Street owned by friends of his family. His studio was small, but Marco barely spent any time at home. He didn’t even need to use the kitchenette because his mother still cooked dinner for him every night. Olivia teased him about this.

“You’re just jealous,” he said.

“You might be right.”

She’d told him all about her complicated feelings toward Ruth—the feelings she hadn’t felt comfortable sharing that first day out on the water—and he’d confided that his feelings of love and loyalty and obligation to his parents were sometimes complicated. “I want my father to be able to retire soon,” he’d said. “I feel responsible.”

This sense of responsibility drove Marco so completely, it made him seem older than his age. She thought about the men she’d hooked up with in Manhattan and their work-hard, play-hard ethos. Marco apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the “play” part.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fun. He took such joy in the water, in the vital work of growing food, in the deep roots the Barroses had established for themselves in town. He made her feel alive; he made her appreciate the rewards of working with her hands. A day cleaning cages was difficult and exhausting and dirty and unpleasant. But it did not leave her stressed and riddled with anxiety like her previous work used to. She was sleeping better at night. Her concentration seemed sharper. Sometimes she didn’t know where her love of this new lifestyle stopped and her love of Marco began. And, yes, she did feel she was falling in love with him. Not that she would admit this. Not that it mattered. Provincetown was her respite from the messy reality of her life back in New York. It wasn’t real. So why bother with real feelings?

She knew Marco would not push her for more emotional intimacy. Marco had told her about one summer fling that should have ended with the summer but instead turned into an engagement and then a broken heart. It was difficult to imagine that romantic, vulnerable version of Marco. He was so practical, so levelheaded. She liked that about him.

The house on Franklin was dark; everyone in town was at the wharf or the beach or various other spots to watch the fireworks. Marco took her hand and led her down the stairs to his studio. He put his key in the door but turned to her before opening it. “We should probably go to the roof for the best view,” he said.

“Can we get up there?”

He nodded. They backtracked, walking to the front of the house and using the main entrance to a winding stairwell.

She followed him up three flights to the widow’s walk. The night had fully settled into darkness. With every star visible above and a nearly panoramic view of the water, she felt like she was standing at the edge of the universe.

The first firework cracked in the distance, red, white, and blue like electric confetti. If Marco wanted to talk, he hadn’t picked an optimal time or place for her to focus on conversation. The sky erupted until it was impossible to tell when one firework ended and another began. Marco stood beside her, an arm around her shoulders, their bodies hip to hip as the sparkles in the sky formed shapes heading into the grand finale: a smiley face, a heart, a flag.

When the sky was dark again, lit only by the stars, Marco tugged on her hand. She turned to face him.

“So, what are we doing?” he said.

“Standing on your roof.”

“You know what I mean. All this sneaking around.”

She took a small step back. So here it was, the Talk. She had been so certain she would avoid this with Marco. There they were, happily engaged in a no-frills, hot fling—and now…

“Marco, I’m having a good time,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course. And I’m really happy we’re on the same page about not making a big display of things and getting everyone in our business.”

The minute the words left his mouth, she realized she actually wanted the Talk. She wanted him to push back on keeping their relationship under wraps.

“Yeah, I mean, what would be the point?” she said, reciting words that just moments before she’d actually believed.

“Exactly. You’re leaving town soon. I don’t get involved with summer people. But no one else would understand. My mother, your mother…I mean, can you imagine? They’d be planning our wedding.”

He smiled, and she forced a laugh. “Totally.” I don’t get involved with summer people.

He kissed her, and she heard the crack and boom of more fireworks. Or maybe she imagined it.