by Nancy Thayer
Trevor barked a low laugh. “Some of us never learn how to handle that.” Glancing over at Sophie, he remarked, “You and your kids don’t seem to be freaking out over this separation from your husband.”
Sophie shifted in her chair, turning her body toward Trevor. “Well, the kids don’t know why we’re apart this summer. Plus, we’re used to being without him. He’s always working. He’s never cared much for the whole soccer/ ballet recital/family camping trip kind of thing. He loves his children—” Sophie stopped talking and chewed on a fingernail. After a moment, she continued, “He does love his children, but now that I think about it, he has never gone through with either one of them what you just went through with Leo. I’m afraid Zack would find it all far too unpleasant. Not to mention unprofitable.”
“Not to be rude, but he sounds like a jackass.”
“I think he is. Believe me, I’ve given our situation a lot of thought in the past few weeks. Sometimes I wonder what we ever saw in each other that made us wild enough about each other to marry. Even when I look at the early photographs, I can’t recall a feeling of ecstasy. He was challenging and exciting. And I looked good back then.”
“You look good right now,” Trevor murmured, but Sophie didn’t seem to hear.
“Sometimes I think nature makes us marry the closest—in proximity—person to us simply to propagate the species.”
“It was certainly that way for me with Tallulah,” Trevor admitted. “What I mean, I guess, is for me it was all about sex. For her, too. Tallulah had healthy appetites—what am I saying? She certainly had some unhealthy appetites, too. But I think she got into the drug thing quite recently. I’m sure she did, in fact. I never noticed any signs when she came home. No glazed eyes, no mania, just her normal narcissistic self. I have that to be grateful for, that Leo never saw his mother drunk or high or unable to function.”
“That is good. Leo’s memories of his mother will all be happy ones.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Trevor. “When she was there, she cuddled and kissed him and sometimes read him stories. She acted for him, too. She fascinated him; his face glowed when he watched her. He would sit on the sofa while she acted out a scene in her current play and even though he couldn’t understand all the words, he was mesmerized. She must have seemed magical to him. I was the boring old disciplinarian who forced him to brush his teeth and take baths and eat his vegetables.”
“Someday, when he’s older, much older, Leo will appreciate you. Right now, of course, he can’t understand the kind of good luck he has in having you as his father. I would pay money to have Zack spend a fraction of his time and charm on the children that you do. He does support us financially, and he does do that well. I have to admit that. We’ve never lacked for anything. He’s never been mean to the children and he’s always been there at night, which I’m sure gives the children a feeling of security.” Sophie chewed her fingernail again, thinking. “Jonah used to adore his father, but now he doesn’t seem to. Both kids know something’s going on. I’m not sure what to do.” Sophie laughed. “What am I saying? Zack wants a divorce. I’ve got to suck it up.”
Trevor’s brain had stuck on her words about the good luck Leo had in having him as his father. That meant Sophie liked him. Maybe even admired him. Much of the lowering weight of gloom and despair from Leo’s tantrum lifted from his heart. “Really,” Trevor joked, “we are a pathetic pair.”
“For now, we are,” Sophie agreed, taking his comment seriously. “But it’s the beginning of the summer. I have a feeling things will change.” She stood up and stretched. “The humidity is getting to me. I think I’ll take a nap.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Trevor worked on his laptop. He checked on Leo regularly, and found the boy still sleeping. In the evening, Leo refused to come downstairs to eat, so Trevor brought him up a sandwich. Leo took a few bites, then turned to face the wall and closed his eyes. Trevor went to bed early, hoping the express mail would be there when they awoke in the morning.
Of course the mail didn’t work that way. Leo sat on the front step, watching for the delivery truck all morning. Trevor worked on his laptop in the dining room, keeping an eye on his son through the window. Sophie went to the beach with her children, and Trevor, like a total hopeless case, missed her. He reminded himself of Kyle’s words:
“She’s older, man, and she’s got two kids. One of them is a teenage boy. Plus, she’s not even divorced yet, and for all you know she’ll go back to her husband. She’s nice, and she’s good-looking—oh, I can see the attraction. But you’re still recovering from a major shock, a big, fat life trauma. Don’t be looking for any more complications at this time in your life.”
