by Nancy Thayer
Unlike the house she and Jane had grown up in. An elderly Victorian in the Boston suburb of Lexington, the house had been spacious and filled with so much stuff it would often be impossible to say what color the sofa was, not that they’d cared about that. Alison had cared about comfort, so new, fake, deeply plush Oriental rugs were piled on top of threadbare antique Oriental carpets and sagging but soft sofas and armchairs were everywhere, waiting for friends, children, or pets to sink into their animal hair–covered depths.
Felicity had loved their house and the life lived in it. People were always coming in and out, settling at the kitchen table for tea and cookies or wandering out to the garden with a glass of wine while Felicity and a friend climbed up to the tree house her father had built. Only as she began her own family and tried to keep some sign of sanity in her busy house did she realize how much seemingly effortless work her mother had done to keep them all clean, well fed, and on time to every scheduled event. She had assumed her mother had enjoyed making cupcakes for school sales and sweeping the kitchen floor every day and doing loads of laundry…she was still sure Alison had loved the laundry bit. When it was sunny Alison had carried a wicker basket of wet sheets, towels, tablecloths, and hand towels outside and pegged the linens onto the clothesline, humming as she did. And when she’d brought the linens in, she would say, every single time, “I love the way laundry smells after it’s dried in the sun.”
The smell of bacon snapped Felicity right back to the present. She jumped out of bed and hurriedly dressed.
In the kitchen, Felicity found her mother at the stove and her sister and Ethan huddled over a laptop on the kitchen table.
“Good morning, darling,” Alison called.
“Good morning, everyone,” Felicity said, scooting past the long pine table to stand at the glass doors and gaze at the view. Sparkling blue water, lazy and sun-speckled, as far as she could see.
“Good morning, Felicity,” Ethan said. He wore a faded T-shirt that matched the blue in his eyes.
Jane looked up. “We don’t have yeast.”
Well, Felicity thought, that was odd. Why would Jane want yeast?
“Bacon?” Alison asked.
The smell was irresistible, plus she’d strayed way off the virtuous vegetarian path last night when she ate steak. “Please,” Felicity said. She poured herself a mug of coffee, lightened its caffeine attack with milk and sugar, and settled at the table.
“Why do you need yeast?” she asked her sister.
Ethan said, “I went into town this morning and picked some up.”
“Oh, good!” Jane looked at Felicity. “We’re going to make bread!”
“We are?” Felicity asked. “Can’t we just buy some?”
Jane and Ethan exchanged glances and laughed, and all at once Felicity was suspicious. How had her sister and Ethan become such a pair? They sat together beaming with secret knowledge, as if they were the popular kids at school.
“Ethan, you explain,” Jane said.
Ethan rose and poured himself more coffee. “I was telling Jane last night that I like to bake. Bread, mostly, but cakes and muffins, that sort of stuff, too. I like working with yeast. It’s organic. It’s magic.” Returning to his seat, he offered, “I’ll teach you, too, if you’d like.”
Felicity caught the laser-swift Do it and die message her older sister deployed with squinted eyes. “No, thanks. I’ve made bread before. I want to enjoy myself while I’m a free woman.”
Alison set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon before Felicity.
“Oh, Mom, thanks, this smells heavenly.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. And I have a surprise for you.”
Felicity, mouth full of bacon, could only raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Jane’s going to spend the morning making bread with Ethan. And, I’ve booked a massage for you.”
“A massage!” Felicity was breathless. “I haven’t had a massage in forever!”
Alison smiled. “I thought you’d like that. And after lunch, I want to take you girls shopping.”
“Shopping? Why?” Was that a conspiratorial look that flashed between her mother and Jane?
“Because I can,” Alison said, laughing. “Because I love having my daughters here with me and I want to buy you both some cute summer dresses.”
Felicity said, “Maybe we should get something for the children instead—”
Her mother cut her off. “I’m buying clothes for my children.”
Felicity’s heart sank a little. She would love having some brand-new, never-before-worn clothes from a classy Nantucket shop, but it wouldn’t please Noah if she allowed herself to slide out of the clear clean sunlight of virtuousness into the evil, seductive consumer shade. Well, she decided, as she ate her insanely delicious eggs and bacon, she could just go along and pretend she didn’t want anything.
Rising, she carried her dish and cup, rinsed them, and stacked them in the dishwasher. She hugged Alison. “That was divine, Mom, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Filly.” Alison kissed her daughter’s cheek. “We should leave for your massage in about fifteen minutes.”
Felicity cast one more suspicious glance at Jane and Ethan, who were happily scrolling down a list of recipes on a laptop on the kitchen table.
“Felicity?” Alison called from the front hall.
“Coming!” Felicity called. To Jane and Ethan, she said, “Bye for now.”
“Bye, honey, have a great massage,” Jane said, her eyes focused on the computer screen.
* * *
—
Jane was relieved when she heard her sister and mother leave the house. She’d sensed a flicker of jealousy from Felicity, and couldn’t help but enjoy it. Just a little.
“I think basic white bread,” Ethan said.
“Okay, good.”
