Golden Girl(89)

The song ends. Vivi claps politely, then Walter offers Vivi his arm and escorts her back to the table.

JP leans over and whispers in Vivi’s ear, “You were dazzling. Luminous. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Nobody could.”

Vivi glances across the table. Lucinda is deep in conversation with Penny Rosen.



There are other things Vivi remembers about that evening: The classic filet mignon and jacket potato dinner with a side of asparagus and grilled tomato. The baked Alaska for dessert. Twirling in JP’s arms until Bob Hamilton cuts in for a dance.

“You’re the belle of the ball, Vivi,” Bob says. “Mary Catherine and I are proud of how you’ve created your own summer here. Though, frankly, I would have preferred it if you’d stayed with us. Savannah still isn’t speaking to me.”

“It was for the best,” Vivi says. “I’m happy I made it work.”

When the band takes a break, JP heads to the bar to freshen their cocktails and Vivi goes to the ladies’ room to powder her nose.

There are two stalls occupied. A voice from one says, “I wasn’t sure what to expect but she’s lovely.”

“A breath of fresh air,” the voice in the other stall says. “This club can feel so…inbred at times, everyone’s children marrying one another. We need new blood. Do you think it’s serious?”

“It’s a summer romance,” the voice in the first stall says. Vivi has by now figured out that it’s Lucinda and Penny Rosen behind the doors. She should leave immediately—they’re talking about her; how awkward!—but she wants to hear the rest of the conversation.

“Summer romances are the best kind of romances,” Penny says. “Remember the Teabury brothers, Lucy?”

“Who could forget the Teabury brothers,” Lucinda says. “The only problem is that these summer romances don’t last. There’s no point getting to know this girl, whoever she is, because she’ll be gone by the end of September. Next summer we won’t even remember her name.”



When fall arrives, both Vivi and JP stay on Nantucket. JP lives in the icebox that is Lucinda’s house, though it’s so inhospitably cold and the water heater so unreliable that most nights, they sleep in Vivi’s drab (but warm) rental on Fairgrounds Road. Fall becomes winter. Everything closes down; people go inside; the only places with full parking lots are the high school during basketball games, Marine Home Center, and Nantucket Wine and Spirits. JP and Vivi eat a lot of ramen, a lot of scrambled eggs and toast. They drive out to Fortieth Pole on Friday afternoons and look for seals off the coast. On Saturday nights, they go out to dinner at the Atlantic Café or the Brotherhood and sometimes to a movie at the Starlight.

March feels like it’s eight weeks long; it’s bitterly cold with a ferocious northeast wind. There’s no sign of spring—no crocuses, no bunnies, no mild sunshine. The writing that Vivi promised herself she’d do hasn’t happened. She rewrites the story she’s been working on since high school, “Coney Island Baby,” about a woman who thinks her husband is having an affair but discovers he’s singing in a barbershop quartet.

On St. Patrick’s Day, Vivi and JP go to the Muse to shoot pool and drink green beer and dance to Celtic music, and while it’s not exactly the Anchor Ball at the Field and Oar Club on a starry summer night, it’s still fun. Everywhere with JP is fun, Vivi decides.

She drinks too much and passes out in her clothes without brushing her teeth. When she stumbles into the bathroom in the morning, she blinks.

Taped to the mirror is a note: Will you marry me?

“What?” Vivi says. She turns; JP is sitting on the side of the bathtub with a ring box open in his hand.

“Vivi,” he says. “Will you please be my wife?”





The Chief




The bad thing about there being no breakthroughs in the Vivian Howe case is that there are no breakthroughs. The good thing about that is that Cruz DeSantis is out of the hot seat for the time being, and one afternoon in July, the Chief feels like he can finally return to the Nickel to grab lunch. When he leaves the station, he sees Officer Pitcher leaning against Alexis Lopresti’s car, chatting her up. The Chief waves; they end their conversation and Pitcher heads inside. There’s nothing wrong with Pitcher and Alexis dating—until they break up. Then, unless they handle themselves like adults (and how can they? They’re so young), everyone will suffer.

The Chief gets to the Nickel at a quarter past two. There’s a cheerful-looking couple dressed for the beach picking up their order. When Joe DeSantis sees the Chief, his eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t smile.

It’s a Thursday, so the Chief decides to get the blackened shrimp po’boy with homemade spicy slaw. As soon as the happy couple leaves, the Chief says, “How’re you doing, Joe? The special for me, please.”

Joe turns to the griddle and throws on the shrimp. “Business is down eight percent, Ed.” There’s an accusatory note in his voice.

“You don’t think it’s because—”

“Because people in town, the locals, think my kid might have killed Vivi Howe? Because your department can’t seem to figure out who did it?” The shrimp sizzle and the smell is enough to make Ed weak in the knees, but he can’t let the food distract him. “I vote to increase your budget every time it comes up in town meeting. Your department has plenty of resources. Why can’t you do your job?”