Elin Hilderbrand - The Blue Bistro

“Phosphorescence,” Adrienne heard Thatcher say. In the dark, she couldn’t tell which body was his. “I didn’t want any of you to miss it.”

Thatcher had called this a morale booster, but Adrienne’s heart was aching, for reasons unknown. She put her head under and opened her eyes as she waved her hands to light up the water around her. For weeks, she had been so happy she felt like her life was phosphorescent, like the space she moved about in glowed and sparkled around her. But now, this minute, that notion seemed silly and wrong. You’re not like the other people who work here. You’re not like them at all. The Parrishes were right, though Adrienne didn’t know how she was different or why that bothered her. Her eyes stung from the salt water. She wanted to be swimming next to Thatcher, and what she really wanted was for it to be her and Thatcher out here alone. Just the two of them, floating in the sea of light. But Thatcher had brought them all out here for Fiona’s sake. Fiona came first, and she should come first. She was a good person, better than anyone knew, paying for Shaughnessy’s camp, tolerating JZ’s manipulative wife. She was good. And she was sick.

The staff horsed around. Adrienne saw Duncan and Caren kissing. Paco grabbed Adrienne’s ankle and tried to tip her over but she squirmed from his grip and dove under, feeling the material of her red T-shirt dress swirling around her. There was something about being underwater that made her feel lonely, even amid a group of people. When she surfaced, it was quiet, and Adrienne checked to see who was nearby. A man she didn’t recognize was treading water next to her, and Adrienne became confused until she realized it was Bruno without his glasses. Bruno pointed at the shore and then Adrienne heard some of the Subiacos murmuring in Spanish.

A man stood on the beach, silhouetted by the light of the office. He just stood there at first, hands on his hips, menacing. Police? Adrienne thought. JZ? Drew Amman-Keller? But then, very slowly, the figure started to sway and the swaying became dancing. The figure was dancing in the sand and the Subiacos laughed and catcalled and Adrienne heard Fiona shout, “Get in here, Romeo!”

He came running toward the water, and Adrienne caught a glimpse of his face before he dove into the light.

Mario.

Dr. Don

TTO: Ade12177@hotmail.com

FROM: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com

DATE: July 24, 2005, 9:01 A.M.

SUBJECT: To Hell You Ride

The spores you didn’t send me worked! I have officially Met a Man. Thirty-six, divorced, two kids. Sounds like my worst nightmare except I am falling, head over heels. Even worse, he is a landscape painter-but his work sells-some people pay more for his paintings than I paid for my last car. So although my mother is crying out about No Steady Income, he does just fine. In the winters he goes to Telluride and paints there and skis, and he’s asked me to go with him. And I, in turn, will ask you (because I miss you, but also because I think you’d like it). Do you want to join us?

TO: kyracrenshaw@mindspring.com

FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com

DATE: July 24, 2005, 11:22 A.M.

SUBJECT: It’s July!

Since when do you plan more than one day in advance? You must be in love! I hate to admit it but I am not far from that pitiable state myself-this thing with Thatcher is getting serious. Tomorrow he will meet the other man in my life-that’s right, the good doctor. I’ll let you know how it goes. As for this winter, I can’t bear to think about it, but I’ll keep Telluride in mind.

TO: Ade12177@hotmail.com

FROM: DrDon@toothache.com

DATE: July 24, 2005, 11:37 A.M.

SUBJECT: A quick (don’t) pick-me-up

We fly in tomorrow-US Air flight 307, BWI to Philadelphia, US Air flight 5990 Philly to Nantucket arriving around three. We’ll take a cab from the airport to the Beach Club and we’ll meet you at the restaurant at six o’clock sharp. You’ll eat with us? And what about this Thatcher person? Can’t wait to see you, honey. Love, love, love.

TO: DrDon@toothache.com

FROM: Ade12177@hotmail.com

DATE: July 24, 2005, 11:40 A.M.

SUBJECT: Breakfast and lunch

Dad, I will not be able to have dinner with you. I have to work dinner-get it? As does Thatcher. So reorganize your expectations to include breakfast and lunch. Those are the meals for which I am available. Breakfast and lunch.

You guys are going to love the Beach Club. It’s the best. Please tip generously as they know you’re my father! Love.

“I shouldn’t have invited them,” Adrienne said to Caren on the morning of her father and Mavis’s arrival. She and Caren were at the kitchen table, which, now that the weather was consistently nice, they had moved out into the backyard. They drank tea and espresso in the sun together on mornings like this one-when Duncan went sailing with Holt Millman and Thatcher left for the restaurant to give Fiona extra help. “No one else’s parents come to visit.”

“Mine certainly don’t,” Caren said. She had informed Adrienne early on that she was a casualty of the nastiest divorce in history.

Duncan and Delilah’s parents lived in California and were too old to travel. Fiona’s parents didn’t like to fly. Thatcher’s father was too busy with the stores. Spillman’s parents were divorced like Caren’s and remarried to other people with whom they had had more children (Spillman had a brother in kindergarten). Joe’s mother, Mrs. Peeke, had come once years earlier and spent the whole time back in the kitchen teaching Fiona how to make the corn spoon bread that now was on the menu with the swordfish.

“In general, though,” Caren said, “I think the restaurant business attracts people who, you know, want to escape their families.”

“My father sort of invited himself,” Adrienne said. “I couldn’t tell him not to come.”

“I thought you loved your father,” Caren said.

“I do,” Adrienne said. “More than anyone in the world.”

“So you should be happy,” Caren said. “Does he know about Thatch?”

“I told him we were dating,” Adrienne said. “But there’s a lot I didn’t explain. He’s going to ask why the restaurant is closing. He’ll ask about Thatcher and Fiona. He’ll ask about next year.”

“Thatcher will be rich next year,” Caren said. “That’s an answer any father would love to hear.”

“But what will happen between Thatcher and me?” Adrienne said. “My father will ask.”

“Have you asked?”

“No,” Adrienne admitted. “I’m too afraid.” With Fiona’s illness it seemed fruitless, not to mention unfair, to ask about the future of their relationship.

“Does he tell you he loves you?”

“No,” Adrienne said. This was another thing she tried not to dwell on. “What about Duncan?”

Caren fired off a laugh that sounded like a shrill machine gun. “As far as Himself is concerned, I’ve resorted to desperate measures.”

One desperate measure was this: At three o’clock that afternoon Caren was flying to Boston to meet her friend Tate for the second night of the Rolling Stones concert (they were playing three nights at the Fleet Center). Caren and Tate were then sharing a room at the Ritz Carlton. Tate was gay but Caren had not disclosed this fact to Duncan. Duncan, she said, was seething with jealousy-not only about Tate but about the sixth-row seats that Tate had procured from his very wealthy and influential friends. Duncan did not like being outdone in the wealthy and influential friends department, hence that morning’s sail with Holt.

“It better work,” Caren said. “I’m betting all my chips on this one.” True enough-she had basically sold herself in slavery to Bruno to get him to switch nights off with her.