a mind to put a vase of roses on my desk to remind me of you. I’ve only just left on the ferry and I’m already writing to you, planning our next escape. When I see you, I’m going to—’”
“Hand it over,” I said.
“Aw, Grandma, it was just getting good!”
I scanned the rest of the letter. When Jay Stephens saw my mother, he was planning to “ ‘drag you up to the widows’ walk as the sun sets over the jetties and kiss you until it’s time for the green flash on the horizon.’” I read it aloud to Ellie and she said, “Eww!” Then I explained what jetties and widows’ walks were. I could picture it precisely: the sky streaked a wild pink, like lipstick applied on a train. The flat blue water of the harbor. The scent of roses, the sound of bell buoys. The small square on top of my mother’s house felt as snugly dangerous as the crows’ nest on a pirate ship. Ellie was right: this was a love letter.
There were eight envelopes from him in all, spanning the three months she summered in Nantucket. I went through the last letter. Jay Stephens didn’t say good-bye to her in it; on the contrary, he made plans to see her the following month, before she had to close up the house for the season. I reached for the envelope. The postmark was June 8, 1936, two years after my parents were married.
The corners of my smile sank; the letter grew heavier in my hand. Could I be holding my father’s side of the story—that my mother broke his heart first?
“I like the name Jay,” Ellie said.
“Do you now?”
“He sounds nice, Grandma. Who was he?”
Good question, I thought. I went back to the date on his letter, two years after my parents’ nuptials. I was born less than a year later. I reached for Theo’s pen and wrote down “Jay Stephens” and the cities in the postmarks—Greenwich, New York City, Stowe.
“Grandma, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to call my cousin and see if his mother, my aunt Caro, ever mentioned this gentleman, if—”
“You mean you never met him? Why don’t we just Google him?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, we’ll look him up on the internet.”
“He’s probably dead by now, Ellie. Mother would have been, what, ninety-six?”
“Courtney’s great-grandmother is ninety-three and she smokes cigars.”
“But she’s not on the internet, dear.”
“She could be. People put their family trees on it all the time. Some of the kids in my class got the photos and information for their Generations project that way.”
I felt the beginnings of a shudder along my jawline. Dead people’s christenings and weddings and vacations sprinkled on the internet in such a fashion? That struck me as worse than having them end up at an auction or in an antiques shop. Whenever I stumbled on something like that in a store, part of me wanted to buy up all the framed daguerreotypes just to keep them out of the public eye. Having them displayed seemed a form of grave robbing.
“Well, maybe another time, sweetheart. We have to clean up for dinner.”
She washed her hands and I went upstairs to splash water on my face. I looked in the mirror and saw my mother looking back. I had never resembled my father, something that was a relief to me after he hurt my mother so. I remember how she wept when I went off to college and left her behind in that little bungalow on Aunt Caro’s estate. She looked so small, so alone. Do people think of me that way, too, alone in my house?
I dried my face, took a deep breath, and went downstairs. No time to think of such things when I had Ellie to entertain. Since it was something of a special occasion, I’d decided on the Potting Shed, which was known for its homemade ketchup and pickles. It was an expensive choice, but since I knew we’d be ordering cheeseburgers, it didn’t seem overly extravagant. And this was my pride and joy after all; I couldn’t justify slumming around with her forever. We left at six, so I wouldn’t have to drive home too late.
“Reservations for Ann Harris,” I said and smiled at the young hostess.
She scanned the book and her smile turned into a frown.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have you listed. Could it be under another name?”
“No, it would be Harris.”
“When did you call?”
It was a simple question, honestly asked. But my mind held