Page 60 of The Five-Star Weekend

That’s what Hollis wants, a video scrapbook. She appreciates that Caroline is taking this seriously, but she doesn’t have to go full-on Ken Burns and conduct…interviews.

“This kind of chat sounds too personal for the website,” Hollis says. “I don’t need people hearing details about my most intimate relationships.”

“Can you just relax, Mother? These are yourfriends. I just want to dig a little deeper. That’s what makes this weekend meaningful. Otherwise it’s just duvet covers and pecans.”

Henrietta rubs against Hollis’s legs, probably sensing her discomfort. “All right,” Hollis says. She raises her eyebrows at Tatum. “Be kind?”

“I’ll be honest,” Tatum says.

29. Pardon the Interruption II

Brooke and Dru-Ann are on the beach; Tatum is with Caroline. Where is Gigi? Hollis assumes she’s also on the beach, which gives her time to make the sour cream and roasted onion dip that she’s serving during the cocktail hour. But then Hollis hears Henny growling and finds the dog standing by the door to the library. Hollis checks the room, which is possibly her favorite in the house, with its blond-wood built-in shelves lined with books, interesting pieces of driftwood, and a world-class collection of quahog shells and beach glass. There’s also a fireplace and oversize armchairs for reading. The television is in here as well; this is where Hollis and Matthew used to watch the Patriots games when they were here on autumn weekends.

Hollis sees Gigi standing in a far corner of the room holding a framed photograph.

“Oh, hey, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” Hollis says. She feels a little… unsettled by Gigi’s presence in the library, though she isn’t sure why. Gigi has revealed herself to be a bookish person—she even persuaded Brooke to buy a novel—and the library is directly across from Gigi’s guest suite. Why wouldn’t she explore it? Hollis’s laptop is open on the antique escritoire, but what is Hollis hiding? Her recipes? Her online stalking of Jack?

Did something about the conversation on the beach change their dynamic?Maybe a bit,Hollis thinks. She needs to acknowledge that, despite how well Gigi fits in, she’s still a total stranger.

Gigi wonders why there are no photographs of Matthew anywhere in the house—it’s almost as though he never lived here. Gigi figures they’re hoarded in the master suite, but then she peeks in the library. There she sees a series of photographs lined up in silver frames, each engraved with the year, starting when Caroline was a little girl in 2007 and going all the way up to last summer. Every photo is of Hollis, Matthew, Caroline, and the dog (before Henny, there was a sleek Irish setter) on the beach in front of the house. Each shot was taken around sunset, so their faces are bathed in a rose-gold light.

Matthew,Gigi whispers to herself, picking up the last picture. She only knew the version of him that appears in this final photograph, where, to her eyes, he’s the most handsome. Had he been thinking of her then or had he been wholly consumed with this family tradition? Gigi wishes she knew what date the picture was taken so she could go back and check her schedule. Had she been in Sorrento, maybe, or Cap d’Antibes? She hopes she was, but even so, she would have been longing for him—more than he was longing for her, that much is now clear.

Gigi smiles at Hollis. “I hope it’s not an intrusion, me looking at these,” she says. A vessel in her forehead pulses.

“Not at all,” Hollis says. She reaches a hand out and touches the photograph Gigi is holding; Gigi notices Hollis’s diamond ring, her wedding band. “This was shot last summer. Laurie Richards took our portrait every year in the last week of August.”

Henrietta is now whining like a child. It’s Gigi who’s agitating her; the dog senses something. Pets are intuitive that way.

“Beautiful family,” Gigi murmurs.

Beautiful family,Hollis thinks.

Summers are the best season with Matthew. He arrives every Thursday evening and leaves Sunday evening, which gives them three full days together. They have a lovely routine: Thursday nights, Hollis cooks a meal at home so they can catch up on their weeks; Friday, Matthew goes to Hatch’s, gets his hair cut, and putters in the garden before settling by the pool to read his medical journals. Friday evenings, they go to the jazz-band dinner on the patio at the Field and Oar Club. Saturdays, Matthew paddleboards on Sesachacha Pond with Caroline. Sometimes Hollis can talk him into a bike ride (this happens roughly once a summer), and they grab sandwiches from Claudette’s. Saturday nights they go out—there are cocktail parties, benefits, places they’ve been invited to. If they drink too much, it’s on Saturday night; if they have sex, it’s either Saturday night or first thing Sunday morning. Sunday is sacredly lazy—Hollis makes omelets or blueberry pancakes, they read the paper, and eventually they make their way out to the beach for the afternoon. At four o’clock, Matthew will sigh and heave himself up from his chair and go inside to shower and get dressed. Hollis always packs him a picnic and drops him off to catch the seven o’clock ferry back to the mainland. There’s a kiss, aSee you Thursday, have a good week.

