by Nancy Thayer
“Carley,” Wyatt said. “Can you talk?”
“Yes. Everyone’s gone.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Good.” Her voice was throaty with desire.
“Listen, here’s what I think. We’ve been given a gift with this week. We’d be fools not to take it. I want to be with you every moment I can, and we can figure out where to go from here. What do you think?”
“Oh, Wyatt. Yes.” She laughed at herself. “I want to crawl right through the phone into your arms.”
“It might be easier if I just walked back to your house,” Wyatt said.
“Now?”
“Now.”
As they lay in bed together, Wyatt’s eyes lazily lingered on Carley’s breasts, while a light, unconscious smile lifted his mouth. He said, “You’re so beautiful.”
She took his hand, kissed it, and murmured, “You, too.”
She could feel her chest dappling pink from shyness at his staring, and from pure animal satisfaction, and she thought how the heat pulsing through her, dilating her veins and arteries, pinking her skin, deepening her breathing, was like that of any flower on a warm summer day. She could understand how bulbs could survive the cold winter beneath the dark earth, how dry seeds could split open, shooting shafts of green stems up into the light, where buds swelled and unfolded and lay themselves open to the life-giving heat of the sun. She had been through her own winter. Now she was returning to full life.
This was what Wyatt had done, was doing, for her. She loved her daughters, of course, they were the miracle and center of her world. But in her own body and spirit, something had been dormant. When she had given birth to her daughters, she had felt as if she were gripped by the deep source of the universe. Here it was again, the great fierce force of life seizing her by the scruff of her neck, shaking her awake, igniting her into a glowing, radiant blossom thick with juice, nectar, and joy.
It wasn’t just the sex. They had everything to tell each other. They sat up late into the night, talking about their childhoods, their families, their dreams. They made juicy lobster rolls at two in the morning and ate them, licking each other’s fingers. Because they had always suspected they shared a slightly warped sense of humor, they had a marathon of DVDs of Robin Williams, Dane Cook, and Ben Stiller. One night after a day of rain, when the temperature had dropped and a cool breeze made the muggy air comfortable, they put on music and danced. Quiet music, because Carley didn’t want to wake her guests. Romantic music. Slow music.
They talked to each other like college students just learning about themselves. Wyatt asked Carley how it had been, having a sister who was gay. That hadn’t been a problem, Carley told him. Sarah had been bright, witty, and a popular jock. She had been considered ultracool. The problem for Carley had been following in the steps of such a successful sister.
Wyatt remembered growing up with Gus, best friends and constant companions. Their parents were close friends who got together often to sail to Coatue or Tuckernuck for the day. Gus was an only child, but Wyatt had an older sister, Wendy, who treated Gus like her little brother. When their parents wouldn’t take them to see Ghostbusters or Indiana Jones or Batman, Wendy took them. She was their hero. And she was their cheerleader. Gus had been quarterback of the high school football team, Wyatt had been running back. Gus had organized the beach cleanups and car washes for class trips. Wyatt was his first lieutenant. Both boys were fascinated by the law, and by the time they were in high school, they decided Wyatt would be a junior partner in the Winsted firm.
Carley said softly, “I wonder what Gus would think about us.”
Wyatt made a face. “If he were alive, he’d kill me. As it is, I think he’d want you to be happy. Me, too.”
Carley said, “I’ve thought about this a lot, when I’m not with you—when I’m capable of thought,” she added with a smile. “I don’t feel disrespectful to Gus. I don’t have the sense that he’s around somewhere, watching me angrily. People say things to widows, they say, ‘Gus would want you to be happy.’ ”
“I think they’re right. Gus would want you to be happy. He loved you and he cherished those girls. And his parents love you. That was important to him.”
“I love his parents.” Wryly, she added, “Sometimes.”
“But do you know how unusual that is? How many people love their in-laws? Russell and Annabel appreciated everything you did with Gus. You fixed up this old wreck and made it a home. You came from off-island and made good friends in the community. We have to go on from this point. I think we need to worry about Cisco and Margaret and Gus’s parents.”
“I agree.”
“I think we get to pay a bit of attention to ourselves, too. We matter, too, Carley.”
The night before everyone returned, Carley and Wyatt sat in the kitchen, sharing a midnight snack of milk and scones and cookies and fruit. Carley, half-drugged from hours of intense sex, wasn’t sure she wanted to get into a discussion. Yet perhaps they had to.
“I wonder whether anyone suspects about us,” she said carefully. “About this week.”
“I doubt it,” Wyatt said. “We’ve been circumspect. I’ve walked here. My car hasn’t been parked in front of your house. I’ve seen clients, talked to friends, you’ve gone grocery shopping. I think we’ve appeared absolutely normal.”
“That’s good.” Carley looked down into her glass. “Wyatt. I don’t want my girls to find any man in my bed, until—” She saw his face change, just a shadow crossing. “I’m not saying I don’t want to be with you. It’s just that once the girls are back, we just have to be more careful, okay?”
He nodded. “I agree.”
For a moment, they were silent, caught in their own thoughts. Then Wyatt flashed his magic smile. “We should go to bed while we can.”
