Henry and Margaux’s house felt heavy with grief, like they were properly mourning the death of Cecelia. The house was quiet. When Brynn stepped inside, clutching Lucas to her chest, it was as if she were stepping into an igloo. The air conditioner was on high, the lights were off, and the shades were drawn.
“Hello?” she said. She’d texted Margaux before she left, letting her know they were stopping by.
She heard voices coming from the living room. She put down Lucas’s diaper bag and slowly walked toward them. Her phone buzzed. Annie was calling. Brynn ignored it. She’d have to call her later. She couldn’t deal with hearing—or giving—another apology right now.
Henry and Margaux sat in the living room’s club chairs, which flanked the stone fireplace. Margaux was dressed in her usual slim white jeans and crisp button-down, but Henry was still in his pajamas. For a moment, he looked like a little boy, home from school with a stomach bug. Something about the way he sat in the chair, with the light cotton of his pajamas draping over his body, made Brynn feel like she’d intruded on them. The sight felt far too intimate.
“Brynn,” Margaux said. “Good morning. How are you doing?”
Without waiting for a response, Margaux moved toward her to take Lucas from her arms. Brynn did not object; she handed Lucas over, and he happily nestled into his grandmother’s embrace.
“Okay. Very tired,” she said. “Exhausted, actually. How are you both?”
Henry didn’t answer; he stared into his coffee mug. His eyes were blank.
“We’re doing the best we can,” Margaux said. “We’re just in shock, really. We still haven’t processed what’s happened. How Ross could … do something like this.”
Brynn realized that the house was not full of grief for Cecelia. Henry and Margaux were grieving Ross. It was as though he had died. Whoever their son was, it seemed that they’d made up their minds that he no longer existed, and now they mourned the son they used to have. And really, Brynn couldn’t blame them. There was so much evidence stacked against Ross. It felt insurmountable.
Lucas began to cry.
“I have a bottle,” Brynn began to say.
“Why don’t you let me?” Margaux asked. “I’ve got the guest room all set up with the crib, still, so how about I feed him and put him down?”
“That would be great, thank you, Margaux,” she said.
“And you just sit down, relax,” Margaux said. “Maybe even take a nap yourself.” She smiled at her and then disappeared down the hallway with Lucas.
Brynn waited until she heard the guest room door upstairs close.
“Henry,” she said, trying to seize her moment alone with him, “how are you really doing? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you.”
He turned to her.
“I’m sad,” he said. “This is just a terrible mess. What happened to Cecelia was just awful. Awful. But there’s got to be an explanation for it. An accident. I just don’t think our Ross would … he could never. Could he?”
Henry’s voice wasn’t weak. It was strong and clear. Brynn could hear in his voice what she perceived to be genuine concern and confusion. He sounded just like she did. It was almost as if Henry had been waiting to talk to her alone just as much as she had been waiting to talk to him.
“No,” she said. “I mean, I certainly don’t think Ross could ever do this. But, you know, there’s so much evidence against him. It’s hard to know what to think right now.”
“Mmm,” Henry said. “Right.”
“I’m wondering,” Brynn asked, picking her words carefully, “about that last night. You were there, at the club, right? Do you remember anything … that stood out? With Cecelia? Or Ross?”
Henry looked up at her. His expression had changed. Just for a second, his eyes were no longer blank. They sparked with recognition and awareness. They lit up with fear.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m just trying to figure out how all this … unraveled,” she said.
“I … We spoke that night. But we always talked. I enjoyed talking to her very much,” Henry said.
“What did you talk about?” Henry couldn’t be pushed, she knew that. She had to be careful.
“Oh,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I told her too much. I don’t know. It was nice to be around someone who wanted to listen. Who cared what I had to say.… She listened to my stories … she…” His voice trailed off, as if he was trying to remember.
This was exactly the kind of thing Henry had said lately that made his family feel like he was … well, losing it, as Sawyer had said. It was a vague sentimentalism, as if he was trying to conjure memories from long ago but couldn’t quite articulate it.
“Why do you think you told her too much, Henry?”
“I just … I burdened her. She didn’t need to know all of my mistakes. And God knows I’ve made plenty.”
“Like what?” Brynn asked, her voice coming out as a whisper. She cleared her throat. “Was it something that happened a long time ago?”
Henry didn’t say anything. He looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists.
“No one else would listen to me,” he said, still looking down. “Margaux wouldn’t. I had to tell someone.”
Brynn heard the guest room door upstairs open and close. Margaux’s footsteps echoed down the stairs.
“What happened, Henry?” Brynn asked. “Please.”
