Jack had a sudden and urgent desire to get out of Manhattan. But he felt too exhausted to drive. Addison reminded him they still had a reservation at the hotel and could stay one more night before returning to their kids. Jack couldn’t get enough time with them, not now that he’d become himself with them.
That night, Addison and Jack stayed up late in the hotel room, ordering room service once more and watching their phones, praying for information from Detective Bronson. They’d told him about seeing Angelo across the street, of course, but he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. It was similar to calling the police to report a ghost. Jack felt like a fool: chasing Angelofrom Hawaii to Mexico, back to Hawaii, and to Manhattan again. He called his father to tell him what had happened, only for Benjamin to say, “I think we need to give up on this. Are you open to that? Because I’m tired. I think we’re all tired.”
And it was with a sense of resignation that the following day, Jack and Addison returned to Nantucket Island. After a five-hour drive, they stood on the top deck of the ferry, in the freezing-cold wind, and watched as their new home approached them on the horizon. It was three thirty when they got back to the house on Madequecham Beach, where their three children waited for them and greeted them with hugs and kisses and stories of the few days they’d missed. Their grandmother, Beth, was there as well, grinning and wrapped in one of the sweaters she’d spent that winter knitting back in Hawaii. She’d knitted sweaters for each of the kids, too, which they wore despite saying they were itchy.
She told them that she’d already filed for divorce from Hugh. Jack watched Addison’s face, wondering if she was going to break down. But she just hugged her mother and told her she was proud of her and so grateful she’d decided to start a new life on Nantucket Island.
That night, they had a big feast at the White Oak Lodge to welcome Addison and Jack back to Nantucket. Again, with a bit more pomp and circumstance, and without leaving out the story of the German back in Hawaii, they told everyone what had happened and how close they’d gotten to Angelo. But they confessed that Angelo had probably slipped out of their grasp once again for now.
Francesca hugged Jack close and whispered in his ear in Italian, “I can’t thank you enough for trying to protect us. Thank you for flying all over the world to try to end this story. Maybe it’s a story that has no end? Maybe that’s something we can be grateful for.”
But Jack felt nagged with a sense of incompleteness. He didn’t like the idea that he and the rest of the Whitmores would have to watch out behind them for the rest of their lives, conscious that Angelo might be following. Conscious that he could try to blackmail them at every turn.
After their return from New York, things settled into an easy pattern, one that Jack found himself adoring. Every day, he, Addison, and Beth did everything they could to prepare the White Oak Lodge for the May reopening. They painted, sanded, decorated, and put together furniture. They helped interview candidates for various roles, including chef, event planner, and horse stable manager. They attended meetings with the other Whitmores, changed their minds, got into minor arguments, and always found a way to compromise. Almost always at the end of the day, there was a big meal they shared together. Usually, it was Italian food, because they couldn’t get enough of it, and they knew that Francesca couldn’t resist it, even if she felt too sick from the chemo to eat much.
Jack continued to take his mother to chemotherapy treatments. She remained powerful and stoic, despite the toll they took on her body. Sometimes she came into the lodge to help out, but often she remained in bed, reading, writing, and watching television until someone came to fetch her for dinner. Jack made sure to visit her often throughout the week. He brought his kids, who’d begun to speak to her in an Italian that frightened him. They were getting really good at the language, really quickly. Kids had incredible brains. Jack often spoke to them in Italian at home to practice, until Addison asked them to quit boxing her out.
The doctor maintained his belief that Francesca would probably get better. But there were no guarantees, certainly not in this life. Jack knew that better than most.
Slowly, and then all at once, spring unfurled before them. Tiny buds popped up on the oak and maple trees that lined the beautiful streets of Nantucket. After living in Hawaii for so long, Jack found spring to be a total surprise, a total beauty. It was something you had to earn, he thought. Living in a warm place meant that it never felt like time passed. It meant you never really appreciated a warm day because you hadn’t been truly cold.
At the end of March, Francesca had her final chemotherapy treatment. They wouldn’t know for a little while if the cancer was gone. But she was grateful to “have that whole thing over with,” as she always said. Like it was some silly ordeal she had to go through.
