Elin Hilderbrand - Silver Girl

“And the Flynns,” Connie said.

“In eighteen oh five,” Dan said. “We were latecomers.”

They ended up at the Summer House for lunch a little before noon. Dan had carte blanche at the restaurant by the pool because he did their power washing every spring. He and Connie sat in chaises in the sun and a waiter came to take their drink order. Dan ordered a beer, leaving Connie open to order wine, which she most definitely wanted, but no, she thought, she wouldn’t. She didn’t have to. She ordered an iced tea.

Dan delivered Connie back to her house at two thirty. He had blown off his morning appointments, but at three o’clock he had duties that couldn’t be ignored. Connie was dizzy with happiness. They had laughed by the pool at the Summer House; they had talked until they both felt drowsy and napped. Dan had, unceremoniously, thrown Connie into the pool-cotton sundress and all-and Connie had found this funny and charming, which meant she must really be crazy about the man, because what fifty-year-old woman enjoyed being thrown into a pool with her clothes on? (And the careful job she did with her hair was ruined.) As they dried off, they ordered soft-shell crab sandwiches and a side of French fries, and they split a crème brûlée for dessert, and Connie thought about how nice it was to be out in the world, among other people. And then she thought about Meredith and felt guilty, and so when Dan said he had to take her home, she was eager.

“But if you’re free, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight,” he said. “And afterward, I’d like you to spend the night.”

Connie nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. It was an indication of how mature they were-or did she mean old?-that Dan had made his intentions clear. It eliminated posturing and guesswork. They had both been married before; Connie was going to assume that Dan had had lovers since Nicole’s death. He knew what to do and she was grateful.

He dropped her at the front door and she stood on the porch waving until he drove away.

She hadn’t had a single drink, but she felt drunk.

She found Meredith lying on the sofa, reading Jane Austen. She was wearing her bathing suit and her cover-up. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head while she wore her regular glasses, but Connie knew that Meredith hadn’t spent one second outside. She was braver now than she’d been that first week, but she wouldn’t have ventured outside when she was alone at the house.

“Hey!” Connie said.

Meredith didn’t look up. Connie got a sour feeling in her stomach.

“Meredith?”

She didn’t move. She didn’t tilt her head or twitch her leg. Connie waited. Meredith turned the page. She was near the end of her book. Maybe she was engrossed. Meredith could be such a nerd when it came to books. Then Connie remembered that Meredith had left thirty dollars and the titles of two novels written on a piece of paper on the kitchen counter, and Connie had promised that she would run to Bookworks today to pick them up. Meredith was too afraid to go along, but she really wanted the books; they were important to her. So was that why Meredith was mad, because Connie had forgotten to get the books? Okay, fine, Connie would go right now. She stepped into the kitchen-the money and the list were still there and Connie snapped them up-then she realized that she’d left her car in Monomoy. Shit. Well, she and Dan could remedy that tonight. She could pick up her car after dinner and drive it to Dan’s house. Perfect.

Connie said, “Meredith, is everything okay?”

Meredith’s head popped up. “You left here at six o’clock this morning saying you were going to the grocery store.”

“I know,” Connie said. “I’m sorry.”

“I was worried, then panicked, then pissed off, because I realized around lunchtime that you must have had other plans and lied to me about them. Am I right?”

“I didn’t have other plans,” Connie said. “I went to the grocery store.” She was speaking very slowly, scrambling in her mind for the right words. She had known Meredith wouldn’t take this news well; she had been left in the house alone for almost nine hours. “I bumped into Dan. At the store.”

Meredith turned her face toward Connie at the mention of Dan’s name, although it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. At this moment, Connie remembered why they hadn’t spoken for three years. Meredith was formidable when she was at odds with you. Connie thought back on their fight over the phone. Oh, boy-had they been at odds.

“It was a fluke,” Connie said. She sounded like she was insisting. “We talked for a while, and then we went for a walk on the beach, and then we went to lunch at the Summer House, and then he brought me home.”

Meredith sniffed, but she wasn’t crying. Meredith didn’t cry.

“Meredith? Say something.”

“It sounds like you had a lovely day.”

Connie sat down on the coffee table. She decided she wasn’t going to lie to the woman to make her feel better. “It was a lovely day. We talked about Ashlyn, and about Dan’s son Joe. We went for a drive around the island and ended up at the Summer House. You can have lunch by the pool there and the Rosa rugosa are in bloom and you can see the ocean. We had soft-shell crab sandwiches and these French fries that were to die for. Dan threw me in the pool.”

