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Amanda laughed and sat down on the blanket beside his lawn chair. Christine made him a plate with a little bit of everything and handed it over. With his fork poised, he realized everyone looked at him expectantly. They wanted to hear how the interview had gone.
“I didn’t do too badly,” he said with a laugh.
“You looked fantastic out there,” Susan assured him.
“The suit is to die for,” Audrey said.
Wes waved his fork as a blush crawled over his cheeks. “Quentin is an astonishingly intellectual man,” he began.
Audrey leaned forward. Amanda nervously touched the baby carrier's edge, where Genevieve slept soundly.
“He mentioned something I didn’t know,” Wes declared. “Matthew’s wife, Wendy Sheridan, died before the war ended. Scarlet Fever. 1864.”
Susan furrowed her brow.
“Apparently, she’s buried somewhere else on the island,” Wes said. “They separated the sick from the normal cemetery. I can’t say why learning that eats me up inside. I suppose there’s just so little I know about my family that far back. And it’s alarming to learn about the specifics of their pain.”
Wes knew the specifics of his family’s pain. He knew about Susan’s first husband’s affair and the breast cancer that had nearly taken her from them. He knew about Christine’s longtime anger and her lack of stability and her loss of an ovary. He knew about Lola’s wayward nature that so often masked her real fear of sitting still for too long and facing herself. And he knew about his own pain—the loss of Anna, the loss of his memory, his fear that he was already losing the future before he’d reached it.
So many generations of Sheridans had been born and died on this island. It was a privilege to be one of them, Wes thought. But as he sat with his family in contemplative silence, his heart felt bruised. He wasn’t ready to leave Martha’s Vineyard yet. His story wasn’t yet over. Had Wendy felt the same way?
Chapter Twenty
Grandpa Wes was quiet for the rest of the picnic. Amanda and Audrey made eye contact several times, stewing with questions about what to do and how to cheer him up. In the distance, the camera crew encircled the inn to get shots from every angle, then set up the camera to take shots of the family spread out across the grass, picnicking. Amanda could already imagine Quentin’s voice-over: “In 2024, nearly two hundred years after their ancestors hid ex-slaves on their quest for freedom, the Sheridan family is bigger and closer than ever.”
Eventually, Amanda’s mother packed up her bag and admitted she had to head back to the office because playtime was over. One after another, the other Sheridans did the same: curling up the tops of chip bags and piling the pulled pork into Tupperware containers. Genevieve got fussy, so Amanda wrapped her against her chest and strolled along the water's edge barefoot so that the grass curled between her toes. When she turned, she watched as Audrey picked up Max and put him against her hip while Noah loaded the Tupperware containers in his arms. Sam was far in the distance, talking to Quentin Copperfield and one of the producers about filming schedules. The amount the producers had agreed to pay to film at the Sunrise Cove Inn would at least get them through the summer. That was one obstacle cleared.
Sam said that the publicity from The HISTORY Channel would probably bring in heaps of tourists after it aired. Amanda wasn’t sure when that would be. Editing took a little while, didn’t it? Television schedules were almost as tricky as baby schedules.
Before Amanda turned away, she was surprised to see Cynthia walk around the side of the van. She wore a smart pair of tailored pants, a tank top, and a blazer with shoulder pads straight out of the eighties. She made it work without question—a fashionable skill she’d had since Amanda met her years ago.
It startled Amanda yet again that it wasn’t so long ago when they’d met. Becoming a mother had put everything back then into the “before” category.
“Amanda!” Cynthia called, waving her hand.
“What are you doing here?” Amanda called back, hurrying toward her gently so as not to wake Genevieve.
“Look at you!” Cynthia cried as she got closer. “You’re a portrait of health and womanhood. That baby is gorgeous. And so are you!”
Amanda laughed. “I’ve hardly slept more than two hours at a time since she was born. I feel ragged.”
“You look like a dream. But you always did,” Cynthia said, giving Amanda a side hug so as not to disturb the baby. “This place is stunning, Amanda. I can’t believe you held out on me during law school. Not that I took much time away from studying to visit beautiful places.” Cynthia sighed.
“It all worked out for you, though,” Amanda pointed out. “You’re in the big leagues.”
“And you!” Cynthia said. “You’re working alongside your mother, right? The great Susan Sheridan, one of the best who ever did it. I think I read about one of the cases you took on last year. A very rich family…” She touched her ear in thought.
Amanda groaned.
“What’s up?” Cynthia’s eyes widened.
“You’re thinking of the Arnouts,” Amanda said.
“That’s right! That rich playboy kid who destroyed the dean of Harvard’s house. And hurt his girlfriend? That was such a wild story. Like, who did he think he was?”
Amanda’s head pounded at the memory. She tried to laugh it off, but it sounded strained.
“I didn’t win that case,” Amanda said finally.
