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Anna folded her sandwich in its plastic wrap and reached for his hand. They laced their fingers together as though they were two pieces of the same puzzle. She realized she’d felt this way from the moment she’d seen him on the beach, gazing up at the moon.
“I feel like we’re at the beginning of something,” she whispered. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”
Smith smiled. “Your mom thinks I need to get better at pacing in writing, anyway,” he joked. “I might as well practice in real life.”
Chapter Seventeen
The sunset over Nantucket was a sherbert smear of oranges, pinks, reds, and blues. Anna nursed Adam in her car, where she’d parked in the harbor, watching as Smith took photographs along the railing. It was nearly seven, nine hours into their “adventure day,” and Anna felt light and happy, like a confident mother, a wonderful lover, and a good friend. There was nothing she couldn’t do. Smith had even convinced her to contact a few of her recent clients, explaining that she’d just had a baby but that she was eager to join the workforce again in the summertime. There was always plenty to write about in Nantucket in the summer.
Adam finished nursing and fell back asleep. Overwhelmed with love, Anna worked slowly and diligently, scooping him back into his carrier and stepping into the evening. She joined Smith by the railing and wrapped her arm around him, swaying with him gently as they watched the night swallow up the day.
“I have a question,” Smith said after a time. His tone was wistful. “Would you ever write about it?”
Anna frowned. “About what?”
“About Dean. About all of it.” Smith pressed his lips together nervously.
“You mean, like a memoir?” Anna asked.
Smith shrugged.
Anna cradled Adam’s head with her hand. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She paused. “I think some things are too sacred to share.”
A flicker of fear came over Smith’s face. Immediately, Anna regretted what she’d said, thinking of her mother, of the book she and Smith were planning to publish. Smith was clearly having second thoughts about publishing something so revealing about himself, his family, and his mother.
As Anna searched her mind for a better answer, something to calm him down, Adam began to wail again. This cry was different, proof he needed a diaper change. “Shoot,” she muttered, suddenly flailing between her worries for Smith and her worries for her baby. “I just ran out of wipes. I have to run into the store.”
There was a mini-market three minutes from the dock, where sailors stocked up on supplies for their treks across the ocean. There had to be wipes there.
“Let me take him while you go,” Smith said. His voice was nurturing and calm.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’d do anything for this little guy.”
Smith scooped Adam into his arms and stood still as Anna adjusted the carrier around him. Adam continued to wail with confusion and discomfort. It triggered her in a biological sense. She had to care for him.
Again, she thought of Smith’s mother—who hadn’t heard that call.
Anna fled the harbor and traced the sidewalk to the sailor’s market. It was an unorganized disaster, with fruits and vegetables rolling around on the floor and unstocked aisles meant to boast bread and cereals. A woman smoked a cigarette out front and emerged only when she realized Anna wanted to buy something. She sniffed at Anna, accustomed to a different sort of clientele.
“Just these,” Anna said, placing a package of wipes on the counter. It was a miracle she’d found them. In the distance, she could still hear Adam crying, and it made her stomach cramp.
Anna hurried back to the harbor, eager to tend to her son. But as she whipped around the corner, she realized Smith and Adam were no longer by themselves. Adam’s cries were louder, sharper, as though he was warning her of something. Anna quickened her pace.
There was a woman with Smith and Adam. She waved her hands and cried out, and her blond hair was a violent web around her head. It took Anna a few blinks to realize it was Violet—unkempt, loud, and volatile. Her eyes showed too much of their whites.
As Anna neared them, she understood more and more of what Violet screamed. And it wasn’t good.
“It shouldn’t have been you! It was never meant to be you!”
Anna’s stomach curdled. She ripped forward, so close that Adam’s cries tore through her eardrum.
“Do you hear me? Do you understand?” Violet demanded.
Smith wore a pained expression. His hands were wrapped over Adam’s ears, protecting him from Violet’s rage.
“I understand,” Smith was saying very quietly. “I know. It’s too much.”