In the early afternoon, a FedEx truck rolled into the driveway and a man brought Leo a package. Trevor stood next to his son, watching him rip it open.
“Tubee!” Leo squeezed the stuffed giraffe so tightly it would have been suffocated if it had breath. “Dad, Tubee’s back!”
Trevor wondered if there were a way to permanently attach the thing to his son’s body. Handcuffs? Too weird. Trevor would simply have to be more observant.
When the Andersons returned, Sophie prepared a feast, concluding with strawberry shortcake in celebration of Tubee’s return. Afterward, during the long, bright evening, Trevor sat on the patio watching Leo busily working on his Legos and chatting with Connor. He hoped his son wasn’t bothering the older man, who clearly enjoyed his privacy. Rising, he strolled over to join the conversation.
“Hi, guys, what’s up?” Trevor asked.
“Connor’s making a chair for Tubee!” Leo cried with excitement. “Then Tubee can sit out here with me without getting dirt on his bottom.”
“That’s really nice of you, Connor,” Trevor said. “I hope it’s not an imposition.”
“Heck, no, I suggested it,” Connor replied. “I’ve made a lot of miniature furniture for my grandchildren. I enjoy doing it. It’s sort of restful for the mind.”
“Maybe I’d better take it up, then,” Trevor joked.
Connor looked up at Trevor, who was leaning against the outside wall of Connor’s small apartment. “Maybe you should. Your generation does everything so fast I think you’ve forgotten how to enjoy the pleasures of going slow. Not to insult you personally—I don’t mean it that way.”
“I know what you mean,” Trevor said, but silently he thought, Yeah, but you’re old, you’ve lived your life, you’ve got it all figured out, and I feel like I’m on the spin cycle of the dryer. He watched in silence for a few moments while Connor carved and Leo arranged his Legos, but the heat and humidity of the day pressed on him. “Hot day,” he remarked.
“Not like in Iowa,” Connor replied. “This is mild compared to Iowa. The apartment has an air conditioner, but it makes the rooms feel like an icebox. I like sitting out here, hanging out with your boy.”
Trevor studied the older man. “I hope all the noise we make doesn’t bother you.”
“Heavens, no. My hearing’s shot. I wear these—” he tapped his ears, indicating small hearing aids—“if I want to hear anything. Without them, I’m deaf as a stone.”
Trevor shifted uncomfortably. “Too bad.”
Connor gave him a sweet smile. “Not really. With them, I’m good. They’re like my glasses, part of the stuff that old age requires.”
“Well, hey, I’m going to make some iced tea. Can I bring you a glass?”
“No, thanks. I’d just have to go pee.”
Leo giggled. “Connor said ‘pee.’ ”
“I’ll be in the house, then. Okay, Leo?”
“ ’Kay,” Leo responded, preoccupied with his building.
Back in the house, Trevor made a big pitcher of iced tea—a mixture of Darjeeling and herbal raspberry that Sophie had showed him how to make. He could hear Sophie moving through the house, gathering up laundry, using the washer and dryer, folding towels. He wished she would come outside and sit with him. Later, he heard laughte
r. He peeked into the family room. Sophie and her kids were watching a movie starring Adam Sandler and howling with laughter. Probably inappropriate for a four-year-old, Trevor thought, trying not to feel hurt that she didn’t ask them to join their group.
—
The next morning, they all went to the beach. Jonah ran off to find his surf buddies while Lacey sprinted through the sand to greet her new friend. The two girls squealed at their reunion as if it had been years since they’d seen each other, then settled down at the edge of the waves to construct fantastic sand castles. Sophie set up her private beach lair with its striped umbrella to shade her as she reclined in her beach chair, engrossed in a paperback novel. Trevor had brought a thriller along. Up the beach, not far from Sophie, he lay on his beach towel, trying to read while watching Leo construct his own sand fort. Leo didn’t seem to want to interact with any of the other children, which made Trevor deeply sad. But what could he do? Bribe someone to play with his child? Leo seemed happy enough, anyway.
