Page 22 of Love Conquers All

“Huh.” Graham pulled his phone out of his back pocket and searched for them. Based on mutual connections on various social media platforms, he was able to find Frank in just a few minutes. “Lives in Miami,” he said, flashing the photo to Sylvie. “Looks like Mrs. Galloway is there, too.”

Sylvie gripped Graham’s phone and analyzed the photos of these people—people who’d lived and worked beside her father for decades—who, it seemed, were now having hours of exhilarating fun in the sun, day in and day out. “I wonder what happened,” she said.

“Let me ask.” Graham sent Frank a message. It didn’t take long for Frank to write back.

Graham handed over the phone so Sylvie could read.

FRANK: He let us go last year. Gave us a pretty sizable care package, and we decided to flee the cold north and come down here.

FRANK: Heard the old man passed away. Did Sylvie come back? I’d be surprised if she did. That was some bad blood between them.

Sylvie wrinkled her nose and passed the phone back.

Graham wrote back, but Sylvie didn’t care what he said.

“So he fired the people who actually know how to run this place, and he expects me to run it myself?” Sylvie propped her hands on her hips.

Graham pulled a bottle of wine from his backpack and shook it.

“Where did you get that?” Sylvie laughed.

“I stole it from the wake,” he said. “Don’t you think we should drink in this old place? Bring it back to life a little bit? I mean, there’s no way I’ll let you sell it. Not for the Next Generation Nantucket Designers.”

Sylvie filled her lungs with dusty air and thought,This can’t be happening.

But it was. Sylvie led Graham to the kitchen to find a wine opener and wash two glasses with soap and water. Miraculously, her father hadn’t turned off the electricity or the water. AsGraham poured the glasses, Sylvie dug through one of the back closets to find plastic-wrapped blankets, which she carried to the front porch. It was fifty-five degrees. They sat under blankets on creaking rocking chairs and watched the dark street. The rain had stopped, and clouds sped apart to reveal an inky night speckled with stars. Sylvie drank wine and listened to the rocking chairs and the sounds of the people milling in and out of her father’s wake.

She wondered if Graham was thinking about the last time they’d seen one another.

But before she had a chance to say a thing, Graham spoke. “My wife died.”

Sylvie stopped her chair from rocking and turned to look at him. The moon illuminated his cheeks and made his eyes glint. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“I’m so sorry, Graham,” she said.

I’d thought he’d gotten divorced. But Graham wasn’t the type to get divorced. He was a lover. He fought for what he wanted.

“When did it happen?” Sylvie asked.

“About a year ago,” Graham said. “It was a car accident. Stupid because we barely ever used the car. We didn’t need to in the city. We could have taken the train.”

Sylvie gave him a curious look, and Graham filled in the blank.

“We lived in Chicago,” he said.

“Wow.” Sylvie never would have imagined Graham in Chicago. She’d half expected him to say that he and his wife had been in Manhattan—just a few blocks from her, living their happier lives alongside her grimmer one. But they’d been half the continent away.

She couldn’t believe he’d lost his wife. She couldn’t believe Graham had been forced through such trials.

“That’s terrible, Graham,” she said finally.

But she also wondered,Why is he telling me this?

“I lost my will for a while,” Graham admitted. “I couldn’t fight anymore. I was invited to protests all over the place. I was asked to speak. But instead, I found myself back here, where it all began. And you know what? It’s a mess here. It’s so much worse than how we left it.”

Sylvie sniffed. “A couple of kids couldn’t make a mark on a place like this. It’s too money driven. Nobody took us seriously.”

“No.” Graham shook his head. “But we’re not kids anymore.”

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