“It’s probably just as well. I’ll have to devote all my attention to Tessa and her grandparents. They’re not exactly neglectful, just rather daffy. And it will be a good opportunity for me to spend a substantial hunk of time with Tessa.”

  “That will be nice for you. And for her.”

  “And what about you and your half sister? What’s happening there? She’s moving in with you?”

  “Yes. She’s with me now, actually. Taking a shower in the other room. Her father and his new honey are moving to Los Angeles, with great dreams of René finally, at the age of sixty, becoming a movie star. Felicity didn’t want to go with them, and I don’t blame her. So—”

  The bathroom door opened. A cloud of steam billowed out into the room and with it Felicity, swathed in a cluster of towels. If Kelly wanted a shower, she thought bemusedly, she’d have only a washcloth left to dry off with.

  “I’ll tell you more when I see you.”

  “When do you think that will be?” Randall asked.

  “When do you get back from Nantucket?”

  “Monday night. Monday’s Labor Day.”

  “Ah. Right.” Kelly tried to concentrate while Felicity moved around their small room, dropping damp towels, digging through clothes piled haphazardly in a drawer, looking for her pajamas with one hand while flicking the remote control with the other. “Felicity. Could you keep the volume down, please? I’m on the phone.” The girl complied, still pawing through her rumpled clothing like a dog after a bone. “Your pajamas,” Kelly reminded her, “are probably under your pillow where you left them this morning.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Felicity snagged them from the bed and took them with her into the bathroom. She left the door open.

  “What were we talking about?”

  “Our schedules.”

  “Right. Felicity’s school starts this Tuesday.”

  “Tessa’s in a private school. It doesn’t begin for another week.”

  “Tuesday morning I start—”

  “Just a minute,” Randall interrupted. “I’ll be right there, Dad!” he called. “Kelly. I’m sorry. Dad needs me. Look. I’ll call you Monday night, and we’ll make arrangements, okay?”

  “Okay, but—I have a lot to tell you, Randall.”

  “And I, you. I’m sorry this is all so complicated—I’m coming!” In a rush, Randall said, “Kelly, trust me. We’ll work this all out. We have to. I think I love you.”

  He hung up, and Kelly was left, astonished, looking at the phone buzzing in her hand.

  “Wanna watch television?” Felicity asked, and without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the remote and clicked the volume up.

  “Hello, Tessa,” Dr. Lawrence said. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “You’re welcome, Dr. Lawrence.” Tessa was the very model of politeness as she crossed the room to settle in the chair across from the psychiatrist’s desk. With the flat of her hands, she smoothed her pink linen sundress over her legs. Her blond hair, brushed to a sheen, lay neatly, held back by a silk headband that matched her dress.

  “How are you today, Tessa?”

  Meekly, she replied, “Fine.”

  He held two pencils today, one in each hand. He tapped them on the edge of his desk, seven quick beats: Do me a fa-vor: Drop dead. “Just fine?”

  Worriedly, she asked, “What’s wrong with fine?”

  “Not a thing, if that’s the truth. But I’d think you might have a few other feelings going on. Your parents are getting divorced. It’s the end of the summer. School’s going to start pretty soon, and you don’t know where you’ll be living.”

  She looked back down at her lap and said nothing.

  “I’ve met with quite a few of the people in your life, Tessa. Your parents, of course, and your grandfather, and Carmen, and your minister. They are all good, caring people, and they all love you.”

  “I know,” Tessa replied quietly. “I know I’m very fortunate.”

  “Fortunate.” Dr. Lawrence beat another riff on his desk. “Yes. That’s true. Your family is financially well off, your parents are educated, they both love you. Still, Tessa, you’re allowed to admit that things aren’t perfect. You’re allowed to be angry—or sad. And it might be helpful to you if you told me about some of those feelings. I might be able to help you in ways those closer to you can’t.”

  Tessa didn’t reply.

  “Okay.” He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and slowly swiveled in a complete circle. When he’d settled back in place, he said, “You seem sad today, Tessa.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “Tired. Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

  She shrugged.

