only comes from having the sort of money that means you never have to worry about anything in your life.
I look more closely at the woman with hair in a sleek chignon. The sort of chignon I dream of having, except my own personal frizz factor would never allow it. She looks like Audrey Hepburn, and my heart skips a beat. She looks like Ellie. I can’t tear my eyes away.
They keep moving, out of sight, and it takes me a while to center myself, to bring myself back to the present, to the people I love, the here and now. It probably wasn’t her, I tell myself; I was probably mistaken. It has, after all, been years.
As we leave, I stop in the bathroom, and as I am washing my hands, admiring my suntan in the mirror, the bathroom door opens and in walks the woman with the chignon.
She smiles at me, vaguely, then stops in her tracks, a look of growing horror in her eyes.
I was right.
It is Ellie.
And I freeze.
I have no idea what to say.
Twenty-eight
The color drains from her face, and she falters, before turning and leaving the bathroom, and I find myself going after her, walking quickly, catching up with her, placing a hand on her arm, which she shakes off, turning to glare at me.
“Ellie. Please. Can we talk?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses, keeping her voice low, as I wonder what she means: it’s not like Julia hadn’t told her, it’s not like she didn’t know about Annie. I am aware people have already started turning to see what is going on.
“Can we go somewhere quiet and talk?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” she says, disdain dripping from every word, unable to look at me.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this, not here, not in public, and not really at all, but I have heard enough times that you don’t get to move on, to fully recover, until you do the steps, and I know making the amends is the most important one. This isn’t about getting Ellie’s forgiveness; it’s about doing everything I can to keep myself on the wagon, to keep myself sane.
“Ellie, I owe you an apology.”
She puts a hand up. “Don’t. Just don’t. I have nothing to say to you, and there’s nothing you could say that I would want to listen to.”
“Ellie, please. I need to make amends—”
“I don’t care,” she almost spits. “How dare you! How dare you come back to Nantucket as if you didn’t commit the most egregious of crimes.” Her voice is rising in anger, and the conversation in the room falls away, everyone straining and craning to hear. “How dare you even talk about … what did you call it? Amends?” She snorts in derision. “Who do you think you are? You were the cause of my sister’s broken heart, you ruined her whole life, and you think you can come and make some sort of an apology, make amends, for that? I don’t think so. You have some nerve, coming back here. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at, but you are not welcome here, do you understand? You are not welcome on this island and you are not welcome in my family. Never again. I don’t ever want to lay eyes on you ever again.” She is now shouting, and the restaurant is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and this is it. The worst kind of shame and mortification imaginable. It is everything I had ever feared, and so very much worse.
And it is everything I deserve. As I stand here, my cheeks burning, grateful only that my daughter is not witness to this, that she and Sam are no longer in the restaurant, but standing in the car park, waiting for me to emerge from the bathroom, doubtless wondering where I am, I know that this is it. The penance I have waited all these years to pay.
Twenty-nine
I don’t know how I manage to get out of there, but I do, aware that everyone is staring at me. I keep my head held high and look straight ahead, eyes focused on the car park I can see beyond the open door, refusing to look to the left or right, refusing to acknowledge the pitying glances.
“What happened?” whispers Sam, who can see I am upset, almost on the verge of tears, but I shake my