I wondered if Matthew Dudek, the lost man of Wellfleet, had gone into the ocean and drowned. If his bones were somewhere in those woods I’d just tramped through. If he was okay in the afterlife, and if his family had made peace with his disappearance. How sad Christmas must be for them every year, that tiny ember of hope still glowing.
The wind seemed to blow away my irritability, and I inhaled steady lungfuls of the salty, clean winter air.
I would be okay. Of course I would. I was Liliana Madalena Silva, Pedro Silva’s daughter, descendent of hardworking Portuguese stock. I’d always be me.
Then I whistled for my dog, chased him around a bit and we went back home.
CHAPTER 25
Melissa
Even though she’d changed her diet to be healthier, Melissa still wasn’t Instagram pregnant. She was white trash pregnant, bloated and oily and disgusting. By January, she was buying the largest-size maternity clothes with more than three full months to go, resentfully eating Greek yogurt, quinoa salad and legumes. She was so gassy she couldn’t walk five steps without breaking wind, and it was so embarrassing. Also, her number of followers on TikTok and Instagram hadn’t gone up since You and Your Stupid Oysters, so she still wasn’t at influencer level.
Also, this marriage thing. She may have rushed into it. Bradley wasn’t as cerebral （word of the day!） as she’d thought originally, and he was mighty comfortable in her house. Completely at ease, telling Ophelia she should chew more quietly （but yeah, the kid was like a goat, all those etiquette lessons for nothing）。 Still, it chafed Melissa that Brad was so at home, so relaxed . . . so lazy. When she had married money, she’d made sure her sugar daddy never regretted his decision.
On Christmas Eve, it had been just the three of them. Vanessa and Charles stayed in Boston, which caused a fight between them and Bradley, Bradley saying they’d never missed Christmas Eve when he was married to Lillie. It didn’t change their minds. The night didn’t feel very festive, even though her decorator had dressed up the house with garlands and tasteful ornaments. Aside from watching Ophelia open her gifts on Christmas morning, it was a flop.
Bradley’s son had finally come over to meet her, and she’d been so nervous. It was strange, because she’d never cared if Dennis’s kids liked her. Dylan looked so much like Lillie, those big, wise brown eyes. Was he spying for his mother? Would he tell her his new stepmother was ugly and fat and stupid?
But he had nice manners, and thanked her politely for having him over, and for all the gifts she’d ordered. Ophelia had liked him, and she showed him around the house. Later, Melissa found them doing a puzzle together in Phee’s room, Teeny sitting on his lap.
Bradley was awkward around him, too, hugging him too long when he first came in, crying a little, too. Over dinner, he’d talked about second chances and new adventures and how excited he was that Dylan would have a sibling and how profound those bonds could be. In other words, he sounded like an idiot. But Dylan . . . he was a nice enough boy, and she felt pathetically grateful that he didn’t give her the silent treatment or call her a whore.
On New Year’s Eve, they hosted a party with the same locals they’d had at their wedding—the arts council board, a few business owners, a couple of people from yoga. Melissa sipped sparkling water and wondered if her makeup was hiding the acne on her cheeks. She’d invited Hannah Chapman, who had seemed like a possible friend during the wedding planning, but Hannah had sent her regrets.
There was hardly anyone she really knew there, and she understood they had come out of curiosity or for the free food and booze—top of the line, of course. A jazz trio played in front of the French doors, and Melissa found that she hated jazz. Four people asked if she was having twins, and when the woman from the cute boutique asked if she was close to her due date, Melissa slipped upstairs to check on Ophelia, wishing she could stay there and watch TV with her niece and Teeny.
The holidays drained her, and she was glad for the empty weeks of January. She was too exhausted to do anything anymore, falling into bed after her one-mile waddle. （Her thighs rubbed together! For the first time in her life!） Lucia the housekeeper came every day to tidy and clean and do laundry and bring groceries. Chef Paul brought them dinner every afternoon, so all she had to do was pop it in the oven. And even so, staying awake past eight was herculean （word of the day!）。 Her only outings were to the doctor’s office.
She might be lonely. No one except the housekeeper came to the house, and these days, Melissa was too tired to care. Also, people would see her this way, pregnant, spreading wider and wider each day, her skin a mess. She, the fitness goddess, now panted while climbing stairs. She cried for no reason, then peed because she was crying, then cried because she’d peed. She couldn’t do anything she used to love doing. The prenatal yoga class? Ha. She got her workout by tying her shoes these days.