Page 17 of Return to Whitmore (The Whitmore #2)

Chapter Thirteen

A fter they left the wine bar, Charlotte, Addison, and Nina drove out to the White Oak Lodge to show Addison where they’d grown up.

It was the first time Charlotte had gone out there in quite some time, and at the prospect of returning with a member of the Whitmore family, a shiver raced down her spine.

Standing at the edge of the property, she crossed her arms over her chest and remembered the man who’d worked in the stables all those years ago, the man who’d been raising his daughter down the beach.

Instead of lingering with Nina and Addison, she trudged along the water until she found the cabin and felt a stab of alarm when she realized it was empty.

So many years had passed, but somehow, she’d wanted that man to remain here, tending to the property, making sure what was left of the White Oak Lodge was safe.

She forced herself to stop crying and returned to the White Oak Lodge to find Nina and Addison at the back doorway, where Nina gestured vaguely toward the halls beyond and explained that she and Amos had gone back there because he’d wanted to show her where Tio Angelo had hidden the drugs all those years ago.

Charlotte still hadn’t told Nina about the day she’d gone up to Amos and pretended to flirt with him in exchange for information about Tio Angelo. It wasn’t her proudest moment. She decided to keep it to herself.

“Listen,” Charlotte said then, shifting her weight.

Nina and Addison turned swiftly around and gave her a look that meant are you finally going to tell us what you really know ? As though Charlotte had any of the answers.

“Seth was convinced that Tio Angelo was still alive and that he needed to answer for what he’d done to our family,” Charlotte said, her voice shaking.

“My best guess is that he bought that house here in Nantucket so he could keep an eye on things. And he’s letting me stay there, um, I guess because I’m the only person in the world who knew he bought it. ”

Addison’s eyes were electric and strange. “Why would he change his name?” she asked in a meek voice, gesturing toward the rusted-out sign out front that said “Whitmore.”

Nina and Charlotte blinked at the sign. Tears spilled down Addison’s cheeks.

“Come on,” she said. “I’m here, aren’t I?

I want to help. No matter what, Seth is my husband.

He’s the man I love, and the father of my kids.

I want to help you protect him, but I also need to find him.

” She swallowed. “I need to know everything you do.”

“His name is Jack,” Nina rasped, as though she couldn’t keep it in a moment longer.

“Jack.” Addison straightened her spine. “Like his favorite author.”

Nina and Charlotte smiled meekly.

“Jack Whitmore,” Addison whispered. “Does that mean my real name is Addison Whitmore?”

Neither Charlotte nor Nina knew what to say. They didn’t know how to tell this woman that everything she’d known about her husband was slightly off.

Then again, it was clear that Addison knew Jack, knew his kindness and his humor, and loved his heart. The Jack Charlotte had always known was always going to be a good father, and it seemed he’d become one—at least until he’d disappeared.

Why, oh, why, Jack, did you disappear?

“I never knew why he changed his name. Maybe Tio Angelo told him to. Or perhaps he did it to hide from Tio Angelo,” Charlotte continued. “But he’s had that name since he was nineteen years old. Maybe that means he’s more Seth Green than Jack Whitmore.”

“We love the same person,” Nina said with a shrug. “We all want the same thing.”

“We all want the same thing,” Addison repeated, looking more resolute as time went on.

Charlotte was increasingly impressed with her. She was braver than she’d seemed at first. She’d come to Nantucket for a reason—and she refused to back down.

Not long after that, Addison admitted she was exhausted, and Nina said she wanted to go find Amos and cuddle up. “I’m an emotional wreck,” she said, hugging first Charlotte, then Addison.

As she’d promised to do last night, Charlotte drove Addison back to her vehicle at Chez Paul. They were both exhausted and not talkative. When she cut the engine, Addison said, “Thank you for bringing me into this. I know it isn’t easy for you.”

“It isn’t easy for you, either,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been entirely forthright.”

“You have been, now. Right?” Addison gave her a hopeful look.

“You know everything I do,” Charlotte said. But even as she offered this up, she knew she was lying. Her gut tightened. She hadn’t told either of them why Jack had left Manhattan. It was too complicated. It was too private. Still, all these years later, it broke her heart.

Charlotte watched as Addison got in her rental car and drove out of the parking lot. Charlotte started her engine and prepared to drive after her, then stopped herself. Needing a good alibi, she texted Addison immediately.

Charlotte: Heading to the store. I’ll pick up supplies. Text me if you need anything.

She knew Addison wouldn’t see it till she got back to the house at Madequecham Beach.

Instead, Charlotte hurried out of her car and swept up to the entry of Chez Paul. Her heart pounded in her ears. When she entered the lobby, the same hostess from last night smiled at her. “Here to try again? Unfortunately, we’re fully booked.”

Charlotte resented her immediately. She hated that somebody remembered the fool she’d been last night.

“My friend wasn’t feeling well,” she lied, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Why hadn’t she looked in the mirror before she’d gotten out of the car?

She’d spent all day weeping and drinking wine with her sister and sister-in-law and probably looked sweaty and crazy and sad.

“But I’m not here for dinner. I’m here, well, because I know the chef. Vincent? I’d like to speak with him.”

What was she doing? Vincent was married with children. Vincent had moved on and moved on resolutely, without looking back.

Then again, he’d written her last night, telling her he’d wanted to meet up, asking her how long she was in Nantucket. It meant something. It meant that, once upon a time, they’d been important to one another.

Before the hostess could say another word, the metal door between the kitchen and the foyer burst open, revealing Vincent in his chef whites. Charlotte clenched her fists with fear. His face echoed surprise. Slowly, he removed his chef hat and stepped closer to her.

“I didn’t think you’d come back.” He was looking at her as though she were a ghost.

Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn’t speak.

