Bea waves at Gerald from her spot in a chair on the beach, a towel wrapped around her middle, as they both watch Nell swim out to the floating dock. She’ll be eleven next week, born just a year after she and Gerald were married. She’s a Gregory, with that copper hair and those freckles, that big, open smile. She has already made this her home. The past is more present here, and she’s beginning to ask about those who are gone, interested now in the stories from before.
Returning to Maine was a dream, one of few that William and Gerald shared. After they got married and after Bea began running the Lower School, they started putting away money each month in the hopes that one day it could be theirs. It seemed almost too much to hope for. Now that they’re here, now that they’re back, Bea understands that they bought the place for themselves but also for those who are gone. There is a way in which they are now all here together. William, in particular, is never far from her thoughts. He is with her as she swims each morning, as she rows to town, as she wanders through the forest. Mr. G is here as well. And so, in his own way, is her father. But it’s not just peopled with the past. Being back on the island allows the old to blend with the new.
Rose and Frank came up for a weekend earlier in the summer. They’re living in Back Bay, walking to work at the State House. Why didn’t I know I was a career girl, she asked Bea late one night. She’s become a good friend. Bea often wonders, with a smile, what William thinks of that. Rose was pleased to be here, content to spend time in a place that means so much to them all. A place where William lives on. She brought a sign as a housewarming gift, a line from Shakespeare: WHAT’S PAST IS PROLOGUE. She said William would understand. It’s now hanging over the front door to welcome everyone who visits. Bea hopes that next year she can persuade Mum to come over with Alan.
Kathleen and Jack are coming up later today, in part to celebrate William’s birthday. They’ve never been here, of course, but they know all the stories. Kathleen told Bea on the phone the other night that she feels as though she, too, will be coming home. Jack is looking forward to swimming round the island, to beating Kathleen. They’re both in New York, living three blocks away from each other on the Upper West Side. How did they know to go there? Bea wonders whether they understand that they are living one of William’s dreams.
Nell is waving from the dock and Bea calls back, her words lost to the wind. Tomorrow, Kathleen will be out on the dock with Nell, the two of them lying on the hot wood in their bikinis, trading secrets, laughing, their hair wet and tangled. They look like sisters. Fourteen years apart and yet the best of friends. Nell waves again and then dives off the dock. Bea watches her as she swims to shore, her stroke steady and sure, and Bea will be there, as she always is, to cover her wet shoulders with the large, striped towel. Then they will climb the stairs to the second floor, and Bea will run her a bath in the old claw-foot tub. She will hold her hand under the stream of water until it is the right temperature. Nell will step into the water and lie back, closing her eyes. The little bathroom will fill with warm steam and the smell of lemon soap. Bea will sit there with her, on the worn wooden stool, as they make plans for Kathleen and Jack’s visit, as they talk about all that is to come.