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“Thank you for a beautiful day,” Carmella said, draping herself through Elsa’s car to hug her tightly.
“Tell Aria I’m out front,” Elsa said. “I can drive her wherever she needs to go.”
“Will do.” Carmella got out and walked to her front door, her ears craning for the sounds of her baby’s cries. But when she opened the door, she found Georgia asleep in her bassinet in the living room, with Aria sound asleep on the couch. The young woman had her arms crossed over her chest and her head flat across the couch cushions, and Georgia looked adorable and pink-faced, her little hands in fists.
Carmella clipped the door closed behind her, which made Aria jump up with surprise.
“I’m sorry to wake you!” Carmella whispered, smiling at Aria.
Aria shook her head. “Don’t worry! Did you have a good time?”
“It was so wonderful.” Carmella leaned over the bassinet and smiled at her baby, whom she’d missed so much. “Was she okay?”
“She was great!” Aria explained as she gathered her coat and her shoes. “A few cries occasionally, but mostly, she just kept sleeping. She also seems to be a big fan of my singing, which makes her the only person in the world.”
Carmella’s eyes widened. “You must be a baby whisperer.”
“Oh, gosh. No way. Georgia made it easy on me.” Aria pulled on her winter hat and shrugged.
Carmella hunted through her wallet for cash, paying a bit more than she would have since the girl lived in those horrendous apartments on the outskirts of town. “Elsa says she’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”
“I’m off to my other job!” Aria said with a laugh. “There’s no end to the grind, is there?”
Carmella winced as she watched the young woman stride back into the cold and hurry into Elsa’s car. In the front seat, she strung the seatbelt over her chest and chatted easily as Elsa smiled and backed the vehicle into the road. When they disappeared down the street, Carmella returned to the couch and dropped against it, where she leafed through her backpack to find her mother’s journal again.
Although she knew Elsa had given the journal as a sweet and easy gift, Carmella had begun to fear it. Being a new mother meant experiencing dark and strange emotions, ones that were not easy to explain to other people.What if Tina’s dislike for Carmella had actually begun when Carmella was two or three months old? What if Colton’s death hadn’t had anything to do with it? Maybe this diary was better left unread.Carmella stood and slipped the book into a nondescript place between other books on her shelf, praying that, at some point, all that sleep deprivation would make her forget about it. And just as she turned away from the shelf, Georgia’s eyes opened, and she let out a howling scream. It was show time.
ChapterFour
It was early February. Aria awoke in the single bed she’d purchased second-hand for very little and stretched her legs and arms, staring out the window at yet another very cold day in Martha’s Vineyard. Around her was the rinky-dink apartment she’d managed to get for herself not long after her spontaneous arrival to the Vineyard last October, when she’d abandoned her family, architecture, and everything she’d ever known to pursue a quest to “find herself.” But this deep into being poor and lonely, she wasn’t often sure she remembered why she’d done any of it.
Aria made herself a pot of coffee and checked her messages, of which there were three. One was from her mother, who frequently checked in to see how Aria was doing.
MOM: Hi, honey. How are you doing up there in the cold? Your father and I were talking about visiting New York City in the spring. Maybe you would like to meet us there? I know things are difficult between you and your father, and the sailing incident didn’t help. But couldn’t you find it in your heart to forgive him— especially since he hasn’t gone after Whitney Silverton, just as he promised you? I love you so much, Aria. And I sometimes don’t know what to do with the fact that I haven’t seen you since autumn. Mom.
Aria blinked back tears and considered how to respond to her mother, a woman who could write such pretty things but never stand up to Kenny Baldwin, a man who seemed made of ice.
There were two other messages, one from her advisor at the Savannah College of Art and Design, asking her how she wanted to proceed. Although she’d dropped out last semester, she only had a few more credits till graduation. “It seems like a waste, doesn’t it, not to proceed with graduation? Especially after how hard you’ve worked.” Aria immediately deleted the email, feeling dead inside.
The final email was from none other than Professor Judah Heskew, who’d written her several times since he’d learned of her abandonment of her coursework. Some way or another, he’d found out about the sailing accident, and sometime around Christmas, he’d asked Aria if the accident had had something to do with her dropping out. Aria had written back to say that she just wasn’t sure about her future anymore and that she wasn’t sure she had “it,” whatever it was that made someone successful.
Now, Judah wrote:
Hey, Aria. I just wanted to check in and let you know that I will be hosting an online class for the second half of this semester regarding the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright. I remember you once told me you ‘weren’t quite sure about the guy,’ and I was hoping you could enter the class and give your opinions on that. Perhaps those credits could be helpful to you when you decide to return to school and officially graduate. As I’ve said many times, I find your work incendiary, and I hope to help you hone it and work your way into the architecture world.
Aria’s nose shivered at the email, but she didn’t delete it. Instead, she threw her phone back onto her bed and stood in her cold kitchen and sipped her coffee. When she again looked at the clock, she realized it was just about time for her to shower, get dressed, and head off to the bar, where she had to work from three to midnight— a killer shift that often made her enough money to pay a week’s worth of rent.
Since Aria had begun working as a part-time babysitter for Carmella and a full-time waitress at the bar, she’d managed to save up enough money to purchase a clunky little Chevy, which worked just enough to get her most places she needed to go. Sometimes, at the stoplight, it stalled out on her, and she had to turn the key and listen to it sputter and sputter until it finally turned over again. To Cole, she had said this was “the most exciting moment of my day.” Cole had laughed and called her crazy, just as he always did.
Aria hurried around the establishment, setting up chairs and wiping tables as the music blared in the speakers. Cole was teaching a few lessons that afternoon but had said he would be around the bar around six or seven to drink a beer and say hello, which Aria couldn’t wait for.
It was true that Aria saw Cole just about every day. They met for coffee, a beer, or a walk along the freezing beach, making one another laugh until they had to run inside and warm up. Aria understood how strange it had been for Cole when Aria had followed him to Martha’s Vineyard in October— that it had bordered on insane territory for him. But for some reason, he’d always been there for her, driving her to the grocery store when she ran out of food, helping her secure this job at the bar, and even holding her when she cried of loneliness.
For some reason, Aria hadn’t told Cole the extent of why she’d left everything behind. She hadn’t explained that she’d lost her creative spirit, that the other people in her architecture program thought she was a hack, and that although she didn’t want to be anything like her parents, she also wasn’t sure she wanted to be anything like herself, either.
A mix of gruff, happy, and red-cheeked sailors entered the bar around four, ordering drinks and laughing with Aria. Aria found it easy to pretend to be joyful, to crack jokes. Often, she could even convince herself that she was just fine, cleaning pint glasses and pouring more.
“I saw that handsome man of yours out on the docks earlier,” one of the older sailors said to her as she breezed past.
