days ago. She’s usually at Cru for drinks after work, if you want to know where to find her.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head with a large smile. “Listen, I’d love you to come for dinner. In fact, I’d love you to meet my son.”
I sit back with a large smile. “You invited me for coffee because you’re matchmaking?”
“Absolutely. I know every single woman on the island, and none of them are remotely right for him.”
“But you don’t know me.”
“I know your family.”
There is a huge smile on my face at the way this conversation is going. “You don’t know if I’m available.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then.”
I shake my head, impressed as hell. “I’ll make a deal. I would love to come for dinner, but only if I can bring my friend Sam and my daughter, Annie.”
“Of course,” she says. “The more the merrier.”
“So am I allowed to ask about your son? What should I know?”
“He’s smart, fun, sober, single, and tall. What else is there?”
“I’m so glad you mentioned tall. That would have been a dealbreaker.”
“Also, he loves animals. Especially dogs. He’s probably up at Tupancy Links now, walking Brad Pitt.”
I stare at her. “He has a dog called Brad Pitt?”
“It is a particularly handsome yellow Lab.”
“Well, of course it is. Wow. I got up this morning thinking I was just going to a quiet meeting, and I’m practically married.”
Abigail smiles. “Will you come Tuesday? Seven? I’ll write down my address for you.”
“I’ve just realized his fatal flaw,” I say, watching Abigail scribble down the details. “He lives with his mother.”
“Only while he’s doing up his house.” She smiles, and I cannot help but burst into laughter at the events of the day, and it isn’t even nine o’clock in the morning.
“Are you sure you’re not an ax murderer?” I ask her, as we get the check and I fumble in my purse, relieved I thought to take out cash before we left.
“I’m quite sure. Ask anyone on the island about me. They all know me. Now, I’m off to the Take It or Leave It Pile. Do you want to join me?”
“I’m going to go back home,” I say, knowing that if I even ask what on earth the Take It or Leave It Pile is, I may never make it out of this restaurant. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. “Is there anything we can bring?”
“Bottle of wine!” she says, before cracking up laughing. “Of course, that was a joke. Bring yourselves and good humor. See you Tuesday night, if not before, and good luck with Julia!”
Damn. I was having such a good time I had entirely forgotten to worry about seeing Julia again.
Twenty-four
I follow the instructions on the note I find on the kitchen table. They have taken off to the beach, with arrows pointing the way.
I change into a bathing suit, grab a towel, sunblock, and my book, and hesitate over the front door. In London, I wouldn’t even walk to the end of the hallway without locking my door. I wouldn’t go anywhere without locking the car. There have been plenty of times when I’ve let a prime parking space go because there’s a group of dodgy-looking youths walking toward me and there’s absolutely no way in hell I’m going to get out of my car anywhere near them.
But this is Nantucket. I remember Brooks never leaving anything locked. I remember the freedom and safety that came with that. I even remember Julia telling me that everyone left the keys in their scooters and cars. How she and her girlfriends would regularly jump into a Wagoneer parked down by the wharf, feeling above the visors for the keys, then take off to a beach party down toward Cisco, private and secluded enough that they wouldn’t get busted for drugs.
They would steal scooters all the time, to go to the Madaket Sham Jam, or the Chicken Box, before heading off to Galley Beach to go skinny-dipping, out of their minds, high, drunk, stoned, buzzing.
I had forgotten all of that. The sharing of stories. The envy I had of the freedom, the way Julia got to grow up. I had forgotten her delight in sharing her stories with me, how much I had liked her, how much I felt we had in common.
I had forgotten how much, for a very brief period of time, I had loved having a sister.
And although I know it was the booze, although I know I was