Heat Wave
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Jewel looked wary. She seemed to fear that her glamorous almost-stepmother was trying to lure her into the den of fashion, but Lexi knew well that Jewel, at least for the time being, didn’t have the personality to work with the public.
“I was wondering if you could pick up some lunch for me and my assistant and bring it down.”
Jewel looked over at Cisco, who looked over at Carley.
“We’re going to the beach this morning,” Carley said. “What time do you want lunch?”
“Anytime around one.”
“That works for me,” Carley said. If she could wear out Paul this morning, she could get him down for a nap this afternoon, and she could get something accomplished in her office. Cisco could change clothes and bike out to Lauren’s to spend the afternoon with the horses. Later in the afternoon, Margaret could help with the baby while the big girls were gone. Margaret often complained that she didn’t get to spend much time with Paul because of Cisco and Jewel, but this was a delicate issue since she was only seven. Margaret seemed torn between loving Paul and wanting to be a baby herself. Sometimes she asked Carley if she could have her milk from a bottle or sippy cup, and usually Carley allowed this, because thirty minutes later, Margaret would be stalking Jewel, asking what she was reading, if she wanted a bead bracelet, did she prefer vanilla or chocolate ice cream?
The phone rang. Cisco snatched it up. “For you, Mom.”
“Hi, Carley,” Maud said. “Is it crazy over there?”
“Is it ever not?” Carley retorted.
“Well, look, I’m taking the maniacs to the beach today. Want to meet me there? And since I’m making lunch for all of us, I’ll make it for you guys, too. Just tell me how many of you there’ll be.”
“That would be fantastic,” Carley answered. “There’ll be—let’s see, Cisco, Jewel, Margaret and me, that makes four, and Paul, but I’ll bring his food.”
“Great. Jetties at nine?”
“See you there.”
“Must go.” Lexi rose. “See you around one, Jewel. Oh. Here’s some money for the food.” She handed Jewel a wad of cash, blew a kiss at everyone, and stalked out the door on her very high heels.
“She’s going to trip on the bricks and break her ankle,” Jewel said, shaking her head.
“She’s got to look chic,” Cisco argued. She tugged Jewel’s arm. “Let’s go put on our bathing suits.” They skipped up the back stairs, whispering and giggling. These days they giggled about everything.
“Good morning, everyone.” Wyatt came in from the front hall, crouching so that Margaret, who rode his shoulders, wouldn’t hit her head on the door frame. He wore a blue cotton button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and he looked so sexy that Carley wanted to shove him down on the table and have sex with him right there.
Instead, she reached up to accept her younger daughter as Wyatt slid her off his shoulders and into Carley’s lap. Margaret was still in her cotton pjs, her hair tangled, sleep dust in the corner of her eyes. “It’s hot, Mommy,” she whined.
Carley could guess where this was headed. Wyatt sometimes took Margaret into the office with him. She’d become fiercely attached to her stepfather and wanted to do everything with him. She was good, Wyatt said, happy to sit peacefully on the sofa, playing with paper dolls or coloring or reading. “We’re going to the beach,” Carley told Margaret. “We’re going to meet Percy and Spenser.”
Margaret still pouted.
“Try this.” Carley stabbed a piece of watermelon onto her fork and lifted it to Margaret’s mouth. “This is cool.”
Wyatt poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, looking at the crowd gathered around the table. A year ago he and Carley had been married here at home in a small private ceremony with only Cisco, Margaret, and Paul attending. Carley and Wyatt had reasoned that this would help their odd little family bond, and it looked as if they were right.
“Paul,” he said. “Cheerios go in your mouth, not in your ears.”
Paul giggled mischievously.
“Paul-y.” Margaret slid off Carley’s lap and stood next to Paul, smoothly pulling the cereal bowl out of reach. “Want some of my banana, Paul?”
“What chaos.” Carley took a deep breath. She’d planned to tell him privately, but she couldn’t wait another moment. “Wyatt, it’s going to get more chaotic. Soon.”
Wyatt reached for a bagel. “Really? Why?”
Carley didn’t speak. She couldn’t—the lump of happiness in her throat was too large.
Wyatt put the bagel down. “Carley?” In a flash, he read the message in her eyes. His jaw fell. “Are you kidding me?”
She shook her head and found her voice. “Not kidding.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“I am!”
“When is the baby due?”
“January.” Wyatt went pale.
“You’re going to have a baby?” Margaret asked. Her eyes were wide. “Oh, goodie, a baby for me!”
“Are you okay?” Carley asked her husband.
With careful precision, Wyatt said, “We are going to have a baby.”
Paul banged his spoon on the table and babbled.
Margaret put her face next to Carley’s belly. “Are you a boy or a girl? If you can hear me, kick!”
Color was returning to Wyatt’s face. He looked dazed. He looked dazzled. “This place is going to be wall-to-wall with children, Carley. Will you be able to run Seashell Inn this summer?”
“Oh, I think so,” Carley told him. “These days I feel like I can do anything.”
About the Author
• • • • •
NANCY THAYER is the New York Times bestselling author of Beachcombers, Summer House, Moon Shell Beach, and The Hot Flash Club. She lives on Nantucket.