Henry only shook his head. Brynn opened her mouth to ask him more, but Margaux stepped in, a burp cloth slung over her shoulder and an empty bottle in her hand.
“He’s down,” she said, holding up the bottle. “He drank all six ounces, too. He was hungry.” Even with everything going on, Brynn still managed to feel like an inadequate mother at the suggestion that Lucas had been hungry.
Brynn had lost the moment with Henry. But it had given her enough to get the wheels in her mind turning. Henry must have been the one to kill Cecelia; she knew it before but now she knew for certain. Or maybe he asked Mauricio to do it for him, and that’s why Mauricio had been such a wreck and gone into hiding at first. The only logical explanation for everything was that Henry had been behind it all, one way or another. And for some reason, he’d let Ross take the fall for it.
But that was the part that Brynn couldn’t understand.
Unless Ross was in on it, too.
“I think it’s time for you to take a nap, now,” Margaux said to Henry, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Something had shifted in the air since Margaux had gone to put Lucas down. Brynn suddenly felt that she was an intruder in the family, that her presence wasn’t wanted. But now Lucas was asleep; she couldn’t just wake him up now and leave. It would look too alarming, too suspicious.
“That’s a good idea, honey,” Henry said. “I think I’ll do that.” He rose from the couch, pushing his palms onto his thighs. He plodded up the stairs. Brynn wanted to yell out to him, to find some reason for him to come back, for him to finish telling her what he’d started to say. But he was gone.
“Thank you,” Brynn said to Margaux, “for putting Lucas down.”
“You know I love nothing more,” Margaux said. “Brynn, why don’t we both sit down and talk. Let’s take a break. You deserve to just relax. If that’s even possible right now.”
Brynn could feel her throat tightening. Her breasts felt sore; she needed to pump, but she hadn’t come prepared for that.
“Okay,” Brynn said, sitting down.
Margaux sat across from her and folded her legs. She held the burp cloth in her hands and twisted it. Brynn could see the whites of her knuckles.
“Sometimes we don’t want to see what’s right in front of us,” Margaux said. “A lot of this is my fault, you know. I blame myself, I really do.”
“What do you mean?” Brynn asked.
“I tried to raise my boys to be good men. To do the right thing. But I put too much pressure on Ross, I think. He had this drive to be perfect. You know what I’m talking about. He would do anything to achieve the things he wanted.”
Brynn nodded but didn’t say anything.
“I think we all had this vision of who Ross was,” Margaux continued. “He was my perfect little boy. Except … maybe he wasn’t. And I refused to see it, because I always loved him so much. He was my baby. But it was all right in front of me. How could I not have seen the signs?”
“He’s still your son,” Brynn said, her words startling her. “Have you completely given up on him? What about his side of the story?”
“Brynn, what could his story possibly be?” Margaux asked. “I feel like a terrible mother saying this, but all the evidence is right there. It’s just undebatable.” She shook her head. “I planned on fighting for Ross this whole time, believe me, I did. But with everything that’s come out … I don’t see how there’s any other version of the truth.”
“Maybe,” Brynn said. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?” Margaux asked.
“The fact that you and I both know, deep down, no matter what the evidence says, that Ross just wouldn’t do this. You know him. You know he couldn’t do this. Margaux, you have to believe that. Right?”
Margaux looked away. She started to fold the burp cloth into squares, over and over, until it became a compact little cube.
“I’d like to believe that, yes,” she said. “I didn’t think he was capable of this. But I have to believe it now. What’s the alternative? At what point do we just let go?”
Brynn sighed. She felt her phone buzz and checked it. Annie had called her again.
Brynn texted her: Can’t talk now. Call you soon.
“I’m going to make us some tea,” Margaux said, retreating to the kitchen.
Margaux’s abandonment of Ross had surprised Brynn. She thought that Margaux would believe Ross’s innocence until the very end, maybe even more so than Brynn. But perhaps Margaux’s change of heart was a survival mechanism. Maybe it was too painful to keep fighting for something that she might not ever win. After all, Margaux wasn’t used to that.
While Brynn waited, she scrolled through her phone. Her photos app alerted her to a collection of memories from the first summer that she and Ross dated. She usually ignored these alerts. Lately, while she was trapped on the couch breastfeeding, they only made her sad and nostalgic for her old life. But she clicked the album anyway.
A series of photos of Brynn and Ross swirled across the screen: fishing on the Menemsha jetty, an after-dinner selfie at Atria, drinking dirty bananas at Donovan’s Reef, hiking to the Brickyard. She paused on a photo of the two of them at the Hot Tin Roof. It was the last year before it closed, right when she and Ross had started dating. They were so young. Back then, the Hot Tin Roof was the coolest place to go at night on the island. They had the best bands and musicians—legendary acts from all over the world. The venue had a way of bringing together people from all parts of the island, too. Down-island royalty like Ross, and up-island free spirits like Brynn.
