Heat Wave

by Nancy Thayer

  Cisco and Margaret artistically arranged their table of old dolls, rejected books, outgrown tutus, ballet slippers, and used clothing. Vanessa took charge of the baby furniture, receiving blankets, stuffed animals, and baby clothing.

  Carley and Maud each took a table with the rest of the stuff: old clothing of Carley’s, candlesticks, bookends, placemat and napkin sets, all wedding gifts that had never been used; stools, chairs, picture frames, and three different waffle pans. Also they sold the odd unused gifts accumulated over the years like the weed-whacking golf driver, the electric corkscrew, the digital measuring cup, and the speaking clock that spoke in such a depressed monotone that it creeped out the girls.

  Framingham Burr, another friend of Gus’s, volunteered to stay outside. A big man, he never noticed the cold, and he was pleased to run the table holding all of Gus’s things: ice skates, tennis racquets, scalloping gear, electric foot massager, electric nose hair trimmer, electronic multiroom temperature monitor, and mounds of clothes from high school and college days, beloved sweaters, ties, and overcoats Gus hadn’t been emotionally ready to give up but no longer wore, and had been banished to the basement.

  The depressed clock said, “Eight.” Toby stepped aside.

  Dozens of customers poured up the driveway, charging toward the tables, almost desperately eyeing the merchandise, as if sure they would find a treasure. Some of them did. Cries of delight floated through the air as a little girl found one of Cisco’s old ballet tutus. The elegant brass carriage clock, one of two Carley and Gus had received as wedding presents, was plucked from the table with triumph by a newlywed couple. An elderly woman happily paid good money for the dusty, outdated 1982 world encyclopedia Maud had convinced Carley to put out. People surged up to the tables, grasped items, shoved money toward her, or dropped the objects back on the table and rushed to another stand.

  Carley looked over to see an extremely pregnant young woman with the Slavic cheekbones of the Russians who were working on the island. The man with her, Carley presumed her husband, was dismantling the crib Cisco and later Margaret had slept in as babies. Once again, a kind of regret, almost a panic, ran through Carley like a thrill. She watched Margaret approach the pregnant woman, holding out one of her favorite, softest, teddy bears.

  “Would you like to have this for your baby?” Margaret asked.

  The woman hesitated.

  “It’s a gift!” Margaret announced. “A gift for your baby. I love babies.”

  “Thank you very much.” The woman took the bear and smoothed its fur, studying it. “It is a very special bear,” she said to Margaret. “And you are a very nice girl.”

  Margaret grinned, wiggling all over with pleasure at the compliment. She ran to Carley. “Mommy, look, I gave that lady my bear for her baby!”

  “That was nice of you, Margaret,” Carley told her. “What a good, generous girl you are.” Suddenly the day brightened for her—absolutely turned around. How proud Gus would be of his little girl, so instinctively kind and thoughtful. What a good thing it was that her daughters’ crib was going to be used by that young couple from a country so far away. It made Carley feel more connected, somehow, to the wider world.

  Maud leaned over. “You should have baked more.”

  Carley glanced down at the end of the table where she’d placed her gingerbread people, applesauce cake, pumpkin muffins, and her special chocolate, walnut, and a bit of everything else cookies. Every single crumb was gone. Carley didn’t have a chance to answer Maud—she was dealing with a woman who wanted to buy the scarf Carley was wearing around her neck.

  Around noon, things quieted down. The frenzy of eager shoppers ebbed as people headed home for lunch. Most of the items were gone.

  Margaret was crying because she’d sold a baby doll that she realized had been her very favorite. Carley picked her up, took her into the house, and cuddled her while she drank juice and ate a peanut butter sandwich. Moments later, Margaret jumped off Carley’s lap, yanked on her parka, and rushed back out to the action.

  Carley returned to her table. No customers now.

  Maud said, “I need a bathroom run. Can you give me a ten-minute break?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Maud stood up, stretching. “My boys are out at Lauren’s this morning. She said she’d bring them by around noon. If they get here while I’m in the house, don’t let them buy anything!”

  “I promise,” Carley told her.

