by Nancy Thayer
“Oh, gosh, this is such a difficult time.” Sophie’s voice grew heavy with worry. “I don’t know what to do for Jonah.”
“It’s not that bad. Jonah told me he also likes a girl.”
“He does?” Sophie brightened. “Rosie?”
“He didn’t tell me her name. He said he gets all clumsy when he’s doing sports and she watches.”
“Must be Rosie. I’m so glad,” Sophie said. “Thanks for telling me, Trevor. It’s great that he can confide in you. Rosie’s a really nice girl. Oh, Trevor, it’s all so complicated. Jonah’s parents are getting divorced while he’s experiencing his first sweet love.”
“Don’t let on that I told you. I don’t know if I should have. And don’t worry. We can’t control everything.”
“Sometimes I think we can’t control anything,” Sophie said, and then she let out an enormous yawn.
“We can try,” Trevor said. “We could give ourselves a chance.”
Sophie gazed at his face, a soft yearning in her eyes. “Oh, Trevor.” She shook her head. “I need some time. I need—I need some sleep.”
“Right.” Trevor got out of bed and went to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Think about what I said.”
—
After Sophie heard the door to Trevor’s room close, she rolled over to where he had been sitting and buried her face in his pillow, trying to inhale any scent he might have left. She closed her eyes, embraced the pillow, and allowed herself to surrender to the astounding sensations of his body pressed against hers.
So this was lust. It might even be love. She liked him, she admired him, and every time he came into her view her heart did a happy dance. She wanted to hang a full-length poster of him on her bedroom wall. She wanted to carry a photo of him as the screen saver on her iPhone. She wanted to shackle him to her body with chains and locks. She wanted to kiss every freckle, every muscle, even the bottoms of his long, bony feet. She wanted to lie on top of him and fit her body to his, arm to arm, leg to leg, breasts to hairy chest.
Apparently she had finally, at the age of thirty-six, achieved her teenage self.
That he had not pressed her tonight when the desire between them was as strong as the moon on tides, that he had not insisted or entreated, caused her to admire and love him even more. It was one of the few times in her life when she’d resisted the imagined whispers of Aunt Fancy telling her to go for it.
If only she had met him instead of Zack, she could have married him. Except then Leo and Jonah and Lacey would not exist.
And if she had met him when she was nineteen, he would have been thirteen. Oops.
She could not be with Trevor, not really. Not in the real world.
She forced herself to roll back to her side of the bed. Closing her eyes, she fell immediately into a delicious sleep.
—
It was around seven when she woke. Standing up, she went to her bedroom window and looked out over the green slope of lawn leading to the apartment. The morning light lent a soft radiance to the landscape, making it shimmer like a scene from a dream or a storybook. Could certain terrains be magical? If not, why had stories through the ages told of such places? In the apartment, Connor Swenson, who had lived all his life on a farm in Iowa, who had loved his wife and lost her to death, was beginning his own life again on an unfamiliar island. In this house, a small boy who had lost his mother to death was learning how to begin his own life again. And her own son, Jonah, fifteen years old, part dragon-slayer, part goofball, was learning how to grow into adulthood with all the emotional growing pains of his physically stretching bones and hamstrings, and he’d met a man to talk to about them, man-to-man. Sweet Lacey was having an innocent, happy summer vacation.
Sophie was beginning a new life. She could not explain why it was here on this island that her piano playing returned to her. She knew only that it had happened as swiftly and irresistibly as a wave sweeping over her, claiming her, pulling her deep into the ocean of music. Here, she had awakened.
But like a woman caught in a fairy tale, she knew she had to be wary. On this island, she was under an enchantment. Who knew whether, when she returned to the mainland, the dazzling crystal spell might shatter and fall away, leaving her unable to play piano, allowing her to see Trevor for his true self, a man six years too young for her. Allowing Trevor to see her as her true self, a woman six years too old for him.
