Chapter Forty-Seven

Ruth led Olivia away from the bar to the opposite end of the sandy stretch, closer to the water.

“I know you’ve been upset with me for keeping Jaci’s secret. And I know it can’t go on, but she needs to be the one to break the news—not me, not you, not Amelia.”

“Amelia? She knows about this?”

Oops. “Never mind. The point is, Jaci needs to see that there’s a good alternative to the choice she made. She doesn’t want to jeopardize her college education and future career, but she also doesn’t want to burden her retirement-age parents with a baby, forcing them to start over.”

“It’s Lidia’s granddaughter. I don’t believe she’d see it as a burden.”

“Not emotionally, no. But there are practical issues. There are things you can’t understand if you’ve never been a mother.”

Olivia crossed her arms. Her eyelashes were thick with blue mascara, her eyebrows lined with turquoise sequins. It was distracting to have such a serious conversation dressed as a 1940s sailor girl talking to a mythological queen. And yet she had the feeling many an important conversation had occurred in Provincetown under even more outlandish circumstances. Wasn’t this in part why she’d fallen in love with the place? The sense that anything can happen, that anything goes?

Hadn’t she returned to recapture that very feeling?

“What’s your point, Mother?” Olivia asked.

Ruth shrugged. “Well, you’re here, and you’re involved with Jaci’s brother. The two of you could help out…”

“Mother, I’m sorry. This is some absurd fantasy of yours, some idealized life you think I should be living. You’ve asked me to understand and respect the choices you made, and you need to respect my plans.”

“What plans?”

“I have a job opportunity in the city, a chance to start my own company—just like you.”

An alarm sounded deep inside Ruth. She reached out and touched Olivia’s arm. “Don’t let your life revolve around work, around a company. Not even if it’s your own.”

“Isn’t that ironic advice, coming from you?”

“It’s not irony. Olivia, until this summer, I thought that getting married too young was my mistake. Now I realize my mistake was putting so much time into my career. I can’t do things over. But you can do things differently.”

Olivia’s expression softened. Nothing was said for a moment. Ruth, if she was being honest with herself, wanted to hear something from Olivia, some sort of absolution. Something like It’s okay. I know you did the best you could. Short of that, she would settle for Olivia not dismissing her advice out of hand.

Across the yard, they saw Marco making his way to them carrying two paper plates. He dodged would-be conversationalists as he cut a clear path to Olivia, his eyes completely focused on her.

Ruth turned back to Olivia. “That man’s in love with you,” she said. “That’s more important than any career. Please, at least think about what I’m saying.”

  

Cynthia Wesson wore the most elaborate costume of the evening, a purple corset top and a floor-length peacock-feather skirt. Her mask extended half a foot above her head with feathers and draped below her chin with beads. Elise recognized her only because of her height, especially in her purple platform heels.

She was also notable because she was accompanied by the only person at the party who wore no costume—not even an eye mask. He was an older gentleman with a bald head wearing a bow tie and linen pants.

Cynthia waved at Elise and threaded her way through the crowd toward her, her bow-tied guest close behind. Elise shifted Mira in her arms, wiping perspiration from the baby’s brow and wondering if she’d be cooler resting in the stroller instead of pressed against Elise’s body. Maybe she should take her inside.

“Elise, I’m so glad you’re here. I stopped by the shop earlier, but you’d already closed for the day. I want you to meet my dad, Mitt Wesson.”

Elise stopped fussing with Mira, virtually freezing in the presence of the adoption attorney. She’d thought many times over the past few weeks of reaching out to him, hesitating only because of Fern’s odd change of attitude. Elise had told herself that she would know when the time was right. And now here he was, right in front of her. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wesson. Your daughter has been a big help to us this summer.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Douglas,” he boomed with a Southern drawl. Elise remembered now that Cynthia said he was from Georgia. It’s that do-gooder Southern stock.

“And who is this pretty little lady?” he said, peering at Mira.

“This is Mira,” Elise said. “Actually, I know this isn’t the best time or place, but Cynthia told me about your work and I have some professional questions for you. Maybe I could make an appointment for sometime next week?”

“You looking to adopt?” he said.

Elise swallowed hard, nodding.

“I’d be happy to talk to you.”

“My circumstances are a little out of the ordinary,” she said.

“Young lady, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in forty years of practice, there’s no such thing as ordinary.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card.

Elise slipped it into her diaper bag, her hand shaking ever so slightly. She had taken the first step toward truly making Mira her own.

  

The buffet table stretched the length of the Beach Rose Inn’s front room. Ruth remembered that on her first bumpy afternoon of the summer, Clifford had declared Amelia the best cook in town. Tonight, she had expanded her typical Portuguese culinary repertoire to include Cajun staples like jambalaya, po’boy sandwiches, and gumbo, and from what Ruth had managed to sample, all were delicious.

Ruth sat on the round central ottoman with her po’boy in one hand and the cocktail Luke had whipped up for her in the other. It was a bright red classic Hurricane—fruit juice and two types of rum. She’d taken just a few sips and it had already gone to her head.

“They should issue a warning with those,” Ben said, sitting next to her with a bowl of gumbo.

“I just realized that.” She set the drink down on the floor. There was enough going on without her getting drunk on top of it. “I should actually put this someplace where it won’t get kicked over. Can you hold this for a second?” She handed him her sandwich, got up, and put her drink down on a table. When she turned back to the ottoman, Ben was gone.

“I’m here,” he said, standing beside her.

From across the room, she saw Bianca glaring at them. “Let’s go back outside. It’s too crowded,” Ruth said.

“Good idea.” He handed her the plate with her sandwich and they walked through a beaded curtain toward the back door. There was a logjam of people. When they finally made it outside, Ruth walked to the far side of the yard, looking for a quiet spot. Ben followed her.

“I saw you talking to Olivia earlier,” he said. “That’s a positive development.”

She looked around the crowd for Olivia. At first, she didn’t see her anywhere. Then, at the farthest edges of the party, she spied her talking to someone: Jaci Barros.

Could she possibly be taking her advice already?

“Ben, you should know I told Olivia to stay here, not to go back to New York to start that company.”

He didn’t seem pleased with her announcement. “Ruth, it’s understandable that you want to make up for lost time, but the summer can’t last forever.”

“It has nothing to do with the summer or wanting to spend more time with her. I believe she should give her relationship with Marco a chance. I told her that if I could do it all over again, I’d do it differently.”

“Ruth, that’s not true,” Ben said.

“It is,” she said, her voice breaking. “It is true.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Do you remember,” Ben said, “the night about a year ago when we ran into each other at Scarpetta?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She’d been lukewarm on her date to begin with, but after seeing Ben it was all over.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you the rest of the night,” he said. “I was with a perfectly nice woman, and in that moment, I realized I would never feel about her the way I’d felt about you, so what was the point?”

Ruth’s heart began to beat fast. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

“Why would I?” he said.

“Because maybe I was feeling that exact same way that night.”

It had been a mistake to walk away from the marriage.

“Ruth,” he said. “You divorced me. I’m no longer angry about that. But at the same time, I don’t live in the past. What’s done is done.”

She stepped forward and, under the setting Provincetown sun, reached her arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed her back, and for a moment, it was the summer of 1978 and they were on a boat anchored just off Long Point. And then he pulled away.

“What was that?” he said.

“That was history repeating itself,” she said.