Toward the east, the town became markedly more residential. The houses had a stately beauty. They were homey and grand at the same time.
“This would be a great walk if we weren’t lugging the mosaic,” Kelly said.
“How far is the drive?”
“Not long. A few minutes.”
“Oh. I thought you said these people were all the way on the other end of town.”
“They are. The whole town is only three miles long.”
Marin couldn’t imagine living on a small peninsula. As far as she could tell, the place was two blocks wide. “How many people live here?”
“Year-round? Maybe three thousand. But in the summer—I’d say another twenty thousand.”
What? “That sounds kind of crazy.”
“Of course it is. Provincetown is most definitely crazy. And so are the people who love it.” She looked over at Marin with a smile.
Marin turned to her window. She wished they could just keep driving and driving. She wouldn’t have to think beyond the sand dunes in the distance, Kelly, her amiable guide. There was something steadying about Kelly. She couldn’t imagine her ever fucking up. Something about her suggested she never had a moment’s self-doubt.
“So who commissioned the mosaic?”
“A woman named Sandra Crowe. She came here from Boston last summer for an art auction and ended up buying a house. Now she fancies herself a painter. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a hobbyist—in the summers, this town is filled with people who want to indulge their artistic sides. But Sandra drove our friends crazy pushing for shows in their galleries. Finally, our friend Bart let her show in his gallery for a few weeks. In the end he lost money, but at least he shut her up.”
“Took one for the team,” Marin said.
“Exactly. The East End is technically the fancy part of town,” Kelly said, steering the truck around a bend. “Back in the day, you would not be hanging out on this side of the wharf.”
“I wouldn’t?”
Kelly shook her head. “Nope. You’re from the working class, doll. Portuguese fishing family.”
Great. Not only was she a disgraced attorney, she was from a lineage deemed undesirable by her grandmother’s own native town.
To the left, in the shade behind hills and dunes, a Colonial Revival mansion. The sprawling front lawn was a patchwork of purple and red flowers. The house, all white, had a starkness to it that reminded her of Greg Harper’s summerhouse in East Hampton. She shook the thought away.
Kelly pulled the truck into the circular driveway and parked.
“Mind helping me get the piece to the front door? Then your service is fulfilled—promise.” Her smile was heartbreakingly lovely.
“Sure.”
They resumed their positions around the canvas and stepped in tandem up the stone walkway until they reached the front portico.
“I used to have a dolly to transport these things, but I have no idea where it went. I think some guests used it to get stuff into their car and took off with it in the trunk.”
A young woman with a blond ponytail wearing khaki pants and a white polo shirt answered the doorbell.
Kelly, clearly surprised, said, “Tanya—what are you doing here?”
“I’m working for Mrs. Crowe this summer.”
“Really?” Kelly’s inflection conveyed the unspoken words That’s the best you could do?
“Well, I would rather have worked at the inn again, but…”
Kelly turned to Marin, made the introductions. “Tanya goes to the Rhode Island School of Design. This is, what, your third summer in town?”
“Fourth,” Tanya said. “Kelly, this mosaic is one of my favorites of yours. Really awesome. And it’s being given the place of honor around here, apparently,” she said.
“Oh yeah? Where’s it going?” Wiping her brow, then putting her hands on her hips, Kelly surveyed the two-story entrance hall.
“In the dining room.”
“Sounds good. All right, kiddo. See you around.”
“Wait! Don’t go. She’s out back and she’s expecting you.”
“Another time. We have to run.”
“Kelly, don’t leave me hanging. She’ll kill me if you don’t say hi.”
Kelly groaned. “Fine. Lead the way.”
The house had dramatic high ceilings and was air-conditioned to an arctic temperature. It was all white walls and monochromatic pale furniture. The only splashes of color came from the oil paintings and sculptures.
“This will just take a minute. Hopefully,” Kelly said to Marin.
Sliding glass doors opened onto a deck and a comma-shaped swimming pool. A woman in a white one-piece bathing suit and an oversize white hat stretched out on a chaise longue. She waved them over.
“Hi, Sandra,” Kelly said.