“How much wine did you have?” Meredith asked.

Connie paused. It was an unkind question. But Connie wouldn’t take the bait. She had learned a thing or two from her other fight with Meredith. Meredith was feeling bad, and she wanted Connie to feel bad, too.

“Are you mad at me?” Connie asked. “Are you mad that I went out with Dan?”

Meredith didn’t answer.

“Do you have feelings for Dan, Meredith?” Connie asked. This hadn’t crossed Connie’s mind before; she had only been worried that Dan had feelings for Meredith.

“No,” Meredith said. “I do not have feelings for Dan. Other than thinking he is a very nice guy. And much to my surprise, I’ve had fun when the three of us were together. The fact that the two of you went out and had fun together without me stings a little, yes. Especially since I didn’t know where you were. Now, I get it. You’re an adult; this is your house. I’m living here only because you have an open mind and a kind, merciful heart. You can come and go as you please and see who you want, obviously. And I can sit here alone and feel scared shitless and sorry for myself.”

“Oh, Meredith,” Connie said. Life was, as she continued to believe, high school over and over again. Connie could have gotten snippy and defensive-this was Connie’s house, she did have every right to act spontaneously without calling home to check in with Meredith; Meredith was living there in the first place because of Connie’s good graces-but looking at Meredith now, she got it. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m going out with Dan tonight. For dinner.”

“By yourself?” Meredith asked.

Connie nodded.

“Where?”

“The Ships Inn,” Connie said. “And Meredith?”

“What?”

“I’m spending the night at Dan’s house. He asked me, and I said yes.”

Meredith turned back to her book. That was preferable, Connie understood, to Meredith acting shocked and calling her a slut. Connie stood up. She thought, I’ll bike out to Monomoy, get my car, drive to Bookworks and get Meredith those books. She’ll have them for tonight. She thought, And I’ll get the groceries! I’ll make something delicious for Meredith’s dinner.

She looked at Meredith, who now had the book tented over her face-though she wasn’t crying, never crying-and thought, How do I fix this?

It wasn’t until nine o’clock or so that Meredith realized that Connie hadn’t gone to the grocery store, or had gone not only to the grocery store. At first, Meredith assumed Connie had tacked on other errands: She went into town to shop at the farm stand or she went to the liquor store. Or she had revisited Vanessa Noel for shoes, or Erica Wilson or David Chase for a new dress or new white jeans or a new pretty top. It made sense that Connie would prefer to go shopping without Meredith. Meredith couldn’t afford anything-and she wouldn’t leave the house, anyway.

When, at noon, Connie still hadn’t returned, Meredith thought, Okay, maybe she went out and did all those other things and then went to Mass (unlikely) or to the Whaling Museum (on such a fine day?). Meredith called Connie’s cell phone from the house and another phone rang simultaneously, and Meredith was confused until she realized that Connie’s cell phone was right there in the kitchen. Which explained why Connie hadn’t called, but this didn’t make Meredith feel any better.

At one thirty, Meredith gave in to suspicion first, then fear. Her suspicion was that Connie had another friend or group of friends that she was secretly meeting. The mere idea of this hurt Meredith, but after a few minutes, Meredith rejected this theory. Connie had never mentioned other friends on Nantucket, and if she had had other friends, she would have called on them before now. This left Meredith with only fear, and her fear was that Connie’s long absence meant she had met with foul play which had been intended for Meredith. Amy Rivers had run her car off the road, or someone had accosted her in the parking lot of Stop & Shop and hurt her somehow. She was in the hospital, or someone had kidnapped her and she was, at this very second, sitting in someone’s kitchen bound by ropes to a Stephen Swift stool.

As soon as the Stephen Swift stool appeared in her field of vision, Meredith knew she was being ridiculous. Connie hadn’t met with foul play. So where was she?

When Connie did eventually arrive home at two thirty and told Meredith that she had bumped into Dan at the grocery store and they had spent the day together, Meredith was furious. Here, Meredith had spent eight hours worrying while Connie was getting her heart’s desire. Connie had been the one to drag Meredith along on both of her dates with Dan-one of them quite long-and not only had Meredith enjoyed herself but she had gotten used to the idea of the three of them being together. So to have them suddenly assert their couplehood was a shock.