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Cole placed his hand over Aria’s on the table, and Aria’s skin beneath his hand felt like fire. “I’ll be there with you the entire time. You don’t have to worry.”
Aria raised her eyes to his, overwhelmed by the power of his friendship. “That means a lot to me, Cole. Really.”
Cole removed his hand, and Aria wanted to scream at him to put it back. “It’s my pleasure. And isn’t this Italian place great? It’s a little hole in the wall that my dad always took me to when we went on longer sailing trips together. He always swore it was the best of the best on the east coast, and I have to say I agree with him.”
Aria’s heart swelled at the image of Cole with his father, perhaps even at this very table— Cole youthful and bright-eyed as his father recalled beautiful sailing stories, walking Cole through the adventures of his life. Aria had a sense that Cole would have similar stories. Maybe he would one day sit with someone and tell the story of when he brought a very silly, lost young woman back to Savannah to learn the hidden secrets of her mother’s past. Maybe he would tell them, “She was such a mysterious woman. I never understood her at all.”
ChapterTen
Carmella returned to her mother’s diary late that night after feeding Georgia. The moon illuminated one end of the couch, and she wiggled her toes in it, thinking about Tina Remington so many years ago, destroying her marriage with every decision, with reckless and romantic abandon. What would Carmella have thought of that woman? Would she have appreciated how much she listened to her heart? Would she have loved her joie de vivre?
August 5, 1978
Oliver asked me to meet him at a mysterious address. After the babysitter arrived, I drove out to an area of the island I didn’t know well and peered through the trees to find his car tucked in beside a little stone cottage by the ocean. I couldn’t make sense of it. I drove up beside his car and then found him on the cottage's back porch, gazing out across the ocean as though he was a very old man and not thirty-five years old. I laughed at him and kissed him, so grateful to be back in his arms. Sometimes, I tell myself that we can’t choose when we meet the right people. They come when we least expect them.
“Oliver. What is this place?” I asked him, flabbergasted.
And he brought forward two keys, both glinting in the summer light, and told me he’d just purchased this place “for us.” I could hardly believe it. I took the key and then kissed him, hardly able to understand what he’s done for us— that he’d taken this first step toward building a world for us.
It goes without saying what we did after that, in every room of the house. I told him I loved him in every room, and he blushed the way he does, as though he can’t handle the intensity of my emotions. He’s not my therapist anymore, after all. He’s tied up in the mess of me.
It was getting late. Oliver cooked us a pasta dinner, which we ate outside, watching the water roll across the sands. For the first time, Oliver asked me what I thought about leaving Neal. “People get divorced all the time, Tina.” I don’t know why, but this made me cry.
August 7, 1978
I’m writing this entry on the back porch of the stone cottage Oliver bought to house our secret affair. Oliver is in the kitchen, putting together a salad, and it’s struck me, as I sit here, listening to the waves, that Oliver is the only man who’d ever cooked for me. Why is it such a rare thing to feel cared for, especially if you’re a woman? I don’t think any of my friends’ husbands do anything regarding meals. I don’t think they even pick up apples at the store or grab a six-pack of beer.
Oliver hasn’t asked me again about Neal or whether I would consider leaving him, but I can see the question lurking behind his eyes. I suppose by now, so many months after we began the affair, we must ask ourselves these questions. Why would Oliver stay with me if I’m unwilling to make an enormous sacrifice? Why would he always want to remain a secret?
I’ve considered what my peers of Martha’s Vineyard will say if Oliver and I go through with it. What will they call me? Neal Remington is so beloved, and the Vineyard looks to the Katama Lodge and Wellness Spa with endless pride. Will my affair with Oliver belittle Neal’s reputation? Then again, there’s a chance it could bolster it, with so many feeling “so sorry for poor Neal.” And I imagine it wouldn’t take Neal long to find a second wife.
It’s also true that Neal wasn’t always this way toward me. Initially, he was sweet, talking endlessly about starting his Lodge and building a family with me. I got all wrapped up in that love almost too tightly, which is why I feel mystified now that I’ve gone years without feeling any love from Neal. Where did that love go?
August 10, 1978
Today, out of the blue, the babysitter called to say she couldn’t watch Carmella and Elsa. You would have thought she’d called to say the world was ending— that was how devastating it was. I cried about being unable to come over to the little cottage by the sea.
But then, Oliver called me and said, “Why don’t you just bring them with you?”
At first, I said this wasn’t possible, as though the watchful eyes of my children would immediately clue Neal into what I’m doing. But then I thought— why the heck not? I’m on the verge of asking for a divorce anyway, and my children are still very young. Carmella can’t speak, and Neal isn’t around Elsa enough to catch wind of any “new friends” she might have.
So, here I am on the back porch of the seaside cottage with both of my daughters. Carmella is fast asleep in her carrier, and Elsa is at the porch table with Oliver, drawing pictures. I realize I’ve never seen Oliver with a child before, and the image makes my heart shatter with longing. I want that man’s child. I want to go the distance with him.
Before I return to the Remington House tonight, I’ll tell Oliver it’s time. It’s time that I tell Neal the truth and devise a plan to get out of that marriage. Neal probably won’t want to care for the children even half of the time, which means that Carmella, Elsa, and I will move here with Oliver, and Oliver will have to play the role of a stepfather. I know it will be a wonderful fit.
August 13, 1978
I know it’s reckless, but I’ve just called Neal at the Lodge to tell him I won’t be coming home tonight. A lie came out of me before I could stop it— that I’m staying at a friend’s place with both girls. At first, he was mystified, as I’ve never done anything like that before. His voice became very meek, and he asked, “Have I done something wrong? Are you leaving me?” And I couldn’t bring myself to tell him, not then. I was petrified. So, I told him that it had gotten late here, that both Elsa and Carmella were asleep, and that I didn’t want to wake them up to move them. He understood, then he even got a bit excited. He loves having nights to himself. I wonder what he does with his time.
But now, Elsa and Carmella are asleep in the guest room (what I’ve secretly begun to refer to as their room), and I’m in bed, listening to the stream of water as Oliver showers. A warmth of happiness is flooding through me, and I know it’s too late to stop it.
I suppose if I never saw Neal again, I would be fine with that.
* * *
Carmella woke early the next morning to a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open to find Cody above her, smiling gently.
“You never came back to bed,” he whispered.