“Hi, darling. Is my new baby here?”
“Yep. Tanya has it in the foyer.”
The woman clapped in delight, like a child presented with an ice cream sundae topped with a sparkler.
“You have company today,” the woman observed. Closer now, Marin guessed she was in her late forties, maybe early fifties. It was tough to say for sure; half her face was hidden behind Jackie O. sunglasses. Her lipstick was a glossy neutral shade, not too brown, not too pink—a color only a makeup artist could successfully pick out for you. She wore a rope of gold around her neck.
“This is Marin Bishop. Marin, Mrs. Sandra Crowe.”
They exchanged greetings, and then Sandra pushed her glasses up and looked at Kelly. She had the sort of well-preserved beauty Marin was used to seeing in Manhattan.
Sandra tied a black sarong around her waist, slipped into her gold Tory Burch flip-flops, and said, “Let’s go take a look!”
They followed her into the entrance foyer, where the mosaic was propped up against the wall. Sandra gasped and again clapped her hands in delight.
“It’s beyond! Beyond. Oh, Kelly. You are a genius.”
“Glad you like it.”
“Like it? I’m obsessed. Do you think you could do another mermaid? I would love to do a stained-glass piece on the window in the master bath.”
“Sure. We can talk about it.”
“Fabulous. Why don’t you two stay for breakfast?”
“Thanks, Sandra, but we have to get back. I have a friend’s birthday party this afternoon.”
“Well, another time. But before you run off, tell me, is it true that the inn isn’t opening this season?”
“That’s right,” Kelly said.
“Amelia isn’t unwell, I hope.”
“No, she’s just fine, thanks for asking.”
“It’s a lot of work, the inn,” said Sandra.
“Work we’ve loved.”
“But how long can you do it? You remind Amelia that I’m ready to take that load of a house off her shoulders any time she is ready. You two should enjoy yourselves a little! Travel light.”
“I’ll let her know, Sandra. But she’s not selling anytime soon.”
The sunglasses went back on. “Just be a doll and relay the message. Oh, and I’m having a Fourth of July party. You and Amelia must come. You too,” she said as an afterthought to Marin, clearly having already forgotten her name.
“We’ll check our calendars,” said Kelly noncommittally.
“It’s cocktails and dinner before everyone heads over to the fireworks. And I’m going to officially unveil your mosaic. I’m sure my friends will be lining up to commission pieces of their own.”
Kelly nodded. “Well, how can I say no? Thanks, Sandra. We’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Back in the car, Marin asked, “Is Amelia really thinking of selling her house?” For some reason, the idea of Sandra Crowe owning the house made her sad.
“Not anytime soon. The house has been in Amelia’s family for five generations. But the truth is, there isn’t any family left to care for it.” She looked pointedly at Marin. “You should stay the week. It’s just a few days. You were on your way to leave this morning, weren’t you?” Kelly said.
“Yeah,” Marin admitted. “Okay. I’ll stick around for a few days. But as far as Sandra’s Fourth of July cocktails, you’re on your own.”
Kelly laughed.
Rachel hoped she wasn’t being selfish, pushing so hard to see photos of her father. But why did Amelia keep the only photos of her lost son stashed away in the attic?
She stretched out on the plush queen-size bed in her glorious room. The sun streamed in through the gauzy white curtains as the ceiling fan churned the fresh breeze blowing through the window off the bay.
A knock on her door.
“Come in,” she called out.
Blythe poked her head in. “Sorry to bother you, but have you seen Marin?”
“Not since breakfast.”
“I want to go to the beach and thought it might be a nice thing for the two of us to do together. But she’s not in her room.”
Rachel sat up. “Maybe she went for a walk. Where’s the beach?”
Blythe came in, pulled a map from her handbag, unfolded it, and pointed out Herring Cove.
“We should rent bikes,” Rachel said.
“I haven’t been on a bike in thirty years.”
“Well, you know what they say—it’s just like riding a bike!”
Blythe laughed.
“Knock, knock,” Amelia said outside the open door. “May I come in?”
“Sure! We were just thinking about renting bikes. Is there a place nearby?” And then Rachel noticed the photo albums in her arms.