  “Sometimes our emotions make us tired. Anger or sadness, if we try to hide it or stuff it down inside us, that can make us exhausted.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You might, for example, feel angry at your parents for getting a divorce. Or you might feel sad about that.”

  Tessa pleated her skirt with her fingers. “Not really.”

  “You’re not sad? Not angry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, then.” He beat the pencils against the desk and then laid them carefully on either side of his blotter. “Tell me how you do feel.”

  “I told you. Tired.”

  “Tired and worried?” When she didn’t reply he said, “Tired, but happy? Like someone who’s just won a race?”

  She glanced at him. “No.”

  He squinted his eyes, considering. “Tired but determined? Like someone starting a race?”

  Her head lifted. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I wish—”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish, I wish I could feel like I was starting a race. I wish I could feel strong. Tough.”

  “Aren’t you strong?”

  “Not really. Not like I want to be.”

  “How strong would you like to be?”

  Tessa chewed her nail. “Like Jodie Foster in Candleshoe? Did you see that movie?”

  “I think so. Refresh my memory.”

  “She was an orphan in New York. She was tough. She played basketball with guys. She was my age, twelve. And she got taken to this castle in England to find a sea captain’s treasure that was hidden there, and she and her friends—they were kids, too—they found the fortune and beat up the bad guys and saved the castle for the good grandmother.” Leaning forward, she continued, “And did you see Fly Away Home?”

  “The one about the girl who raises the Canadian geese?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Remember, when the police officer tried to clip a baby goose’s wing, she hit him on the head with a pan? And she learned to fly an airplane so she could teach her geese to fly.”

  “That’s true, Tessa, but—”

  “They all fix things!” Tessa cried. “Even in cartoons, like The Little Mermaid Two—Melody is just my age, and she doesn’t think her mother understands her either, and Melody is the one who saves everyone! She grabs the trident from the evil Morgana! She saves her grandfather; she saves her friends!”

  “All right. I get the idea.” Dr. Lawrence frowned. “But those are movies, Tessa. The Little Mermaid is a cartoon character, and a fictional one. Those aren’t real girls.”

  “I know that!” she snapped. “I’m not crazy.” She put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude.” She shrank back into her chair. All animation left her face. She smoothed her skirt.

  Dr. Lawrence cocked his head and blew a breathy little whistle. “You know what I think? I think you are determined. I think you have a plan to fix things.”

  She looked at him.

  “Have you thought of a way to get your parents back together?”

  Tessa pulled a face. “I told you I’m not crazy.”

  “Well then, what are you plotting?”

  “I’m not plotting anything.”

  He sat quietly, letting the silence build.

  Tessa sighed. “I just—I’ve just decided that I’m going to help my mom.”

  “Okay. Good. How are you going to do that?”

  “Well, she’s really sad that Dad’s leaving. Dad’s happy, plus he’s going to live with Grandpops, so he already has someone on his side. My mother needs me. She’s really happy that I’m going to go door-to-door campaigning with her. She really likes it when I wear dorky dresses like this. It will really help her if I’m good, so I’m going to be good. Really good.”

  Dr. Lawrence frowned. “What about you, Tessa? Will ‘being good’ make you happy?”

  She wriggled in her chair. “I think so.”

  “I’m not so sure. It sounds to me like an awful burden you’re taking upon yourself. It’s not the best thing, at times like this, to hide your emotions, Tessa. It’s all right to be angry, and scared, and worried. And you’re a child, remember, not an adult. You’re not responsible for your parents. They’re responsible for you.”

  Tessa dropped her eyes. “I’m really tired,” she said meekly. “And my stomach hurts.”

  “Are you going to throw up?”

  “No. No, it just aches.”

  “Does it ache a lot these days?”

  “I guess.”

  “Have you told your mother you’d like to meet your birth parents?”

  Tessa stared at her lap. In a small voice, she said, “No.”

  “Are you planning to tell her?”