The night the photo was taken, they’d gone to see Toots and the Maytals. The show was epic and electric, the air full of energy and joy. They’d danced for hours, shouting out the words to “Country Road” and “Pressure Drop,” jumping and swaying their hips until they were drenched in sweat. Someone had taken a picture of the two of them on the dance floor, Brynn standing in front of Ross, his arms around her from behind. They were both tan, happy, in love.
She looked closer. Behind them, she could see the bar, the side exit out to the patio, and the iconic Margot Datz mural on the wall, a pair of lovers dancing by the sea, the bright tangerine glow of the setting sun illuminating the clouds and water behind them.
Brynn suddenly gasped.
That was it: the orange sun.
It had to be. The photo represented exactly what Ross had told her to focus on: Us. You and me. The very thing she’d disconnected from months ago, before Cecelia’s death.
And still—it didn’t make sense. The Hot Tin Roof had closed years ago. It was now a gourmet food store and a fish market. The murals had been relocated to the Martha’s Vineyard Museum. But what could the mural itself contain that would unlock anything? Brynn bit her lip. She’d go to the museum after this, she decided. The answer must be there. It had to be.
But then she remembered: Ross had this photo framed in his office at work. She’d seen the photo a million times. She’d seen it just a few days ago when she went there to look around. It had been right in front of her the whole time.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Annie: Call me ASAP. Brynn tucked her phone away; she couldn’t deal with being reprimanded by her friends for playing detective right now. She had to stay focused.
Margaux returned with two cups of tea.
“Thank you,” Brynn said to her. She took a deep breath. She knew that she couldn’t give herself away to Margaux—she didn’t want to drag her into this, especially not when Margaux was clearly in the midst of her own emotional response to everything. But she was itching to get out of there as fast as she could and run to Ross’s office.
“I think you and Lucas should stay with us for a while,” Margaux said. “We’ve got room. And it’s not healthy for you to be alone with the baby right now.”
“That sounds nice,” Brynn said, going along with it. “I’ll think about it tonight. It’s hard being alone.”
“Well, it’s important for us to all stay close, now.” Margaux took a sip of her tea. “We have to stick together and, well, just keep going. We have to keep looking to the future.”
Brynn nodded. “It’s hard for me to do that right now,” she said.
“Well,” Margaux said, “life must go on. Someday, Lucas can take over Nelson & Sons.”
Brynn had to stop herself from laughing. She’d never thought that far ahead about Lucas’s career. He was a newborn baby! And in a way, part of her had always hoped that Lucas would leave the Vineyard. Even though she’d made the decision to come back, and she wouldn’t want to raise him anywhere else, she hoped that he’d find his way off-island someday, in the bigger world.
“After all,” Margaux continued, “that’s why we’ve done everything we’ve done. Why Henry and I have worked so hard. For our family. Our legacy. What’s the point of building something if you don’t have children to pass it down to?”
“Right,” Brynn said. She felt a surprising swell of gratitude—and guilt—for her own parents just then. They hadn’t been the most involved, or even the most supportive, but one thing they’d never prevented Brynn from doing was pursuing her own path. They’d always encouraged her to be whoever she wanted to be. Maybe their push for her to be independent wasn’t rooted in a lack of love but a desire for her to be the architect of her own life.
“Lucas is very lucky to have you and Henry,” Brynn said. “So am I.” She pursed her lips and blew onto the surface of her tea.
“And we’re lucky to have you, too, Brynn. I know how hard this has been. A nightmare. None of us saw this coming. How could we?” She shook her head. “I just keep wondering what I did wrong, as a mother.”
“Margaux, you are literally the best mother I know.” Brynn meant it; Margaux was the most devoted mother she’d ever met. She’d truly do anything for her boys, for her family. “You can’t think that way.”
“Well, I’ve made my mistakes. Just like anyone else,” she said. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t think that way. I guess I need to find a way to just … accept this new reality.”
Brynn wanted to reach out and hug Margaux, to tell her that none of this was her fault, and that she was going to find the truth.
“I know” was all Brynn could say.
“I’m just glad I still have my sweet Sawyer,” Margaux said. “He’s going to really need to step up. But I think he’s ready.”
Brynn heard Lucas cry from the other room. It was one of the first times that the sound of his cry made her feel intense relief rather than panic. She was so glad he was awake. She sprang from her chair; she had to get to the office as fast as she could and find that photo.