This summer, though.

Something is wrong, but Hollis can’t put her finger on what. Matthew misses Memorial Day weekend because he’s giving a talk somewhere, Hollis doesn’t know where—Rome? Athens? She doesn’t care, she’s had it, why is he always agreeing to travel at the expense of family time? Hollis is left to unpack the car and open the house by herself. When Matthew finally shows up the first weekend in June, he and Hollis are at odds; Matthew refuses to do the things they’ve always done. For example, Hollis has made a Thursday dinner of ribs, corn bread, fresh coleslaw, but Matthew announces he wants to get lobsters from 167. Hollis says, “We can get lobsters tomorrow night, but tonight I’ve made dinner and we’re going to eat it.” She sounds like his mother and she hates it. Friday night, they get lobsters just like Matthew wants but this means Hollis has to move their dinner at the Field and Oar Club with the Gaspersons to Saturday night, and because the Field and Oar is having a dinner dance Saturday night, the Gaspersons invite them over to their house instead. Matthew declares he doesn’t want to go to the Gaspersons’ house, Kerri is okay but the husband torches all the food on the grill, Matthew would much rather stay home and have a peanut butter sandwich.

“What is up with you?” Hollis says. She’s ready for a fight; she has a lot of frustration she’d like to vent, but Matthew just shakes his head and says, “Fine, I’ll go. But under protest.”

Sunday, Hollis has been invited to the Deck for lunch by one of the women she plays tennis with at the club. This woman’s wife is coming to lunch as well. The wife sits high up on the masthead atBon Appétitand has specifically asked to meet Hollis.

“They might want to do a feature on my website!” Hollis tells Matthew.

In a rare moment of what Hollis can only describe as mocking, Matthew says, “Oh, heavens, you can’t miss that. By all means, sacrifice an entire Sunday getting plastered on rosé!”

Hollis has no intention of “getting plastered on rosé,” and yet, because she is so angry, that’s exactly what she does. She Ubers home, leaving the Bronco in the parking lot at the Deck, and immediately falls asleep in a chaise by the pool. When Matthew wakes her up, the sun is low in the sky. It’s time to go to the ferry, and they have to take the Volvo because she left the Bronco at the Deck. There’s the predictable quarrel—he told her she was making a bad decision but she did it anyway and now she’ll have to figure out how to get the Bronco back home if it hasn’t been towed already—and Hollis says, “Do you get tired of being so righteous?” in the nastiest voice she can muster. That ends the conversation. They say nothing else, and there is no kiss, which is frankly no surprise, since they haven’t had sex since April.

Things continue in this vein throughout July and August. It’s good luck but also bad luck thatBon Appétitdoes want to do a feature—and they want to shoot it in the Nantucket house at the end of August. Matthew is extremely put out and Hollis feels bad—it’s the last week before things ramp up at the hospital and Matthew’s semester starts for the class he teaches at Harvard. It’s Caroline’s last week before returning to NYU, and Matthew says, “I’ll hang with you, honey, since your mother is busy.”

Hollis wants to ask who spent the first two decades of Caroline’s life “hanging” with her, but she feels guilty. The shoot is invasive. There are people dressed in black everywhere, cameras and lights, hair, makeup, wardrobe, and food stylists. Frankly, with Matthew and Caroline out of the house, it’s easier, though it’s not at all the last week of summer that Hollis imagined.

On Sunday afternoon, the camera crew finally leaves. Hollis has scheduled her usual family photo shoot with Laurie Richards at five o’clock, enough time to take an hour’s worth of pictures before Matthew has to go to the ferry. Is Hollis cramming this in? Yes, but what choice does she have? The shoot threw a wrench in things—she shouldn’t have agreed to it, but it was a big deal; it will take Hollis’s website to the next level. Both Matthew and Caroline understand that, don’t they?

Maybe they don’t. They headed out to paddleboard earlier that morning and haven’t returned. Hollis calls their respective cell phones and is blasted straight to voice mail on both. She texts:Where are you? Don’t forget we have our family photo at 5! Henny and I are waiting!But there’s no response.

At 4:45, Hollis has heard nothing from her family, and she’s frantic. She doesn’t want to waste Laurie’s time but she also doesn’t want to miss this photo shoot. It’s a tradition, the last weekend of the summer, out on the beach; they’ve been doing it for fifteen years. Hollis gets the idea in her head that if they don’t take the portrait, the family will fall apart. Then she tells herself she’s being ridiculous. It’s only a picture.

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