“Yes. Although Kelly and I have bikes if it’s just the two of you.”
“Is that…you have the photos of my father?”
Amelia nodded. “I’ll just leave them here for you to look through at your leisure.”
“Oh, don’t go!” Rachel said. “I want to look at them with you so you can tell me things. Like, where they were taken and stuff.”
Amelia hesitated.
Blythe folded up her map and headed for the door.
“You don’t have to leave,” Rachel said.
“I’ll find you later,” Blythe called out without so much as a glance behind her.
Hmm. Wasn’t she curious to see a photo? After all, Nick Cabral was Marin’s biological father too. Rachel could imagine her own mother being indifferent, but Blythe was so involved.
Amelia sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Rachel, you know I’m delighted with this turn of events. Meeting you and your sister is the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time. But I can’t say it isn’t complicated. Nick and I parted on bad terms. He was angry with me. At the time of his death, we hadn’t spoken in a few years. And the fact that we never had a chance to resolve our issues is very, very painful.”
Oh, what had she done? She was a bull in an emotional china shop.
“I’m sorry! I can go through these myself. I didn’t realize…I’m really sorry.”
Amelia smiled sadly, her eyes tearing. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, dear girl.” She hesitated, then opened the top album. “I brought two. One is from his childhood, when he was about ten or so. This one is from the last summer he spent in this house, between his junior and senior years of college.”
“So he was almost my age.”
“Yes.”
Rachel hugged herself. Now that the moment was here, the moment she had longed for her entire life, she was afraid. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the page. It was covered in plastic, so the surface was shiny, catching the glare of the sun. Rachel tilted her head, leaning close to get a clear view of the photos.
She sat back against the wicker headboard and took the album gingerly from Amelia. Her eyes fell on the photo on the upper right corner of the page. A young man in weedy grass pulling at a tennis ball clenched between the teeth of a large golden Lab. He was tall and lanky, with dark hair falling into his eyes and a smile on his face.
“That’s him?” she breathed, a question, even though she knew it was.
“Yes. That’s Nick behind this house. Before we had the communal table.”
Wow. No way around it—her dad was a hottie. He reminded her of that Spanish actor, Gael García Bernal.
The photo below was a shot from the beach on an overcast day. Nick, in long bathing trunks and a Boston University T-shirt, was bending over a cooler. A dark-haired young woman, tan and slender, stood beside him, her facial expression suggesting they were midconversation.
“Who’s that?”
“My daughter. Nadine.”
“You have a daughter?”
Amelia nodded, tight-lipped.
“Does she live around here too?”
“No. She lives in Italy.”
“Did you…does she know about Marin and me?”
“I sent her a letter.”
A letter? Did she mean an e-mail? And wouldn’t the existence of two previously unknown family members merit a phone call? Maybe this was some sort of old-fashioned thing Rachel just didn’t understand.
She turned back to the photos. Mentally, she said the word Dad over and over, but it was hard to reconcile that hot guy with a paternal role. What would he look like today?
Amelia’s phone rang, and she answered it while Rachel continued to slowly page through the album. A few pictures were of Nick and an older man, tan with silver hair, not terribly tall but broad-shouldered and handsome. Her grandfather?
“What do you mean, she canceled? The party is this afternoon!” Amelia made a tsking sound and stood up to pace around the room. “She is so unprofessional. I don’t know how she is still in business. Only in this town.” Silence, then: “I’ll do what I can, but you know I can’t just whip something up for dozens of people in two hours.”
Amelia set her phone on the bed.
“Is everything okay?” Rachel said, closing the album with her hand still inside, holding her spot.
“It’s our friend Thomas’s fifty-fifth birthday, and the party is this afternoon,” Amelia said. “And the caterer just canceled. Just now! I’m going to head over there and help figure out what to do about the food.”
“I’ll go with you,” Rachel said.
“Oh, hon, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. You’re here for only a few days. You should go to the beach.”
“No. I want to help. I didn’t come here for the beach, I came for family, and that’s what family’s for, right?”
“Well, when you put it that way.” Amelia smiled.