Sylvie was quiet for a moment. The wind ruffled her hair. “I don’t know if I can support anyone right now.”
“Of course not. You’re in the thick of it. You’re grieving,” Hilary said, touching her shoulder.
Sylvie wanted to protest. She wanted to say that she wasn’t grieving, per se, because she and her father hadn’t been close. But everything in her life felt upside down. Maybe she was grieving the life with Graham she hadn’t been allowed to have. Perhaps she was grieving Mike. Maybe she was grieving her beautiful life in Manhattan.
Her sorrows spun with possibilities.
“Let me pick you up tonight,” Hilary said. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Sylvie couldn’t believe it, but she said, “Okay.”
At seven thirty that evening, Hilary pulled up in front of the hotel in a baby-blue Mustang. Sylvie hurried out of the foyer, feeling like a loser high schooler getting attention from the most popular girl at school. But Hilary didn’t treat her like that. It was almost as though they’d known one another a lot longer than twenty-four hours, almost as though Hilary was eager to make space for Sylvie, no matter what. It boggled Sylvie’s mind.
But when they reached the wine bar, things began to make sense.
“Girls, this is Sylvie Bruckson. I’ve been talking about her nonstop,” Hilary said.
“Oh! The famous journalist!” one of the girls said, standing up to shake her hand.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Sylvie,” another said.
Sylvie hated all this attention. Her cheeks steamed.Hilary thinks I’m worth something because of my articles,she thought as she sat down, crossing her ankles.She’ll realize I’m boring and ditch me soon.
“Sylvie, these are my dearest friends, a few of the Salt Sisters,” Hilary said, introducing a blond-haired beauty named Stella, a whip-smart woman named Robby, an event planner named Tina, and a chatty and hilarious woman named Rose.
Sylvie remembered that each of the Salt Sisters had lost someone. But each of the women before her glowed with money and goodwill and humor and life. It was hard to imagine they’d ever encountered a single bad hair day, let alone a heavy depression.
Hilary ordered for the table: plenty of bottles of wine and platters of cheese. The women were still fixated on Sylvie,probably because she was the one they didn’t yet know, and they wanted to be polite. That, or they wanted to dig. Maybe it was a bit of both.
“How is it to be back on the island after so long?” Rose asked, furrowing her brow.
“It’s strange,” Sylvie answered.
“Tell us,” Hilary said, the tip of her finger against her forehead, “when was the last time you saw Graham Ellis?”
The woman’s eyes widened. Sylvie looked down. Never in her life had she talked to anyone about Graham Ellis. Never had she had girlfriends with whom she could share such things.
“Oh, I mean. I haven’t seen him since I left Nantucket,” she said.
Rose whistled low and long.
“We saw you together last night at the wake,” Stella said. “I was like, something happened between them.”
“That chemistry between you!” Tina cried. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Sylvie’s cheeks burned. The server arrived with glasses of wine, and Sylvie took a longer sip than necessary. Maybe if she finished her glass, she could get out of there sooner rather than later. Perhaps she could make up some excuse.
“You said you used to stage protests together? As teenagers?” Hilary recalled.
Sylvie grimaced and looked out the window, her mind’s eye flooding with precious images of her and Graham’s early days as idealistic protesters. How she loved the planet! How she loved him!
“We did,” Sylvie said finally.
Hilary suddenly looked reticent. “Goodness, we’re overbearing, aren’t we?”
Hilary and the other Salt Sisters looked down at their slices of cheese and bread with regret.
“The last thing I wanted after my husband passed was for people to pester me like this,” Robby said, her hand in a fist. “I hope you’ll accept my apology, Sylvie.”