“Stand next to me. I’ll give you directions. You do the work.”
“Oh, thanks so much,” Jane joked. As she moved, she became vividly aware of her body. She and Ethan both wore shorts, flip-flops, and T-shirts. Jane wasn’t wearing a bra. She wasn’t as voluptuous as Felicity and often went braless at home. When she did, Scott never noticed, so when Jane dressed this morning, she had, without thinking, gone without a bra.
Well, maybe she had thought about it for a fraction of a moment.
“Hey, it’s the best way to learn. Okay, first, empty the yeast in the bowl and add two and a fourth cups of warm water.”
Jane went to the sink and turned on the taps, fiddling with them both to get the right temperature. “How warm is warm?”
She had the back of her hand under the flow of water. Ethan came over and put his hand under the water. He didn’t touch her hand, but his chest brushed against her shoulder and arm. It was almost as if he were holding her. Jane stood paralyzed, bombarded by sensations. He smelled of soap and shampoo—his hair was still damp—and gave off a warmth that made her body tingle. If she turned slightly, she could kiss him.
“This is good,” Ethan said.
Jane almost said, “I know,” but she caught hold of her senses and realized he wasn’t talking about standing next to her. He was talking about the water temperature.
She filled the cup twice and poured two and a fourth cups of water over the yeast, which immediately began to bubble.
“Oh, look!” she said. “It’s like an experiment in science class.”
“I gather you enjoyed science class.”
“Loved it.” She glanced at him and was almost knocked off her feet by the wattage of his smile. “What next?”
“We add the sugar, salt, and oil.” Ethan brought the staples from the cupboard and stood quietly while she measured them out. “Now add three cups of flour. Beat it all until it’s smooth. No, don’t just stir. Beat. Good. Now, add three more cups of flour, a
half cup or so at a time, and keep beating.”
Jane picked up the bowl and held it against her while she beat the dough. “Wonderful smell,” she said.
“That’s the yeast.”
She added more flour. “Hey, this is getting difficult. Are you sure we need this much flour?”
“Absolutely sure.” Ethan watched her and finally said, “Okay. Now we’ll turn it on to the bread board and knead it. First, you have to sprinkle flour on the board.”
Jane picked up the bag of flour and carefully shook out a dusting of flour.
“You’ll need more than that. Like this.” Ethan shook out a blizzard of flour.
“But that’s so…messy,” Jane said. She’d never known flour was so delicate and flyaway, landing on their clothes, the table, the floor.
“Being clean’s no fun,” Ethan said, looking right into her eyes as he spoke.
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Besides,” Ethan continued, “some of this flour will become part of the bread. Now, turn the dough out on this bread board. Knead it for about ten minutes.” He checked his watch. “I’ll time you.”
Jane dumped the dough out. Its yielding bulk seemed almost living. Ethan stood close to her, watching, and she could hardly think. She squeezed part of the dough and then another section, until Ethan corrected her.
“No, knead. Haven’t you ever kneaded before?”
What she heard was Haven’t you ever needed before? She was speechless.
“Here. Let me show you.” Ethan stood behind her, placed his hands on top of her hands, and began to knead. “Like this.”
His body touched hers now, as he pushed and pulled the dough so that it became more elastic. Jane could feel his breath against her hair, his chest against her shoulders.
“Okay,” Ethan said. “Now you do it.”
He moved away from her. She knew she should be glad and maybe in some faraway corner of her rational mind she was, but her body yearned for him to return. Forcing herself to pay attention to the bread, she kneaded and folded and kneaded and folded again.
“It’s getting silky,” she said.
“Good. I’ve greased this bowl. Put the dough in and turn it so that it’s got grease on all sides. Then we’ll cover it with a dish towel and let it rise.”
She had to move next to him as she lifted the yielding dough into her hands and placed it inside the bowl. It was so quiet in the room she could hear her breathing, and his, and she realized his breath was coming fast, and hearing it was such an intimate thing that her entire body blazed.
“There,” she said. Her voice was shaking. Her face was glowing. She found the courage to look at him and ask, “So, now what?”
His gaze was intense. “Now we wait.”
“How long will that take?”
“About an hour or two. I’ll turn it out and knead it one more time. When you all return from lunch, we can shape it into loaves and put it in the oven.”
“Oh. Oh, okay. I’ll…” Her voice was hoarse. Her mind, her brilliant legal mind, was a puddle of melted chocolate.
“How should we pass the time?” Ethan put his hand on her arm, pulling her closer to him.
“I’m afraid that what I would like to do and what I ought to do are different,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Such a lawyer,” Ethan teased, and he pulled her hard against him. He cupped her head in his hand and brought his mouth down to hers. His breath smelled like coffee and cinnamon.
He drew back, gazing into her eyes. “I want to take you to bed.”
“I want that, too,” Jane told him. “But I can’t. This is crazy.” Pushing away from him, she said, “I love my husband.”
“And yet you’d like it if I kissed you again?” Ethan asked.
“Yes,” she answered honestly.
