“She hung out at our house all summer long as though nothing was wrong,” Carson says. “She made a Bakewell tart like she was Mary freaking Berry come to the rescue! She’s…a complete sociopath!”
“She sat with us at Grammy’s birthday dinner and none of us were any the wiser,” Willa says. “The murderer was at our table.”
“It was also Peter Bridgeman’s fault,” Carson says. “Sending out that picture of Leo and Cruz. Girl, who does that? Who cares? It’s 2021!”
“I’m going to choose to believe that Marissa hadn’t seen the photograph when she hit Mom. She was driving too fast because she wanted to get to the house to talk to Leo and she checked the text because she thought it was from Leo. It could have been from her mother or her sister or Verizon. I don’t think we can pin this on Peter.”
“But what if Peter knew about me and Zach?” Carson says. “What if that’s why he was trying to gotcha Leo? Because he held a grudge against me. Against our family.”
“Marissa said Peter has had a crush on her since elementary school,” Willa says. “I’m sure he wanted to show Marissa the picture because he wanted her for himself. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”
Carson gnaws her bottom lip. “I want her to go to prison.”
“Oh, me too,” Willa says. “But I can’t help thinking…”
“What?”
“That after all is said and done, Mom would forgive her,” Carson says.
They both sit quietly for a second.
“It was an accident,” Willa says. “I mean, she didn’t drive over to the house intending to kill Mom. And I’ve definitely checked my phone while driving.”
“I’ve done worse,” Carson says.
“I’m sure you have.”
“It’s by the grace of God I’ve never killed anyone,” Carson says.
“Would you have run, though?” Willa asks. “Either one of us could have gotten distracted while driving and hit someone and killed her. But the test of our character, our morals, is whether we stay and admit to it or run away. Marissa ran away. And she pushed the theory that Cruz did it. She wagered that people would suspect Cruz before they’d suspect her. Which is heinous for so many reasons.”
Carson says, “I would have been tempted to run. I’m not saying that’s what I would have done, but I do understand the instinct.”
Willa sighs. “So…we don’t press charges?”
“She’s being charged by the state,” Carson says.
“But we could offer a statement of mercy,” Willa says. “It might help.”
“I just feel like we aren’t honoring Mom unless we ask for the maximum sentence,” Carson says.
“As usual, you have things backward,” Willa says. “We honor Mom by offering forgiveness. You know how she treats the characters in her books? She gives them flaws, she portrays them doing horrible things—but the reader loves them anyway. Because Mom loves them. Because they’re human.”
“Like Alison in Golden Girl,” Carson says.
Willa is resting her hand on her belly. She takes another look at Carson. “Wait—have you been reading Mom’s books?”
“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands,” Carson says.
Vivi rocks back and forth, hands brought prayer-like in front of her heart, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so proud of my girls,” she says. “They came to that conclusion on their own. I didn’t have to use a nudge.”
“Which is a good thing,” Martha says. “Because you’re out of them.”
Nantucket
With the investigation closed, the body of Vivian Howe is returned to Nantucket. The family gathers on the Friday of Labor Day weekend to bury Vivi in the cemetery on Milk Street. At some point, we know, this will become a popular pilgrimage for Vivian Howe readers across the country. They’ll lay bouquets and seashells and pillar candles by the headstone. They’ll take selfies of themselves in their Lilly Pulitzer dresses and Mystique sandals standing at Vivian Howe’s grave. But for now, it’s just the family and close friends.
Rip and Willa Bonham have their arms wound around each other as they lead the way toward the gravesite. Willa has just had her seventeen-week prenatal appointment and ultrasound and everything looks great. She has finally been able to share the news: she’s pregnant with a little boy and due on February 11.