by Nancy Thayer
Oh, man, Keely thought, this will be like telling a child there is no Santa Claus.
“I did like it. I think—”
“What about the scene on the ferry? And the breastfeeding in public scene, do you think that was too much?”
“I liked it all,” Keely said firmly. “I think you should send it to my agent.”
“You do? Keely, this is so exciting! Oh, my God! I’m over the moon!”
“Wait, Isabelle, that doesn’t mean she’ll take it. Or that she’ll take it without wanting changes.”
“I know, but—”
“Isabelle, you have to be prepared for disappointment.”
“I thought you said you liked my novel.”
“Yes, I did. I do. But Sally’s opinion is the one that counts.”
Isabelle went quiet. Keely envisioned Isabelle’s lower lip sticking out in a childish pout.
“Do you want Sally’s email?” Keely asked. “I’ve already told her you were sending her something.”
“Yes, please. And thank you, Keely, for reading the book. It’s just that…I suppose I was counting on you being wild about my novel. I thought you’d want to get together with me and go over every scene and tell me which ones were so great and which needed work, like we did when we were kids.”
Keely rubbed her forehead. If she spoke the truth, she’d say that no rewrites could turn this gushy memoir into a novel. But she was beginning a renewal of her friendship with Isabelle. She didn’t want to derail that.
“We could do that, Isabelle, but it wouldn’t matter. Sally’s the one who matters. If she makes suggestions, you should take them. She’s the pro. Now get a pen. I want to give you her email address.”
Isabelle took the address. “Keely. I’m scared. What if she doesn’t like it?”
“You’ve got to prepare yourself for that. Not everyone will like your novel. You should be checking out other agents. I know writers who’ve sent their books to dozens of agents before getting signed. You’ve got to grow a thick skin.”
“I suppose,” Isabelle said.
“Let me know what happens.”
“I will. And thanks.”
* * *
—
Keely pushed back her desk chair and walked to the window, staring out at the perfect summer day. Years ago, she and Isabelle would be in the Maxwells’ back garden, constructing a fort out of old blankets and cardboard boxes, and now that Keely remembered it, Isabelle also had a playhouse in the backyard, a real playhouse, made to resemble a Victorian mansion, with a door that opened and window boxes with flowers and inside, two child-size chairs, a rug, and a table set with a toy tea set. Often they would pretend to run away from home to live in the fort they built. Or they would pretend they were poor waifs living in their hovel, eating dandelion leaves and suddenly they were discovered by their real parents and taken to live in the Victorian mansion, where they had tea and cupcakes, real cupcakes baked and frosted by Mrs. Maxwell.
Isabelle and the other Maxwells had no idea how much Keely longed to have a big house just like theirs, a wonderful Victorian full of children. In those long ago days, Keely had been full of envy. Pangs of remorse stung her at the thought of how much of her life she had lived in envy.
And now? Now she still loved the house. It would always be the house of her dreams. But she was grown up. And there were many houses in the world.
Her phone buzzed.
“Keely! I emailed her! Sally Hazlitt! Your agent! She emailed right back, said she’d heard about me from you, and I should email her the novel! Listen, I want you to come over right now and be with me when I send it. I’ve put some champagne in the freezer and we can open it and celebrate!”
“Wait wait wait!” Keely warned. “This is not the time to celebrate, Isabelle. Sally might reject it. Or she might sign you but no publisher will buy it. Don’t be rash.”
“So you don’t want to drink champagne with me?”
“Isabelle, it’s not even noon.”
“Fine. Come over anyway and be with me when I hit the Send button. Then we’ll have tea. Plus, I want you to meet Brittany and see our little home.”
Keely took a deep breath.
“Tommy won’t be here, if that’s what you’re worried about. He never gets home until after five.”
“Well…” Keely checked her watch. Her morning of writing time was gone, anyway, and all she could think about was Sebastian. “Okay. I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes.”