“I’ve got it,” she said, and she bolted up the stairs. Lucas stopped crying when she came in the room and picked him up. She changed him as fast as she could and brought him downstairs.
Margaux had started prepping dinner in the kitchen, chopping onions, carrots, and celery.
“I’m making my Bolognese for dinner,” she said. “Do you want to come back tonight?”
How Margaux could focus on what to make for dinner and act like everything was okay was something Brynn couldn’t understand. But that was how Margaux coped, she’d learned—by finding comfort in the ordinary and the mundane, the return to the routines. It was how she found control.
“Sounds delicious,” Brynn said. “But I think we’re going to stay home tonight. Get organized for next steps.” She had no intention of moving in with Margaux and Henry, but she wanted Margaux to think that she did.
“Okay. We’ll talk later,” Margaux said. She gave Brynn a stiff hug, her arms tightly gripping Brynn’s shoulders and back. Brynn opened her mouth to tell Margaux what she knew—what she suspected—but she didn’t. She was so close to finding the truth, she couldn’t tell her more until she knew what she was dealing with. She didn’t want to put Margaux in any more danger.
She pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the Nelson & Sons office. She gripped the steering wheel, her hands shaky. Her phone rang again. Annie. She’d forgotten to call her back.
“Sorry, sorry!” Brynn blurted when she answered. “I got caught up at Henry and Margaux’s, but I think I figured out what…”
“Stop,” Annie said. “Stop, Brynn. Something’s happened.”
“What? What do you mean?” Brynn felt her heart jump. She looked in the rearview mirror and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Lucas safely strapped into his car seat, sucking on his thumb.
“It’s Ginny,” Annie said. “She’s in the hospital.”
“Oh my God,” Brynn said. “She’s in labor?”
“Not exactly,” Annie said. “She’s in Boston. At Mass General. They medevacked her about an hour ago. We’ve been trying to reach you.”
Brynn’s heart sank. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d asked Ginny how she was feeling. She hadn’t even thought about it. She’d only been thinking about herself. About whether she knew who her husband really was, whether she should have chosen Sawyer instead, whether she was a good mom, whether she was meant to be a mom at all, what the orange sun meant, what crimes Henry had committed, what Jacob knew or didn’t know, where Mauricio had been. She hadn’t thought enough about Cecelia, or Ginny, or anyone else. And for what? She still didn’t have the answers. She might never have them.
Ginny had needed her, and Brynn hadn’t been there.
“We can’t go to Boston yet,” Annie said. “The best thing for us to do is stay here. The kids are at Ginny’s mom’s house. They’re all fine. Obviously, Trey is with her. And Marcus is driving up now to drop off a bag of her things.”
“But,” Brynn stammered, “but what happened? Is she okay? Is … is the baby okay?”
“I honestly don’t know right now. We have to wait. We’re getting updates from Trey.”
Brynn could feel the air slipping out of her lungs. She tried to inhale but couldn’t catch her breath. She’d reached the Nelson & Sons office. The parking lot was empty. She pulled in and turned off the ignition.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Brynn said. “I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Annie said. “And our girl is going to be okay. And she has the best medical care in the world. We’ve made sure of it.”
Brynn was crying. Somehow, even though she knew it wasn’t logical, she felt that this was all her fault. She’d been so mad at Ginny for looking into the Nelsons behind her back and talking to Ross about it. Maybe she’d been too hard on her. And what had Brynn been thinking, dragging Ginny deeper into her own family’s drama? She never should have put her stress onto Ginny—onto all of her friends. Maybe if she’d let Ginny stay out of it, then Ginny and her baby would be okay.
But now Ginny’s worst fear, the one that had loomed over her during all of her pregnancies, the one that Brynn had told her not to worry about, had come to life. And there was nothing Brynn could do.
“I’ll keep you posted,” Annie said.
“Thanks,” Brynn told her. “I’ll be here.”
When she hung up, she looked back at Lucas. He was awake, but just silently watching her. His eyes were wide and curious.
“I’m sorry to you, too,” Brynn said to him. “I’m sorry about all of it. Let’s go grab something inside really quick and then we’re out of here, okay?” She wiped her eyes. She felt like a failure in every way.
She used the key under the doormat to open the front door, and pushed it open with one arm, carrying Lucas in his car seat in the other. The office was dark and empty, almost as if it had been deserted.
Ross’s office had the familiar smell of him—pine and juniper berries.
She spotted the framed photo of the two of them at the Hot Tin Roof immediately. She picked it up. The metal frame was cold in her hands.
“Got it. Now let’s get out of here,” she said to Lucas, taking the photo with her.