Golden Girl(41)

She’s prickly, tough, difficult to please.

Pamela has never been a fan of Willa’s and huffs in disbelief with each passing year that Willa and Rip stay together. While Rip was at Amherst College, Pamela encouraged him to date girls from Smith and Holyoke. When Rip proposed to Willa, Pamela launched a campaign to make him reconsider. She said she didn’t want Rip to “limit” himself. Pamela didn’t think Willa was good enough. Willa was the product of a broken home; she had needed three years of orthodonture; she didn’t ski; she wasn’t competitive in games like the Bonhams were; her political views were too far left; she was bookish, bordering on antisocial—the list of objections went on and on.

There had been moments when Willa was certain Rip would submit to his sister and ask for his ring back. He held his sister in the highest regard. Both of them now worked together at the family insurance company under Chas—Pamela was vice president of homeowners’ insurance while Rip handled claims. Pamela was smart, savvy, decisive, and strategic about how to grow the business beyond what her great-great-grandfather could ever have dreamed of. Willa had to hear about her genius incessantly.

But Rip had stuck to his guns, as the saying went. Pamela wore black to the wedding, and Willa accepted Pamela as the burden she must bear for the treasure that was her new husband.

Lots of people had trouble with their in-laws. Willa was hardly alone in this.

Willa reminds herself that Pamela’s life is hardly perfect. There’s a good chance that Pamela’s ill will toward Willa is stoked by jealousy. Pamela’s husband, Zach, the head of air traffic control at Nantucket Memorial, is way more handsome than Pamela is pretty. Their looks are so uneven that it brings up questions, the first one being: How did they get together? (Willa knows the answer—Zach waited tables at the Field and Oar Club in the summer of 1999 and Pamela was so smitten by him that she walked right into the help’s quarters one night and asked him out.) Zach is also cool and funny. He reads for pleasure (including all of Vivi’s books) and he’s a licensed pilot in addition to being the head of ATC. Willa likes Zach tremendously; having him around balances out the unpleasantness of Pamela.

Their son, Peter, looks like Zach—he’s a handsome kid—but he has inherited Pamela’s temperament. He’s a jerk—sorry, but he is. He has always been a jerk. Back when Willa and Rip used to babysit Peter, they were constantly doing damage control. Peter was a biter and a toy-stealer and a sand-thrower, and no amount of reprimands or time-outs ever changed his behavior. In school, he was diagnosed with ADHD, put on Adderall, taken off Adderall, sent to Proctor Academy his sophomore year, kicked out of Proctor for smoking (and selling) weed, then sent back to Nantucket High School. He had to repeat a grade, which put him in the same class as Leo. Leo loathed Peter. “I know he’s sort of family,” Leo said. “But he’s a prick.”

Willa can’t imagine why Pamela is out here in Smith’s Point. She never stopped by the house at Quaker Road, and that was infinitely closer.

“Hi?” Willa says. Pamela is still in the Rover but her window is down; she’s typing something on her phone. “Everything okay?”

Pamela looks up. “Fine.”

“Okay?” Willa says. Is this a social visit, then? It’s a stunning evening, filled with the mellow golden light of early summer. “Do you want a tour? It looks a lot better…”

“Not right now,” Pamela says. She offers Willa a rare smile. “How are you feeling?”

Willa isn’t sure what Pamela is asking. Is she talking about Willa’s earth-shattering loss? Or about her pregnancy? Rip told his sister that Willa was pregnant again, which was (sort of) fine, except Pamela then went and shared the news with the elder Bonhams and so now Tink and Chas are treating Willa like she’s made of bone china. Their desire to pass along the family name has grown only more fervent with time.

Willa hasn’t told her brother and sister, her father, or even Savannah that she’s pregnant. She’s going to wait until after she gets her ultrasound, which is in another six weeks.

“I’m okay, I guess,” Willa says. (Not eating, not sleeping.) “I was glad to move out here.”

Pamela sniffs. “It’s quiet, anyway. Peaceful.”

Willa nods, wondering what Pamela wants. Maybe she’s just checking in. Maybe she feels bad for Willa and intends to offer herself as a mother substitute. The idea is nearly laughable.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come in?” Willa says. “I wish I had something other than tap water to offer you. I think Rip and I are just going to get takeout from Millie’s. I can’t handle the grocery store yet. Too many people. Their eyes give them away—I know they feel sorry for me. Some of them come up and offer their sympathies. Others wave and say hello like everything is normal.”

Pamela looks at Willa and an amazing thing happens: Pamela’s eyes fill with tears. Pamela Bonham Bridgeman is displaying human emotion. Willa tries to abandon her cynicism. Had Pamela liked Vivi? Admired her, maybe? Willa remembers no special connection. Pamela habitually referred to Vivi’s books as “fluff” and always seemed a little pissed off that her husband was such a fan.

“If I share something with you, do you promise not to tell anyone?” Pamela asks. “Even Rip?”

What is this? Willa thinks. A confidence? A…secret? Willa’s mind starts racing. What is happening here? Is Willa’s dream for the past twelve years—half her life—of having a normal relationship with her sister-in-law finally coming true?