Page 12 of Sunset on the Solstice

Shelby laughed, imagining a future of couple vacations with her sister and Mick. Maybe Chad and whoever he wound up with would come, too. It all sounded so adult.

That night, Jared dressed the part of a handsome Harvard graduate. He wore a suit jacket and a pair of slacks, and his hair was gelled in a way that kept it out of his eyes. He’d brought flowers for not only Rebecca, but also for Grandma Esme, and he shook every man’s hand earnestly, looking them in the eye. Shelby swooned with happiness.

“It’s such a pleasure,” Rebecca said.

Out on the veranda, Rebecca opened a bottle of wine and poured everyone a little glass, even Chad. Shelby caught Lily and Mick giving one another funny glances. Under the table, she took Jared’s hand, feeling a wave of anxiety that only he could quell. But he didn’t seem nervous at all.

“So, Jared,” Grandpa Victor said, “your family has a summer house here on the island?”

“That’s right,” Jared said. “The Kissingers. We’re up along Siasconset Beach.”

“Of course. I’m friendly with your father,” Victor said proudly. “I’ve heard about his boy. The Harvard grad.”

Shelby beamed.

“And of course, I’ve heard about you,” Jared said. “The renowned therapist. It’s a pleasure.”

Victor laughed and reached for his wine. “How did you come to meet my granddaughter?”

“We met at the Book Club,” Shelby said in a small voice.

Esme cast Shelby a smile. “Shelby was always meant to be with another reader.”

“It’s hard to find people who read nowadays,” Jared agreed.

“It’s awful,” Lily said. “I realized I’ve only read two books the entire year! I’m so lazy.”

Mick laughed and said, “I’m sort of the same. I hate it.”

“Tell us your tips, you two,” Lily said. “How do you read so many books a week?”

Jared and Shelby laughed and looked at one another. Shelby wondered if her family could feel the magic swimming between them.

“It’s rare to meet someone as well-read as Shelby,” Jared said tenderly. “She’s read all the greats. Dostoyevsky. Faulkner. Tolstoy. Kafka. And she gets them, too, which is another rare thing.”

“Why wouldn’t she get them?” Lily interjected, her smile waning the slightest bit.

“Oh, I don’t mean anything by it,” Jared said. “It’s just that people don’t read that much anymore, like we said.”

“What about some of the women writers?” Grandma Esme asked, her smile firm.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, there are a few,” Jared said thoughtfully.

At this, Shelby felt a funny lurch in her gut.

Rebecca burst with laughter. “I get it. You’re joking,” she said, waving her fork toward him. “Of course you’ve read women. You can’t read some of the best books in history without reading women writers.”

Jared laughed. “Sure. Yeah. Sylvia Plath was pretty good. What’s her name, the other one? She was good, too. But great? I don’t know.”

There was a strangled moment of silence. Shelby didn’t dare look up at her mother, nor her grandmother, nor her sister. Her thoughts were tangled up.

And then, Jared let out another rogue laugh. “I’m kidding, obviously. Women writers are great. You know I think they’re great.”

7

Nantucket Island, Summer 2032

It was mid-June, and Rebecca’s entire kitchen was in a state of flux. Cabinets had been removed, and their replacements were lined up along the edge of the room, waiting for their time to come. An entire wall had been torn out, and there were even more paint samples everywhere, as though she and Ben had needed more choices than before. As though they wanted to be even more confused about which shade of beige to use, or which shade of white: ivory or cream or slate or whatever. There were just too many.