  Maud went off and Carley settled in the chair at the table, grateful for a moment of peace. A few browsers were still roaming around the front yard. The table, so neatly organized this morning, was a shambles. She began to straighten it up.

  “Carley, my dear.” The minister from their church approached her. He was a dignified older man with a head of white bristly hair and runaway white eyebrows.

  “Hello, Reverend Salter.”

  “May I sit down?” He gestured to the folding chair Maud had left.

  “Of course.”

  He sat, neatly pinching the crease in his trousers. “I have a favor to ask you.” He laughed. “People always look nervous when I say that. Let me jump right in—I want to find a place for my nephew, Kevin, to rent for a month or two this winter. He’s working on his Ph.D. in history, writing a thesis on nineteenth-century New England farms, and he needs to do research at the historical association. He’s an awfully nice fellow, and he’s not impoverished, but he doesn’t want to pay two hundred dollars a night to stay at an inn, and he would like to be in town so he won’t need a car. If you could ask around, see if any of your friends had a room with a bath he could rent …” The minister paused.

  “Of course,” Carley answered. Reverend Salter tilted his head hopefully, like a dog hoping for a treat. “Oh! You’re wondering if I’d like to rent a room.”

  “You do have a large house. And I can vouch for my nephew. He would be no trouble at all, I assure you.”

  Well, I could certainly use the money, Carley thought silently. Aloud, she mused, “There’s a room off the laundry room. It has its own bathroom. It was a maid’s room, once, I think. Kevin wouldn’t have a private entrance, but if he came in the back door, he’d just go through the laundry room, he wouldn’t have to go through the entire house …” She smiled. “Let me think about it, but this might work out for both of us.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Give me a call.”

  “I will. Soon.”

  Reverend Salter performed a courtly bow and took himself off. Carley sat smiling. The day was turning out very nicely!

  Carley reached under her table and brought out the last few items, objects she doubted anyone would buy. A tin box that had once been filled with chocolates. A reproduction lightship basket filled with dusty potpourri she’d won in some raffle years ago. A very pretty Christmas ornament with a Nantucket lighthouse and the date 2004 painted on it.

  She’d barely set them out when a group of women rushed over, inspected the items, and bought them.

  “You’re doing well,” a man said.

  Carley looked up to see Wyatt Anderson standing there.

  Wyatt and Gus had been best friends since childhood. Wyatt’s parents were Realtors, and friends of Gus’s parents. Gus and Wyatt attended the same law school, and after law school, it had been completely natural and the realization of an adolescent strategy, for Wyatt to join Gus at Russell’s firm. The two friends were as close as brothers even though they had such different energies. Gus was intense, somber, diligent. Wyatt tended to be more easygoing and slow-burning, with a smile that flashed like a lighthouse beacon, bright and engaging. Gus was shorter, more compact, more vivid, with his raven-black hair and eyes. Wyatt was taller, lanky, and handsome enough to make a woman drool. As boys, they sailed together, practical Gus as captain, energetic Wyatt as his willing crew. They won almost every race they entered.

  While Gus eagerly jumped into the life of a married man with children, Wyatt had been a traveler, often sending Gus’s girls postca
rds and dolls from exotic ports. Years ago, shortly after Cisco turned three, Wyatt had married a woman named Roxie, tiny, sexy, and city. She owned an apartment on Park Avenue, so Wyatt had spent most of his time there. After a couple of years, though, Wyatt had divorced Roxie and returned to the island, living by himself in a cottage in Madaket, his sailboat only a few yards outside, waiting in the water.

  Gus and Carley raised their children, went sailing with their friends, formed an unofficial kind of club centering around their families. In the warm intimacy of their bed they agreed smugly that Wyatt wasn’t cut out for family life, while Gus most certainly was. Carley tried to feel sympathy for lonely Wyatt, but for some reason, she just always felt awkward, bashful, even in the privacy of her thoughts. She was sure Wyatt thought of her as plain, weary, and boring in a settled mommy way. He was handsome, carefree, effortlessly flirtatious. It always embarrassed her that she found him attractive.

  When Gus died, Wyatt had been everywhere, helping with funeral arrangements, driving people to and from the airport, taking the girls out for dinner and a movie. Through the blur of her grief, she was aware of his gentle kindness, and she was grateful. She hoped he knew that. She couldn’t remember thanking him. But she couldn’t remember much about those first terrible days.