So they did.
28
• • • • •
Saturday everyone arrived back on the island. Cisco spent about three and a half minutes with her mother before rushing off to phone her friends. Margaret curled up in Carley’s lap and yapped away happily, recounting every detail of her trip. Later that day, Annabel phoned to say they were back, and Carley invited them to a big Sunday lunch the next day.
Annabel and Russell had brought gifts for everyone from Boston, and Cisco and Margaret had brought gifts for everyone from New York, which made Sunday afternoon a bit like Christmas.
The phone rang in the middle of the night, waking Carley from a deep sleep. Her heart went from its reliable thud to a panicked clatter as she sat up and turned on the light. Her girls were home, she’d tucked them in. Gus was dead. Who could it be? Her parents? Annabel? “Mrs. Winsted? It’s Melody Wiggins.”
It was the woman who was staying in Scallop with her fiancé.
The woman was sobbing so hard she was almost incomprehensible. “F-f-f-forgive me for waking you, but I don’t know who else to call. My fiancé and I had a fight and he left me out here and I’ve been trying to walk home, but I’m totally lost! I don’t think I should call the police, I don’t have any money for a cab, I’m in my bathing suit and flip-flops, and Jack took the car! It’s dark out here!”
Carley looked at the clock. It was a bit after midnight. Tossing back the covers, she went to the window and looked down at the street. She didn’t see the Jeep the couple had rented. She’d noticed during the four days they’d been in Scallop that Jack enjoyed his liquor. Probably Jack was in one of the bars.
Melody Wiggins was young, Carley remembered, probably no older than eighteen. Cisco would be that old in five years. This would be beyond the duties of the owner of a B&B, but Carley hoped someday someone would do something just as nice for her daughters.
“I’ll come pick you up, Melody. Take a deep breath and let’s see if we can figure out where you are.”
It turned out not to be difficult to find her. Jack had taken Melody for a picnic and evening swim at Gibb Pond out on the moors, a place where few tourists went. Carl
ey pulled on shorts and a shirt, checked on her sleeping daughters, and swept her keys into her hands. She hadn’t left the girls alone in the house before, but they weren’t really alone. Both Angel’s Wing and Moon Shell were occupied by older and saner couples who, Carley knew, were already in for the night.
She found Melody at the small beach by the pond, pacing back and forth and weeping. The young woman threw herself into the car and startled Carley with a fierce hug.
“Thank you! Thank you! I thought I would die out there! I thought a bear would get me.”
“Honey, no bears live on Nantucket,” Carley assured her. “You were safe.” She patted Melody’s back. “But it must have been terrifying to be alone out in the wild at night.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Melody confessed as Carley drove over the rutted dirt paths crisscrossing through the moors. “Jack and I are going to get married. I love him, and he loves me, I know he does. But he has such a temper.”
“How long have you been together?” She watched her headlights pierce a bright track through the dark.
“Almost a year.” Melody dug in her purse, pulled out some tissue and noisily blew her nose. “He wants to get married this fall.”
“Maybe you should wait awhile before getting married. Give him time to—”
“Oh, no, he’d be really angry then. He’s got an important job with a bank and they’re transferring him to their British branch before Christmas.”
The SUV bounced and waddled as it went through puddles and over bumps. Carley considered her words carefully. “What do your parents think of Jack?”
Melody was silent. “They did like him, at first. I mean, you’ve met him. He’s so handsome, and charming, and smart, and he makes a ton of money. He just sometimes … he’s just under so much pressure.”
They arrived at the main road. Carley turned onto the pavement and their ride smoothed out. “You see,” she pointed out, “now we’re on the Polpis Road. You weren’t far from town. Did you plan to go to college, Melody?”
“Yes, but I just wanted to be an elementary-school teacher.”
“Just? Teaching’s the most important job in the world. I’ll bet you’d be good at it, too.”
Melody was silent for a few moments. They came to the turnoff onto the ‘Sconset road toward the rotary and town. Headlights from other cars flashed past.
“I would be good at it,” Melody said at last, her voice a little stronger.
Carley thought of what Melody’s parents must have said to her: You’re only eighteen, so young, how can you know what you want? She didn’t want to repeat that warning. “Moving to another town is always stressful,” Carley continued, keeping her voice easy, chatty. “Moving to another country must be very difficult. In fact, someone made a chart of the top ten most stressful events in life, and moving is way up there with divorce and having a spouse die.”
Melody looked at Carley. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s certainly something to think about. You might want to let Jack move first and see how he handles that pressure.”
“Oh, but he needs me,” Melody protested.
“You might want to think about what you need. That’s what I’d tell my daughters.”
Melody was silent, her face creased with worry.
They pulled into the driveway. They were home.
Carley whispered, “Shut your door quietly, if you can. I don’t want to wake anyone.” They walked up to the house, which rose so safe and welcoming before them, the outside light glowing like a beacon.
At the door, Melody said, “Thank you so much for rescuing me. I don’t know how to thank you, but I’m so grateful.”
Carley hugged the girl. “I’m glad to do it. Take care of yourself.” Melody nodded soberly. “I will.”
