Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

“Everyone you named is either dead or on the seniors tour,” he said.

Still, he asked her out and they went to the Chatham Squire for drinks after her shift one night. Adrienne found him easy to be with. On days when she was free, he let his tee times go; he cancelled lessons so that he could take Adrienne out to lunch, and eventually, he arranged to have the same day off as she did each week. He told her he loved her after only three weeks-and he had all the symptoms: he lost weight, he lost sleep, and he shunned his friends. He wasn’t sure what was happening, he told her one evening as they walked Lighthouse Beach at sunset, but he thought this was “it.”

The summer as Sully’s girlfriend flew by-days at work, nights eating ice cream at Candy Manor and strolling down to Yellow Umbrella Books where they bought novels they never found time to read, partying on the beach with people from work. Bonfires, fireworks, summer league baseball games, days off cruising around in the Boston Whaler, strolling in Provincetown, whale watching. Adrienne loved the flowers that arrived at the desk, she loved waking up in the middle of the night to find him staring at her, she loved it every time he picked up the phone to cancel a golf lesson. She loved his dark hair, his freckles, the way his strong back twisted in the follow-through of his golf swing. The e-mails to her father that summer were full of exclamation points. “I’ve met a guy! A guy who treats me the way you are always telling me I DESERVE to be treated! I am having the time of my LIFE in this town!”

At the beginning of August, Sully drove Adrienne to Quincy to meet his parents. His father was a neurosurgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital and his mother had spent many years working as a nurse before she quit to stay home and raise six boys. His parents had both grown up in south Boston and they had stayed there. They lived in a huge Victorian house that was filled with photographs and crucifixes and needlepointed Irish blessings. Sully’s mother, Irene, was a lady of about sixty with red hair and a huge bosom. She hugged Adrienne tightly to her chest the moment Adrienne stepped out of the car and, in essence, never let her go. (Adrienne still sent Irene Sullivan a postcard every few months.) They sat on the sunporch and drank iced tea and ate shortbread and Irene filled Adrienne in on the business of her six sons. “God didn’t bless me with a daughter,” she said, “but I’m thankful for the boys. They’re good boys.” Kevin, the oldest, was a priest; Jimmy and Brendan were married with sons of their own; Matthew lived in New York City. “Matthew’s a homosexual,” Irene said, breaking her shortbread into little pieces. “Not what his father and I wanted, but he has a friend who comes for the holidays. I figure I already have six boys, what’s one more?” Then there was Michael, then Felix, the youngest, who was a freshman at Holy Cross. Irene brought out pictures of all the boys at their first communion, then in their Boston Latin football uniforms. She brought out pictures of the grandsons, and a picture of Matthew and his boyfriend in Greenwich Village with their arms wrapped around each other. “And here are some of Mikey.” All of the pictures showed Sully golfing-in Scotland, in British Columbia, at Pebble Beach. “He has a gift, no question,” Irene said, sighing. “But we wish he would settle down.”

Adrienne left the Sullivan house feeling like she could move in and become part of the family. When they got in the car to leave there was waving and blown kisses; Adrienne had Irene’s shortbread recipe in her purse.

“What did you think?” Sully asked.

“I wish she was mine,” Adrienne said.

As autumn approached, Sully began to talk about “the next round.” He received a job offer in Vero Beach, and then, a coup: a job offer in Morocco at a course built for the king. Sully wanted Adrienne to come with him to Morocco, and he wanted to get engaged.

“Engaged?” Adrienne said. They were lying in bed, watching Sunday night football on ESPN. How had “the next round,” which Adrienne tolerated as yet another innocuous golf term, become engaged ?

“I want to marry you,” Sully said.

“You do?” Adrienne said. This was the moment every girl waited for-wasn’t it?-the perfect guy proposing marriage. And yet, what struck Adrienne most forcefully was her shock followed by her ambivalence. She thought of life married to Michael Sullivan-and she had to admit, she could think of worse lives. They could travel, he could golf, she could work hotels until they had a child. Adrienne could call Irene Mom, and the two of them could enjoy a lifetime of chats at the kitchen table.

Adrienne was twenty-six. She understood that what Sully was suggesting-getting married, having children-was what people did. It was how life progressed. Adrienne didn’t say anything further to Sully on the topic of marriage, but in his chirpy, good-natured way, he played through as though a decision had been made. In the following twenty-four hours, he called Irene and told her that a big announcement was coming, but first he wanted to ask for Adrienne’s hand. He pestered Adrienne for Dr. Don’s phone number, then with a shy smile, he said, “I have stuff to talk over with him.”

Adrienne felt like someone was wrapping a wool scarf over her nose and mouth. She was hot and prickly; she couldn’t breathe properly. She was terrified and, in a mindless panic, she ran: packed her stuff while Sully was at work, wrote him a letter, and had a short, teary conversation with her front desk manager. She cried through the cab ride to Logan, and through the flight from Boston to Honolulu. She was afraid to call her father. She knew he would assault her with the obvious question: What is wrong with you?

Within a week, Adrienne had a job on the front desk at the Princeville Resort on Kauai. She had photocopied the letter she wrote to Sully and every time she considered dating a man that winter, she read it. To keep herself from doing any more damage.

Before Thatcher there had been three and a half men, and the half a man was Doug Riedel. But that was just Adrienne being mean. It was more accurate to say that Doug and Adrienne had only had half a relationship, or a half-hearted relationship. Doug Riedel was a mistake, an accident; he was a one-night stand that lasted an entire winter. Adrienne met him right before Christmas while she was skiing on her day off. They skied together, they après-skied together, they après-après-skied together. The next thing Adrienne knew, Doug Riedel was showing up at the front desk of the Little Nell on Christmas morning with a gift-wrapped box from Gorsuch. Adrienne, who had been feeling sorry for herself for working on Christmas (she always worked on Christmas because she had no kids), opened the box that held a pair of shearling gloves and thought: What luck! Doug was darkly handsome, he had a great dog, he worked as one of the ski school managers at Buttermilk. He was a catch. She started meeting him after work to walk Jax, he took her out for a day of cross-country, he was calling her before he went to the gym, after he got home, before he went out to the Red Onion, after he got home. He was, somehow, becoming her boyfriend.

Right around the busy February holidays, Doug lost his job at Buttermilk Mountain and, subsequently, his housing. You’re probably going to break up with me now, he’d said. If Adrienne had been half paying attention, then this was exactly what she would have done, but instead she found herself fibbing to management so that he could move in with her and bring Jax. Then, his unevenness began to register. Sometimes he was funny and charming, but sometimes he was disparaging and negative. He hated Kyra (what a slut), he hated the Little Nell (a bastion of phony luxury), he hated Aspen in general. He spent more and more time in Carbondale with a mysterious friend. Adrienne thought he was sleeping with someone else, but she didn’t care. He was a houseguest who had overstayed his welcome-he was grouchy, he had a constant head cold, he stayed up all night watching Junkyard Wars, and every morning he went to the Ajax Diner for scrambled eggs with ketchup. He did nothing about finding a new job, and yet he never seemed to be short on money.