  Shrugging: “I don’t need to anymore.”

  Dr. Lawrence leaned back in his chair. After a while he said, “Tessa, I’m going on vacation tomorrow. I’ll be back next week, after Labor Day, and I’ll be speaking to the judge during your parents’ divorce, but I probably won’t see you again. I’d like to suggest something, and I’d like you to think about this seriously. I think you should try to persuade your parents, both parents, to arrange counseling for you.”

  Tessa looked up, alarmed.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re a smart, good, interesting girl. And I think you’ve got a lot of pressures weighing in on you from all sides. Too much pressure for one twelve-year-old girl to handle alone. I think it would help you a lot to see a counselor during the next few months, to help you sort out your emotions. Whatever happens in court, you’ve got a lot of changes coming your way. And this idea of yours of being good—well, frankly, it bothers me.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, let’s see. For example, you’ve told me you like to ride horses. Your mother’s afraid of horses. Does being good mean you won’t ride horses anymore? Not even your grandfather’s old nags?”

  Tessa put her hands to her stomach.

  “Tessa, no one can be perfect. No one can be totally responsible for someone else’s happiness.” He leaned forward. “And you are just a kid. A smart, clever, fortunate kid, but still just a kid. Your parents are pretty engrossed in their own life changes right now. You need someone impartial to talk things over with. You really do.”

  “Are you going to tell my mother that?”

  “Yes. Your father, too.”

  “Can it be you?”

  “No, honey. But I can recommend someone. There are lots of great counselors around.” He looked at his clock. “Time’s up. I’ll walk out and say hi to your mom.”

  Tessa rose and walked toward the door.

  “Tessa,” Dr. Lawrence said.

  She looked at him over her shoulder.

  “Tessa, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

  “All right, Dr. Lawrence,” she responded dutifully.

  Friday evening was calm and clear as the fast ferry sped over the deep water to Hyannis. Kelly sat out on deck, eyes closed, head tipped back to receive as many of the sun’s rays as possible this late in the day. Inside, like Dracula, Felicity hulked away from the sun, reading a paperback novel by Scott Turow.

  The boat was crowded, which seemed odd to Kelly—who would leave Nantucket on a lovely summer’s eve? Bits of conversation drifted her way, answering her question: people who had to get back to work after a month or a week in paradise.

  Kelly had not come to the conclusion that Nantucket was paradise. It seemed, in fact, as subject to stresses and flaws as any other place of habitation. This week she’d seen two bitter divorces, the first of a family of amazing wealth and stature in the community, the other involving a nearly destitute family. All the people involved were as angry and vengeful as anyone living in what Nantucketers called “the real world.” It was not simply location that made a place idyllic.

  Or was it?

  She and Randall had met in a cemetery, away from the troubles, pressures, and eyes of the people they knew. Was their relationship no more than a hothouse orchid, coming to life only under ideal conditions? If so, it was about to be brought out into the full heat, glare, and vicissitudes of real weather, and then what would happen? Within a month of their meeting she had acquired, without foreknowledge or desire, a half sister who needed a home and a strong hand. Randall’s father had fallen; who knew what consequences that fall would have for the father’s life and those around him?

  And what did it mean, really, that she and Randall had met at all? They had met at their mothers’ graves. She was certain that his adopted child was the daughter she had carried in her own body and given up for adoption. The workings of the universe were mysterious and complex: perhaps they had been moving toward one another all along.

  The ferry dropped speed as it entered the long Hyannis harbor. All around her, people prepared to disembark, gathering up duffel bags, backpacks, shopping bags with Nantucket logos. Like a giant creature stirring all its tentacles, they congregated in long lines streaming toward the exit. Kelly’s suitcase was on one of the luggage racks that would be wheeled off only after all the passengers were off; it made no sense to hurry. Instead of joining the crush shoving toward the stairs and the ramp, Kelly went to the side of the boat, leaned on the railing, and looked down.

