Huh, Lizbet thinks.
They’re at the lectern, talking with Orla, the proprietor of Proprietors. They’re all laughing. Beatriz puts an arm around Yolanda and kisses her cheek. Orla plucks two menus off the lectern and leads Yolanda and Beatriz upstairs to the second-floor dining room, and as they ascend the stairs, Yolanda and Beatriz are holding hands.
Holding hands? And then it clicks.
You know why Yolanda is always in the kitchen, right? Zeke said.
And why she was always with the Blue Bar staff on Tuesdays and why she asked for Tuesdays off in the first place and why Mario was so openly affectionate with Yolanda. It occurs to Lizbet that maybe the “thing” Yolanda needed Mario’s help with was the surprise the kitchen staff arranged for Beatriz’s birthday: they all chipped in and flew Beatriz’s mother from Mexico City to Nantucket.
“Are you okay?” JJ asks, following Lizbet’s gaze over his shoulder.
The reason Yolanda is always hanging out in the kitchen isn’t Mario; it’s Beatriz. “Take my trout home,” she says. “I have to go.”
She hurries down the brick sidewalks of India to Water Street, moving as fast as she can in her wedges, thinking, It’s Tuesday, his day off, he’ll be out somewhere or entertaining another woman; he’s Mario freaking Subiaco, for God’s sake. But Lizbet keeps going. She takes a left down the white-shell path behind Old North Wharf and sees Mario’s silver truck.
He’s home.
This nearly propels Lizbet back to Proprietors, back to JJ and safety. （It’s ludicrous that she considers JJ safe after what he did to her; familiar might be a better word.） But every inspirational meme that Lizbet has stuffed inside her hollow places like a girl desperately padding her bra tells her to move forward.
Not on fighting the old.
But on building the new.
She strides out the long dock without wobbling or faltering and when she reaches the door, she takes a breath and acknowledges that this could be a very awkward moment.
But she knocks anyway.
There are footsteps, then a pause, and then Mario opens the door. He’s wearing gym shorts, a gray T-shirt, his White Sox cap on backward. He’s so handsome that Lizbet steadies herself against the shingled wall of the cottage. She peers over his shoulder. There’s a beer on the table, an open pizza box, one plate.
Does he seem surprised to see her? Not really. He leans into the door frame and gives her his slow half-smile.
“Hey, Heartbreaker,” he says.
“Hey,” she whispers.
21. The Cobblestone Telegraph
When deep August arrives, a certain melancholy sets in, the kind people get on a Sunday afternoon. The summer, which seemed so endless back in June, will be over in a few short weeks.
Some of us are already saying goodbye. One of our local authors cries into the front of her son’s T-shirt as she hugs him at the ferry; he’s headed back to the University of South Carolina （a school that has been popular with kids from Nantucket High School ever since Link Dooley went there）。 Later that night, the local author is seen at the Blue Bar with her entourage, drinking a Heartbreaker. “Why do schools go back so early now?” she asks. “When we were kids, the first day of school was the Tuesday after Labor Day.”
Yes, certain among us remember our parents rushing us into Murray’s Toggery on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend so that we could get new school shoes. Then it was off to Joe the barber or Claire at the beauty salon, who would give us fresh haircuts and sweep our sun-bleached locks up off the floor. Blond Sharon holds dear the memory of her parents, who always booked the last ferry off the island on Labor Day itself—then Sharon’s father would drive through the dark hours back to Connecticut. Sharon and her sister, Heather, would start school in the morning, often with sand still trapped in the whorls of their ears. “We were tired but we never complained,” Sharon says. “Because we wanted to squeeze every second out of the summer.”
Nearly all Nantucketers agree with this sentiment and we bristle when people try to jump the season. Jill Tananbaum sees an Instagram post of a pumpkin-spice latte in her feed on August 18—and she immediately unfollows.
A rumor goes around that Lizbet Keaton and JJ O’Malley were seen eating together at the bar at Proprietors. They were huddled close, according to sources, and appeared to be having a very intense conversation. Were they reuniting? Some of us hoped yes—Lizbet was needed back at the Deck pronto; the quality of the experience had slipped significantly—but a day or two later, these hopes were dashed when we heard that Lizbet and Mario Subiaco were dating again. Tracy Toland and Karl Grabowski, two of our favorite summer visitors （and newlyweds to boot!）， were eating dinner on the deck at the Straight Wharf and, in the moonlight, they caught sight of Lizbet and Mario kissing on the front porch of the little cottage that sat by itself out in the harbor.