“Do you have time for a drink?” he asked.

Charlotte wasn’t sure. But she nodded, unable to speak.

Vincent called into the kitchen to tell them he was taking his break. Then he beckoned for her to follow him to the still empty bar toward the back of the restaurant, where a bartender shook a cocktail and poured it. When Charlotte reached the bar, the bartender winked. “Are you Charlotte?”

Vincent blushed with surprise. “Very cool, Steve.”

Charlotte looked from Vincent to Steve and back again, realizing that after she’d shown up last night, Vincent had told Steve what had happened. Steve looked intrigued.

“A friend of Vincent’s is a friend of mine,” Steve said. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Something easy,” Charlotte said. “White wine or something.”

“No can do,” Steve said. “I’ll only make the best for Vincent’s old friend. What about a negroni?”

Charlotte’s lips twisted into a smile. “All right.”

Vincent laughed. “You’re shameless, Steve.”

“I should hope so,” Steve said, beginning the cocktail.

Charlotte slid onto a stool alongside her ex-boyfriend and first love and told herself to act normal.

Vincent looked at her the same way he once had all those years ago: like she was the only woman he’d ever known how to love. It was a lie, and Charlotte knew it was a lie, but even she couldn’t resist telling herself it was partially true. She so needed it.

“You probably don’t have a ton of time,” she said to him. “You’re head chef.”

“We’re not so busy tonight,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the packed restaurant.

Charlotte laughed. “It doesn’t look too stressful at all.”

“You get used to it in this business,” Vincent said.

Charlotte’s heart sloshed with a thousand questions. “I never imagined you’d do something as grand as this.”

Vincent chuckled. “You thought less of me, I guess?”

“No! I mean, I just didn’t think you’d escape what your parents wanted for you. That’s all.” Charlotte stewed in shame, hating that she’d said it like that.

But Vincent laughed again. “Don’t worry. I know what you mean. Sometimes I can’t believe it myself.”

Steve tapped a negroni down in front of her and a small beer in front of Vincent. “We’ll save the hard stuff for after your shift, buddy.”

“Appreciate you keeping me in line,” Vincent said.

Charlotte and Vincent clinked glasses. For the first time, Charlotte realized that Vincent wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, but remembered Addison’s first husband, how he’d always removed his wedding ring before he’d taken women scuba diving.

Perhaps Vincent didn’t want to wear his ring while he cooked. It was a health hazard or something.

Or maybe he frequently met women here. Perhaps he was a bad guy.

“Why are you here?” Vincent asked, mystified.

Charlotte laughed.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” Vincent said.

“No, it’s okay. I ask myself the same question sometimes,” Charlotte said.

“How do you answer yourself?”

Charlotte swirled with potential answers: that she was broke after another failed documentary, that her missing brother was sometimes the only ally she had in the world, or that she couldn’t really afford Manhattan anymore.

There was also the rumor of the Whitmore treasure, but she’d never really believed in it. She couldn’t.

“Nantucket is my home,” she said finally.

“Why didn’t you reach out before?” he asked. “You knew I was still here, didn’t you?”

“I figured you were busy,” Charlotte said. She didn’t want to tell him she’d been too frightened to look him up because she hadn’t wanted to break her own heart.

“I am busy,” Vincent said. “I’m divorced, by the way. Maybe it’s awkward to tell you like that, but now, it’s out in the open. I need it to be.”

Charlotte’s lips parted. She didn’t want to show how surprised, how thrilled, how out of her mind she was about this. She said, “I’m so sorry,” and tried to mean it.

“Yeah. It sucks,” he said simply. “But it was about five years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Who did you marry?” she asked, although she’d spent hours looking through the photos she’d found on the internet.

“Her name is Jamie. I think you met her, briefly,” Vincent said, tilting his head as the memory floated between them.

“We had a couple of kids. Quinn and Grant. Quinn is nineteen and in college, and Grant is seventeen and on his way out of our lives. He’s a rascal, but I’m going to miss him when he leaves next year. ”

Charlotte felt the love Vincent had for his children reflected in his eyes and ached, remembering that she’d wanted him to feel that way about their children, in the made-of version of their future she’d carried with her for years.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did you ever get married? Kids?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No. I mean, almost. Once.”

Vincent bowed his head in understanding. “You were always a difficult woman to pin down. I imagine you’ve broken so many hearts.”

Not as much as you broke mine , Charlotte thought but didn’t say.

Not long after that, a kitchen staff member sped from the back to tell Vincent there was a minor emergency. Vincent looked annoyed but prepared to handle it. As he got off the stool, he finished his beer and looked Charlotte dead in the eye. “Meet me at our spot tomorrow. I have a day off.”

Charlotte couldn’t believe he was referencing their spot. It was the same place they’d planned to meet the day her mother had dragged her away and over to Italy, the same place where, she was sure, she’d broken his heart.

“Do you remember where it is?” Vincent asked her, raising his eyebrows.

Charlotte felt like she was going to cry. “Of course I remember.”

“Good,” Vincent said. “Noon?”

“I’ll be there,” Charlotte said with a nod.

With that, Vincent disappeared into the kitchen, where the sound of sizzling pans was similar to the cries of an enormous jungle. Charlotte sat in stunned silence, staring down at her half-drunk negroni, wondering how any of this had come to pass. That was when Addison texted her back.

Addison: I don’t need anything from the store. Unless, maybe, there’s fresh-squeezed orange juice? But no worries if there isn’t. See you soon.

It took Charlotte a full minute to remember who Addison was.

She felt entrenched in the past, lost in it, so much so that when she came to and remembered she was forty-five, that Jack was missing, that Vincent had two kids and was divorced, she was dizzy.

She finished her negroni, left an enormous tip for Steve, and sped out of there.