She quickly showered and pulled on a loose sundress, slipped her feet into flip-flops, and—just in case Sebastian came by—put on mascara and lipstick and blush.
As she drove from her house to Isabelle’s, she thought the car was like a living creature moving by instinct and memory to its lair. She could have biked to Isabelle’s house with her eyes closed. But she was nervous, too, not just because she hadn’t really liked Isabelle’s novel, but because it was going to be weird to be in the home Isabelle shared with Tommy.
She parked on the street and walked up the driveway to the garage. The steps to the apartment were at the back of the house, and Keely headed that way. She climbed the stairs. She knocked on the door.
“Keely!” Isabelle threw the door open and hugged Keely. “Come in.”
The last time Keely had seen the garage apartment, it had been a kind of hideout for Sebastian and his college buddies to crash in during the summer. Futons, sleeping bags, and men’s underwear and socks had covered the floor. The bathroom had been disgusting.
Now the large open space was clean and bright and shining. The walls were a pearl gray with marshmallow white trim, the floor carpeted wall to wall in a slightly darker gray. Beautifully framed mirrors hung in strategic spots to reflect the light and make the place appear larger. Doors led off to two bedrooms bright with light from the windows, and Brittany’s room was cheerful with pastel colors. At the back of the living room was a state-of-the-art kitchen and a table with four chairs and a high chair, and in the high chair sat Brittany. Almost a year old, Brittany was obviously Tommy Fitzgerald’s child. She had glossy black hair and huge dark eyes and a natural, unaffected charm.
“The place is lovely,” Keely said. “And Isabelle—Brittany.”
Isabelle was so pleased she did what she did as a girl, squeezing her shoulders practically up to her ears. “I know.”
“Hello, Brittany,” Keely said. “I’m Keely.” She wished she’d brought a present for the little girl.
Brittany’s stubby fingers mashed a banana into her tray. Lifting her hand, she offered a glob of banana to Keely.
Keely’s gaze flew to meet Isabelle’s eyes, and they shared a smile of mutual delight. Tears came to Keely’s eyes.
“She’s lovely, Isabelle.”
“I know. We’re so lucky.”
Isabelle’s computer was open on the kitchen table. Isabelle slid into the facing chair. “Stand next to me, Keely. Put your hands on my shoulders. That will strengthen the luck.”
“When did you get so superstitious? I promise you, it’s not luck that will decide the future of your book.”
“Please.”
Keely took a moment to wonder whether she should tell Isabelle what she really thought about the book. She held her tongue. Whatever she did, it seemed she was once again betraying Isabelle.
She put her hands on Isabelle’s shoulders.
“Wish Mommy good luck!” Isabelle told her daughter.
Brittany blew a raspberry at her mother.
Isabelle took an operatically deep breath and hit Send.
“There. It’s done.” Isabelle stood up. “You won’t drink champagne, so will you have some tea?”
“Please.”
Isabelle set about boiling the water and filling the tea egg with leaves of white tea.
While Isabelle was fixin
g the tea, Keely spotted a sheaf of papers on the table. It was a story about teenagers on the island who’d been told by strangers in a yacht to search the Polpis Harbor beaches for a suitcase. If they found it, the strangers would give them each five hundred dollars’ reward.
“Okay,” Isabelle said. “Now. Let’s talk.” She pulled out a chair at the table, removed a stray piece of macaroni, and sat down.
“Isabelle,” Keely said. “What’s this?”
“It’s only something I’m playing around with when I’m not in the mood to work on my novel. I guess you’d call it a YA, young adult. It’s probably stupid, but I like writing it.”
“Isabelle, from what I’ve read, it’s marvelous. You have a completely different voice here, and the action comes fast. You should bring it to class.”
Isabelle glanced sideways at Keely. “So do you know any young adult agents?”
“Actually, no. I don’t. But I could probably find out.”
“Well, maybe wait? I want to see if my adult book gets published first.”
Isabelle’s computer dinged.
