The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry(39)

“Cold for a swim?”

“A little,” she replies. “I came out here to clear my head.”

Lambiase walks over to her. “Sure.”

Ismay’s teeth are chattering, and Lambiase takes off his suit coat and puts it over her shoulders. “Must be hard,” Lambiase says. “Seeing A.J. married to someone other than your sister.”

“Yes. Amelia seems lovely, though.” Ismay begins to cry, but the sun has mostly set and she is not sure if Lambiase can see it.

“The thing about weddings,” he says, “is that they can make a person feel lonely as hell.”

“Yes.”

“I hope I’m not out of line here and I know we don’t know each other that well. But, well, your husband’s an idiot. If I had a nice-looking professional woman like you—”

“You are out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” Lambiase says. “I got no manners.”

Ismay nods. “I wouldn’t say you have no manners,” she says. “You did lend me your coat. Thank you for that.”

“Fall comes fast on Alice,” Lambiase says. “We should go back inside.”

DANIEL IS TALKING up Amelia’s maid of honor by the bar under Pequod’s whale, which has been wrapped with Christmas lights for the occasion. Janine, a Hitchcock blond in glasses, came up through the publishing ranks with Amelia. Daniel doesn’t know this, but Janine has been given the task of making sure the great writer doesn’t get out of line.

For the wedding, Janine is wearing a yellow gingham dress that Amelia had picked out and paid for. “I know you’ll never wear this again,” Amelia had said.

“Hard color to pull off,” Daniel says. “But you look great in it. Janine, right?”

She nods.

“Janine the maid of honor. Should I ask you what you do?” Daniel says. “Or is that boring party talk?”

“I’m an editor,” she says.

“Sexy and smart. What are your books?”

“A picture book I edited about Harriet Tubman was a Caldecott Honor Book a couple of years ago.”

“Impressive,” Daniel says, though in fact he is disappointed. He is on the hunt for a new publishing home. His sales aren’t what they once were, and he believes the people at his old publisher aren’t doing enough for him. He’d like to leave them before they leave him. “That’s the top prize, right?”

“It didn’t win. It got an honor.”

“I bet you’re a good editor,” he says.

“Based on what?”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me think your book won when it was only a runner-up.”

Janine looks at her watch.

“Janine looks at her watch,” Daniel says. “She is bored with the old writer.”

Janine smiles. “Strike the second sentence. Reader will know. Show, don’t tell.”

“If you’re going to say things like that, I need a drink.” Daniel signals the bartender. “Vodka. Grey Goose, if you have it. And a little seltzer.” He turns to Janine. “For you?”

“Glass of rosé.”

“ ‘Show, don’t tell’ is a complete crock of shit, Janine the maid of honor,” Daniel lectures her. “It comes from Syd Field’s screenplay books, but it doesn’t have a thing to do with novel writing. Novels are all tell. The best ones at least. Novels aren’t meant to be imitation screenplays.”

“I read your book when I was in junior high,” Janine says.

“Oh, don’t tell me that. It makes me feel ancient.”

“It was my mom’s favorite.”

Daniel pantomimes getting shot through the heart. Ismay taps him on the shoulder. “I’m going home,” she whispers in his ear.

Daniel follows her out to the car. “Ismay, hold up.”

Ismay drives because Daniel is too drunk to drive. They live in the Cliffs, the most expensive part of Alice Island. All the houses have views, and the road that leads to them is uphill, twisty with many blind spots, poorly lit, and lined with yellow signs imploring caution.

“You took that turn a little fast, darling,” Daniel says.

She thinks about driving them both off the road and into the ocean, and the thought makes her happy, happier than she would have been if she’d only killed herself. She realizes in that moment that she doesn’t want to be dead. She wants Daniel to be dead. Or at least gone. Yes, gone. She’d settle for gone.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“Ismay, you’re being absurd. You always get like this at weddings.”

“You are not a good man,” Ismay says.

“I’m complex. And maybe I’m not good, but I’m certainly not the worst. It’s no reason to end a perfectly average marriage,” Daniel says.

“You’re the grasshopper, and I’m the ant. And I’m tired of being the ant.”

“That’s a rather juvenile reference. I’m sure you can do better.”

Ismay pulls the car over to the side of the road. Her hands are shaking.

“You are bad. And what’s worse is, you’ve made me bad,” she says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A car whizzes by them, close enough to rattle the walls of the SUV. “Ismay, this is an insane place to park. If you want to argue, let’s drive home and do it properly.”