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People are pouring their first cups of coffee while reading the front page of the Nantucket standard, the 35 women who will be getting married today open their eyes and experience varying degrees of anticipation and anxiety as contractors pull into the marine home center because they have punch lists that need To be completed yesterday, the summer people are arriving, they want their homes up and running charter fishing boats motor out of the harbor. The first batch of sugar donuts is pulled from the oven at the downy flake and oh, the scent Martha, sighs Nantucket isn’t heaven, but it is heaven on earth. However, she isn’t here to sightsee she’s here to collect a soul. The pinned location on Martha’s map is Kingsley road, almost at the intersection of the market, but not quite Martha, arrives with a full 30 seconds to spare, giving her a chance to inhale the heady fragrance of the lilacs that are in full bloom below there’s a dark-haired woman With fantastic legs jogging down the road singing along to her music, but the rest of Kingsley is quite sleepy 15 seconds 10 seconds 5 seconds, Martha double checks, her coordinates. It says she’s in the right place the time that Martha takes her gaze off the road tragedy strikes.

It happens quickly, in the literal blink of an eye, Martha winces. What a pity all right Martha thinks the time to get to work. Vivi, it’s a beautiful June day. The kind that Vivi writes about, in fact, all 13 of Vivian howe’s novels beach, reads set on Nantucket start in June. Vivi has never considered changing this habit because June on Nantucket is when things begin.

The summer is a newborn. It’S still innocent pristine, a blank page at a few minutes past seven Vivi is ready for her run. She takes the same route she’s taken ever since she moved into the money pit ten years ago after her divorce down her dirt road Kingsley to the magical road bike path. The path goes all the way to the beach, though Vivi hasn’t made it that far in years, her hips also she doesn’t have time. Vivi is agitated despite the sunshine, the bluebird sky, and the luscious bloom of the peonies in her cutting garden.

The night before Vivi’s daughter, Willa, called to say that she was pregnant again. This marks the villa’s fourth pregnancy since last June, which was when she and rip got married. Oh, really Vivi said yay, hooray, good, good news. How far along are you six weeks? Willa said still very, very early Vivi thinks Willa, basically just missed her period.

You took a test, yes, mother, more than one-two Willa said the first was inconclusive. The second had two lines: what Vivi did not say was don’t get your hopes up. Willa had miscarried three times the first pregnancy had progressed to 15 weeks. Willa started bleeding, while she was giving a tour of the Hadwin house to a group of VIPs from the governor’s office, she ran out on the tour and drove herself to the hospital. It was a horrible day, the most physically painful and difficult of the three miscarriages, though after the third Willa became convinced there was a problem.

A thorough examination at the Brigham and women’s fertility clinic in Boston, however, showed nothing wrong. Willa was a healthy 24-year-old. She had no problem getting pregnant if rip even looked at her. She conceived privately Vivi suspected the miscarriages had something to do with Willa’s type, a personality which Vivi and her ex-husband jp used to call her type, a plus personality because regular a’s were never good enough for Willa. If this doesn’t work out, why don’t you and rip?

Take a break you’re, so young you have years and years decades, even to conceive. What’S the rush, predictably Willa had become defensive. What makes you think this won’t work out? Do you think I’m a failure? You succeed at everything you do Vivi said.

I just think your body might benefit from a rest. I’m pregnant mama Willa said

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