The spotlight shifts to the stage, where Brett Caspian sits on a high stool in front of a microphone. Some of us are nervous—who is this guy? Is he talented enough to play for a national audience or will he make a fool of himself?—but when he starts to sing, we are instantly mesmerized. The song is a love ballad with a rock beat. You’re the fire in my eyes. Brett Caspian looks like someone who might have been a heartthrob in the 1980s. Pamela Bonham Bridgeman, who is watching the segment on the office computer with her brother, Rip, thinks Brett’s attire—a white T-shirt and jeans—is meant to be reminiscent of a Bryan Adams album cover. Brett has longish dark but graying hair that flops in his eyes and a soulful, yearning voice with a bit of a rough edge. It’s safe to say that every straight woman on Nantucket—maybe even across the country—instantly develops a crush on him.

When the song is over, many of us applaud in our own kitchens, our own living rooms. Woo-hoo! He did it! What a tribute to Vivi!

Brett strides across the stage to sit down with Tanya Price.

“That was incredible.” Tanya Price is beaming. She looks pretty smitten herself. “So that’s a song you wrote thirty-four years ago for your girlfriend at the time, Vivian Howe. And Vivian made this song central in her novel Golden Girl.” Tanya leans in. “Is the character of Stott Macklemore based on you, Brett? Did Vivian Howe borrow more than just the title of the song from her real-life experience?”

Brett smiles shyly. “The character in the book and I have a lot in common, but it’s not me. I think what Vivi did in this novel was to take the emotions she felt while we were together and use them in the story. We were together our entire senior year of high school and there were a lot of intense feelings. We were growing up in small-town Middle America. It’s the stuff rock and roll is made of—so many classic rock anthems use the tumultuous teenage years as their emotional touchstone.”

On the screen behind Tanya and Brett is a photograph of a young Brett and a young Vivi on a bench at the mall sharing an Orange Julius. Those of us who knew Vivian Howe on Nantucket gasp. It’s undeniably her but she looks so different. Her hair is so long, her makeup so heavy; she looks like a young Joan Jett.

“In the novel, the character of Stott Macklemore is discovered by a record executive, and ‘Golden Girl’ becomes a big hit.” Tanya pauses. “What happened in your case?”

“My band, Escape from Ohio, had a record company interested in us. They flew us to LA. They really liked the song ‘Golden Girl.’” Brett smiles directly into the camera. “But that was before the age of iTunes and online music. If you wanted to make it big back then, you had to have an album in you.” He shrugs. “And we didn’t.”

On the screen now is a photograph of Vivian Howe in cutoff jeans eating an ice cream cone while sitting on the hood of a silver 1976 Buick Skylark. She looks for all the world like a character plucked from a Bruce Springsteen song. Who knew that this was how Vivian Howe grew up? She always seemed like the quintessential mermaid to us—raised by the ocean, sun on her face, salt in her hair, sand between her toes.

There’s a beat of silence. Tanya Price is the queen of the grand finale, so we all move a little closer to the screen and turn up the volume.

“When was the last time you saw Vivian Howe?” she asks.

“August 1987,” Brett says.

On the screen is a picture of Vivi and Brett standing side by side in their caps and gowns outside Parma High School. Brett holds two fingers up in a V over Vivi’s shoulder. V for victory because he managed to graduate? V for Vivi? Or peace out—was that a thing in the eighties?

“And you weren’t in touch all these years?”

Brett shakes his head. “I figured she had a happy life somewhere else. I didn’t even know she was a writer.” He smiles ruefully. “I don’t read much.”

“And then you heard she’d passed away.”

“Yes, through the sister of a friend,” Brett says. “I read her new book and I saw bits of myself in it, so I reached out to her family.”

“If you could tell Vivian Howe something now,” Tanya says, “what would it be?”

“Well, Tanya, you never forget your first love. It’s a feeling like no other. So I guess I would tell Vivi: You always were and forever will be…my golden girl.”

Tanya holds out showcase hands. “Brett Caspian, thank you for joining us!”

The broadcast cuts to a commercial.

JP and Savannah stare at the television.

“You swear she never told you about this guy?” JP asks.

“No!” Savannah says. “But he’s telling the truth. Could you believe those pictures? The eyeliner! She’d abandoned the Wednesday Addams look by the time she got to Duke, thank goodness.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that she never told either of us about Brett Caspian?” JP says.

“Maybe he broke her heart and she didn’t want to think about it after she left Parma,” Savannah says.

“Or maybe she broke his,” JP says.

Amy claims she doesn’t want to watch the segment but it’s Lorna’s apartment and there’s no way Lorna is going to miss it. They don’t have to be at the salon until ten. There’s plenty of time to pour coffee, settle down on the sofa with Lorna’s Weimaraner, Cupid, at their feet, and watch Great Morning USA.

Amy is pretending like she needs extra time in the bathroom but Lorna isn’t buying it.

“Just come out and watch, Pigeon. You know you want to.”

Amy slinks around the corner, arms locked across her chest. She has a big purple hickey on her neck that she got from Dennis and she has done an inadequate job of covering it with foundation.

“I don’t need another morning of my life to be about Vivian Howe,” Amy says.

“Is Dennis watching, do you think?” Lorna asks.

“No,” Amy says. “He’s at work.”

As Lorna rubs Cupid between the ears, she predicts Dennis is sitting in his van, watching on his phone.

When Brett Caspian sings, Lorna says, “Damn, but he’s hot. Why did Vivi get all the hot guys?”

“Do you expect me to answer that?”

Lorna turns up the volume and sings along. “You’re the fire in my eyes!” Cupid barks.

Amy disappears—back into the bathroom, Lorna supposes, to do something more about the hickey. “Use concealer!” she calls out.

Vivi

She’s overcome.

She’s so overcome that Martha appears. Her scarf is twisted into a tight rope and secured around her neck in a way that looks painful.

“It’s not,” Martha says. “I’m fine.”

“Did you see Brett?” Vivi asks. “Did you hear what he said?”

“I heard what he didn’t say.” Martha clears her throat. “Brett kept your secret. Nobody knows what happened between you two, and nobody knows how much of your book is true. So, you see…there was no need to use a nudge.”

Martha is right; Vivi’s secret is safe. Willa hasn’t told anyone, not even Rip—and Vivi suspects she won’t.