Summer of '69(102)

Kirby and Darren stare at each other in dumbfounded silence.

“What should I do?” Kirby asks.

Just then, a police car rolls up and Kirby feels a wave of relief. Maybe someone else reported the disturbance; Patty’s screaming could have woken the dead.

“Edgartown?” Darren says.

Kirby doesn’t understand at first, but then she notices it’s the Edgartown police, not the Oak Bluffs police, which is very unusual indeed.

An officer gets out of the car and strides up the walk. He nods at Kirby and Darren.

“I’m looking for Patricia O’Callahan,” he says.

Kirby can’t decide if she should linger and try to eavesdrop or if she should just head up to the igloo and go to sleep.

“I should probably get some ice,” she says to Darren.

Gently, he touches her swollen lip. “I’m gonna wait until he comes out and then give him a proper licking.”

“The police are handling it,” Kirby says. She wonders if maybe it was Mr. Ames who called the Edgartown police.

“You’re right,” Darren says. He smiles at her and Kirby allows herself to be sucked into the warmth of his brown eyes. He’s handsome, genuine, kind, and flat-out superior to every other boyfriend she has ever had—but he will never be hers. Kirby wants to blame this on history or society, but the fact is, her own bad decisions are the obstacle.

“Thank you for coming to the rescue,” Kirby says. “My hero.”

“Anytime,” Darren says.



Kirby is lying facedown on her bed—too tired to remove her yellow daisy dress but not too tired to play Simon and Garfunkel—when she hears the scream. She lifts her head an inch.

It’s Patty.

Although Kirby’s first instinct is to leap into action, she stays put. Patty made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t want Kirby’s help.

There’s a second scream and then footsteps on the stairs and a pounding on Kirby’s door. She rises to find Michaela and Barb.

“You need to come downstairs,” Michaela says. “She’s asking for you.”

“Something’s happened,” Barb says.

Kirby isn’t sure what she’s going to find but she certainly doesn’t expect to see both Luke and the police officer standing idly by while Patty wails. When Kirby descends the stairs, Patty looks up. Her face is crumpled and beet red.

“Mary Jo,” Patty says.

Kirby blinks.

“Mary Jo Kopechne, Sara’s friend?” Patty says. “Someone drove off the Dike Bridge with her in the car and she was trapped. She drowned, Kirby. She’s dead.”





A Whiter Shade of Pale (Reprise)



Kate called David with the happy news about the twins and he said, “That’s wonderful, Kate. You must be overjoyed.”

The “you” worried her. She didn’t like the way he was distancing himself from her and the family. It was very unlike him. David adored Blair and, as he did with all of Kate’s children, treated her like his own.

“Won’t you come this weekend and meet them?” Kate asked. “Please?”

David issued a mighty sigh. This, Kate thought, was when he’d tell her he wanted a divorce.

“What if I got us a room at the Gordon Folger?” Kate asked. This was what they used to do when they were dating, back when Exalta made no secret of the fact that she disapproved of Kate getting involved with someone so soon after Wilder’s death, and her own lawyer, to boot! Exalta insisted that there were rules about that sort of thing, but what she really meant was her own rule that Kate stick to Boston Brahmins.

“A room at the Gordon Folger won’t be necessary,” David said. “I’d like to spend some time with my daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Kate said.

“Our daughter, yes, Kate,” David said. “But I’m not up to fighting traffic Friday night. I’ll take a ferry midday Saturday and leave Sunday afternoon before the crush.”

He would be on Nantucket a scant twenty-four hours, Kate thought, and from the sound of it, that was mostly so he could see Jessie. Apparently, Kate was no longer his first priority, nor was she worth sitting in traffic for. But she had behaved abominably this summer; she had no delusions about that.

“Thank you,” she said. “It would mean the world to me. To us all.”

David gave a dry laugh. “Please warn Exalta of my impending arrival.”

“Actually, Mother was just asking why we haven’t seen more of you this summer,” Kate said. This was a lie, but at least Exalta hadn’t said anything overtly negative about David as she was wont to do.

“Kate, please,” David said. “Don’t make it worse.” He hung up.



On Saturday morning, there’s knocking on the front door of All’s Fair that quickly turns sharp and insistent. Kate is exhausted; she stayed at the hospital until nearly eleven the night before, holding one baby while Blair nursed the other. She waits to see if either Exalta or Jessie will answer the door but then she remembers that it’s a weekend—no tennis lessons, so they won’t be up. Kate rouses herself. It must be David here early, she thinks, and she smooths her hair before she ties the belt of her robe. The knocking continues. Why make such a ruckus? she wonders. Why not just let himself in? He knows they never lock the door. He’s probably trying to make a point: This isn’t his house so he’ll act like a guest.