Back on Nantucket, at Our Lady of the Isle, the priest gives the Gospel reading and then the homily, which feels sort of generic to Vivi, but it’s her own fault for going to church only on Christmas Eve and Easter. Father Reed once mentioned to Vivi that his elderly aunt enjoyed her novels, and Vivi dropped off a signed, large-print edition of The Photographer at the rectory the very next day—but Father Reed doesn’t mention that in the homily; it’s more about death in general and how it’s really a birth into the Kingdom of God.
The homily is boring enough that the crying stops, but once Father is finished, Savannah ascends to the pulpit and you can hear a pin drop. Vivi takes the moment when Savannah is reviewing her notes to scan the church. Her gaze alights briefly on the front row. The kids are watching Savannah with rapt attention; JP is bent over with his head in his hands. Dennis is on the other side of the church sitting next to Candace Lopresti, Alexis, and Marissa, which is as good a place for him as any.
Joe DeSantis is on the aisle about three-quarters of the way back. He has been absorbed by the parents of the kids in Leo and Cruz’s class. Willa’s boss is here, and a group of people Vivi recognizes from the Oystercatcher. There are teachers, coaches, a bunch of real estate agents and business owners from downtown, all the guys who have worked on Money Pit, including Marky Mark, Vivi’s contractor, and Surfer Boy, the electrician, both of whom put on ties for this.
There’s Jodi, Vivi’s agent, sitting with Wendy, Tim, and Cristina from Mitchell’s Book Corner. There are the women from Vivi’s barre class （exhibiting excellent posture）。 She will never have to suffer through thigh work again—is that a good thing? Her dentist and dental hygienist are here. Vivi will never have another cavity or another torturous root canal. No more ob-gyn exams. She has escaped the indignities of menopause. What does a hot flash feel like? Vivi will never know.
Sitting in the second row behind the kids is…Lucinda Quinboro, Vivi’s ex-mother-in-law. Well, that’s rich, Vivi thinks. She is the children’s grandmother but…well, Lucinda was never a fan of Vivi’s. She looks happier now than she did on Vivi and JP’s wedding day.
“That’s not true,” Martha says. “And you know it.”
“She never thought I was good enough for him,” Vivi says. “Her little Jackie Paper.”
“She prefers you to Amy,” Martha says. “She thinks Amy is a gold digger.” Martha pauses. “Sorry, that was very indiscreet.”
“What else can you tell me?” Vivi says.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, come on.”
“You know as well as I do that it won’t do you any good to find out what everyone thinks of you.”
Savannah clears her throat.
Yes, yes, let’s get to the eulogy—but first, Vivi seeks out Cruz. He’s skulking in the doorway, his head hanging.
Cruz! Go sit where you belong, up front, with my kids! Vivi thinks. What is going on?
Zach Bridgeman is still in the back corner of the vestibule, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking supremely uncomfortable. As Savannah draws a breath to speak, he slides past Cruz and out of the church.
“I’m sure many of you are wondering how I’m going to get through this,” Savannah says. “The answer is…I took a pill. I may fall asleep up here, but I won’t cry.”
There’s a ripple of laughter that soothes like light rain.
“I need to ask your indulgence. I’m not the writer. Vivi was the writer. So if the universe were working the way it’s supposed to, she would be up here eulogizing me, making me sound like a much more wonderful person than I actually am. Because, see? I’ve been at this five seconds and I’ve already made it all about me.”
More laughs.
“Vivi and I were best friends. That phrase is hackneyed, overused; it has been acronym-ed into BFFs. As girls, we learn from our earliest social interactions that we are supposed to have a best friend. Someone to chant while we jump rope, someone to confide in about our secret crush. I’m not going to snow you. I didn’t have a best friend growing up. Well, I did, but it was my dachshund, Herman Munster.”
People laugh, though Vivi knows this is a sore spot with Savannah.
“That changed my first week at Duke University, in the Craven Quad dorm, when I met a girl from down the hall, Vivian Howe. We were in the bathroom; Vivi asked to borrow shampoo. She had arrived at college woefully under-provisioned, whereas I had an entire CVS stuffed beneath my extra-long twin bed. Vivi was from a town called Parma, Ohio. She was a tiny thing with long straight coal-black hair and cute freckles across her nose, and she had a thin silver hoop pierced through the top of her ear that I was jealous of. The second Vivi accepted the bottle of Breck from me, I felt a recognition: here was the best friend I’d been looking for.