To Blythe, the enormous white wind turbines in the distance were like churning arms, beckoning her. For the past hour, the surrounding scenery of sailboat-dotted waters, narrow bridges, and tree-lined highways had made her feel she was enveloped in a fantasy world. With the sunroof open, the classic-rock station playing songs she remembered from her teen years in the early 1980s (Rachel and Marin refused to believe Bono had once been godlike to girls everywhere), she felt the type of nearly pure joy she’d thought was behind her forever. And the only thing preventing it from being absolute happiness was the palpable misery of her daughter.
Yes, of course it was all a shock. Was Blythe in the wrong? Completely. But she had to believe that Marin would forgive her eventually. To believe otherwise was unthinkable. Marin said she didn’t understand why Blythe had invited herself along. One of the reasons was that she didn’t want her simmering in her confusion and anger while on a trip with a bunch of strangers.
The other reason she had insisted on joining the girls on their trip? Frankly, she was curious. This woman, Amelia, was her daughter’s grandmother. It seemed almost impossible that some stranger had such a close connection to her daughter. Of course, logically, she always knew it was so. But it felt no more real than other facts about the universe that she didn’t think about on a day-to-day basis. Now that this person, this grandmother, had been unearthed—well, Blythe had to meet her. What facets of Marin might be evident in this other woman’s face, in her personality?
And yes, it would also bring her back to the man who was Marin’s biological father. But she would not think of that now.
She stared at the back of Marin’s head, her glossy dark hair pulled into a careless knot at the nape of her graceful neck. She was checking her phone. Again.
“Have you heard from Julian?” Blythe asked, knowing she shouldn’t. But this silence from Marin was new and unbearable to her. Shutting her out of the breakup with Greg, the disaster at her office. And now whatever was going on with this new man.
“Leave it alone, Mother,” she said.
“What’s his deal?” asked Rachel. Blythe nodded. Yes, you go, Rachel! Ask away. Marin won’t ignore you. She’s too polite.
Marin sighed, shifting in her seat.
“We met at work. The firm had a strict no-dating policy—I was his subordinate—and someone found out and we were both asked to resign.”
“Yeah, I mean—I gathered some of that from the article online. Totally sucks. Does he mind that you’re skipping town in the middle of it?”
Marin shook her head. “He doesn’t want to talk to me right now.”
“He doesn’t?” Rachel and Blythe said in unison.
Marin shot Blythe a look. “No. He needs time to…process it.”
“That’s a bit selfish, if you ask me,” said Blythe.
“No one did.”
“Do you think he blames you?” asked Rachel.
“I don’t know,” Marin admitted.
“That’s ridiculous!” Blythe said. Her vehemence startled even herself. But really, to hear Marin speak like that—it was so defeatist. So unlike her. “Your father said the firm overreacted.”
“Oh, my father said?” Marin replied sharply. “Tell me more about what my father thinks.”
The comment hung in the air, and a silence followed for what seemed like an endless stretch of driving.
At nearly three o’clock, seven hours after they’d left New York City, Rachel turned the car onto Commercial Street in Provincetown.
She smiled. Could this quaint, narrow street brimming with colorful storefronts, buildings no more than three stories high, be as much a part of her as the brassy beauty of Los Angeles? Yes. Yes, it was. She felt it.
People were walking everywhere, spilling off the sidewalks, flanking her slowly moving car in couples and groups, a few bikes rolling by, announcing their presence with tinkling bells. Up ahead, a pedicab. Inching along, she drove half a block. To her left, Cabot’s Candy. Her right, a small art gallery. Inch by inch. They passed the large, red-brick post office. The white clapboard library. A café called Heaven.
“Oh, it’s so lovely!” Blythe said.
It was—it really was.
She felt bad that Marin wasn’t enjoying the trip. Yes, her mother had lied to her, and it had to be upsetting. But Blythe seemed like a pretty amazing mom. Rachel couldn’t imagine having grown up with a mother like that. With Fran, everything was “me, me, me.” With Blythe, it was all about Marin. Just the way she looked at her, so adoringly. She cared about what was going on with Marin and her boyfriend. She came along for their trip! Fran was probably off in Ojai or Joshua Tree again, and who knew when Rachel would hear from her.
She glanced beside her at Marin, who was staring out the window.
“What do you think?” Rachel said. “Cool, right?”
“I can’t believe that car in front of us is just stopped in the middle of the road like that.”
Yes, the car in front of her, a red Jeep, was practically parked while the driver chitchatted with a guy on a bike and his friend, who was leaning into the car’s window. This would be unthinkable in LA, the cause of much honking and yelling. But something told Rachel this was just business as usual in Provincetown.
When the Jeep resumed moving, Rachel made it another block. There, on the left, loomed the three-story gray-shingled Georgian house with a wraparound veranda, red-brick steps, and terraces framed in white fencing. A hanging distressed-wood sign read BEACH ROSE INN.
Rachel’s heart began to beat fast.
Amelia had instructed her via e-mail to just find street parking. But being so close to meeting her grandmother, enveloped in the charm of the strange and wondrous town, such practicalities were too much for her. She could barely think straight, let alone deal with parallel parking.
“I’ll do it,” Marin said, unbuckling her seat belt after Rachel fumbled the first two spots she tried to squeeze into. She pulled the car across the street from the inn, directly in front of a place called Joe Coffee.
“I actually could use a cup,” Marin said.
Was she kidding? How could they delay for even a minute? Their grandmother was right there, waiting for them.
Rachel noticed a chocolate Lab resting on the front porch. She was about to say, No, let’s just go inside. But Marin was so unhappy. If a little caffeine would cheer her up…
They made their way up the path to the café, passing round tables topped with turquoise umbrellas. The table closest to the door was occupied by a group of half a dozen men, all with trim salt-and-pepper beards, trendy eyewear, and colorful T-shirts. Their raucous laughter gave Rachel the urge to pull up a chair and join the conversation.
“Do you want anything?” Marin asked her, taking her place in line.
“I’ve got it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want,” said Blythe.
“No, I’ve got it, Mom.”
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Rachel said, biting her lip to keep from saying, Just hurry up!
Luckily, the barista worked quickly. She had blond dreadlocks and eye shadow fit for a midnight rave. Her pink T-shirt read VAGINA IS FOR LOVERS.
Marin and Blythe, coffees in hand, followed her back outside. Rachel had to force herself not to walk double-time. Hurry, hurry.
“Let’s sit at a table for a minute,” Marin said.
Okay, now she was pushing it.
“Marin! We just drove seven hours. Not to mention the twenty-two years it’s taken me to get here. I can’t wait another minute!”
Marin looked stricken, and that’s when Rachel realized she was stalling.
“Fine. You go on ahead,” Marin said.
“Oh no—we’re doing this together.”
“You know what?” Blythe said. “Why don’t you two go on ahead, and I’ll wait here. You should meet your grandmother on your own. I’m going to get a newspaper and have my coffee. I’ll join you in a bit.”
Marin looked torn. She clearly didn’t want to sit and wait with her mother, but she wasn’t ready for Amelia’s house either. And so Rachel did what any sister would do.
She took her by the hand.