Ever so briefly, Vivi rests her head against his chest. The song is almost over. “It’s okay,” she says. “I forgive you.”
Martha shows up as the sun is setting on Monday afternoon. It’s Labor Day, a day Vivi has always thought of as the saddest of the year. There are plenty of people on Nantucket who relish the sight of SUVs packed to within inches of the roof with luggage and trunks, surfboards strapped to the top and bicycles hanging off the back, lining up to drive onto the ferry. But it fills Vivi with melancholy. These people are headed back to their real lives—haircuts and school shoes, leaves to rake and burn, football games to attend. Kids are going back to college; summer romances are breaking up.
“Vivian,” Martha says. She’s once again in administrative mode, holding her clipboard, wearing her drugstore reading glasses. “It’s time.”
“You told me I could watch for the summer,” Vivian says. “September is still summer.”
“I said Labor Day, Vivian.”
Did she? Vivi can’t remember, to be honest.
“I don’t want to go,” Vivi says. “I want to stay where I can see my kids. I want to know they’re going to be okay.”
“You’ve given them everything they need,” Martha says. “It’s time for them to learn to live without you.”
“But there are so many things left unresolved,” Vivi says. “I want to know if Carson and Marshall stay together. I want to make sure Leo gets settled at college. I want to see if Savannah and JP hook up. Is Lorna going to be okay? And what about Penny Rosen? That chest pain didn’t sound good.” Vivi swallows. “I want to meet my grandchild, Martha. Just let me stay until he’s born, and then I’ll go without complaint.”
“I’m not negotiating with you, Vivian.”
“I just need a few more chapters. Please, Martha.” How can Vivi possibly leave the greenroom with its Parsley Snips paint and fun striped wallpaper, a place that has been, if not heaven, then a haven where Vivi could still be a part of things? She can tell from Martha’s expression that there won’t be an extension—and so Vivi will have to draw on her faith. Martha has been both an angel and a shepherd; she has guided and advised Vivi well. She’s an extraordinary Person; Vivi couldn’t have asked for better.
Vivi thinks about how she likes to end her own books. She sets her characters down safely and walks away. She doesn’t like to tie up every loose end neat and pretty with a bow.
Even so, she’s hesitant.
“There are people in the choir you’ll want to see,” Martha says.
Vivi highly doubts this. “Oh yeah? Who?”
“Your father.”
Vivi sucks in her breath. “My father is in the choir?”
“He is.” She smiles. “Apparently, he has quite the baritone.”
Vivi’s eyes blur with tears. “Did he ever watch me?”
“He did,” Martha says. “He even used a nudge.”
“My father used a nudge with me?” Vivi says. She would assume that Martha is kidding, but of course, Martha doesn’t kid. Vivi racks her brain. Her father didn’t keep her from lying to Brett about being pregnant. Her father didn’t make her first novel an overnight, runaway success, which could have happened back in 2000 if he’d nudged Oprah to take The Dune Daughters with her when she went to Hawaii. “What was it?”
Martha checks her clipboard. “He made sure you went to college without any shampoo,” she says.
“What?” Vivi says. Then…she gets it. Vivi had to ask Savannah for shampoo; she and Savannah became friends; Savannah took Vivi to Nantucket—where she met JP, got married, had three children, and wrote thirteen novels!
“Yes,” Martha says. “That’s what we call a Rube Goldberg nudge.”
“What about my mother?” Vivi asks. “Will I see her?”
“She does what I do,” Martha says. “She’s a Person—in the Devout Catholic division.”
Ha! Vivi thinks. Of course she is.
“You’ll see her coming and going,” Martha says.
“All right,” Vivi says. “I’m ready.” She turns back to the open wall for one last look. Carson, Willa, and Savannah are sitting around the island at the Union Street house, designing Vivi’s headstone.
Vivian Rose Howe 1969–2021
Mother—Writer—Friend
Underneath, they have chosen a Camus quote: