Page 21 of Starry Tides
“I know you said you don’t have health insurance,” Bethany said. “It’s a problem that so many people in the United States face. I hate it. Honestly, as a healthcare worker, I feel that we’ve failed so many people in this country. But I want to come by and see you and check everything out, if that’s okay. I’ll do it free of charge. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
Helena told herself not to laugh, not at this kind-hearted offer. It was rare to meet people like Bethany—people who either performed their goodness or genuinely were good. Maybe it didn’t matter if it was a performance or not. Bringing goodness into the world made it real.
“I really don’t want you to,” Helena said.
“And I think you might regret it if you don’t get yourself checked out,” Bethany offered. “Your health is essential, Helena. I know you’re still young. I know you don’t want to think about the long-term. But…”
“On the contrary,” Helena said, unable to stop herself, “I think about the long-term all the time. And in the long term, it doesn’t matter if you come over, check my blood pressure, tell me to eat specific things, or what. I’ve made peace with what’sgoing to happen to me. And I really would like more peace from you, if that’s okay.”
Helena took a staggered breath. She prayed that Bethany wouldn’t ask for more details. She wanted to be off the hook.
“I really have to go,” Helena said, before Bethany could say anything else. “Thanks for calling.” She hung up, leaving Bethany in the dark.
Once inside the grocery store, Helena walked purposely, stoically, collecting all of the items from her list and feeling grateful that Meg and Elliott wouldn’t burst around the corner and surprise her. She was a stranger on Nantucket. It was just as she’d planned.
Back at the house, Matteo had cleared off the grill and turned it on. “I found some charcoal,” he said, beaming as he hopped back to his seat on the patio. “I figured we could grill most of what you planned for dinner? That way you don’t have to be stuck inside.”
Perhaps because she was going out of her mind, Helena had bought another bottle of wine for Matteo, and she’d grabbed a bottle of nonalcoholic wine for herself. She watched as Matteo poured her a careful glass. As the charcoal heated in the grill, they clinked glasses and looked each other in the eye, albeit briefly. A shiver went down Helena’s spine. What was going on?
The dinner turned out to be one of the most delicious things Helena had made in recent memory. She filled their plates with fish and roasted vegetables, and they sat at the outdoor table, listening to the waves and talking. Matteo gushed about the food and asked if she’d had any professional training.
“You’re kidding, right?” Helena asked, cackling.
“I’m not! I don’t know. I’ve never been a very good cook. My ex-wife had a few cookbooks, and I managed to work my way through a couple of recipes. But everything always turned to mush,” he said.
Helena leaned back from him, if only slightly. Neither of them had mentioned their real lives yet. Bringing an ex-wife into the story was intriguing, but it also frightened her.
If Matteo told her about his past, was she meant to share as well? Was she meant to tell him about her diagnosis?
Keep it together, Helena, she told herself.
She tried to imagine what a normal question was after a big reveal like that. She came up with: “Are you still friendly with your ex?”
Matteo didn’t seem perturbed by the question. “She’s still back in the Midwest. We don’t talk often, but sometimes we give each other a call. Usually, I call her on our daughter’s birthday.”
Helena inhaled. She tried to focus on the roasted potato in her mouth, how it mashed between her teeth. He had a daughter! But of course he did. He was in his mid-forties or so. People had lived lives by then.
“My daughter passed away,” Matteo explained. “So you know. My wife and I like to keep tabs on each other because of that. If we’d gotten divorced the old-fashioned way—you know, because we hated each other—maybe we would have turned our backs on each other.”
Helena set down her knife and fork. She felt so foolish and exposed.
“I’m so sorry,” she said finally. “I didn’t know.”
Matteo smiled kindly. “How could you know! That’s why I’m telling you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Helena said again, sounding flustered.
“Thank you. It sucks. It’s always going to suck.” Matteo raised his shoulders. “It was an accident. Neither of us was with her at the time. She was with her friends, driving too fast. Those Midwestern roads seem to go on and on. I used to speed down them, too. Maybe that’s why I had to get away from all that.” He shook his head sadly, then turned his attention back to the food.
It felt as though he’d discussed this thousands of times. Probably, he had a therapist who’d helped him work through the worst of it. Helena rubbed her thighs, wondering if she needed to tell him something of her own backstory in exchange. Wasn’t that how people got to know each other?
But did she really want Matteo to get to know her? She was going to die—sooner, rather than later—and she knew better than to open her heart to a stranger. Matteo had lost his daughter, and then he’d lost his wife through divorce. If he, for whatever reason, fell in love with Helena and then lost Helena, too? Wouldn’t that be the cruelest thing?
Helena knew she needed to stop it. She let the silence go on a little too long before she said, “I was married, too.” Elliott's story was the least bad and most normal of the batch. It could serve as a pretense, as fake proof that she was letting Matteo in.
“He had an affair during COVID. It was with one of our friends,” she said. “It was a small town, and I guess I should have known, but I didn’t. They’re having a baby now.”
“Idiots,” Matteo said.