A good-looking guy cut his way through the crowds of beach umbrellas and blankets and stopped, to Trevor’s surprise, next to Sophie. He said a few words, and Sophie smiled up at him. They shook hands and the man sat down on the blanket next to Sophie. Trevor snorted: the man talking to Sophie resembled a hero in one of the shield-wielding, chest-beating Clash of the Titans movies. Probably forty, tanned and taut, with an expensive haircut that made his graying dark hair stand up in bristles. Sophie was too far away from Trevor to hear their conversation, but because he was wearing sunglasses he was able to watch her surreptitiously. They talked. Sophie laughed. Probably the man was a friend of Sophie’s husband, Trevor decided, and he didn’t like the guy.
—
Later that afternoon, the house filled with the tantalizing aroma of tomatoes and cheese. In his room with his computer, Trevor imagined a delicious meal and afterward sitting on the patio talking with Sophie. He was sure she would want to discuss Leo’s meltdown over Tubee. Trevor certainly did.
He found Leo in his bedroom constructing his Lego universe, and took him downstairs, expecting to see Sophie in the kitchen and Lacey setting the dining room table.
The downstairs was empty. Leo went under the kitchen table to his Legos. Trevor took another beer from the refrigerator and wandered around aimlessly. It was six o’clock, their ordinary dinnertime, not that he was all anal about it. Dropping down on the living room sofa, he took his cell from his shorts and was checking for messages when he heard female giggling and saw Lacey and Sophie coming down the stairs.
Lacey wore a madras sundress and her toenails were painted the green that matched her sandals. “We’re going out to dinner,” she announced to Trevor.
“We are?” he asked in surprise.
“No, silly, Mom and I are going to dinner at Desi’s house.”
Sophie wore white flip-flops and a simple white cotton sundress with a thin blue belt. She wasn’t what Tallulah would have called “dressed up,” but she still looked drop-dead gorgeous. Her blond hair had gotten becomingly shaggy and streaked by the sun with flecks of silver and gold. Her only lipstick, a pale gloss, emphasized her tan and her large blue eyes.
Trevor stood up. “I didn’t know you were going out to dinner.” He felt betrayed, jealous, and irrationally angry.
Sophie smiled. “Desi’s father invited us when we spoke on the beach today. I made a casserole for you and Leo and Jonah. It’s in the oven, ready anytime. I’ve knocked on Jonah’s door and told him to come have dinner. You all can have fruit or whatever you want for dessert.” She didn’t look at Trevor but searched around the table in the hallway for her purse, her car keys, and her sunglasses.
“When will you be home?” Trevor demanded, mentally smacking his forehead the moment he spoke. He wasn’t her husband, her boyfriend, or her father! He had no right to this information.
“Who knows?” Sophie’s whole attitude was carefree and cheerful. Obviously Trevor was only a gnat at the periphery of her vision. “Come on, Lacey, we don’t want to be late.” Taking her daughter’s hand, she went out the door, turning back to say, “Jonah has my cell phone number if you need me for anything.”
Trevor watched out the window as Sophie and her daughter got into the minivan and drove away.
Of course she thought of Zack. Not constantly, not even as much as she feared she would, but often and in ways she hadn’t expected.
Tonight, dressing for dinner at Hristo Fotev’s house, she’d winked at her tanned and glowing reflection in the mirror and thought: You ought to see me now, Zack.
More frequently, she remembered moments of their marriage, both good and bad. Sometimes she searched for signals she should have caught that would have predicted his infidelity, other than his good looks and winning ways. She never found any. Occasionally, she allowed herself to remember why she had married Zack in the first place, back when she was so young, but the memory was uncomfortable, painful, maybe even shameful, and she shied away from it.
She hadn’t heard from Zack since she’d been on the island. Both children had cell phones but she tried not to spy, although she did keep an eye on Lacey’s Facebook account. As far as she knew, Zack had not called either child. This infuriated her. He could leave her; fine, she could almost understand that. But he shouldn’t ignore his children, as if they didn’t matter anymore.
Tonight she swallowed her anger. It became a fireball inside her, and like her summer tan, it made her glow. She knew she looked pretty. Trevor’s reaction when she came down the stairs seconded her opinion. But she had gone out of her way not to look seductive. She wore flat sandals, not heels. No eyeliner, just a touch of mascara and a pale Burt’s Bees balm. Her only jewelry was her watch, and because she knew Lacey would notice, her wedding ring.
