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“You know I’ve wanted kids for years,” Brea said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. “We just couldn’t afford them back in the city. And then, with Kenny’s illness, time just got away from us. But we’re still young! We could have five kids, even.”
“Why stop at five when you could have eight?” Oriana quipped.
“After seeing what you went through with your children back in the city,” Brea began, “I don’t think I could handle the stress of that.”
“Yes, but we’re out on our own now,” Oriana reminded her. “It’s just us, our client list, and all the art to deal in the world. Which means if you need to take time off to care for your children, be my guest. We aren’t in the cut-throat world of New York City anymore. We need to be there for each other.”
As Oriana said this, another wave of guilt came over Brea, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“What’s wrong?” Oriana demanded.
“Oh! Nothing. I just can’t believe it’s almost over,” Brea said, gesturing across the dance floor.
“It is sad, isn’t it? I dreamed of my wedding my entire childhood, and then whoosh, it was done.” Oriana shook her head. “But there’s so much more to look forward to. Don’t you think?”
Although it was common practice to stay in a honeymoon suite immediately after the reception— for brides and grooms supposedly craved beautiful, fancy things, Brea and Kenny had decided that there was no place like home for them. A sober driver dropped them off around one in the morning, and they scurried through the rain and stood on the back porch, waving goodbye. There, Kenny kissed Brea delicately and rubbed her shoulders.
“So. I’m your husband now,” he said, his tone lilting.
“I heard something about that,” Brea joked. “Does that mean you’ll take the trash out for the rest of our lives?”
“You always were a romantic, Brea,” Kenny said.
“I know. My head is in the clouds.” Brea laughed and rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him, her heart pumping hard.
Kenny and Brea’s marriage was blissful, starting from that very first day. Often, they woke up earlier than they needed to, just to sit at the kitchen table with cups of coffee as the light of the morning streamed through the windows, talking about whatever was on their minds. It was bizarre, perhaps, that although they’d known one another since their early teenage years, they never ran out of things to say.
Kenny started a new job as head chef at a French seafood restaurant in Edgartown, and Brea found herself up to her ears with new clients in the business she and Oriana had started together— The Martha’s Vineyard Art Club. Eventually, they dreamed of hiring people to work under them, but for now, it was just the two of them meeting with clients, driving to New York, researching new artists, and celebrating their triumphant rise through the art world, despite their decision to leave the big city.
“Alexa and Joel are flourishing,” Oriana said once as they drove back from New York to Martha’s Vineyard. “I can’t imagine what kind of people they would have been had we stayed in the city. Nothing against lifelong New Yorkers, of course. But I feel that our particular brand of Martha’s Vineyard love is so powerful— nothing I want to deny my children.”
Brea understood what she meant. And, just as they’d planned, she and Kenny were trying for a baby, with the hope to welcome him or her by the following year. Every time Brea walked past the spare bedroom upstairs, she daydreamed that their baby was already in there, fast asleep in a crib. But unfortunately, Brea was met with disappointment every month and the growing belief that maybe something was wrong with her.
“We’ll go to the doctor soon,” Kenny assured her. “But right now, aren’t we having a great time on our own?”
Brea had to admit he was right. Without children, they were untethered, apt to take off for spontaneous vacations whenever their hearts craved it. They flew to Paris, went to California, and ate Cajun food in Louisiana. They went sailing, hiking, and snorkeling and discussed a trip to South America to see Machu Picchu.
Brea had a hunch that because Kenny had thought he would die, he now wanted to live as wildly and freely as he could. That didn’t negate his desire for children; he just didn’t see the rush. Brea tried to take a deep breath, to calm herself down, and to remember that sometimes, people had babies later in life. There was no pressure besides the one you put on yourself.
But toward the end of the year, just a week or so before Christmas, everything changed. Brea had been at the office with Oriana, going over their next year’s goals and strategies. The plan was to return home, change, pick up Kenny, and head to a party with Oriana and Reese. Snow flurries swirled across her car window, and a slick ice forced her to drive slowly, carefully. Once she parked in the driveway, she breathed a sigh of relief, stepped out of the car, walked carefully to the front door, opened it, and discovered, with a horrible jolt in her gut, that Kenny had collapsed on the living room floor.
“Kenny!” Brea left the door open and scrambled to sit next to him. Although he was still breathing, his skin was clammy and cold. “Oh my gosh. I’m going to call an ambulance, Kenny, okay? But I’m right here, baby. I’m right here.”
The ambulance arrived fifteen minutes later. As she waited, Brea held Kenny’s hand delicately as tears streamed down her cheeks. Because she didn’t know what else to do, she narrated their future to Kenny, telling him about the trips they would go on, and the children they would have. His eyes still glinted with life, but even though she’d covered him with blankets, his skin continued to chill.
Up at the hospital, Brea paced nervously, thinking she was in a nightmare, one she would surely wake up from. This was why she didn’t reach out to anyone and didn’t call Oriana or Kenny’s family. This was why she was alone when the doctor came out to tell her that Kenny hadn’t made it. This was why she was alone when she fell to her knees and realized her life, as she’d once known it, was officially over. In many ways, her life had ended the day Kenny received his diagnosis in 1998— but they’d been allowed two extra years to say goodbye. It had been a blessing, maybe, but also a terrible curse.
ChapterTwenty
Present Day
Despite fear for what awaited them at the end of the journey, the flight back to the United States was a gorgeous experience. Throughout, Oriana and Brea sat side-by-side in business class, sipping cocktails, chatting, or watching television, happy to pretend that the rest of the world would leave them alone, that the blackmailer would grow tired of his blackmailing, that Brea could return to Martha’s Vineyard unscathed by the terrible events of the past.
“You have got to try this sundae,” Oriana insisted, moaning as she took another spoonful.
Brea blushed and dug her spoon into the ice cream, making sure to get a small piece of chocolate brownie and a bit of caramel. She closed her eyes as she ate and said, “It’s good, but it isn’t as good as that place we went to growing up.”
“Ray’s? Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I forgot about that.”