To celebrate the end of Francesca’s chemotherapy, Benjamin arranged for a family party at the beginning of April. Now that the lodge was nearly ready for its May reopening, it felt genuinely surreal to stand on the lush green lawn that wrapped around the grand house. It was like dropping back into the past. Jack sipped a beer and wrapped his arm around Addison, watching as their three children played with their cousins Will and Fiona, running up and down the beach. The water was still too cold to swim in, but they tried their luck, dipping their toes in and screaming. Birds twittered overhead, and flower petals curled from their buds. On the porch, Jack’s sisters were squabbling about how to set the table and which salad to put out first. His mother sat in the sunlight, her glossy wig set perfectly on her head, her sunglasses enormous and chic. Benjamin came to sit beside her and take her hand.
This was a feeling of peace that Jack hadn’t felt during all his years in Hawaii.
And then, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket to readDetective Bronson.
He nearly fell to his knees.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ahalf-hour later, the entire Whitmore family was gathered around the television at the lodge to watch the evening news. Nobody could speak. The dinner, already cooked, remained in the kitchen, cooling as time passed. Maybe someone would think to put it in a Tupperware later, but maybe they wouldn’t. It took a really strange event for an Italian family to forget to eat. Francesca stood closest to the screen, bending forward, as though she wanted to crawl into the television. She didn’t look weak any longer. Jack hung back, his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe what Detective Bronson had told him: they’d arrested Angelo. They’d gotten the evidence they needed to finally corner him. It was over.
“He isn’t feeling as smart as he once did,” Detective Bronson had said proudly over the phone. “Thanks again for your help. It went a little bit faster, although I know it wasn’t fast enough for all of you.”
“There he is,” Benjamin whispered now, just as a camera panned to show two detectives shoving Angelo into the back of a cop car. Just before he dropped down, Angelo seemed to make eye contact with the camera, as though he could see directly into the White Oak Lodge. It was as though he knew they were allwatching him. It was as though he wanted to tell them that this was all a part of his grand plan, as though it were a game that he’d begun in the nineties only to complete now.
The newscasters went on to list everything that Angelo had been arrested for, including drug trafficking, blackmail, and conspiracy. His mug shot appeared, showing him to be just as handsome and mischievous-looking as ever, despite his age.
“There’s my brother,” Francesca whispered in Italian. She sounded mystified, as though a part of her had thought she’d never see him again. “Look at how handsome he looks!”
“He really does,” Charlotte agreed, throwing an eye roll back to Jack, who smiled.
But it was true. Nobody could accuse Angelo of being ugly, not this late in life, not this deep into criminality. He still looked like he could smooth-talk his way out of prison. It was terrifying.
Chaos broke out after that; at least there in the White Oak Lodge. Francesca insisted that she wanted to go to Manhattan to see him. Benjamin thought that sounded like a bad idea. Some of Jack’s siblings suggested that Francesca should focus on her health first. Maybe she could see him later, after the trial.
“You just finished chemotherapy, for goodness’ sake,” Alexander said, glowering.
“And that’s exactly why I have to go,” Francesca shot back. “It’s given me clarity on life that I’ve never had before. I need to look Angelo in the eye and say what I’ve always needed to say. I need him to know how he broke my heart. I need him to hear me.”
Nobody knew what to say to that. It seemed perfectly reasonable. That, and nobody was accustomed to telling Francesca that she couldn’t have exactly what she wanted.
Arrangements were made for Jack to drive Francesca to Manhattan the following morning, as Francesca didn’t want to wait, and after a brief call, Detective Bronson suggested thiswas a good time to come. “After he’s processed into one of the bigger prisons, during and after the trial, things will get more complicated,” he said. Jack didn’t know what that meant. He felt as though Angelo dangled over a big, dark pit called the criminal justice system. He shivered.
That night, wrapped in bed with Addison, Jack confessed that he couldn’t believe it. All he could see of Addison was her glinting eyes in the darkness. She kissed him and whispered, “He didn’t win. I can’t believe he didn’t win.”