Elin Hilderbrand - Here’s to Us

The voices stopped, then started again. Belinda sat up.

They’re probably going to ask you for something. Money, or a favor. Or both.

Technically, no one had asked; Belinda would make sure to point that out to Bob later. In fact, Laurel had been adamant about not accepting Belinda’s money. Belinda might have a struggle with her-although Laurel probably felt as Belinda did: anything to save this house. Belinda recalled what Marianne Pryor had said: It’s not a house to us. It’s a home. And it’s not a home, it’s a way of life. Our summertime happens here. This house is part of our past, it’s our present, it’ll be our future. It’s who we are.

Whether Belinda liked it or not, the Thorpe summertimes happened here, at American Paradise.

She would save it-for Angie’s sake and Hayes’s sake and Ellery’s sake. She wouldn’t bother with the arrears; she would pay off all three mortgages, whatever that cost. And during her weeks in residence, she would take the master bedroom! Although she might just sneak down to Clara’s room every once in a while for a secret nap.

Belinda rose from bed and crept down the stairs. The voices grew louder and more distinct. There were people in the kitchen. Belinda poked her head in: Laurel and Scarlett were sitting together at the kitchen counter, each with a cup of tea and a shot of Jameson before them.

“Oh, hello,” Belinda said.

They both looked over. Without a word, Scarlett rose, pulled a shot glass out of the cabinet, and poured Belinda some whiskey.

“Tea?” Laurel asked.

“Not necessary,” Belinda said.

Scarlett and Laurel raised their shot glasses.

“Here’s to us,” Laurel said.

“To us,” Scarlett said.

“To us,” Belinda said.

The glasses clicked, and they drank.

A second shot followed. Then a third… before Belinda announced that she was paying off the mortgages.

“I don’t want you to argue with me. And I don’t want you to thank me. I’m not doing it for the two of you. I’m doing it for our children.”

Laurel welled up with tears. “And our grandchildren.”

“Thank you, Belinda,” Scarlett said.

Belinda glared at her. “What did I just say?” She wandered over to the door frame. “I want to know why the kids are the only ones to be measured,” she said. “Why not us? I, for one, would like my own hash mark.”

Laurel stood up. “Me too.”

Scarlett pulled a pen out of the junk drawer.

“You first, Laurel,” Belinda said.

Scarlett measured Laurel. She was almost an inch taller than Hayes had been at thirteen.

Laurel then measured Belinda. She was a smidge shorter than Angie had been at twelve.

And Belinda, standing on the step stool that Mrs. Innsley had probably used to reach the high cabinets and shelves, measured Scarlett. She was taller than everyone.

When they were done, the three of them stepped back to admire their names on the door frame of American Paradise: LAUREL 6/20/16, BELINDA 6/20/16, SCARLETT 6/20/16.

My, my, Belinda thought. Look how we have grown.

Tuesday, June 21

She had thought she would be the first one awake; JP was coming to get her at eight. He had volunteered to give her another shooting lesson.

Joel had left behind a T-shirt. Angie had held it for a moment; she’d even brought it to her nose and inhaled his scent. It pained her to remember him holding her, his face buried in her neck, or the way he tugged on her ponytail. She had fallen for him, and he had disappointed her. Her first adult relationship had taught her what? That men were wily and opportunistic. That people used the word “love” without thinking. Real love existed-about this she was optimistic-but she hadn’t found it having hurry-up sex in the dry pantry or in her apartment in the stolen hours between Joel leaving work and heading home.

When she entered the kitchen for coffee, she found Laurel, Buck, and Belinda already sitting at stools, deep in a hushed conversation.

“What’s up?” Angie asked.

The three of them stared at her.

“I’m taking Hayes to rehab,” Laurel said.

Angie nodded, trying to process these words. Hayes. Rehab. “He’s agreed to it? Or we’re doing an intervention? What is he addicted to?”

“Heroin,” Laurel said. “He’s agreed to go. There’s a place in Pennsylvania, about two hours south of New York. We’re leaving later this morning.”

“Oh, wow,” Angie said. Heroin. She thought about how Hayes had looked the first time she saw him, sitting outside her door. Like any tweaker plucked off Ludlow Street. He was going to rehab; this was a sign of hope. But it was too much to think about, and so Angie deferred to considering the logistics of this new development.

“How am I getting home?” Angie asked.

“You are home,” Belinda said.

As Angie stood aiming the arrow at the target, she felt herself relax. JP noticed, because he said, “There you go. You’re breathing. Now, line up the pin.”

She didn’t have to hit the target today. Now that she was staying on Nantucket for the rest of the summer, the pressure had been lifted. She could work on getting her stance and form right, and if she missed, she missed.

She could always come back tomorrow and try again.

“I have to admit,” Belinda said, “I’m jealous.”

“You should be,” Angie said. She couldn’t believe how excited she felt about staying; nor could she believe how close she’d come to losing Nantucket altogether. Her mother had saved the day. Belinda! Now Angie would go to the beach every day, and she would work on Deacon’s cookbook; it would be a dream summer. Only one thing would be missing. “Did I tell you that JP is teaching me how to use a bow and arrow?”

“He’s adorable,” Belinda said.

He was adorable, but Angie wasn’t about to discuss her brand-new friendship with her mother.

“I think I’ll come back after the Fourth of July,” Belinda said. “Mary and Laura will be away at riding camp for three weeks. Would it be okay with you if I came for three weeks?”

“What would you do for three weeks?” Other than drive me crazy? Angie thought.

Belinda got a wicked glimmer in her eye. For an instant, Angie understood how her father had fallen so profoundly in love. “I’m going to take swimming lessons,” she said.

Publishers Weekly

Legacy: The Recipes of Deacon Thorpe, Foreword by Quetin York

Fans of Deacon Thorpe’s TV shows, Day to Night to Day with Deacon and Pitchfork, and guests lucky enough to have secured a coveted reservation at Mr. Thorpe’s midtown Manhattan restaurant, the Board Room, will rejoice that the legacy of the late chef-who passed away in May 2016-lives on through the voices of his talented children. His daughter, Angela Thorpe, graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park in 2010 and worked for the past four years as the fire chief at the Board Room. His son, Hayes Thorpe, was until June 2016 an editor at Fine Travel magazine. Together, the Thorpe offspring provide a host of the most popular recipes from the TV shows and the restaurant, as well as some treasured family recipes and some original recipes developed by Ms. Thorpe. Interspersed throughout is an unflinchingly honest and often humorous portrait of their father. According to his eldest two children (Thorpe also fathered a daughter, Ellery, age 10, with his third wife, Scarlett Oliver), Deacon Thorpe fought the demons of drugs and alcohol most of his life, but he was buoyed emotionally by the women he loved-his childhood sweetheart and first wife, Laurel Thorpe, his second wife, Academy Award-winning actress Belinda Rowe, and the aforementioned Ms. Oliver. Legacy is more than a cookbook; it’s a touching tribute to a cultural icon many Americans miss. It celebrates Mr. Thorpe’s greatest legacy, which is love.

New York Times Wedding Announcements

Scarlett Oliver and Robert “Bo” Tanner were married yesterday at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist in Savannah, Georgia. The Reverend Clarence Meets officiated.

Ms. Oliver, the widow of the late chef Deacon Thorpe, was attended only by her daughter, Ellery Thorpe. Ms. Oliver is the daughter of Bracebridge and Prudence Oliver of Savannah, Georgia.

Mr. Tanner is a private wealth management specialist in Savannah, Georgia, and New York City. He’s the son of Beulah Tanner and the late Harrison Robert Tanner. Mr. Tanner’s first marriage ended in divorce.