  Rumbling, the ferry slid neatly into its slip. The crew, handsome young men in maroon polo shirts, fastened ropes, fixed the ramp in place. Couples hurried out of the ticket office, other couples raced in, taxis pulled into the parking lot, their doors flying wide to disgorge more passengers. Dogs barked, children cried, college kids erupted with laughter. From behind a rope a line of people waiting to board the ferry snaked along the edge of the dock. From Kelly’s vantage point, they seemed like a pointillist painting, dots and blurs of color.

  Suddenly, one person drew her eye.

  Randall.

  His silver-blond hair blazed like a fire, catching the sun’s light. His clothing was less casual than the other travelers’; while everyone else wore shorts or jeans or khakis, Randall wore light gray trousers, a yellow-and-white-striped button-down shirt, a blue tie loosened around his neck. With one finger he’d hooked his suit jacket over his shoulder. No doubt he’d worked until the very last minute.

  Next to him stood a girl in black jeans and an oversize navy cotton shirt that hung nearly to her knees. Against the dark fabric, the girl’s hair shone like sunlight. She was thin, tall, gawky, a baby giraffe of a girl.

  The sight of the child slammed her square in her belly.

  This was her child.

  Randall bent to speak to his daughter. Tessa nodded her head. Now passengers were coming off the Hy-Line, tromping single file down the ramp onto the shore. Passengers waiting to embark shuffled and dipped, hefting their bags, pushing, eager.

  The girl tipped her head back, looking up at the boat. A beautiful girl with a level brow and a patient expression, she scanned the decks idly, her gaze moving past Kelly’s without hesitation.

  “Kelly? What are you doing? Come on!”

  Kelly jumped, startled.

  “Kelly?”

  She caught her breath. Of course. Felicity.

  “Are you seasick?” Felicity asked. “You’ve gone all white.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m coming.” Hoisting her shoulder bag, she followed her half sister down the stairs and across the stern of the boat to the small metal ramp leading to the walkways. They stepped onto shore amid a crush of people hugging one another, searching for their luggage, chasing after errant toddlers.

  Kelly turned, trying to catch sight of Randall and Tessa, and found their shining bright heads in the advancing line. He was bending to her, giving her a ticket.

  Kelly started to call out his name, then suddenly changed her mind. All at once she didn’t want Randall to see her. She wanted to be free to stare shamelessly, avidly, without interruption, at Tessa.

  The girl was thin. She looked tall for her age; perhaps she’d be as tall as Kelly. Other kids her age fidgeted and squirmed, unable to stand still, but Tessa was very still, shoulders squared, chin high, very self-contained. She seemed older than her age. Kelly yearned to protect the girl, to encircle her in the safety of her arms so that Tessa could drop her vigilance and relax. And be a child.

  “Kelly?” Felicity tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  The boarding line began to move. Randall’s bright head and Tessa’s pale one were absorbed in the crowd filing up the ramp.

  Tessa was her child. Kelly had no doubts. In her heart, longing blazed, stronger than logic or law.

  Twelve

  ON SUNDAY, A HURRICANE OFF THE SHORES OF NORTH CAROLINA drove high winds laden with flooding rain through all of New England. Summer vanished in the great storm’s power. The temperature plummeted. Windows banged. Wind screamed around the corners of houses and roared down chimneys. Petals and leaves were ripped from flowers and trees, and carried sideways through the churning air.

  Dutifully Anne dressed warmly and took herself off to church, even though she disliked going by herself and knew the attendance would be sparse on this miserable Sunday in the middle of Labor Day weekend.

  Afterward, she met Rebecca and Eleanor and a few other hard-core party supporters for lunch in their favorite Cambridge bar and grill. They sat around a circular table tucked off in a corner, discussing strategy and plans and flaws and assets, making lists on napkins (Anne made lists in her Palm Pilot), plotting, laughing, while rain thundered on the roof. It was cozy. It was, Anne felt, very much like a kind of home for her, and her political allies a kind of family. Certainly a more trustworthy family than the one into which she’d been born or had married into.