yourself.”
A couple of days later, Jordan chartered a sailboat with the last of his remaining money and proposed to Ava on the bow. He didn’t have a ring to give her, but he hoped that wouldn’t matter. If she said yes, he would buy a ring. He wanted to marry her. Would she marry him?
“
Marry
you?” Ava said. She looked as confused as her father, and perhaps a little bit horrified. “Are you
moving
here?”
No, he said. No, he wasn’t moving here. He wanted her to come live with him on Nantucket.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “You mean, leave Australia?”
Jordan had made the journey home shortly thereafter, sleep-deprived and brutally heartbroken. For three months, he licked his wounds. Ava was right, he’d realized that during his seventy-two-hour Australian odyssey: he
was
chained to the island. So, he would embrace it. He would love the island, he would marry the island.
And then in June—on the eleventh, to be exact (he would never forget the date)—Ava came walking into the newspaper office.Jordan was sitting on the edge of his desk, eating an apple and talking to his layout manager, Marnie, about the size and placement of the Bartlett’s Farm ad. He looked up, and Ava stood there, grinning.
She said, “I thought I might find you here.”
Jordan reached out and touched Jake’s shoulder in the Sydney airport as they hurried down the corridor for the Qantas flight to Perth, which would take them even farther away from Nantucket than they were already. Jake didn’t turn around; he was as immune to Jordan’s touch now as Ava was. Jordan wanted to catch his son’s eye to make sure that Jake understood: they had left.
“For a year,” Jordan had told Marnie, who was now his managing editor. “I’ll be back next summer.” “For a year,” Jordan had told Ava. “I will give you one year.” “For a year,” Jordan had told Jake. “Just a year.”
“My senior year,” Jake had replied.
“Correct.” Jordan couldn’t figure out why Jake wasn’t grateful. After what had happened, getting through his senior year on Nantucket would have been a daily torture. Everything would remind him. The water fountain where he’d met Penny after her French class would remind him. Trying out for the school musical would remind him. Going to football games, organizing the car wash for the senior class, picking a theme song for the prom, opening his locker, hearing kids talk as they passed, confronting the sympathy in his teachers’ voices: all of these things would remind him. “It’s an island,” Jordan had said. “We’re contained. We’re like ball bearings in a bowl.”
“We’re running away,” Jake said. “I’d rather just stay and face it.”
That was because he was young, Jordan thought. And either brave or stupid.
“I’ll turn eighteen in May,” Jake said. “So I can come back then.”
Jordan had nodded. To fight Jake at this point would be fruitless.Jordan was thinking like a typical parent: the change would be good for his son. Jake needed to see another place, breathe different air, walk on different beaches, hear different points of view. They were getting away, not running away.
“I can’t stand to be where she’s not,” Jake had said.
Jordan had closed his eyes and let that sentiment pierce him.
“She’s dead, Jake,” he’d said. “She’s not on Nantucket.”
JAKE
H e had been to Australia before with his mother on three separate occasions, but that was before Ernie died, and the last time they’d come, which was the only time Jake could really remember, he was nine years old and they’d stayed with his grandparents in Applecross. Now he and his parents would be living in a rented bungalow in Fremantle, the port city twelve miles south of Perth. His mother loved Fremantle; she called it Freo. It was a magical place, she said. Like Nantucket, she said.
Whether she was being ironic or mean, Jake couldn’t tell.
Out the car window, he spied streets of
A couple of days later, Jordan chartered a sailboat with the last of his remaining money and proposed to Ava on the bow. He didn’t have a ring to give her, but he hoped that wouldn’t matter. If she said yes, he would buy a ring. He wanted to marry her. Would she marry him?
“
Marry
you?” Ava said. She looked as confused as her father, and perhaps a little bit horrified. “Are you
moving
here?”
No, he said. No, he wasn’t moving here. He wanted her to come live with him on Nantucket.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “You mean, leave Australia?”
Jordan had made the journey home shortly thereafter, sleep-deprived and brutally heartbroken. For three months, he licked his wounds. Ava was right, he’d realized that during his seventy-two-hour Australian odyssey: he
was
chained to the island. So, he would embrace it. He would love the island, he would marry the island.
And then in June—on the eleventh, to be exact (he would never forget the date)—Ava came walking into the newspaper office.Jordan was sitting on the edge of his desk, eating an apple and talking to his layout manager, Marnie, about the size and placement of the Bartlett’s Farm ad. He looked up, and Ava stood there, grinning.
She said, “I thought I might find you here.”
Jordan reached out and touched Jake’s shoulder in the Sydney airport as they hurried down the corridor for the Qantas flight to Perth, which would take them even farther away from Nantucket than they were already. Jake didn’t turn around; he was as immune to Jordan’s touch now as Ava was. Jordan wanted to catch his son’s eye to make sure that Jake understood: they had left.
“For a year,” Jordan had told Marnie, who was now his managing editor. “I’ll be back next summer.” “For a year,” Jordan had told Ava. “I will give you one year.” “For a year,” Jordan had told Jake. “Just a year.”
“My senior year,” Jake had replied.
“Correct.” Jordan couldn’t figure out why Jake wasn’t grateful. After what had happened, getting through his senior year on Nantucket would have been a daily torture. Everything would remind him. The water fountain where he’d met Penny after her French class would remind him. Trying out for the school musical would remind him. Going to football games, organizing the car wash for the senior class, picking a theme song for the prom, opening his locker, hearing kids talk as they passed, confronting the sympathy in his teachers’ voices: all of these things would remind him. “It’s an island,” Jordan had said. “We’re contained. We’re like ball bearings in a bowl.”
“We’re running away,” Jake said. “I’d rather just stay and face it.”
That was because he was young, Jordan thought. And either brave or stupid.
“I’ll turn eighteen in May,” Jake said. “So I can come back then.”
Jordan had nodded. To fight Jake at this point would be fruitless.Jordan was thinking like a typical parent: the change would be good for his son. Jake needed to see another place, breathe different air, walk on different beaches, hear different points of view. They were getting away, not running away.
“I can’t stand to be where she’s not,” Jake had said.
Jordan had closed his eyes and let that sentiment pierce him.
“She’s dead, Jake,” he’d said. “She’s not on Nantucket.”
JAKE
H e had been to Australia before with his mother on three separate occasions, but that was before Ernie died, and the last time they’d come, which was the only time Jake could really remember, he was nine years old and they’d stayed with his grandparents in Applecross. Now he and his parents would be living in a rented bungalow in Fremantle, the port city twelve miles south of Perth. His mother loved Fremantle; she called it Freo. It was a magical place, she said. Like Nantucket, she said.
Whether she was being ironic or mean, Jake couldn’t tell.
Out the car window, he spied streets of
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