The spot between her toes throbbed with pain. She hated these shoes.
“Is Dad here?” Stuart asked hopefully. “I think I need to talk to him.”
“Not here,” Ann said. “I don’t know where he is. I threw him out of the room last night.”
“You did?” Stuart said.
Ann nodded slowly and whispered, “I did.”
She and Stuart were quiet for a moment. Ryan would have demanded every detail, but Stuart wouldn’t ask a thing.
“You don’t really need Dad,” Ann said. “Maybe I could talk to Jenna.” Ann was certain this was the solution. She would convince Jenna that Stuart’s not disclosing the full story about a very brief engagement was a minor infraction. Minor! Ann would say, And believe me, sweetie, I know what I’m talking about.
“No,” Stuart said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
At that moment, Ann heard new voices in the living room. Helen’s voice. Most definitely Helen’s voice. Ann said to Stuart, “Helen’s here. I’m going downstairs.”
Stuart said, “I can’t deal with Helen right now. I don’t care if H.W. eats my breakfast.” He shut the door, then opened it a crack. “Thanks, though, Mom.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “I love you so.”
Ann descended to the living room. Helen had just walked in the door with a man who towered over her, which was no small feat. The man was a giant; he must have been six-nine or six-ten. He was good looking, early fifties, graying hair, wearing a pair of white Bermuda shorts embroidered with navy whales, which would have gotten him egged on any street corner south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
Helen said, “Hey, y’all! Is Chancey here? I’ve come to take him out for breakfast.”
Chance emerged from the kitchen, still wearing only his boxers. He said, “Mama?”
“Honey, your clothes.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. I just got up a little while ago.”
“Chance,” Helen said. “This is Skip Lafferty, a friend of mine from Roanoke, way back in the day. Skip has a house here on Nantucket. He’s going to come with us to breakfast, then show us around the island.”
Skip Lafferty offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Chance.” Then he waved at the rest of the room. “Nice to meet y’all.”
Ann was so relieved, she nearly levitated. She stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Ann Graham,” she said. “Lovely to meet you.”
Chance said, “I kind of just ate breakfast. Eggs and everything.”
“But sweetie,” Helen said, “I told you I’d be here at nine to pick you up.”
“I know,” Chance said. “But I think I just want to hang here with everyone else.”
Helen opened her mouth to speak just as Autumn stepped out of the kitchen. H.W. ’s shirt, Ann saw now, barely covered the girl’s tiny behind, and whereas ten minutes ago this might have bothered Ann, now that Autumn was displaying herself to Helen’s old friend Skip Lafferty, whose eyes were popping out of his head, Ann wanted to break out in peals of delighted laughter.
Jim wasn’t with Helen. Of course he wasn’t! Ann felt happily like an idiot.
Autumn said, “Oops, excuse me.” She winked at Skip Lafferty before scurrying up the stairs.
Chance said, “I’m not hungry. I want to stay here.”
“Honeybun,” Helen said. “Skip is eager to show us around. He has a restaurant picked out that serves the best corned beef hash.”
“But I already ate,” Chance said.
Ryan piped up. “Mom came over a little while ago, Helen, and made us all breakfast.”
Jethro appeared from the kitchen with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He said, “Those were the best eggs I’ve ever eaten.”
Ann said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Chance already had breakfast plans.”
Helen wrinkled her nose, maybe because her senses were assaulted by the beer-and-cigarette miasma of the house, or maybe because the circumstances were so distasteful to her. Ann, of all people, had made Chance breakfast. “Well, he did and he does, and he’s going to honor them. Chance, go put clothes on, please.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Chance said. “I’m not going.”
There was an awkward silence in the room that was so refreshing, Ann could have swum around in it for hours.
Skip Lafferty said, “It’s okay, Helen. We can just go into town together, you and me.”
Helen put her hands on her hips. “Chancey,” she said.
“I’m nineteen, Mama,” he said. “Not nine.”