Page 17 of Return to Whitmore
“Oh.” Vincent continued to let his girlfriend cling to his arm. “Were you going to call?”
Charlotte raised her shoulders. Of course, she’d been meaning to call, but she’d been terrified. And now, everything about romance felt a little meaningless and strange. “I wasn’t sure if you still lived on the island.”
“Where else would I be?”
“College?” She shrugged again.
“You know I have to help my dad.” Vincent’s father was a fisherman who’d always assumed Vincent would continue with the family legacy.
“You always said you didn’t want to.”
“Things change,” Vincent said.
His girlfriend glared at Charlotte as though she were a wasp who’d come to ruin her date.
“This is Jamie,” Vincent said.
“Hi Jamie.” Charlotte’s tone was harsher than she’d meant for. “How long have you been together?”
“Eight months,” Jamie said, flaring her nostrils.
Eight months! It meant that Vincent had moved on with Jamie, entering a serious relationship just six months after Charlotte left. It felt like a smack. Vincent sensed it too and looked at the ground, his eyes heavy with shame.
But Charlotte realized she didn’t want an explanation from him. Nothing would do.
Before she knew what she was doing, she said goodbye and forced herself back to the bed-and-breakfast, where she burrowed herself in a pillow and cried. A part of her hoped that Vincent would begin to call hotels and bed-and-breakfasts to find her, as he had last year. But a bigger part of her knew that that time of her life was over. Charlotte was on her own now. She had to figure out a way through.
When she considered trying to find Nina and start a new life with her, Charlotte stopped herself. She didn’t have money, and she didn’t even really have the Whitmore name. What would a twelve-year-old do with Charlotte besides fall apart? No, she was better in Michigan. Charlotte prayed she’d forget all of them and find a way to start over.
Chapter Eight
Summer 2025
It was a little past midnight on Addison’s first night in Nantucket. Mercifully, Addison had excused herself to the guest bedroom, leaving Charlotte reeling in her own bed, thinking about “Seth Green” and his lies, about Addison and her confusion and her children so far away in Hawaii (children Charlotte had assumed she’d never know), and, of course, the chef at Chez Paul. Vincent, after all these years. Who would have thought?
Because she couldn’t sleep, Charlotte googled Vincent and read a write-up of his tremendous skills as a chef, with some restaurant reviewers calling him Nantucket’s answer to the next wave of inventive cooking. Charlotte’s heart pounded with pride. Was this really the man she’d fallen in love with as a teenager? Was this the man who’d made them three-flavor ice cream sundaes and dipped his Twizzlers in soda pop to suck it up? Did that man have such an exquisite palate? She laughed, her eyesfilling with tears, and continued to dig deeper into Vincent’s life thus far.
Eventually, she found what she’d been after—wedding photos.
Just as Charlotte had both assumed and dreaded, Vincent had married Jamie when they were twenty-five years old, back in 2005. In the photos, Jamie was a gorgeous and blushing bride, and Vincent was a handsome and grown-up version of the teenager she’d known. They slow danced and kissed and ate cake and laughed in front of their friends and family. Namely, there were Vincent’s mother and father in the front row, holding hands and watching. They looked at Jamie the way they’d once looked at Charlotte—as though she were the answer to their son’s happiness. Once upon a time, Charlotte had fantasized about her own wedding to Vincent. She couldn’t help but feel an intense sorrow.
It was funny because she’d let herself forget about Vincent over the years, mostly. He’d come to her mind every now and again, of course, but that was only natural when you’d had such a powerful love at such a young age. You were always eager to compare what came after with what came before.
Charlotte had never gotten married, but she’d come close. She didn’t like to think about it. But it was true that that man, Ralph, hadn’t made her feel loved the way Vincent had. She darkened her phone and put her hands over her face. Maybe Vincent had stuck to her heart more than she’d thought.
It was true what she’d told Nina. She’d more or less hidden herself away the past year, editing her documentary and waiting to hear from her producers—and from Jack. Now, Jack was apparently missing, his wife was here, looking for him, and Nina was also here, digging around. More than that, Addison didn’t know her husband’s real name. What would happen if Charlotterevealed it? Would Addison divorce Jack? Was that what Jack wanted, to be rid of the family he’d built in his second life?
Charlotte felt a wave of anger toward her little brother. Why did he make such an enormous mess? She was too old to clean this up for him.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Charlotte winced. What was happening now? When she got out of bed and tiptoed to the foyer, she heard Addison’s door scream open.
“Is that Seth?” Addison cried.
I sincerely doubt it, Charlotte didn’t say.
Charlotte peeked through the door glass to find Nina, shivering, her hands cupping her elbows. This was the last thing Charlotte needed. Maybe she could tell Nina it was too late, that she needed the night to herself? But how could she turn Nina away after everything else? Charlotte’s heart stirred with sorrow and guilt.
Nina made eye contact with Charlotte through the glass and called out, “Are you okay?”
