Alexander’s wife, Janie, and his children, Xander, Gwen, and Conor, had moved to Nantucket a few months before. Apparently, they’d been in Los Angeles for decades, where Alexander had worked as an airline pilot. “But my career was almost ruined by our dear uncle,” Alexander explained, pouring himself a glass of wine and shaking his head. “He nearly destroyed my marriage, too. I think that Tio Angelo would have gotten away with it, too, if Dad hadn’t stepped in and ‘confessed.’ Obviously, he didn’t light that fire. But you know that, don’t you? You were there.”
Jack let his chin fall to the ground. Guilt gnawed at his stomach.
But Alexander touched his shoulder, drawing Jack’s gaze back to his. Jack remembered what it had been like to be Alexander’s little brother, how much he’d looked up to him, to his perfection, to how well he seemed to fit in a world that Jack didn’t understand. Of course, Jack had been a teenager back then, a rowdy one, which meant that he wasn’t trying tounderstand anything very well. Tio Angelo had read Jack like a book—and manipulated him.
“It’s good to have you back, Bro,” Alexander said.
“It’s like whiplash.” Jack shook his head.
“I still haven’t gotten used to it,” Alexander confessed. “But there’s a lot of love here. That has to be enough for now.”
Jack agreed, although he wasn’t sure he had the words to convey it. He was impressed with how openhearted his older brother seemed. He was impressed by how easily everyone seemed to get along. He watched as Francesca laughed with Nina—the young woman she’d once regretted—and Benjamin spoke to Amos and Charlotte about the next steps of the lodge refurbishments. He sipped his wine and told himself this was really happening, that he was really back. Soon, the food arrived, and everyone hurried to set the table so they could dig in.
“It’s our first dinner all together ever!” Francesca announced, clasping her hands. Her eyes found Jack’s. It was clear she couldn’t believe that her call via the news had worked.
Suddenly, Jack sprang toward her and drew his arm around her. He wanted to tell her this before dinner, before any of the others could hear and insist otherwise. “Mama,” he said in a soft and beautiful Italian, “I want to be the one to take you to your first treatment.”
Francesca’s eyes widened, but she didn’t fight back. She touched Jack’s cheek. “I want you there with me, Jack. I don’t want you ever to go away again.”
Chapter Twelve
The island of Oahu was rainy and shadowy on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. Standing at the front desk of the Golden Sunset Hotel, Addison felt morose, her heart dark and strange. When guests checked in to their rooms, she forced herself to make small talk. The couple from the West Coast weren’t entirely pleased about the weather and the great distance they’d traveled to get rained on. Addison apologized for the weather, feeling ridiculous. But she knew that most tourists were eager to blame hospitality for things that hospitality couldn’t control.
After she’d sent the new guests to their room, Addison checked her phone and saw a few texts from Charlotte Whitmore. Charlotte continued to beg Addison both to come to Nantucket Island and to allow Charlotte to tell Jack the truth—that Addison already knew about his true identity, so he didn’t have to maintain his secrets any longer. Charlotte wanted everything to come out into the open.
Charlotte: He keeps talking about his wife and kids, and my parents are so eager to meet you. I can see how much he loves you.It’s in everything he does! But I imagine that he’s too scared to reach out to you, for fear of what you can’t forgive. Can you forgive him?
Addison wasn’t sure, so she didn’t respond.
Another rain cloud dumped a torrential downpour on them. Addison spent the afternoon sweeping the lobby and trying to reorganize the front desk. Her kids had after-school programs today, so Addison wouldn’t need to pick them up till seven that evening. Maybe she’d get them takeout for dinner. She didn’t feel much like cooking. It had been this way since Seth—Jack, whatever—had left.
At five thirty, Addison dipped into the back office, searching for a new box of blue pens. As she opened the top drawer of her father’s desk, she heard a horrible cry coming from upstairs. Her father was sobbing. She knew it intuitively, although she’d hardly ever heard him cry before. The sound was awful. Forgetting the box of pens, she tiptoed out of the office and went upstairs to the apartment her parents had raised her in, the apartment where they still lived. From the sound of things, her father was sobbing in the living room. Where was her mother? Addison vaguely remembered Beth mentioning a sewing meetup with other women in the area. It meant that her father was home alone, thinking he was crying in privacy.
But there was no privacy in the Golden Sunset Hotel. Didn’t he know that? He’d grown up here, too.
Maybe it meant he didn’t care who heard him.
Addison took a breath, willed herself to handle this, and entered her parents’ apartment. Her father abruptly stopped crying.
He blinked at her, nonplussed, then got up, scrubbed his cheeks, and tried to force a smile.
Addison closed the door behind her and crossed her arms. It was strange to try to console her father, given that he’d always been a formidable force of nature. He’d always been a “father knows best” type. She’d hardly ever argued with him before.
Maybe a part of her was afraid of him.
“Hi, Dad,” she said meekly.
“Hi. Um. What can I help you with?” her father asked, turning on his heel to enter the kitchen and pour himself a glass of water. “Are things in order downstairs?”
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “We’ve had a few check-ins, but no drama.”
She watched her father drink an entire glass of water as though his life depended on it. He set the glass back on the counter and took many deep breaths. Was he going to break down again?
“Dad, are you all right?” Addison asked, hating how afraid she was. She didn’t want to step on his toes.
Her father flinched, then looked over at her. “I’m fine,” he quipped. “I’m fine.”
Addison didn’t believe him, not in the least. But how could she get through to him?