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“I was sorry to hear the spa is off the cards,” Beatrice said. She put a Tupperware container of banana bread on the big table, and the decadent smell swanned over them. “I was looking forward to some pampering after all this wedding chaos is through!”
“I’ll send you to the Katama Bay Spa any time you want,” Wes said, touching her hand.
Amanda and Audrey locked eyes for a split second. Both were thinking the same thing. Stan Ellis, the man who’d accidentally killed their grandmother, was engaged to the woman in charge of the Katama Wellness Spa. Nancy Remington. The twisty past was never far from anyone’s mind.
Audrey raised her shoulders and smiled as though to say, what can you do? Life is strange.
Dinner was served at seven. By that time, the rest of their crew had arrived: Andy, Beth, and their two children; Lola’s husband, Tommy; Christine’s husband, Zach; Susan’s husband, Scott, and Audrey’s boyfriend, Noah. Fire spat across the grill to cook shish kebabs and chicken burgers, and Amanda’s mouth watered. When she filled her plate, she caught Audrey watching her with a big grin.
“It’s the breastfeeding, isn’t it?” Audrey teased. “I was starved for months.”
“I can’t get enough!” Amanda said.
With the baby fast asleep in the shadows of the living room, Amanda sat with her mother, Lola, and Audrey at the edge of the porch so that their legs swung over the side. The air was fresh and losing its heat, so Audrey threw a blanket over herself and Amanda to keep their legs warm. Amanda took a bite of the chicken burger, and her mouth oozed with mayonnaise and spicy sauce. She sighed and took another. Behind her, she could hear the comfortable rhythm of Sam’s voice as he chatted to Wes about the logistics of meeting the historian this week. She was thrilled that Sam always ran everything by her grandfather and kept him in the loop. He didn’t have to. But nobody wanted Wes Sheridan’s link to the Sunrise Cove to falter. It was his blood.
Lola and Audrey spoke over one another excitedly about Lola’s new magazine article and the pitches Audrey was sending to literary journals across the country. This left Susan and Amanda alone for the first time in a while. Amanda remembered, with a jolt, that she needed to confess.
She set down her chicken burger. “I might have poked the bear.”
Susan raised her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
Amanda explained the hugely idiotic thing she’d done. She’d written to Hedwig Arnout.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe that telling him I knew what he was up to would embarrass him so much that he’d make a phone call and get this mess out of my hair? But it only made matters worse.”
Susan’s face drained of color. Amanda could read her mind. She thought Amanda was naïve, and in many ways, she was. She was a brand-new lawyer up against elite Nantucketers with the governor on speed dial. Men like Hedwig could destroy her with the wave of his hand.
“Don’t panic,” Susan said quietly. She squeezed Amanda’s shoulder. “Once you get settled in a bit more with Genevieve, we’ll take action. But don’t do anything without me.”
“I won’t,” Amanda assured her.
Hubris had led her to write that email. Worse is that hubris had made Hedwig call the dogs on her career in the first place. Amanda needed to be tactical. She needed to step away from the situation, analyze the players and the stakes, and leap when the time was right. She wouldn’t give up her career. Not because some rich playboy named Hilton Arnout thought he was beyond the law.
It was true that being a criminal justice lawyer was sometimes morally difficult. Susan and Amanda’s father, Richard, had represented heinous criminals over the years. They’d been featured on the news, speaking about their clients’ rights. During a murder case more than ten years ago, Amanda asked her mother, “Do you think he did it?”
Susan answered, “It doesn’t matter if he did or didn’t do it. It’s up to me to ensure the law treats him just the same as it would anyone else. The verdict is up to the jury.”
This had stuck with Amanda: the fact that criminals had rights. You couldn’t just throw people under the bus based on cultural opinion.
But despite Amanda’s tireless efforts and two appeals, Hilton Arnout had been sentenced to prison. The jury had sent him there. That had nothing to do with Amanda. She should have been able to wash her hands of it by now.
Late that night as she nursed Genevieve and laid her gently in her crib, Amanda thought about the weight of the world and how little Genevieve knew of it after ten days of life. She tried to imagine what it was like to be Mr. and Mrs. Arnout and face the consequences of their son’s actions. They’d done everything to get him through the first twenty-seven years of his life with flying colors. Perhaps their anger came from a sense of failure. Of having hid Hilton from the chaos of the world, only to have him crash-land in prison. Somebody had to take the blame. And right now, it was Amanda.
Chapter Eleven
From the Diary of Martha Smith
December 11, 1883
Mrs. Sheridan caught me writing this morning. The look in her eyes said she didn’t think any slaves could read or write. She had the good sense not to say so. She brought more supplies for the baby: medicine, clothes, blankets. The basement room has become nearly cozy despite the damp air. She also brought a delicacy for me: a Christmas biscuit. The recipe runs in the Sheridan family.
I asked her when she married Mr. Sheridan. She said she was eighteen years old. She had her first baby at nineteen, and all the others before the age of twenty-five. She said her body ran itself ragged. As we spoke, I accidentally showed the palm of my right hand, where the scar goes all the way across. She was pale. I knew she wanted to know what had happened, but I didn’t want to tell her.
The baby is healthier and fatter every day. It’s hard to believe we almost lost her. Mrs. Sheridan thinks I should give her a name soon. I realized I’ve been so frightened for her life and for mine that I haven’t considered it.
A few ideas: Mary. Nadia. Esther, after my mother. Jane, after my sister.
I wonder how far Jane and Virgil have gotten. I wonder if they really will find a way to send word back. I wouldn’t dare travel with a baby in the winter, but Mr. Sheridan says I can stay until spring or as long as I need.