“Oh!” Isabelle jumped up. “Maybe that’s from Sally Hazlitt!” She hurriedly clicked. “Listen to this! ‘Dear Isabelle Fitzgerald, thank you for sending me your manuscript. I’ll read it within the next two weeks and get back to you. Sally Hazlitt.’ ” She clapped her hands together. “Oh, Keely, how am I going to survive the next two weeks?”
Brittany waved her arms and wriggled in her high chair.
“We should go outside,” Isabelle told her daughter. “Time to head to the swings!” Wiping banana from Brittany’s hands, she lifted her onto her hip.
Keely followed Isabelle and her daughter outside and down the stairs.
“Thanks for coming over,” Isabelle said. Reaching out, she enclosed Keely in a warm hug. “You’ve been really great about this.” Standing back, she looked Keely in the eye and said, “And I want to see you a lot, even if Sally doesn’t take my book.”
Maybe, Keely thought as she drove home, just maybe Sally would like the novel. Maybe that would make Isabelle’s parents like Keely again. Maybe the day would come when she would sit at their dining room table again, next to Sebastian.
* * *
—
Over the next few days, Eloise told Keely that Al was improving slowly but steadily. Sebastian and Isabelle were optimistic now that Eloise was in charge and could point out the small signs of recovery or discomfort. Donna Maxwell regretfully postponed her cruise until the next fall.
Keely stayed with a schedule as comforting for her as she hoped Mr. Maxwell’s was for him. She went for a run early in the morning when it was still cool. Returning home, her mind was so amped up with ideas, she didn’t bother to shower but wrote furiously for hours. Then she showered, ate a late lunch, enjoyed good phone chats with Isabelle and Sebastian, and went back to work in the afternoon. She bought groceries and cooked meals for herself and her mother.
And she spent the evenings and nights with Sebastian.
* * *
—
Keely and Sebastian lay side by side on his bed, propped up on pillows, watching the Red Sox. They’d just had a deliriously long session of lovemaking, and they were drinking Whale’s Tale Pale Ale and eating sandwiches they’d hurriedly slapped together before the game started.
We’re like an old married couple, eating in bed, Keely thought.
“We must look like an old married couple,” Sebastian said.
Keely laughed. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
To her surprise, Sebastian hit the remote and the television went blank.
“So we should be an old married couple. The sooner the better.”
Keely was speechless.
“I know this isn’t very romantic. I know I should get down on my knee and propose…”
Keely grinned. “Yeah, you should. Right now. While you’re naked.”
Sebastian threw the covers back, walked around to Keely’s side of the bed, kneeled and held out his hand.
“Keely Green, will you marry me?”
Keely tried not to laugh at the sight of Sebastian kneeling naked before her. “I’d love to marry you, Sebastian Maxwell.”
Sebastian stood up. He opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a black velvet box. Inside was an antique ring, a ruby surrounded by diamonds.
“Oh, Sebastian. It’s beautiful.”
“It was my grandmother’s. My mother gave it to me last night.”
“Your mother gave it to you? She knows you want to marry me?”
“Why are you so surprised?”
“Because your mother hates me, or at least resents me, for getting a novel published when Isabelle hasn’t.”
Sebastian nodded. “Mom might resent you for Isabelle, but she loves you for me. Here. Try it on.”
Sebastian slid it onto Keely’s ring finger. The ruby glowed deeply. The diamonds sparkled.
“It fits,” Keely whispered, thrilled.
“We fit,” Sebastian said.
Keely patted the space next to her. “Come sit next to me. Let’s look at it together.”
Sebastian crawled back under the covers next to Keely. They looked at the ring. They kissed. They kissed again, and embraced, and Keely cried a bit, and Sebastian comforted her, and when they finally turned on the television two hours later, the baseball game was over.
The Red Sox had won.
* * *
—
In the morning, Keely went to her house to shower and dress and work on her book. She knew she’d get no work done really. She’d stare at her ring and cry with joy.
