Page 34 of Against the Current

Ryan returned to the Sutton Estate with a packed bag and a broken heart. His mother and grandmother were there, eager to fill his plate with helping after helping. His sister came by without her children and opened a bottle of wine, telling him to“get it all out now.” Ryan found himself laughing more than he’d ever thought he would again.

That night, he slept at the Sutton Estate and woke up to a buttercream dawn. Because he had a job to maintain, he drove into the Historic District and worked diligently, checking his phone every few minutes to see if Trisha had called. She still hadn’t. Too frightened to go back to his dark apartment, he retreated to the Sutton Estate for the rest of the week, braving a few calls to Trisha’s cell that didn’t go through. One afternoon, when he was out to buy a fish sandwich from a shack near the harbor, he ran into Trisha’s boss, who gave him a sorrowful look and said, “I’m terribly sorry that Trisha has been so ill. I hope you’ll tell us if you need anything. She’s been a wonderful employee.”

Ryan’s heart seized. What if Trisha really was ill? What if Rhonda had taken her phone and turned it off and blocked Trisha’s access to the outside world? What if Trisha needed saving once again from that horrible, rusted-out world she’d crawled out of to marry him?

Back in the kitchen of the Sutton Estate, he outlined his plan to his mother. “I’m going to go over there.”

Jackie looked fearful. She picked up her mug of tea and put it back down and folded her lips. “Don’t you think she’s staying away because she wants space, honey?”

“She’s my wife,” Ryan reminded her.

“Sometimes,” Jackie said tentatively, “sometimes, love isn’t enough.”

Ryan’s chest was tight with panic. “Love is always enough.” That was what he’d always thought. But what if he was wrong?

Suddenly, his grandmother appeared in the kitchen. As always, she looked formidable, beautiful, and stately. With tiny, beady eyes, she peered down at Ryan and said, “Be reasonable,Ryan. She’s giving you a way out of this. She’s speaking to you by saying nothing at all. Listen.”

Ryan was on his feet. His mother twisted around to glare at Grandma Dana, as though to say,This again? Aren’t we past this?

Ryan didn’t have patience. Not this time. Very suddenly, he saw the error of his ways. Out the door he trotted, back to his car, which he used to drive fifteen miles over the speed limit, all the way to “The Reed Estate,” which was what Trisha jokingly called it years ago, back when they’d first met and she’d thought the Sutton’s Nantucket power was laughable. His mother had called him four times and sent him a text.

JACKIE: Honey, call me back. Don’t be rash.

But Ryan was already out of the car and hurrying to the front porch. Just as it had been when he’d first come out here, the lawn was strewn with rusted lawn mowers, broken bicycles, and cars without engines, waiting to get fixed up. Trisha’s grandfather whittled something with a small knife on the porch swing. Ryan had the sensation that he was entering another century.

“Hi,” Ryan said to the grandfather, feeling breathless. He wanted to seem respectful. “Is Trisha here?”

It had been nearly a week since he’d seen her. What if she wasn’t here? What if she’d slipped through the cracks of his life? What if he never saw her again?

But the grandfather grunted in a way Ryan read asyes, she’s inside. He even tilted his head.

Ryan hesitated, then turned the doorknob to enter the kitchen. Rhonda was stirring a large pot with a big wooden spoon at the stove. Her eyes widened. So did her smile.

“Ryan! Where have you been?” She put down the spoon and wiped her hands on her apron.

Ryan felt stupid. Where had he been? He should have been here with his wife.

“It’s good to see you,” Ryan said softly. It was. He’d always liked Rhonda. She was brash and funny and big-hearted and a mess in all the ways his grandmother and mother weren’t.

“You, too, sugar,” Rhonda said. “Trisha’s out back. Here.” Rhonda opened the fridge to retrieve a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. “Take some glasses. It’s pretty hot out there. Indian summer.”

Ryan carried two glasses of lemonade onto the back porch, which dipped in the center and seemed on the verge of crumbling into the soil beneath it. Trisha was in a homemade hammock, thumbing through a magazine about celebrity gossip. Her hair was tied in a messy bun on top of her head, and her legs were long and tan, presumably because she spent a lot more time outside here at the Reed Estate than she did when she was home.

Ryan stood on the porch with the lemonade without knowing how to start a conversation with the only woman in the world he loved.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Trisha?”

Trisha was too cool for school. She turned to look at him as though she’d been expecting him. Slowly, she closed the magazine and dropped her feet to the porch floor. Curls fell from her bun and swayed gently on her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked finally.

Trisha nodded. “I’m okay.”

Ryan raised the glasses of lemonade. Was it a peace offering?

“Where were you?” Trisha asked finally.

Ryan felt it like a knife in the gut. “What do you mean?”

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