Carson screams, “Not everything is about you, Willa!”

Willa slaps Carson hard, right across the face. Carson doesn’t flinch. “You know nothing about what happened with Zach and me,” Carson says, “and if I explained it to you, you still wouldn’t understand. Because you aren’t a human being. You’re a…robot, a housewife robot, whatever those are called. You’re miserable in your life because you can’t grow a baby so you make yourself feel better by judging everyone else.”

“I’m judging you because you’re my sister and you’ve been screwing things up your entire life as a cry for attention and so people would look at you and tell you how pretty you are—”

“Ah,” Carson says. “Now we’re getting to the real issue. You’re jealous of me.”

Again, Willa slaps Carson hard, so hard her hand stings. She can’t believe the fury that overtakes her. She’s trembling; her ears clog, her eyes water. She pulls her hand back to hit Carson again, and Carson grabs Willa by the forearm and pushes her away.

Willa steps backward and her foot gets caught in the hem of her skirt. She tumbles down the deck stairs.

Oh no, she thinks. No.

Vivi

“Go!” Martha says.

Vivi swoops down, both hands in front of her pushing through the membrane. She isn’t able to catch Willa exactly, but she shifts her so that instead of landing hard on the flagstones in front of the outdoor shower, Willa lands in the sand.

Vivi senses a movement in Willa. It’s the baby; he’s jarred for a moment but then he settles back into his bubble.

It’s a he, Vivi thinks, and he’s fine.

Willa is crying, but she rises easily. “You idiot!” she says. “I’m pregnant!”

“Oh my God,” Carson says. “Will!” She helps Willa up the steps to the deck and they sit side by side on the bench, hugging and crying. “I’m sorry, Willie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Willa tries to catch her breath. She hit her hip on the step; there will be a bruise. Thank God she landed in the sand. It could have been so much worse.

Carson says, “It’s over between me and Zach. It ended the same night I got fired and I haven’t contacted him since and I haven’t had a drink or a toke or a bump or a pill since then either.”

Willa excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She checks to make sure there’s no bleeding. She looks in the mirror and says, “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Her voice is filled with relief and gratitude and she casts her eyes upward.

Vivi, meanwhile, is a mess. She sobs into Martha’s Hermès scarf, which Martha is generously offering as a handkerchief.

“That was so close,” Vivi says.

“Yes,” Martha says.

“I’m having a grandson.”

“You are.”

“But I failed as a mother,” Vivi says. “My girls…hate each other.” She peers down at Willa and Carson, both now sitting at the picnic table in silence, opening their takeout containers. Peace has been restored, but Vivi knows it’s only temporary. “When Carson was born, I felt so happy that I had given Willa something she would have the rest of her life: a sister.”

Martha sighs. “Being sisters doesn’t mean being best friends for everyone, Vivian.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you and Maribeth?” Vivi asks. “And how you happen to have all these scarves?”

Martha closes her eyes briefly. “I suppose August is drawing to a close,” she says. “Which means our time together is almost over.”

“No!” Vivi says.

“Yes,” Martha says. She shakes the scarf out and methodically smooths it, then folds it. “Would you like to hear the story?”

Yes, Vivi thinks.

Martha sits on the velvet chaise, props her feet up on the coffee table, and pats the spot next to her. Vivi sits; out the open side of the room, they have a spectacular view of night settling over Nantucket, a navy-blue sky shot through with streaks of brilliant pink. “Maribeth was four years younger than I,” Martha says. “She was, you might say, the Carson to my Willa—not exactly, of course, but close enough. My husband, Archie, was a boy Maribeth and I grew up with in Kalkaska, Michigan, so I am a bit like Willa because he was my first love, my only love. Archie and I both attended the University of Michigan. In my senior year, I received a job offer from FedEx, and after graduation I moved to Memphis. Meanwhile, Archie went to medical school at Michigan. We decided on a long-distance relationship. Well, the year I left for Memphis was the year Maribeth enrolled at U of M, and she and Archie started a secret relationship.”

Vivi instantly perks up. “Oh my.”

“I had no idea,” Martha says. “It went on for four years, but it couldn’t have been too serious because when Archie finished medical school, he took a residency at St. Jude’s in Memphis. He was in pediatric oncology and St. Jude’s is, of course, one of the top hospitals in the country for treating and researching childhood cancers. Archie proposed to me; we were married. Maribeth graduated with a degree in theater and moved to New York to become an actress, but she ended up marrying Richard Schumacher, a man who was much, much older than her and very rich. He owned a brownstone on East Seventy-Eighth Street, a house on Nantucket, and a sailboat named Wind Castle.”

“Right,” Vivi says. She remembers Maribeth talking about her home in Shawkemo Hills and her boat.

“Archie and I met Richard for the first time at their wedding,” Martha says. “They got married at city hall and Archie and I flew in to be witnesses. We went to lunch afterward at Le Cirque—it was very chic, exorbitantly expensive—and it became clear at that lunch that Richard didn’t care for Archie one bit. He was rude to Archie throughout the meal.” Martha clears her throat. “I have my suspicions now that Richard knew, as I did not, that Maribeth and Archie had had a love affair.”

It’s interesting, Vivi thinks, that Martha calls it a love affair and not a fling.

“Just wait, I’m getting there,” Martha says. “Archie and I barely saw Maribeth after that. We were never invited to New York or Nantucket—though of course, Maribeth would send me your books, so I felt like I’d been there.”

Vivi decides to take this as a compliment.

“And then one winter, Richard slipped on the ice on the sidewalk in New York, broke his hip, and died shortly thereafter. The following summer, Maribeth invited us to Nantucket.” Martha rests her head back against the chaise and Vivi follows her gaze up to the lacy pattern of light on the ceiling. “We had a magical week. We drove onto the beach at Great Point with magnums of Veuve Clicquot—Maribeth made a joke about the merry widow—and we grilled lobster tails and littleneck clams on the hibachi. We walked through the moors, visited Bartlett’s Farm, rode bikes out to Sconset during the first bloom of the cottage roses. We ate at the Boarding House and the Company of the Cauldron; we sang at the piano bar of the Club Car. We did all the things the people in your books do.”

“Wow,” Vivi says. All this time she had no idea that Martha was a…fan. She feels honored.