Page 30 of Return to Whitmore
“His name is Jack,” Nina rasped, as though she couldn’t keep it in a moment longer.
“Jack.” Addison straightened her spine. “Like his favorite author.”
Nina and Charlotte smiled meekly.
“Jack Whitmore,” Addison whispered. “Does that mean my real name is Addison Whitmore?”
Neither Charlotte nor Nina knew what to say. They didn’t know how to tell this woman that everything she’d known about her husband was slightly off.
Then again, it was clear that Addison knew Jack, knew his kindness and his humor, and loved his heart. The Jack Charlotte had always known was always going to be a good father, and it seemed he’d become one—at least until he’d disappeared.
Why, oh, why, Jack, did you disappear?
“I never knew why he changed his name. Maybe Tio Angelo told him to. Or perhaps he did it to hide from Tio Angelo,” Charlotte continued. “But he’s had that name since he was nineteen years old. Maybe that means he’s more Seth Green than Jack Whitmore.”
“We love the same person,” Nina said with a shrug. “We all want the same thing.”
“We all want the same thing,” Addison repeated, looking more resolute as time went on.
Charlotte was increasingly impressed with her. She was braver than she’d seemed at first. She’d come to Nantucket for a reason—and she refused to back down.
Not long after that, Addison admitted she was exhausted, and Nina said she wanted to go find Amos and cuddle up. “I’m an emotional wreck,” she said, hugging first Charlotte, then Addison.
As she’d promised to do last night, Charlotte drove Addison back to her vehicle at Chez Paul. They were both exhausted and not talkative. When she cut the engine, Addison said, “Thank you for bringing me into this. I know it isn’t easy for you.”
“It isn’t easy for you, either,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been entirely forthright.”
“You have been, now. Right?” Addison gave her a hopeful look.
“You know everything I do,” Charlotte said. But even as she offered this up, she knew she was lying. Her gut tightened. She hadn’t told either of them why Jack had left Manhattan. It was too complicated. It was too private. Still, all these years later, it broke her heart.
Charlotte watched as Addison got in her rental car and drove out of the parking lot. Charlotte started her engine and prepared to drive after her, then stopped herself. Needing a good alibi, she texted Addison immediately.
Charlotte: Heading to the store. I’ll pick up supplies. Text me if you need anything.
She knew Addison wouldn’t see it till she got back to the house at Madequecham Beach.
Instead, Charlotte hurried out of her car and swept up to the entry of Chez Paul. Her heart pounded in her ears. When she entered the lobby, the same hostess from last night smiled at her. “Here to try again? Unfortunately, we’re fully booked.”
Charlotte resented her immediately. She hated that somebody remembered the fool she’d been last night.
“My friend wasn’t feeling well,” she lied, tucking her hair behind her ears. Why hadn’t she looked in the mirror before she’d gotten out of the car? She’d spent all day weeping and drinking wine with her sister and sister-in-law and probably looked sweaty and crazy and sad. “But I’m not here for dinner. I’m here, well, because I know the chef. Vincent? I’d like to speak with him.”
What was she doing? Vincent was married with children. Vincent had moved on and moved on resolutely, without looking back.
Then again, he’d written her last night, telling her he’d wanted to meet up, asking her how long she was in Nantucket. It meant something. It meant that, once upon a time, they’d been important to one another.
Before the hostess could say another word, the metal door between the kitchen and the foyer burst open, revealing Vincent in his chef whites. Charlotte clenched her fists with fear. His face echoed surprise. Slowly, he removed his chef hat and stepped closer to her.
“I didn’t think you’d come back.” He was looking at her as though she were a ghost.
Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn’t speak.
“Do you have time for a drink?” he asked.
Charlotte wasn’t sure. But she nodded, unable to speak.
Vincent called into the kitchen to tell them he was taking his break. Then he beckoned for her to follow him to the still empty bar toward the back of the restaurant, where a bartender shook a cocktail and poured it. When Charlotte reached the bar, the bartender winked. “Are you Charlotte?”
