ChapterFourteen
It was one thing to talk about the logic of her divorce from Asher. It was still another thing to “get over it” in any real way. The heart was a funny thing.
Alana learned this the hard way the following morning, as she splayed across her teenage bed in only her bra and a pair of yoga pants, her head tilted as she scrounged around the internet for some news of Asher Tarkin. Maybe she was a masochist. Maybe she just wanted to find more reasons to hate him.
Recently, Asher hired a team of interns to manage his social media channels. The interns collected a series of photographs from Asher’s numerous vacations and gallery openings and projected a false reality, one that involved a man who was constantly on the go, constantly surrounded by models, celebrities, and the most famous members of the art community.
It was difficult to deduce Asher’s exact whereabouts from all that drivel, so Alana moved on to other outlets: mostly tabloid magazines, the likes of which were stationed across the front yard, prepared to ruin her life.
After a number of hungry clicks, Alana discovered a photograph of Asher and a “mysterious woman” on a beach in Thailand, both in swimsuits, holding hands. Although the photograph had been taken from a great distance, it was clear that the woman was a great deal younger than Alana. Obviously, she had a perfect figure, the sort that Alana could get back if she returned to “that lifestyle.” She shivered, thinking of Sarah.Would Sarah see these photographs? Would she compare herself to this woman?
Beneath the photograph, she read:
Asher Tarkin takes a break from a recent world tour to celebrate his artistic accomplishments with a mysterious woman on the beaches of Thailand. Back in the United States, his wife begins the “storm” that will become Asher Tarkin’s very public divorce.
“Oh my gosh,” Alana muttered, genuinely shocked. “Storm?”
There came a welcome knock at the door. Alana threw her phone across her bed and rose up. “Who is it?”
But of course, it really could be only one person.
Julia appeared in the crack of the doorway in a pair of light jeans and a white t-shirt. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and bounced when she took a step. Island life had been good to her.
“What’s up?” Alana asked, trying to keep the anger from her voice.
“Are you okay?” Julia could sense it, anyway.
“Yes,” Alana lied.
“Well. Um.” Julia scratched her head. “I just finished the edits for the morning. Dad wants to read over what I’ve done and make comments.” Her smile was secretive. “As an editor, he’s a difficult writer to work with. I guess that doesn’t surprise me.”
“That’s just about the least surprising thing ever,” Alana said.
“Right.” Julia shrugged. “Well, I have a bit of time this afternoon, and I want to head down to the courthouse to inquire about the records for Dad’s case.”
Alana tilted her head. Of course. Here it was: the real task of the summer— convincing the world that their father wasn’t guilty of the crimes he’d served time in prison for.
If they could, that is.
“Do you want company?” Alana asked.
Julia puffed out her cheeks. “I really, really do. I’ve been in my head all morning. I’m exhausted.”
“Just let me shower,” Alana said. “I can be ready in thirty minutes.”
Forty-five minutes later, Alana made her way down the steps to find Julia waiting for her, a book across her lap. Glorious June sunlight streamed in from the far window, making Julia’s cheeks glow. She looked like a Renoir painting.
“You ready?”
Julia snapped her book shut. “Finally…”
“Hey! You should be lucky that I want to go at all,” Alana shot back. “You know how much I hate paperwork.”
The Nantucket Courthouse was located in downtown Nantucket, no more than fifteen minutes by foot from The Copperfield House. Alana wore a two-piece linen outfit that showed off a bit of her midriff, along with a pair of sandals that she’d purchased on the Amalfi Coast. When she told this to Julia, Julia laughed and said, “Oh, I bought these sneakers at Payless in an outlet mall outside of Chicago. I guess we come at fashion in very different ways.”
“You should go through my clothes,” Alana suggested. “You’d look amazing in some of my dresses.”
“And where would we wear those dresses, Alana?” Julia asked, stretching a hand toward the island life around them. “Personally, I don’t have any film premiers or grand cocktail parties to attend any time soon.”