Page 32 of Love Conquers All

Sylvie didn’t know what to say.

“He always had a plan for the day when I arrived at the inn to work,” Max said, his fork poised over his plate as he thought back to last summer when he’d done some work around the inn. “This must have been before the diagnosis. He was ready to expand the inn and make it bigger than it was before. He had dreams and visions. I think that inn was the only thing he really knew how to love.”

Sylvie tried to imagine her father being excited about anything at all. But instead, her mind’s eye filled with the imageof her father’s shadow in her doorway; she heard his booming voice telling her that she would be sent away to boarding school, that she couldn’t be herself, that he’d snuff out her light.

Of course, she felt a little bit different about all that now. She understood that as a teenager, she’d been idealistic to the point of recklessness. She’d thrown her life on the line and obstructed people’s very real occupations. She’d been a hazard to Nantucket’s way of life.

Her father must have ached with confusion.

Maybe he’d needed therapy. Perhaps they both needed it.

It was too late now.

Sylvie explained to Hilary and Max that according to her father’s will, she was required to work at the inn for a full year before selling it. Hilary and Max listened intently before Max said, “He loved that place. I could imagine he’d want to remind you of that love. But that’s a bit tough, isn’t it? Forcing you into that kind of commitment.”

Sylvie wanted to tell him it was even more complicated than that. But how could she express the texture of her father’s hatred for his daughter?

“I worked there as a teenager,” she said. “I hated it. I hated answering phones. I hated dealing with guests. I hated cleaning.” She laughed. “But Graham and I were sort of punks with a whole lot of better stuff to do.”

“Nobody wants to work with their parents,” Hilary said.

Sylvie raised her shoulders. “I can’t help but think he’s trying to teach me a lesson, even in death. It’s what he was always trying to do in life.”

Hilary and Max exchanged worried glances.

“We didn’t know him the way you did,” Max affirmed.

“We can’t begin to understand,” Hilary agreed.

Sylvie dropped her chin, suddenly embarrassed. She didn’t want them to think she was being overly dramatic. She didn’t want to ruin the night.

Graham came to her rescue. “I was terrified of him when I was a teenager. And Sylvie and I made it our business never to be terrified of anyone.”

Sylvie’s heart swelled with the memory of all the times Graham had tried to come to her rescue.

“But I’m going to work at the inn for Sylvie,” Graham said. “She has a ton of work to do, you know. A whole career to keep going. You know this Excellence in Journalistic Integrity Award? She’s receiving that in June.”

Sylvie’s cheeks burned. It was strange to hear Graham talk her up like this.

“I have to say, Sylvie, you have one of the most exciting careers I’ve ever heard of.” Hilary cocked her head. “Tell me. What’s it been like to break some of the most hard-to-hear environmental stories of the past twenty years? I’m sure you’ve come up against about every resistance there is.”

Sylvie thought for a moment, running through narratives and interviews, times she’d struggled and nearly failed to bring a story into the light, times entire political parties had tried to get in her way, times celebrities had come out publicly to call her “insane,” if only to support their businesses or wealthy friends.

“It’s been exhausting and exhilarating,” Sylvie said finally. And then she thought,To put it lightly.

“What made you stop protesting? It’s where you began, and Graham never stopped,” Hilary asked.

Sylvie turned to look at Graham. She felt the same questions stirring behind his eyes.

“I had to be careful,” Sylvie said after a long pause. “I couldn’t get my name out there. I couldn’t get arrested, not again. Whenthis all began, I was a minor living in Manhattan, and I wanted to keep a low profile.”

Hilary’s cheeks were pale. “You had to protect yourself first.”

“Yes. But I started writing for minor newspapers around then. I had dropped out of high school and didn’t have anything to do but follow stories all day. I felt like a sleuth,” Sylvie said. “I was also completely homesick. I left Nantucket on a sort of whim, and I threw myself into a city that either swallows you up or changes you.”

“So you changed,” Hilary offered. “You had to.”

“Exactly,” Sylvie said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have survived.”

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