  “Hi, Wyatt. Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “I went off hiking.” Wyatt looked around. “You’ve got a three-ring circus going on here.”

  “You should have seen it earlier.”

  “The girls look flush,” Wyatt told her, nodding toward Margaret and Cisco, who sat at their table, smiling eagerly at some kids pawing over their last articles.

  “They’ve struck it rich, getting rid of their baby toys.”

  “I know. Margaret charmed me into purchasing this.” He held up an ugly plastic whale.

  Carley laughed. “Just what you need!”

  “How are you doing, Carley?” Wyatt’s gaze was warm.

  She couldn’t think about Gus now, not in the middle of the tag sale. “Oh, I’m all right.”

  “Let me take you out to dinner sometime,” he suggested.

  Surprised, Carley went speechless. She was grateful when a customer approached and asked about a teapot. She was just taking the woman’s money when Angie, Wyatt’s current girlfriend, wandered up to the table.

  The appellation “cute as a bug’s ear” could have been designed just for Angie Matthews. Petite and buxom, with a mop of blond curls and freckles across her pug nose, Angie was as energetic, sassy, and cheerful as any woman Carley had ever met. She was a sporty girl, too, excelling in tennis, sailing, swimming, biking, and in spite of her size, she could put away a phenomenal amount of beer.

  “Hey, Big Momma, how are you?” Angie asked Carley, sweeping up to smack a wet kiss on Carley’s cheek.

  How could Carley tell this butterfly not to call her “Big Momma”? It made Carley feel like a moose. But she answered good-naturedly, “The sale has been excellent!”

  A neighbor approached Wyatt, holding up one of Gus’s ancient wooden tennis racquets, asking Wyatt’s opinion. As Wyatt turned away, Angie said, “Oh, I’m so glad! Because Wyatt’s been so worried about you. Financially, I mean. With Gus dead and all.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Carley responded stiffly. Her thoughts were in a whirl. She couldn’t tolerate the thought of Wyatt and this perky little elf pitying poor old widowed, downtrodden Carley. “Listen,” she said suddenly, “would you mind the table for just a minute? I’ve got to go to the john.”

  “Sure, honey.” Angie settled into the chair.

  Carley hurried around to the back door, up the back stairs and into the private bath off her bedroom. She was tired, but jazzed up at the same time. She couldn’t wait to see how much money she’d made. She knew the tag sale was only a short-term solution to her financial problems, but it was a start. It would carry her for a while, and it might be a first step in convincing her in-laws she could take care of herself and her children. Her daughters loved their grandparents so much. Carley didn’t want any sort of dissension between them.

  On her way out, she passed the door to the kitchen. Movement caught her eye from the window at the side of the house. She stopped dead, as if she’d run into a brick wall. In a way, she had. What she saw did not make sense.

  Maud and Toby—Vanessa’s husband, Toby!—stood close together, quite obviously locked in a private world. They spoke softly—Carley couldn’t hear the words—then Toby leaned forward, and kissed Maud’s neck, right beneath her ear. Carley gawked, astonished, flushing hot with embarrassment. This was no little peck on the cheek. It was a nuzzling, lingering, lover’s kiss. Maud sagged against Toby, closing her eyes in rapture, her expression dreamy. The couple smiled at each other, spoke again, then slowly parted, returning to the front yard and the tag sale.

  Carley just stood there with her mouth open, freaked out, even panicked. What should she do? What could she do? After a moment, she took a deep breath and returned to the tag sale.

  Angie was still at the table, but standing up. She and Wyatt were talking to an older woman … Annabel.

  In her beige suede coat, a silk scarf knotted at her neck, a fur toque warming her elegant head, Annabel radiated refinement.

  “There’s Carley!” Angie didn’t try to hide her relief.

  “We’ll be off.” Wyatt nodded respectfully to Annabel as Angie tugged his arm.

  Angie waggled her cute little fingers at Carley. “Bye-bye.” They strolled away.

  Carley was alone with Annabel.

