“Not at all,” Nick said.
Ada sat and ordered a glass of wine, then folded her arms over the table, studying Nick. Now that they’d been working together for a while, she was well-acquainted with his face, but it looked different out here on the porch of the wine bar, more handsome and charming, more like something she wasn’t trying to “make sense of” and rather someone she wanted to get to know. She tried to push the memories of their most recent conversations out of her head. She didn’t want to think about his wife right now. She didn’t want to think about how much his heart still ached.
“And you?” Nick asked when her wine came. “What are you doing out here?”
Ada considered this. Because she was his therapist, she knew it was incorrect to open up to him, no matter how right it felt. He was a human and in pain; she was a human and in pain. It seemed more than right that she’d shed some light on her own pain. Wouldn’t it make him feel less alone?
But instead, she said, “I moved my daughter into school last week, too. I’ve felt lost ever since. Like I cut off my arm and left it somewhere. I feel like I’m just wandering around, trying to make sense of it all.”
Nick hissed. “I get it.” He raised his glass. “To our daughters.”
“To our daughters! May they come home to visit soon,” Ada said.
“And may they flourish.” Nick added, mischievously, “Before returning to Nantucket and never leaving us alone again.”
Ada threw her head back, grateful to laugh. She thought that these were the conversations she’d been meant to have with Peter; these were the ways they were supposed to take care of one another after Hannah left. But they didn’t have each other’s backs.
“So tell me,” Ada said. “Who was this woman you were going out with?”
Nick groaned and pulled up his dating app to show the woman’s profile. “I think she’s a tourist,” he said. “Maybe she met some other wealthy sailor or something and decided to go out with him instead.”
Ada flipped through the woman’s photographs, noting that she was in her forties, clearly from the city, with a deep, fake tan.
“Nick,” she teased, “I don’t think this woman has read poetry in her life.”
Nick barked with laughter. “Are you sure? Sometimes people have poetry in their hearts.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.” Ada cackled and sipped her drink. She wondered if she’d have to download that wretched dating app soon and pictured herself on the sofa, swiping and swiping and swiping. Her smile dimmed. “Was that your first attempt? At dating, I mean.”
Nick shook his head. “I’ve been on a few. But this was the first in Nantucket.”
“It’s rough out there,” Ada breathed.
“You’re telling me. I thought I was done with all that.”
“Me too,” Ada said meekly, unable to look up at him.
Silence stretched over the table. Nick drank his wine and looked anywhere but at her. Ada couldn’t believe she’d let that slip but felt better now, as though a weight had been taken from her chest. Ada drank her wine faster, asking Nick about his trip to Yale and Carleigh’s first few days. When she finished her wine, she beckoned to the server, eager to pay and get going.
“I’ve got this,” Nick said. “I have a book to read. I’m fine. I don’t want to go back to a big empty house.”
Ada thanked him and got up. With a soft voice, she said, “Thank you for the wonderful conversation, Nick. It was fun.” She swallowed, then added, “I guess I should say…”
“I know.” Nick was firm but kind. “Patients and therapists can’t be friends. I have friends in the business. They’ve told me as much.”
“It’s good that we broke the rules tonight,” Ada said, stepping off the porch and into the night. “I think we both needed it.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Nick said, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Chapter Eighteen
It wasn’t till Ada pulled into the driveway and cut the engine that Hannah called her back. There was a light on in the kitchen and two lights on upstairs, in Kade and Olivia’s bedrooms, but it looked more or less like the Bushner house was shutting down for the night. Rather than go in right away, Ada answered her daughter, eager to hear her voice. It pulled her back into a world she’d understood.
“Mom,” Hannah said, giggling, “what’s up?”
Ada’s heart lurched in recognition: she knew without a doubt that her daughter had drunk alcohol. She pictured her in half a dozen awful situations, remembered news reports, and considered all the things that could go wrong on college campuses.
Ada cleared her throat. “Are you all right?”
