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“Oh, dear,” Hollis says. “That’s not good.”
“It’s worse than ‘not good,’” Caroline says. “It’sterrible. And it’s everywhere. That article is on Refinery Twenty-Nine, but they got it from Vulture.”
Suddenly a voice calls out from the kitchen. Hollis peers through Caroline’s shutters to see a black Lincoln—How did that thing get down Squam Road?she wonders—turning around in the driveway.
Only one of her friends would hire such a car to get out here.
“It’s Dru-Ann,” Hollis says.
“Well, you’d better go, then.”
Hollis feels torn. She should greet her guest, of course, but she doesn’t want Caroline to think she’s not a priority. “Can I make you—”
“Just go, Mother,” Caroline says. She returns her attention to her phone. “Dru-Ann needs you more than I do.”
12. Blowout
The blowout at the salon costs more than Tatum expected but, oh, is it worth it. The stylist with the charming Irish accent, Lorna, eases Tatum’s head back against the lip of the sink and scrubs the hell out of Tatum’s scalp. Lorna wraps her hair in a fluffy white towel and hands her a latte and the most recent issue ofPeople. Tatum feels the tension roll off her shoulders as Lorna blows her hair out, straight and shiny with a little volume on top and some movement at the bottom.
Tatum knows that Lorna herself battled breast cancer a couple years earlier; there was a fundraiser held for her at the Rose and Crown, and Irina Services donated weekly cleanings of Lorna’s cottage. Tatum sneaks a glance at Lorna. Her breasts are small and perky, her cheeks are rosy, and her grip on the brush is strong and sure. You would never know she’d been sick. Should Tatum ask about her “journey”? (Tatum at least knows not to call it a “battle.”) Breast cancer survivors are supposed to be part of a sisterhood, which sounds appealing as long as you crush the “survivor” part and don’t end up in a casket like Tatum’s mother.
The Zen that Tatum has managed to achieve for five minutes is gone, but even so, she smiles at Lorna in the mirror. “I wish it could always look like this.”
“You’re absolutely gorge,” Lorna says with a wink. “Now go enjoy your Five-Star Weekend.”
The evening before, Tatum told Kyle about the voice mail from the hospital. They held hands—Tatum squeezing like hell—and listened to it together.
“Good morning, this is Dr. Constable. I have the results of your biopsy, though hospital policy prevents me from leaving that information in a voice mail. I’ll be in the office until five today, then I’m out tomorrow. In the event you miss me, I’ll be back in the office first thing Monday morning. Feel free to call me after eight a.m. Thank you.”
Tatum released Kyle’s hand and replayed the message, trying to decipher Dr. Constable’s tone. She didn’t sound particularly grim, but neither did she sound upbeat. She sounded utterly neutral.
“Call her back,” Kyle said.
“She said she’s in the office until five. It’s six thirty.”
“Doctors sit in their offices after hours and write in their charts,” Kyle said.
“On TV,” Tatum said. She didn’t want to call, so she pushed the phone toward Kyle and he called.
Tatum’s mind flipped through a mental scrapbook: Ice cream sundaes on her sixth birthday, a bumpy ride on the Steamship when her queasy-ass twelve-year-old self threw up in the sink, the lavender dress she wore to junior prom (Kyle matched with a lavender bow tie and cummerbund), Dylan’s baby walker (he liked to ram right into Tatum’s heels), a man she’d waited on at the Lobster Trap who asked for extra drawn butter and thendrankit. Why these things? Why couldn’t she come up with better memories?
Kyle sighed. “Voice mail.”
“Don’t leave a message,” Tatum said. “I’ll just call her Monday morning.”
Kyle said, “The good thing is you can enjoy your weekend without this hanging over your head.”
Tatum nearly snapped out,It’s still hanging over my head, dumbnuts,but she knew he was every bit as nervous as she was and he was trying to comfort her, so she kissed him instead.
Now Tatum texts Kyle:On my way home, we need to leave at 4!She has reminded him of this so often, he’s getting cranky about it, but she has a feeling that when he sees her hair, he’s going to want to whisk her into the bedroom, and really, they don’t have time.
She finds Kyle drinking beer at the teak outdoor table that Tatum and Dylan gave him for Father’s Day. He’s sitting with some tall, bald guy with a silver goatee wearing jeans, a white polo shirt, and flip-flops.
The man grins at Tatum and says, “Surprise, surprise!”
Tatum blinks. It’s Jack Finigan, apparently still alive and breathing.
“Well, well, isn’t thisBig Chillof you,” Tatum says as it all clicks into place. “Appearing out of the blue after ghosting us for a million yearsthisweekend of all weekends.”