But when he moved toward her she backed away, hitting her arm on the stove. “No. No, I can’t. I’m going to go shower…”
She turned and hurried from the room.
In the privacy of her bedroom, she forced her body through her daily yoga routine. This is good, she thought as she stretched. This was what she needed. Her routine. Being away from home, away from the familiar, had unanchored her.
She loved Scott. Truly. That crazy moment with Ethan was simply displaced lust for something else. She had to talk to Scott again, to make him understand how a child would make their marriage even stronger. She didn’t need to have sex with another man. She needed to have a baby, Scott’s baby. She would make him realize this tomorrow evening, when she was home.
six
It seemed absolutely perfect, even necessary, for the three women to drive to the Wauwinet in Jane’s rented Mini Cooper convertible. Alison sat in the passenger seat, loving the sun on her face and the wind in her hair, as Jane drove along winding Polpis Road.
In the back, Felicity was pouting. When Alison had picked up Felicity after her massage, she’d pointed out that Felicity’s skin was still oily and her dress was clinging to her. Alison suggested that she run the sundress through the wash while Felicity took a quick shower and put on one of Alison’s floaty summer dresses.
Felicity was insulted. She said Alison didn’t approve of Felicity’s clothes, didn’t think her clothes were good enough to wear to lunch at that posh place. Her mother had never understood Felicity’s commitment to living a life centered around saving the environment! After her shower, however, she’d slipped on one of the sundresses, a loose crinkle cotton in azure which Felicity refused to admit looked lovely even though she couldn’t help staring at herself in the mirror. It was difficult, Alison knew, to be pulled between parent and spouse, and Felicity, more than Jane, had always been the child who wanted peace and friendship among everyone she knew. Alison suspected Felicity was trying not to feel guilty about loving this dress.
On the other hand, behind the steering wheel, Jane was practically shining with delight. If Alison didn’t know better, she’d think her older daughter was on some kind of drug. Jane wore an expression of bliss on her face, and Alison didn’t think it was caused by the scenery.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Alison observed.
“Oh, I know,” Jane replied, laughing, not saying why.
Alison suspected she knew the reason: Ethan had undoubtedly flirted with Jane while they made the bread. She remembered the days when she’d been Jane’s age, an old married woman missing the chemical high that a simple smile from a handsome stranger could provide. Even a wolf whistle from construction workers would make her endorphins light up. Alison thought Scott was a wonderful husband, but probably not very romantic.
Well, Alison reminded herself, her daughters were adults, in charge of their own lives, and they had always been their own complete and particular selves, different from each other, different from Alison. She never had known all their secrets and she couldn’t expect to know their secrets now. More than that, she didn’t want to know their secrets.
Jane steered the Mini Cooper off Polpis Road onto the even narrower road to the Wauwinet. Sun flashed through the towering evergreens. They came to the Trustees of Reservations gatehouse, and Jane braked, but the season hadn’t started yet, and no one came out to check for a sticker, so they proceeded slowly over the speed bump and beneath the arching trees and turned into the parking lot of the Wauwinet hotel.
“Look at the flowers,” Jane gushed as they walked up the winding brick path.
They were greeted and led around to the harbor side of the hotel and settled at a table on the porch.
“We won’t have champagne,” Alison told her daughters. “We’ve got to keep our heads clear for shopping this afternoon.”
The waiter came to take their orders. Alison leaned back in her chair and gazed out over the plush green lawn leading to the water. “Isn’t this a gorgeous spot? Can
you imagine how fabulous our wedding will be?”
“It’s beautiful here, Mom,” Jane agreed.
White sails skimmed the shining blue waters of the head of Nantucket harbor, where a long golden beach curved into the distance. An extravagant border of rugosa roses, the shrub that grew wild on the island, perfuming the air with its sweet attar, marked the edge of the beach.
“You could get all fantastic here,” Jane mused. “Have David arrive by Viking ship with banners flying.”
“Oh, yes!” Happily, Felicity came out of her gloom. “Or you could be like a princess, Mom, floating in on a boat covered with flowers.”
Alison laughed. “I’m a little old to be a princess—”
“Cleopatra, then,” Jane suggested.
“Right!” Felicity clapped her hands. “Jane and I could be your servants. We’d fan you with enormous peacock feathers.”
“I think it’s a good thing I didn’t order champagne,” Alison said. “Heaven knows what you’d dream up then.”
For lunch, Alison and Jane both enjoyed delicious lobster rolls. Felicity had an enormous Wagyu burger.
“It’s your fault,” she told her mother. “You’ve awakened my taste for red meat.”
“Isn’t Wagyu beef the kind they breed in Japan and massage every day?” Jane asked.
“I’ve heard that’s a myth,” Alison said. “But it is especially delicious and tender—and expensive.”
“Oh, I hope the cow was massaged every day,” Felicity said. “This would have been a happy cow.”
“You should know,” Jane joked, adding to clarify, “I mean you just had a massage.” She turned to Alison. “How many people are coming to your wedding, Mom?”
“Not too many. About eighty.”
“Don’t you feel strange, leaving all the decisions to what’s-her-name, David’s assistant?”