Lacey assumed, of course, that this dinner tonight was so Sophie could get to know Desi’s parent. That happened all the time at home. Lacey probably had no idea that Desi’s father was divorced, thrillingly wealthy, and could easily double for Gerard Butler. And she absolutely didn’t notice how Hristo had gazed with his deep, mysterious eyes at Sophie when they chatted on the beach.
Jonah knew there was a casserole in the oven. He’d be happy watching a video or playing on his computer. There was no reason for Sophie to feel so nervous—so guilty. Guilty, and she hadn’t done anything. Yet.
During the short drive to Hristo’s house at Surfside Beach, Lacey chatted incessantly. “Desi speaks three languages, Mom. Could I start taking French lessons? She plays piano, too. Her mother lives in Sofia, Bulgaria—isn’t that amazing? I Googled it; it’s awesome. Desi likes castles and medieval stuff like I do. Did you see the sand castle Desi and I built on the beach today? Desi says there are castle ruins like that in Bulgaria—not made of sand, of course!” Lacey giggled at herself.
“Don’t forget, Lacey, you’re talented, too,” Sophie reminded her daughter, hoping Lacey wouldn’t feel inferior to such an accomplished girl. “You write wonderful stories and draw beautiful pictures.”
Lacey hadn’t even heard her. “And Desi has all these gowns of her mother’s that we get to try on. I know we’re too old for dress-up; this isn’t dress-up, really, it’s more like make-believe or maybe practicing to be grown-up. Have you ever had a gown? And jewelry, Desi’s mother left jewelry at the Surfside house—”
Sophie interrupted. “Are you sure you should be going through her mother’s belongings?”
“Her mother never comes here anymore—oh, MOM! Look at the house!”
Unlike most Nantucket houses, this one was modern and long, with walls of windows. Perched on a sand dune like a rectangular box of glass and wood, it was surrounded by the natural landscape: sand, wild roses, beach grass. Lights blazed from the house, illuminating the Belgian block drive and bluestone walkway.
“Hey, there.” Hristo was at the door, with Desi next to him. His coral linen shirt accentuated the black of his thick hair and eyes. Desi’s hair was lighter, her brows and lashes brow
n, her eyes a creamy caramel.
“Come on,” Desi cried, taking Lacey’s hand. “I want to show you my room. We don’t have to be with them for half an hour.”
“Them,” Sophie intoned ominously as the girls ran off. “So we have become the dreadful, boring them.”
Hristo laughed. “I’ve got some wine to help soften the pain.”
He led her past the foyer with its spiral staircase straight into a large open room with an expansive sea view. To the west, the sun was sinking, casting a sheen of golden light on the mild blue Atlantic.
Sophie sank into a sinfully soft sofa and accepted the wine Hristo handed her.
“What an amazing house,” Sophie said. “Such a beautiful view, and it all seems to be part of the landscape.”
“Thanks. Yes, it’s always good to be here.”
“You said you’re Bulgarian. I know nothing about Bulgaria.”
Hristo shrugged. “I’m not surprised. It’s been beaten down a lot recently. But it’s an ancient, historical, and quite beautiful country.”
“But you live in the U.S. now?”
“Yes, and elsewhere. I’m a dual national, American and Bulgarian. My companies are involved with transportation—building bridges, seaport docks, and railroads.”
“Do you live on Nantucket all year?”
“No. My main residence is in Manhattan. But I get a lot of work done here on the island. Many multinationals enjoy vacationing here where it’s relatively peaceful and isolated. And you?”
Sophie hesitated. She didn’t want to blurt out that she’d drained her aunt’s trust fund in order to escape an unfaithful husband. “I’ve rented a house here for two months this summer,” she slowly began. “We live in Boston, my children and I and my husband.” She swallowed more of the delicious wine. “When I return after the summer,” she added lightly, “I think he’ll become my ex-husband.”
“Huh,” said Hristo. “Might be a good thing. I’m divorced. My ex and I are fairly amicable.” He grinned. “It helps that she and I live in different countries.”
