Page 17 of The Quiet Rebuild

Casey stared at the ground, flaring her nostrils. Winona, who’d put herself through something harrowing just in telling her story of the fire, let out a sob.

“The world is hard enough on women,” Dr. Estelle went on. “We shouldn’t be hard on one another, too. Let’s learn to open our hearts and minds to one another. Let’s learn empathy.”

9

It was late afternoon, nearly evening, and orange sherbet light churned through the Nantucket Sound. Lindsey, Candice, and Gwen were in Gwen’s office, whispering about what had happened during group therapy, as though they had to be very careful because the rest of the Harbor House women could hear them through the thick doors and walls.

Gwen looked different from Lindsey had ever seen her, sweaty and panicked. “I knew this was part of opening a place like the Harbor House,” she said. “I knew the women would occasionally bump up against one another, emotionally and mentally. I knew there would be arguments. How could there not be when there’s so much at stake? But I hate that the first time Taylor came out of her room, someone lashed out at her.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Candice said gently. “It wasn’t anything you or anyone did wrong.”

Gwen sighed, hanging her head as she explained that Dr. Estelle had arranged for a private meeting with first Casey, then Taylor. The goal was to fix any damage before it lingered in their hearts and minds too long. “But I imagine that Taylor won’t want to be here much longer,” Gwen said sadly.

Lindsey groaned and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I shouldn’t have pushed you to bring her here.”

“No. As soon as I met her, I knew she needed to be here,” Gwen said delicately. “She knows it, too. Or, she needs to be somewhere, if it’s not here. She needs help. You were right to demand we bring her.”

Lindsey scraped her fingers up her pant leg, turning to look at Candice. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been for her sister to bare her soul earlier, how easily she’d accessed her personal stories. Was it because Candice was a writer and therefore more attuned to what went on in her mind? Or was it because she’d already written everything out for herself and thus gotten over it emotionally? Lindsey had never tried to write anything that had happened to her, as she’d never wanted to see it stated so plainly. She thought again of the box in her apartment and told herself not to cry.

Just then, as though to save her from herself, her friend Jennette texted.

JENNETTE: Drinks tonight? I got a promotion!

Lindsey spotted Candice looking at her phone as well. It was the same message. Their gazes met, and they shared a soft smile of agreement. They were heading out. Before they left, they invited Gwen, but she waved them away, saying she had too much to take care of.

“I need to find a way to keep Taylor here,” she muttered, looking down at her hands.

“It isn’t always up to you, Gwen,” Candice reminded her, her hand on the doorknob. But Gwen was no longer listening.

Candice suggested they take one car, so Lindsey got into the front seat, buckled her seat belt, and let out a yelp. It felt as though they were escaping school early. Candice smashed her hand on the steering wheel and said, “I still cannot believe she said that!” Obviously, she was talking about Casey during group therapy.

“I know.” Lindsey’s eyes widened. “Poor Taylor.”

“Do you think Taylor would have shared if that hadn’t happened?” Candice asked.

“Probably not. Not yet. She’s trying to warm up to the idea of the Harbor House,” Lindsey suggested. “But she’s not there yet. Maybe she’ll never be.”

Candice was quiet, speeding toward the bar where they planned to meet their friends: The Salty Pirate. “Did you consider sharing?”

Lindsey let out a surprised laugh. “Me? No. What would I say?”

Candice flashed her a look that meant: come on, stop pretending.

But Lindsey planned to continue pretending forever. “Seriously, my life is about as mundane as they come,” she said.

“My mysterious sister,” Candice said.

Candice parked, and they stepped into the chilly evening air. Inside the bar, Jennette, Claire, Hunter, Conor, Frank, and a guy Lindsey didn’t recognize sat around a long table, drinking light beers and sharing two bowls of french fries and onion rings. Everyone bolted to their feet to hug Candice and Lindsey hello. Frank kissed Candice, first on the cheek and then on the lips, and then extended his hand to the man beside him, saying, “This is my friend from college, Jake.”

“Oh! Jake! Right. I’ve heard so much about you,” Candice said, extending her hand to shake Jake’s.

“Same. My guy Frank hasn’t been able to shut up about you.” Jake smiled. He was suntanned and rugged, as though he spent most of his time hiking or sailing or gardening. He was maybe six-two, with dark brown hair and a clean-shaven face, and he wore a flannel and jeans. Vaguely nervous, his eyes fluttered from Candice, down the table, before they landed on Lindsey.

“And this is Candice’s little sister, Lindsey,” Frank said.

“Not so little.” Lindsey laughed.

“It’s all relative,” Jake said.