And what about Hristo? Now there was a fairy-tale prince! Desi and Lacey had become good friends, true, but Hristo was involved in the affairs of an ancient and troubled nation. When she looked at his handsome face, she saw the power and the spirit of a king prevailing there. When she saw him standing at the helm of his boat, she recognized the form of a warrior king, a leader, a troubled and complicated man. She had spent some time researching Bulgaria on her computer. Its history was Byzantine and complex, impossible for her to comprehend without serious study. Its present was turbulent and troubled. Sophie could not even imagine the problems plaguing Hristo.
In a way it was like a dream come true, meeting such a man, a man she might have imagined when she was younger—although she, a fortunate American, never could have imagined the complex and tragic depths of history from which he came.
Noises from the rest of the house reminded her of her life in the present. With her own concerns put in their appropriate perspectives, she pulled on a sundress and sandals and prepared to face the day.
—
After breakfast, both Jeanette and Candace announced they were leaving that morning.
“What boat are you leaving on, Candace?” Sophie asked sweetly. “Perhaps we could drive you in.”
Candace shot Sophie a look that would have stripped varnish off furniture. “No, thanks. It’s going to take me some time to get ready.” Her eyes narrowed, thoughtfully. “Will your children be going with you to say goodbye to Jeanette?”
“Of course,” Sophie answered, silently thinking, but I don’t think it will do you any good to be alone with Trevor.
As Sophie drove into town, she listened to her children babbling to Jeanette the way they had ever since they were old enough to make noises. Jeanette listened to them with the same adoring fascination. She promised to attend Jonah’s soccer games when they started in the fall and to come to the school play if Lacey had a part. When they had almost arrived at the ferry, Jeanette told the children she would love to spend more time with them, that perhaps on Saturdays or Sundays they could come to her house, just the two of them, to go to movies or museums and eat all the foods—mostly cupcakes and ice cream—that their parents didn’t allow them to have as often as they wanted. Sophie knew there was an ulterior motive here: if Sophie and Zack had to spend time together breaking up their marriage and splitting up their house, Jeanette’s home would be a safe place for the children.
Jonah carried his grandmother’s suitcase to the blue luggage rack. They all stood in line until Jeanette boarded the ferry, and then they ran out as far as they could on the wooden pier to wave goodbye as the boat slowly glided out of the harbor toward Nantucket Sound.
Lacey wept. “I don’t want Grandma to go,” she wailed.
“I don’t, either.” Sophie wrapped her arm around her daughter and squeezed her close.
Next to them, Jonah loped along with his hands in the pockets of his board shorts, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Sophie knew her son was sad, too, but that he would stick himself with pins before admitting it.
What could she do to cheer them all up? The day was hazy and overcast, with a relatively light wind. On the spur of the moment, she rented bikes for herself and Lacey and took them home, where she organized a picnic and filled water bottles for all three of them. They changed into shorts and sneakers, tucked maps of the island into their pockets, and took off.
They hadn’t spent much time on the eastern part of the island, so they headed toward the Sconset bike path running straight and easy for seven miles to the village at the end of Nantucket.
Jonah, so much stronger than Lacey and Sophie, shot ahead of them, legs pumping, and Sophie let him go. Riding a bike was as good as jogging for clearing the mind and cleansing emotions. They spent the day at Sconset, picnicking on the beach, checking out the Sankaty lighthouse and the beautiful mansions along the bluff, and stopping to view the erosion that recent storms had caused, destroying much of the land between the houses and the ocean. They stopped at the small market and bought ice-cream cones to lick as they strolled along the shady lanes between charming old apartments. On a whim, Sophie returned to the market and bought a cheerful red pinwheel to take back to Leo. Finally, full of sugar, they biked back home.
It was late afternoon by then. When Sophie dropped her bike on the lawn of the guest cottage, her legs practically went out from under her.
“You kids are fixing your own dinner tonight,” she warned them. “I need a hot bath and a cold drink.”
Inside the house, an unusual quiet reigned. Jonah thumped upstairs to his room and his various electronic devices. Lacey went into the kitchen to fix herself some ice water. Leo was in the garden, rearranging a section of his Lego wall. Sophie opened the kitchen door to the patio. Trevor was sitting at the table with his laptop. He was barefoot. His T-shirt announced: AutoCorrect can go duck itself.
