Dolly All the Time(90)
“He’s a good guy, Gus,” I say.
Gus smiles at me and nods again. “You can date her on a trial basis,” he says, and Stewart laughs with relief.
“Good enough,” he says. And then to my dad, “Sir?”
“We’ll see,” my dad says.
“You will,” says Stewart.
* * *
Sixteen days later, the whole town watches us set sail for Nantucket on Savannah. I can tell Stewart is nervous and wants to get this trip behind him more than he’s planning on enjoying it.
Gus, Clay, and Sadie are losing their minds over this boat. They’ve explored every corner, including the galley below, where Gladys and my dad are hard at work. My dad has brought crabmeat and insisted on bringing his cast-iron skillet from home to sear the crabcakes. Gladys insists that the one on board is adequate, and my dad laughs and laughs.
Christopher sits with Victoria and Henry on the deck. He likes the way the cool air hits his face, and I think he likes the white noise of the wake behind us. It feels like a miracle to get Christopher out at sea, but it’s been a million tiny steps I should have insisted on years ago. Oscar, Lilly, and Busy are drinking champagne and watching Stewart and me behind the helm.
“I’ve literally never seen him so uptight,” Busy calls to me. “The sails are up, it’s a straight shot down the coast. Stewart, no need to be white-knuckling it on the helm.”
Stewart flexes his hands and then regrips. “There’s plenty of need.”
“How’s the new job?” I ask Busy, to change the subject.
“My boss is a control freak and until very recently was a bit depressed.”
Stewart nods. “All true.”
Victoria holds up a glass of champagne and motions for me to come sit with her. “Go,” Stewart says. “I’m fine here.”
He’s not fine. I can see it in the set of his jaw, in the little bead of sweat on his hairline, even though it’s cool out here and I’ve just put on a fleece.
“Come with me,” I say. “Let Oscar steer.” I put my hand over his on the helm. I’m trying to say too much here: I’ve got you, and also the two of us don’t need to do everything.
He puts his arm around me, and we stand together at the helm. His hand is strong on my shoulder and mine is soft on his hip.
“If we survive this trip, you have to stay with me forever,” he says.
“Did we have a contract?”
“It’s maritime law. I don’t make the rules,” he says.
“Dolly, come. You don’t need to babysit Stewart,” Victoria says.
“Go, it’s okay,” Stewart says. So I release him and make my way over to sit with Victoria, Henry, and Christopher, accepting my champagne glass. Stewart is watching me and smiling, and I have this feeling that the distance I’ve just put between us feels as cold to him as it does to me.
“Oscar,” he calls. “Come take over. I’m on a break.”
Chapter 41
12 months later
I open the sleeping porch early the next summer. Stewart likes to open all the windows in his room to create this effect, but it’s not the same. He’s too high above the frogs and the crickets. He doesn’t have any neighbors with polka music. On the first night after I’ve replaced the windows with screens, he sneaks in at midnight and wraps himself around me. We whisper about South Carolina, where he’s revitalizing an old theater district. We whisper about Gus, who we think might have a girlfriend, and Patsy, who finally reached out and had an unsatisfying text conversation with our mom. So much life happening around us and between us. So much is ahead of us.
Stewart and Grant, with help from the management consultant, have restructured Whitfield Industries. Grant is running the traditional business, heavy on the strip malls, and Stewart is running a smaller preservation arm from Whitfield. He’s abandoned his dad’s office for the little library off the living room and is often waiting outside the fish house at four.
On the first of June we celebrate with lobster tails. A big order was delivered in the morning and Christopher worked with my dad all day, joined by Gus after school. I was behind the bakery counter until we sold out of Maud’s blueberry-peach pie at two, and now I’m sitting on my porch, watching my family roll in.
“Dolly!” Christopher sings, and sits next to me on the steps. He looks tired but it’s the good kind, like he earned it. I feel bad that he’s spent so much time not thriving when this kind of life was available to him, but I never saw this possibility. I have spent my life trying to make sure nothing happened to him, and nothing happened at all.
Gus follows him up the stairs and drops his backpack by the door. “I’m going to the beach for a bit,” he says, and places a hand on my head. It’s new, this casual touch. He’s fifteen, a solid B student, with an interest in sailing and oceanography. He has friends and a light in his eyes when he talks to you. I do not know how life could get better than this.
“Hey, Doll,” my dad says, and heads straight to the barbecue. “Lobster tonight!”
“Great,” I say. “So, buddy, how was the day?”
“Good,” Christopher says. “We unloaded all the fish, gross. And then I cleaned out the back fridge.” He’s looking out onto the street as if he’s seeing the whole day replay in front of his eyes. “It was cloudy at lunch and Dad and I had turkey sandwiches from the deli. We ate them outside and I had a sweater. Gus came and it was cold out on the boat but he had cookies and hot tea.”