Her mother was at the Maxwells’ house, helping Al. Keely wanted to tell her mother about their engagement but not over the phone.
As she came out of the shower, Sebastian called.
“Hi, almost Mrs. Maxwell,” he said. “Could you meet me at my dad’s house? I think everyone is here, including your mother. We could tell them all together.”
“I’ll be right there,” Keely said.
She tried on five dresses before deciding on a simple sundress. She slipped into her sandals and put on lipstick and wiped it off so it wouldn’t get all over Sebastian’s face. She jumped in her car and drove very carefully, staying exactly at the speed limit until she got to the Maxwell house.
She found Sebastian inside, sitting with his father. Her mother was next to Mr. Maxwell, carefully brushing his hair. Mr. Maxwell looked better today. He was propped up in a sitting position and his eyes were open and focusing.
“Hi, Mr. Maxwell,” Keely said cheerfully.
Her mother said, “You just missed Tommy and Brittany. Tommy’s taking her home for a diaper change.”
“Your granddaughter’s so adorable,” Keely told Mr. Maxwell. He blinked. A good sign?
Keely walked around the bed to stand next to Sebastian. “Good morning.” She kissed his cheek. “How are you today?”
“Me? I’m fabulous.” Sebastian leaned over toward his father. “Dad, Keely and I have something to tell you.”
Keely flashed her ring to her mother, who mouthed, “Wow!”
“Dad,” Sebastian said. “We want everyone to be here when we make our announcement.” To Keely, he said, “I’ll get the others.”
As Sebastian left the room, Keely’s nerves made her shiver. Isabelle would be glad about their engagement, but what about Mrs. Maxwell? What about Mr. Maxwell? She remembered Sebastian telling her how his father had roared when they wanted to take him to a rehab instead of his own home. What if Mr. Maxwell roared in protest? She looked to her mother. Eloise gave her two thumbs-up. That was reassuring, but Keely still felt jittery. She busily smoothed the sheets and blanket over Mr. Maxwell.
“You look really well today, Mr. Maxwell,” Keely said. “Did you
see the Red Sox game last night? It was very exciting.”
Sebastian came into the room, with his sister and mother at his side. He went to stand next to Keely.
“Mrs. Green, Mom, Dad, Isabelle, Keely and I have something to tell you.”
Isabelle’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Oh, hurry, tell us!”
“I’ve asked Keely to marry me, and she said yes.”
Sebastian took Keely’s hand and held it tight.
“I’m so glad!” Isabelle cried, and burst into tears. “Now you really will be my sister.”
“Congratulations,” Donna Maxwell said formally. “I’m happy for you both.”
“Yes,” Keely’s mother said. “It’s wonderful.”
“Thank you.” Keely was on the verge of tears.
Something touched her hand. Something bony and warm.
Keely looked down. Mr. Maxwell had taken Keely’s hand in his.
“Look,” Keely told Sebastian, tears falling from her eyes. “Your father…”
“Did he move?” Mrs. Maxwell asked.
“Daddy?” Isabelle squeezed next to Keely and Sebastian.
Everyone gathered close to the bed, staring at Mr. Maxwell’s hand enclosing Keely’s.
Sebastian’s voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I think Dad approves.”
Even though they weren’t married, Keely spent that night in the Maxwell house.
In Sebastian’s room. Donna had asked them to stay. She wanted lots of people in the house during the night in case her husband had a problem.
Donna slept in her husband’s room—the dining room—on a futon carried in from the family room. So she was downstairs and on the other side of the house from Sebastian’s room.
Even though Keely knew her presence was expected and approved, she had to stuff a pillow in her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I can’t believe I’m here! In the inner sanctum! Look at all your trophies. And posters of JLo!”
Sebastian pulled her close to him. “In a show of respect, I took down my poster of Gisele Bündchen in her Victoria’s Secret Fantasy Bra.”
