Page 13 of The Quiet Rebuild

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Gwen was saying, “but of course, we understand. Take care of yourself, Stephanie. Thank you for letting us know.”

Lindsey stalled for a moment, listening, until Gwen hung up and sighed.

“Everything all right?” Lindsey called.

Gwen started, then let her shoulders fall. “A woman from the first session dropped out. It’s not a problem, really. We have so many applications.”

“Oh.” Lindsey walked toward Gwen, her heart pumping. “You know, I’ve been thinking about my room. I’m happy to give it up, if it means the Harbor House can help more women. I feel greedy, spending so much time here when it wasn’t my mother’s plan.”

“I don’t want to kick you out,” Gwen offered.

“It would mean a lot to me if you could reconsider Taylor Charron,” Lindsey offered finally. “I’m happy to give my room to her. It’s not that I’m an obsessive fan. It’s just…”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “No, I get it.”

But how could she get it? Lindsey wondered.

“I’ve always felt a kinship with her, I guess.” Lindsey tried to laugh it off, although she thought, I literally got married because she got married. I followed her sitcoms almost every day of my life.

“It can happen with celebrities,” Gwen said. “I have that with a few writers. I feel like I know them.” She smiled.

“I think we should give her a shot,” Lindsey urged. “She deserves a new era. And if she has to take my room rather than the one that opened up, I’m happy to vacate it. It’s time for me to start a new life, too.”

Even as she said it, Lindsey wanted to laugh at herself. How on earth could she begin a new life when she wasn’t even capable of opening the box in her closet? How could she ever move on if she couldn’t face the past?

7

It was the first week of the new year when Taylor Charron received word that she’d been selected to be in the first group of women at the Harbor House. When she read the email, she was taking a bath in the vintage bathtub on the second floor of the Beverly Hills place, covered in suds, with a glass of wine and a bunch of untouched novels on the chair beside her.

The email seemed to call out to her: you can’t stay in the bath forever, no matter how much you want to. And it was true—that was exactly what she wanted.

She’d been hiding here at the Beverly Hills house since before Thanksgiving. She’d hardly seen anyone or fielded any phone calls or gone anywhere. She’d forgotten, too, about the Harbor House. In the email, the organizer—a woman named Gwen—congratulated Taylor on her acceptance and told her the itinerary, which included a small welcome-to-Nantucket gathering on April 1st. After that, they would live and work together for six weeks.

We’re excited to welcome all eight of you for our first session. Please know that this will not be an easy process. We will dig into the heart of ourselves. We will find ways to move forward together. Please remember that it’s essential to bring with you the utmost respect for all other participants. While it is not expected that we will all become friends, we are on a journey together, one of spirituality and turning within.

Taylor groaned inwardly. When was the last time she’d “turned within”? She tried to think back over the previous few months of her life, a long string of baths, glasses of wine, and hours of television. Why had she thought she could better herself at the Harbor House? She vaguely remembered a television spot on the news, the story of Stella Vanberg and her hopes to “better broken women.” But Taylor was no longer sure that she could be “bettered,” so to speak.

Taylor prepared herself to write an email, thanking Gwen and the women of the Harbor House, but also saying no thank you. She imagined writing: The thing is, I can’t get out of the bath, let alone fly across the country to spend six weeks with a bunch of people I don’t know.

But as she began to type out the email with the tips of her fingers, she dropped her phone into the bath. She was so surprised that after it splashed inside, she just gaped at it, there underwater. Could she do anything right?

It wasn’t till a week after that that Taylor managed to buy a new phone. By then, she’d more or less concluded that the Harbor House certainly couldn’t hurt her. Maybe it would be fun to spend a bit more time on Nantucket. From April 1st to May 15th, she could explore the island, maybe make a pretend friend or two, and stage her next era.

Before leaving for Nantucket, Taylor packed three suitcases of clothes and other belongings, put tons of things in storage, then rented out her Beverly Hills place to a prominent tech couple. They also had three children who were called “geniuses of future tech.” Meeting with them frightened Taylor because she didn’t know many tech-oriented people and couldn’t fully understand how their minds worked. But as she pulled away from her house for the last time, her heart swelled with happiness for both the family and the space. That big of a house deserved a family in it. It deserved to feel the love between four humans, rather than the darkness within one single divorced woman who spent most of her time in a bathtub.

Taylor hired a private plane to take her from Los Angeles to Nantucket Island. She landed on April 1st, during a horrible East Coast storm. Rain pelted the little plane, making the world feel blurry and uncertain. When the wheels were finally on the runway, Taylor felt herself breathe again.

“Welcome to Nantucket Island,” the stewardess said, helping Taylor with her bags. “Are you staying long?”

“I don’t know yet,” Taylor answered honestly, although she was slated to stay for six weeks.

The true question was: who on earth would want Taylor in their midst for a full six weeks?

Taylor could barely stand to be in her own head for five minutes.

A taxi picked Taylor up at six in the evening. According to the email itinerary, the Harbor House had prepared a welcoming party for them, set for seven. Taylor wasn’t sure if a welcoming party sounded at all like her cup of tea. She hadn’t been to a party since her Thanksgiving dinner, which hadn’t exactly been fun. Why would this be any different?

But the Harbor House itself—it had to be said—was truly beautiful. It felt like it had been born in a different and more elegant world. Stepping out of the taxi, Taylor caught her breath, gazing at the numerous windows, the fine brickwork, the sweeping grounds, the trees that were already filled with buds for the approaching spring months, the thrashing ocean just beyond. It was rugged and stormy, with a brilliant energy that contrasted with her sleek Beverly Hills.