Christ,” he says, raising his eyes to the ceiling, his voice loud. “Why me? What the fuck am I supposed to do?” And with that he picks up the phone and calls Jordana.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” he says into her voice-mail. “But I want to talk to you. Come to the shop at three o’clock today.”
“What’s the matter?” Jordana knew from the tone of his voice that morning that something was wrong, and she is shaking as she walks into his offIce.
“Well, quite apart from the fact that my wife left me two days ago, this morning I received this.”
He slides the paper over the desk to Jordana, and as she sees Michael’s name at the bottom, she instantly feels sick.
“What is it?” she whispers, but she knows.
“Read it,” he says coldly, and she does, finishing it and looking up at Jackson in confusion.
“He’s left?”
“Can you believe it? Twenty fucking years I’ve looked after him and now he’s gone. No notice. Nothing. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
And Jordana bursts into tears.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael sits on a bench in Hyannisport harbor and watches the high-speed ferry take off, crammed with excited holidaymakers, before making his way to the old-fashioned freight ferry that takes twice as long, but is the way he always traveled back and forth as a kid. It wouldn’t feel right to travel any other way.
Already, he feels a wave of excitement at being home, the smells, the sights, and mostly the comfort of being back where he belongs, for the last month or so has unsettled him, and he needs to be back on terra firma for some much-needed stability.
He feels terrible about running away, leaving both Jackson and Jordana in the lurch, but he couldn’t think of another way. Jordana’s behavior was scaring him, he could easily imagine her telling Jackson, or refusing to take no for an answer, and he knew that the longer he stayed around her, around the situation, the more dangerous it would be.
Michael has never been a coward, but the need to be away from New York, to be back home where he belongs, was overwhelming, and he truly felt he didn’t have a choice.
He sent an e-mail out to all his friends to see if anyone wanted to sublet his apartment, and someone had immediately e-mailed back—they had a friend of a friend visiting from London who would take it for six months, cash payment, no questions asked.
He hauls his backpack up and walks over to the ferry, smiling to himself as he sees a couple of cars lining up, boats attached to trailers behind them, their rear bumpers plastered with Oversand Vehicle Permit stickers from years gone by, each year a different color, each year proclaiming their right to drive on the beaches.
It brings back many memories. Someone, every year, usually a non-islander, gets stuck on the beach, their wheels spinning madly on the sand. And when he sees cars with the stickers in Manhattan—shiny black Range Rovers—the stickers proclaiming their owner’s exclusivity, their ability to vacation on what has become a millionaire’s paradise, it still makes Michael laugh. He has always thought the stickers belong on old Land Cruisers, vintage jeeps, beaten-up pickup trucks, not the hedge-fund manager’s version of the same.
It is chilly on deck, but he wants to see the first glimpse of the island. Wants to step off and walk past the people lining up at the Juice Bar for ice cream, past the store on the corner that’s been there forever with the ACK hats and Nantucket T-shirts, up Main Street to see what has changed since the last time he was here.
“Mike?”
He looks up and smiles. “Jeff?”
“Hey, man!” They give each other a hug. “I thought it was you! Haven’t seen you for years. What are you up to? Heard you were a big-time jeweler in New York City.”
Michael smiles. “Not quite. But I did work for a big-time jeweler, although God knows you wouldn’t know it from my salary.”
“Amen.” Jeff smiles.
“And how about you? I heard you were married with kids.”
“Yup. Married Emily, have two boys and a girl.”
“You’re still fishing?”
“Every day. Took over my dad’s business in town a few years ago.”
“Boat repairs?”
“Yup. The old man still works there but I run it now.”
“So how’s business?”
“Crazy. All these millionaires with huge boats who haven’t got a clue.”
“So you’re charging them a fortune?”
Jeff grins. “They can afford it. Anyway, you have to charge a fortune. Living