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Rose giggled, sensing he was teasing her. “Let me know how to stay on your good side.”
“Just keep the Walden kids happy,” Baxter said. “If they’re happy, they’re out of my way.” He winked.
Rose sat in the passenger side of Baxter’s little pickup with her purse on her lap and her hair tied in a still-damp knot on her head. Baxter was still out in the driveway, having a conversation with a guy there who was supposed to repair one of the Waldens’ luxury vehicles. They chatted with each other like they knew each other.
Baxter cleared it up when he got in the car. “Tiny island,” he said. “We all know each other.”
Rose’s heart swelled. The idea of a tiny island where everyone looked out for each other spoke to her sentimental side.
“Do the Waldens know everyone, too?” she asked as the truck chugged down the road.
“Let’s put it this way. They only know the people theyneedto know,” Baxter said with a barking laugh. “Everything is about appearances with them.”
Baxter shot Rose a look that meantif you tell anyone I said that, you’re done for.
Reading his mind, Rose said, “Don’t worry. I don’t have anyone to tell.”
Baxter’s face broke into a smile, and he turned up the radio to play a song from the seventies, one that Rose’s father liked. She was pretty sure it was by Deep Purple. She felt a strange pang of homesickness, imagining that thick-as-milkshake Mississippi heat, the air conditioner that was never strong enough.
Baxter parked in the lot by the market. Rose considered asking him how she could get back but then reminded herself of Miriam’s eye roll and decided she’d figure it out herself.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “See you later?”
“Enjoy your first day off. The island can be a magical place. I hope it extends its arms to you,” Baxter said.
Rose hurried away from the market with the eagerness of Evie on the beach. It was just eight in the morning, but plenty of tourists were outside, sipping iced coffee, tilting their heads to catch morning rays, or reading newspapers.
Rose wandered to the edge of the harbor and watched the sailboats rock gently against the docks, clasping and unclasping her hands. She was vaguely hungry. She checked the cash in her wallet to discover just eight dollars. It was funny; she hadn’t been paid yet. But being in the confines of the Walden Estate meant never really considering that money was required to purchase things. The children’s food appeared in the cabinets and fridge. The children’s beds were stripped, and the sheets washed. Money was invisible and ever-present.
Did Rose really need money to have a good day off? She decided she didn’t.
She started at the beach because it felt appropriate. She’d packed a book and laid out in her swimsuit, reading and eavesdropping on the tourists around her. A husband and wife had recently married, arguing about whether they should move to the suburbs of New York City or remain in the city.
“I told you from the beginning,” the wife was saying, “I want children.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to abandon our entire life,” the husband blurted. “We have friends in Manhattan. We have a gorgeous apartment. We have the parks and the studio and the…”
“We need to think about our baby’s future,” the wife shot back. “You weren’t raised in a city. Neither was I!”
Rose soon tired of the fighting and decided to walk farther down the beach.
That was when she heard the wife declare, “Look! You made such a scene. You’re ruining the beach for everyone else.”
“I didn’t start this conversation,” the husband pointed out. “You did.”
The beaches near the Nantucket Historic District weren’t as beautiful as the beach at the Walden Estate. But Rose had that kind of beauty to look at every single day of the week. Now, she indulged in people-watching, in smelling fried fish and french fries and churning ice cream. Time was moving too quickly; she wanted to grab onto it and own it. It was already noon when she decided to sit down for a coffee and a sandwich for four dollars—half of what she had.
She’d selected a little diner just off the main strip of the beach. It sold easy and quick fare for cheap prices, mostly to locals who didn’t want anything to do with the tourists. The locals were not wealthy like the Waldens. Based on the few conversations Rose overheard, she guessed they were fishermen, restaurant owners, shop owners, or tour guides. A few of them spoke about the “approaching big tourist season” with the air of a coming hurricane.
It intrigued Rose. It made her understand the density of this island. It housed so many different types of people.
There was an abandoned newspaper at the table beside Rose. She decided to grab it and read a little about the local news as she nibbled on her sandwich.
Local sports were just the same as in Mississippi: essential to the tapestry of the community. A style sectionshowed photographs of tourists and locals alike in outfits that “showed their personalities and suited the 1993 style.” There were wedding and graduation announcements, and announcements were made that various eighteen-year-olds were off to Yale, Harvard, or Princeton. Rose inspected the photographs of these handsome and beautiful and wealthy children, wondering what it was like to be born and have the world handed to you. Evie, Hamilton, Kate, and Hogarth had that, too. Their futures were bright. When they reached the pinnacle of their successes, nobody would be around to share the stories of Evie crawling into Rose’s bed after a nightmare or Hamilton kicking and screaming when Rose told him he couldn’t have any more dessert.
Kids are the same everywhere,she thought now.
That was when she saw the obituary.