  “Hi, Annabel.” Carley kissed her mother-in-law on the cheek. Lightheartedly, she held up a rather ugly perfumed candle. “What do you think? Irresistible?”

  “Not really,” Annabel replied smoothly. “The girls tell me it’s been quite a successful event.” Pointedly, she nodded toward the table that once had held Gus’s clothes and paraphernalia.

  Frame had gone home, leaving Toby in charge, and there Toby was, talking to an eager customer. Vanessa was in the garage, at the baby table, demonstrating to a young couple how a baby-wipe warmer worked. Maud crouched down by the children’s table, chatting with Cisco and Margaret. Annabel’s voice buzzed at Carley; more people were arriving. In such a jumble, Carley decided, she must have misread what she saw, or thought she saw, going on with Maud and Toby.

  “I suppose you were wise to hold this little tag sale,” Annabel was saying. “Especially with the economy in such bad shape. This summer business was at an all-time low on the island and as we all know, the fall marks the start of the quiet season. The restaurants won’t need waiters and the shops won’t need clerks. The market is flooded with people looking for jobs.”

  And you have no qualifications was Annabel’s subtext, Carley knew. You and your girls will need to live with us.

  “Actually,” Carley announced cheerfully, “Reverend Salter just told me his nephew needs to rent a room while he’s here doing historical research. For perhaps two months. I could fix up the room off the laundry room. It has its own bathroom.”

  Annabel stiffened. “Really, Carley, I’d think twice about …” She could almost not say the words. “ … renting a room. It seems … wrong, somehow. The house is a home.”

  “I think it will be good for us,” Carley retorted, keeping her tone as mild as her mother-in-law’s. “We’ll make a bit of money and have someone young around the house.”

  Before Annabel could respond, two young women burst up to the table, excitedly pawing through all the remaining place mats.

  “Those will have to be ironed,” Annabel warned.

  “Oh, we’re not going to use them for place mats,” the young women giggled.

  “I’ll sell them half price,” Carley told them. “Since it’s afternoon.” I’ll pay you to stay here, she thought. The young women squealed with delight and rummaged deep in the pile, accidentally touching Annabel’s elbow.

  “I’ll say hello to my granddaughters.” Annabel started to walk away,
then stopped. “We need to discuss this more, Carley.”

  Carley glanced at Maud’s table. She wasn’t there—she was over chatting away with Vanessa! Carley sighed with relief.

  By three o’clock almost everything had sold. The crowd had diminished to an occasional car driving by with people surveying the yard and passing on. Margaret and Cisco, exhausted and bored, went into the house. Toby, Vanessa, and Maud helped fold up the card tables, gather up the trash, and move anything not sold into a cardboard box in the garage.

  Vanessa and Toby drove away. Maud drove away. The lawn spread out before her, empty, unchanged, except for little chunks of sod dislodged by people’s shoes.

  Carley carried the various cigar boxes of money to Gus’s desk in his office and locked them away in the bottom drawer. All at once, she was completely exhausted. She was even too tired to count the money. Her girls were in their rooms, adding up their gains and giggling with each other.

  When the phone rang, she almost didn’t answer.

  “Carley? It’s Lauren. Listen, I know how tag sales can wear you out. Want to bring the girls over for dinner tonight? I’ll make spaghetti.”

  Framingham Burr’s wife, Lauren, was part of Carley’s extended girl group. A tall, broad, comfortable woman, Lauren lived in jeans and a cotton shirt in the summer, jeans and a turtleneck in the winter. Her husband was a successful real estate developer, and they had a farm with horses, dogs, cats, chickens, a vegetable garden, and an in-ground swimming pool. They had three children, healthy, active individuals who moved through the world with confidence. Cisco was always stunned into silence by the presence of fourteen-year-old Nicholas, while Margaret, dazzled by nine-year-old Rosalind, tried to ignore the childish ploys for attention by five-year-old Will.

  “Oh, Lauren, how heavenly! Of course we’ll come. Bless you!” Carley hung up the phone, reinvigorated. What thoughtful friends she had! What would she do without them?

  And what did she owe her friends? Should she tell Vanessa she’d seen Toby kissing Maud?

  No. No. Carley must have misunderstood a perfectly innocent gesture.