Mitzi asks him not to leave her side, and so they wend and weave their way through the crowd, much as they have in past years. Some people do a double take at the sight of them together, and some—those who are a year behind on their gossip—don’t react at all.
Mitzi can’t handle any questions about Bart, and so Kelley fields all the inquiries and well-wishes. We don’t have much information, held prisoner somewhere in Afghanistan, thank you for your concern, your prayers are appreciated.
Kelley tries to focus on the reason they came: admiring the trees, enjoying a couple glasses of wine, tasting the foie gras and the crab salad and Nantucket bay scallop seviche offered by the island’s restaurants. There are tiny pulled pork sandwiches on sweet potato rolls at Bartlett’s Farm; Kelley devours three.
Mitzi isn’t eating at all.
“No appetite,” she says.
He can tell this has been a problem for a while. Mitzi has always been slender but now she is dangerously thin. The purple gown leaves Mitzi’s back exposed, and Kelley can see the protruding knobs of her spine. Earlier that afternoon, when they were making love, he worried he would snap her in half.
“How about an oyster?” Kelley asks. “Do you think you can eat an oyster?”
Mitzi nods. “I think I can eat an oyster. Maybe even two.”
Kelley steers her toward the raw bar.