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But before she could think of the right things to say, more footfalls sounded on the stairs. Valerie appeared in the doorway, her eyes blotchy from crying.
“It smells delicious.” Valerie sniffed. She poured herself a glass of wine and leaned against the counter, where she raised her glass to Rebecca and said, “It’s so strange. I slip into my old patterns while I’m here. Like I suddenly become teenager Valerie rather than forty-one-year-old Valerie.”
“I’m not sure if I believe ‘growing up’ is a real thing,” Rebecca said.
“No. I’ve lived in many different cities and met all kinds of people. And the only thing that’s sure is that nobody knows what they’re doing or how to act,” Valerie agreed. “I guess it’s time I extend that same empathy to the Suttons.”
“It’s harder.” Bethany nodded. “My own children think my husband and I should be perfect in all things. We’re surgeons; we’re involved in our community. We try really hard to live up to their expectations, but it’s so much pressure some days. It means we take our fights to the garage, where they can’t hear us.”
Valerie frowned. “Do you think they’ll figure out you’re a real person with real problems soon?”
Bethany laughed. “Not if we can help it.”
Suddenly, another set of footfalls was on the stairs. The three Sutton sisters froze, watching as Esme revealed herself in a pair of linen pants, a linen blouse, and a touch of lipstick. Looking regal and strong, she’d wanted to make an entrance.
“Mom,” Bethany breathed. “You look gorgeous.”
“And we look sloppy,” Rebecca admitted, eyeing her leggings.
Esme waved her hand. “I don’t have many memories of my mother. The ones I do have are of her always looking her best—no matter what the weather was, no matter if she was sad, no matter if she was sick. I think it was a trick of the mind.”
“There must be something to that,” Valerie agreed. After a pause, she added, “During my depressive episodes, I’ve hardly managed to dress myself in the morning. It definitely made everything feel worse. More hopeless.”
Esme drew her eyebrows together and placed her hand on Valerie’s shoulder. She searched for words that could take away the evident pain Valerie had gone through, but there was nothing.
Instead, she said, “I wish you would have been here. With me and Larry.”
Valerie’s eyes twinkled. “He was such a kind man.”
“He really was the greatest man I ever knew,” Esme agreed. She took another glass from the cabinet and poured herself some wine. “I’m glad you got to meet him.”
The butter chicken was ready to eat. Rebecca procured four plates from the cabinet and set the breakfast table, as it felt cozier tucked in the back corner of the kitchen as the storm continued to boil outside. She filled their plates with butter chicken and refilled the wineglasses, then sat with her two sisters and mother and said, “I hope you’ll enjoy.” It wasn’t lost on her that this was the first meal she’d ever made for her mother.
Rebecca watched Esme like a hawk. Slowly, Esme lifted a forkful of butter chicken to her lips, closed her eyes, and took a bite. She moaned and shook her head. “Rebecca. This is to die for!”
Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. Esme squeezed her wrist. “You must give me the recipe,” she added.
“It’s not just the recipe,” Bethany assured Esme. “Rebecca went to culinary school. She learned the secrets of the masters.”
“Is it illegal for you to pass those secrets on to us?” Valerie asked.
“I swore I never would,” Rebecca joked.
Slowly, they ate and talked quietly about everyday things. They talked about the weather, about Rebecca and Bethany’s children, and about the approaching summer season and all the chaos it would bring to the island. Valerie spoke about her job as though it still existed, although Rebecca and Bethany were not sure about that. And Esme spoke about the Sutton Book Club as though it was not about to go under, although everyone at the table knew it would.
It was a conversation that hovered above reality for comfort’s sake. And goodness, did they need it.
But after the plates were in the dishwasher and fresh glasses of wine were poured, Rebecca heard herself ask Esme, “Will you tell us about Larry?”
Emse’s eyes were glassy. She gazed out the window for a long time and thought about what to say. “Larry and I met when I went back to college.”
Rebecca was surprised. She hadn’t known her mother had gone to college.
“As you know, I never finished my undergrad,” Esme continued. “I was never fully focused, never really knew what I wanted to do, and then I got pregnant with Rebecca. Before I knew it, I had a baby, a husband, and this big house to care for. When I was in my late forties, I found myself alone here or alone at the Sutton Book Club with no one to talk to and nowhere to turn. Well, no one except your grandfather.” She smiled to herself. “He urged me to take classes in anything I wanted to. So for two semesters, I lived in Boston and took classes at Harvard.”
“Harvard!” All three of the Sutton sisters gasped.
“That’s right,” Esme said. “I took literature, writing, and French courses. Most of the students were in their twenties, of course, but a few here and there were like me—those who wanted to extend their education. Those who were a little bit lost. And one of those men was Larry Gardner. He was in my American literature of the twentieth century course. As though we were in our twenties, he asked me to help him write an essay. I went to his apartment, in which he’d lived since he’d gotten divorced. That night, he kissed me for the first time. I thought I would float away with happiness.”