Sophie dropped into a chair. “We biked all the way to Sconset and back. I may never move again.”
Trevor wouldn’t look her in the eyes. “You should’ve asked me to go along. I could’ve put Leo on the back of a tandem.”
“Didn’t you have to take Candace and Cassidy to the boat?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. That was quite an undertaking. Candace couldn’t seem to find everything she’d brought.”
“I’m sure Leo’s sad that Cassidy is gone,” Sophie said.
Trevor shrugged. He seemed cranky and unsettled. Shutting his laptop, he asked, “Would you like a beer?”
“I’d love one. And a heating pad and neck brace,” Sophie joked, again trying to remind him of the difference in their ages.
Trevor went into the house and returned, handing her a Corona.
“Thanks. What did you guys do after Cassidy and Candace left?” They had two more weeks to live together and Sophie wanted them to live in harmony.
“We went kayaking.” Trevor’s face brightened. “And we had some excitement. As Leo and I were paddling back to shore, a police boat stopped us. I couldn’t imagine what we were doing wrong, but the policeman told us that a boat caught on fire earlier this year—no one was on it, no one was hurt—and it sank to the bottom of the harbor. The police boat was ushering in the burned boat that was being towed to a crane that could lift it out of the water. Leo was thrilled to see the police boat. Plus, the policeman waved at him.”
Lacey came out of the house, carrying a pink plastic glass of water. “I can’t find anything good to watch on TV.”
“Lacey!” From the far end of the lawn, Leo jumped up and began running toward the patio. “Lacey, Lacey! Come see what I built! It’s so cool. I made a bridge between my fort and your fairy house.”
“Cool, Leo! Show me.” Lacey took the little boy’s hand and walked with him back down the yard.
Sophie looked at Trevor. “Leo made a bridge.”
Trevor swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving noticeably. “Don’t you see?” he said quietly. “Don’t you see how close Leo has gotten to Lacey?”
“Trevor—”
“Don’t you see how close I’ve gotten to you?” Trevor continued, his voice low and shaky. “Last night in bed—”
“Trevor, stop.” She reached over, put a hand on his arm, and immediately withdrew it as the chemistry leapt between them. “Trevor, I am too old for you.”
He glared at her. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m six years older than you are.”
“So what?”
“I have stretch marks. I have a messed-up history and a truckload of complicated relatives. You can choose from any number of pretty young women who would make you happy.” She was almost trembling. She held up her hand. “And I don’t want to have an affair, a fling, a roll in the hay.”
Trevor smiled at her suddenly. “Yes, you do. Last night you were this close—”
She cut him off. “All right, I do. But I don’t want only that.”
“I don’t either. Why would you think that of me? I want the whole thing. You and I almost have the whole thing—the family life, the desire, the—”
“Mom.” Jonah stepped out onto the patio. “We’re out of tuna fish.”
Sophie tore her eyes away from Trevor’s so fast her head swam. Touching her forehead, she closed her eyes a moment to get her balance. “Peanut butter,” she managed to say.
“Only smooth is left. I like chunky.”
Within the calm smoothness of her skin, her nerves were jangling like bells. Her chair should be shaking, her hair should be fluttering, Trevor and Jonah should cry out, “Are you having a seizure?” But it was all in her mind—no, it was all in her heart, a heart that was breaking apart.
She stood up suddenly. “Jonah, deal with it. Make yourself whatever you can find for a sandwich and make one for Lacey, too. The bike ride has drained me. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”
She brushed past her son, refused to look at Trevor, went into the house, and hurried up to her room.
It couldn’t happen. She was too old for Trevor, too old to live with him, to combine their households, their children, their lives. He wore T-shirts sporting the names of rock groups she’d never even heard of. He was thirty. She was almost forty. As the tub filled with hot water, she stripped off her clothes—the bathroom doors did have locks, thank heavens—and surveyed herself in the mirror. Lines crept from the corners of her eyes. Stretch marks wriggled over her skin. Her breasts—well, okay, in spite of the fact that she’d nursed both children for a year, her breasts were still pretty good, plump and pointing outward rather than sagging down. She sank into the bathtub with a long sigh of pleasure as the hot water surrounded her. She couldn’t even bike all day without earning an aching back and she’d never in her life had an orgasm.
