Page 30 of Chasing the Horizon

Victor bubbled with their laughter. “I can adjust the hotel reservations. I’ll call and see if they have a few more rooms.”

“We’ll have to bring all the kids, obviously,” Bethany said. “But there are a few museums I’m dying to take them to.”

Again, they fell back into conversation, planning the upcoming weekend’s wild Sutton family trip to the big city. Victor watched them for a moment, delighting in the Christmas lights that reflected in their hair and eyes. For a split second, he could imagine that his girls were younger, teenagers or even before that. But that forced him to consider Joel, how maybe he was just down the hall, playing with his cars out of sight. His heart darkened, and he escaped into his study upstairs to pour another glass of whiskey. It was only when Esme crept upstairs and knocked on the door that Victor forced himself to smile.

“You okay, honey?” Esme asked, kissing his forehead, then his cheek.

“I’m fine. I really am,” he said tenderly. He brought his arms around Esme and held her.

From downstairs came the sound of a Christmas movie. Victor couldn’t figure out which one.

“Join us?” Esme asked, leaning back so that she could see his entire face.

Victor said he would.

But before Esme turned around, she cupped his face with her hands. “Thank you for all the effort you’ve been putting into us. Thank you for going to couples therapy. Thank you for… trying to see me.” She swallowed. “Do you think it’s getting better?”

Victor bit his tongue to keep from saying,Sometimes I think I’m getting worse.

There was so much left to uncover.

But instead, he said, “I think we’re getting better. I think we’re going to be okay.”

He hoped and prayed this was true.

Esme said, “I love you, Victor. I can’t believe we get to spend Christmas together as a family.”

“I can’t believe I’m so lucky,” Victor said. He meant it.

He had the sudden sense it would all be ripped out from under him. It terrified him.

Chapter Twelve

Two days after Christmas, Valerie and Alex left the island at six in the morning and started their five-hour trek to New York City. The trunk and back seat were filled with baby shower decorations, little games and adorable frills, and prepackaged chocolates and other sweets. However, there were still loads of things to pick up or have delivered, including the three cakes from the Manhattan bakery, the china and glassware Catherine had wanted to serve the desserts, and alcoholic and nonalcoholic cocktails and champagne. It was Valerie’s most prestigious baby shower to date—and she’d priced her rate nearly as high as a wedding. Everything had to go perfectly or else.

The worst of it was Catherine’s mood. Ever since last week on the phone, it had felt as though Catherine had gotten angrier and more volatile. Twice, she’d both insulted and vaguely threatened Valerie, suggesting that everything had to go perfectly or else she’d destroy Valerie’s reputation among her elite Manhattan and Nantucket friends.

Valerie hadn’t really talked to Alex about that. It terrified her too much to say aloud.

Besides, she knew what Alex would say.How dare she speak to you like that? We don’t need her. You should quit.

But Valerie couldn’t quit. They’d just bought a house, for crying out loud. They were about to have a baby.

On the drive to Manhattan, Alex and Valerie discussed baby names again.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t go for Francis Ford Coppola?” he asked, feigning surprise, adjusting his hands over the steering wheel.

Valerie giggled. “I’m saying that it’s quite a big name for a little baby.”

“But what if our little baby becomes the kind of film director to change the art form as we know it?”

“If our baby is that brilliant…”

“He or she will be that brilliant!” Alex cried.

“Okay. When our baby is that brilliant, he or she won’t need Francis Ford Coppola’s name,” Valerie pointed out. “He or she will be completely unique. He or she will be his or her self. You know what I mean?”

Alex pretended to ponder this fact as though it were an enormous idea he couldn’t fully fathom. “I think I know what you mean.”

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