The next morning, Melody and Jack appeared in the kitchen for their coffee and breakfast. They shoveled in the cheese croissants and fresh-cut fruit without tasting it. Without looking at each other. Immediately after that, they checked out. Jack’s face was wooden. Melody’s face was white, but her head was high, and before she went out the door, she turned to Carley, stuck out her hand, and gave her a very grown-up handshake.
School started the last week of August. Carley’s parents had taken the girls shopping for clothes and school supplies and sent them home with so much new stuff they’d had to buy two new duffel bags. After Labor Day weekend, most of the tourists had left, especially all the ones with children. This was the season, Carley’s innkeeper friends had told her, for the “Newly Wed or Nearly Dead” tourists to flock to the island, when the prices dropped just a bit and the beaches were not as crowded. Carley became a chauffeur once more, rushing the girls to riding lessons, softball and soccer practice, school picnics, social events. To her great relief, Margaret had no desire to take ballet or riding lessons. Cisco didn’t ask to stay at her grandparents’ house, although they all still got together for dinner once a week.
With summer over and a routine established, Carley took the girls to the MSPCA and let them each choose a kitten. Cisco picked out an orange striped boy cat she named, not surprisingly, Tiger, while Margaret chose a dainty calico she named Mimi. The kittens filled an enormous amount of time and emotional space. They were allowed to sleep with the girls. Their litter boxes were just outside the bedroom doors in the hall. They were fed in the girls’ bathroom because the house was big and the kittens small. Plus, Carley didn’t want to worry about a guest being allergic or phobic. She took the girls to Geronimo’s and let them buy soft, round little cat beds, toys, and treats. The girls invited all their friends over to admire the new pets.
When she knew the girls were at school, Wyatt walked up to her house for a quick morning or early afternoon liaison. The rush and secrecy made the moments together even more exciting. She talked with Wyatt on the phone several times during the day, and always last thing at night before she fell asleep. Often Wyatt came, separately, like many of the islanders, to watch the girls’ soccer and baseball games, and sometimes he sat next to Carley, but usually he joined other friends. Carley felt a subversive thrill to have him just a few seats away on the bleachers, not looking at her, but connected to her.
With the press and fluster of summer business over, everyone on the island calmed down. Here was the good season, the mellow season. The skies were sunny but the humidity had dropped, the water was still warm enough for swimming, and bank accounts, for this year at least, had been replenished by the tourists. Families had low-key parties to catch up on all the news and plan for the off-season.
Lauren and Frame held a cookout one Sunday afternoon for their three children’s friends and their friends’ parents. Wyatt wasn’t there, probably, Carley assumed, because this was a family group. Margaret and Cisco joined the other kids in a wild game of tag. Carley wandered through the crowd, chatting with friends, aware that she was the single female without a husband.
She took her glass of wine to the steps leading down from the wide deck and settled down, leaning her back against a post, just gazing out over the wide green stretch of lawn. It was almost a year since Gus died, and there were her daughters, running around with the other kids, shrieking with laughter, tanned, healthy, absolutely fine. She had been so frightened when she lost Gus. Their marriage, their family, had been her world. She’d been worried about raising her daughters alone, terrified about finances, unsure of how to get through each day. Somehow she had started a successful business running a B&B she enjoyed, kept them afloat financially, and kept their little family on track.
Lauren approached her. “What are you doing sitting on the steps? That post must be digging into your back. We do possess such things as deck chairs, you know. Don’t you want to come sit in a chair?”
“In a while,” Carley told her friend. “Right now I’m content right where I am.”
29
• • • • •
One foggy September morning while the girls were at school, Carley was in Scall
op, with the door and windows wide open. The last guest had worn a powerful perfume vaguely reminiscent of cat pee, and it had permeated the room. Carley was dropping sheets and towels into her wicker basket to take up to the laundry room when her cell rang. Her personal cell—she let the machine take calls for the B&B when she was busy.
“Carley? It’s Vanessa.”
“Vanessa!” Carley’s legs almost went out from under her. She sat on the stripped bed, clamping the phone to her ear. “Honey! How are you?”
“Actually,” Vanessa replied with a lilt in her voice, “I guess I could say I’m amazing.”
“Amazing? Vanessa, have you met someone?” Vanessa laughed. “You could say that.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“At home? Do you mean on the island?”
“I do. I arrived yesterday. I’ve been unpacking and getting groceries, that sort of thing.”
“Does that mean you’re moving back?”
“Oh, yes. And not alone!”
“What?”
“Why don’t I come over and show you?”
“Show me? Do you have him with you?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Stop talking in riddles! You’re infuriating!” More laughter. “I’m coming over.”
Carley raced up the stairs to the laundry room and dropped the basket on the floor. She hurried up to her bedroom, stripped off her drab work tee shirt and pulled on a clean peach tee. She ran a comb through her hair, lined her eyes and lightly dabbed on mascara and lipstick, although she was smiling so much she could hardly get the lipstick on straight. Vanessa had met a man! Maybe she was going to marry him! She sounded so buoyant, so happy! Carley almost skipped back down the stairs.