What? Where did that thought come from? Sophie slid all the way under the water, covering her hair, her face, even her nose, as if hiding from a judgmental invisible muse. When her lungs were almost bursting, she slid back up and gasped for breath. For all her intimacy with Bess and Angie, she had never confessed this fact about her odd and uncooperative body. She’d always faked ecstasy with Zack, at first because she had no idea about sex and then simply out of habit. It was one of the things her husband liked about her, he had always said, that she could arrive at a climax so easily.
Perhaps soon, after the divorce, she could find a therapist, a counselor, to whom she could confess her failing, who would help her rather than judge her.
The thought brought her a surge of hope. She vigorously washed her hair with the strawberry-scented shampoo Lacey loved, and soaped her body all over, rinsed and dried and brushed her teeth and put lotion on her body and face. She took two aspirin. She pulled on a fresh T-shirt and undies, then peeked out into the hall—no one there. She hurried into her bedroom and got under the covers.
Sleep refused to come, even though she was exhausted. Her mind was still racing, her heart fluttering around like a sparrow in a box, reminding her of Trevor’s words on the patio, Trevor’s look, and the bridge Leo had built to Lacey’s fairy house.
She couldn’t risk letting herself believe that she and Trevor could be together. She had to stop this for once and for all. She had to—
Hristo. He had been so kind to her and her family, taking them out on his yacht, taking her to dinner. It would be only good manners to repay him—she’d invite him and Desi to dinner. She’d invite them to dinner and prepare Bulgarian food! Of course Trevor and Leo could come, too, and Trevor could see how much more suitable Hristo was for her, what a more conventionally appropriate match they were in ages. He w
ould back down. She would be free of this fierce temptation. She slipped out of bed, found her cell, and called Hristo.
He answered. She apologized for such short notice, she said, but their guests had left, and she wondered whether he and Desi could come to dinner tomorrow night. He was most delighted, he replied, to accept.
Back in bed, she opened her laptop and searched out Bulgarian recipes, making her shopping list for the next day. Slowly her senses calmed. She forgot her backache. She forgot her rogue, irrational heart.
By the time she’d organized the menu for tomorrow night, she was genuinely tired. It was only shortly after nine o’clock, but the day had been long and full of emotion, beginning with Jeanette’s departure, ending with, well, everything on the patio. She put her laptop on the floor, turned off the bedside lamp, and slid beneath the covers. Her pillow cradled her head like clouds. She closed her eyes.
Her cell rang. She should have turned it off. Drowsily, she reached for it where she’d left it on the bedside table.
“Hi, honey bun!” Angie’s voice was bright with affection and good humor. “I thought I might come back to the island for a few days. Do you have room for me in your seaside Shangri-La?”
“Of course, Angie. When are you coming?”
“Would tomorrow work for you? I’d stay two or three days. I’ve finished a trial—I won, of course—and my brains have melted up here in this heat. Bess and her family are going up to Maine to her sister’s. So it would be just lil’ old me.”
“Tomorrow sounds great,” Sophie said warmly. “Text me which boat you’re taking.”
“I might fly. I’ll let you know. You’re a peach. Love you.”
“Love you,” Sophie replied. “See you tomorrow.”
Okay. She snuggled back under the covers. Okay, good. Angie would be here, and she could flirt with Trevor, she would probably go to bed with him, and Sophie could focus on Hristo and everything would be correct and appropriate.
But now she could not fall asleep.
The next evening as Trevor bathed Leo after their long day at the beach, his mind wandered and he only half listened to Leo’s chatter. In a minute he’d have to dress his son, and then they’d go down to the special la-de-da Bulgarian dinner Sophie had prepared for her cosmopolitan, sophisticated, wealthy, multilingual, yacht-owning boyfriend Hristo.
