by Nancy Thayer
Ben releases Emily. “Let’s go.”
“Yes, please,” Emily begs.
They walk out to his old Jeep, awkwardly, his arm around her shoulders, both of them lopsided with luggage.
“How was the flight?”
Emily shrugs. “All right. It’s November. Lots of clouds, but I could see the shoreline.”
Inside the Jeep, Ben turns to hold Emily against him. “God, you smell good. I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you, too,” she murmurs against his neck. “I want to be in bed with you right now.” His hand is on her leg, pushing her skirt up. She puts her hand on the crotch of his jeans.
“Stop.” He groans, pulling her hand away. “I won’t be in any condition to drive.” He starts the Jeep, pulls out of the parking lot, and heads toward town, presumably to Thaddeus’s.
When he turns off onto an unfamiliar road, Emily asks, “Is this the right way?”
“A friend’s letting me have his apartment for the night.” Ben waggles his eyebrows humorously. “All night. Just you and me.”
“Fabulous.” Emily’s truly thrilled. They can’t make love in Thaddeus’s house where Ben still lives so he can save money, and she doesn’t want to do it in the barn. They’re not kids anymore. Ben’s stupid pride won’t allow him to use Emily’s parents’ house or let Emily rent a hotel room. Because of her father, she will always have more money than Ben does, but this is an issue the two of them keep avoiding.
The apartment is over the garage near a house on Hummock Pond Road. The lot is beautifully landscaped, the house and garage well maintained, so Emily’s shocked when Ben unlocks the door and she steps into his friend’s apartment. It’s not a pit exactly, but it’s basic, to say the least, and not particularly clean. The wide screen television is the only item in the large one-room studio apartment that was created within the last decade. Clearly the bed, sofa, coffee table, and kitchen table are from a secondhand shop or someplace worse.
A vase of flowers stands on the bedside table and a bottle of inexpensive champagne waits in a tub of ice in the sink. The sheets on the bed are so clean and crisp they look new—probably they are new. Emily imagines that Ben bought them and brought them over just for this occasion. They haven’t been together for a month.
She’s grateful for these thoughtful touches. Yet … the room smells of dirty male laundry.
“What do you think?” Ben’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts.
She focuses on him, on this tall, confident, proud man who makes her heart sing. He’s so handsome standing before her in his white dress shirt, sports coat, and tie. She’s infatuated with his black hair, his mouth, his body. “Flowers, Ben, oh, sweetheart.” She presses up against him, wrapping him in her arms.
Ben makes love to her gently, slowly, touching her as if relearning her every curve and hollow. It’s cool in the apartment, but as their passion stirs and builds, they ignite as their skin slides against each other’s, slick with sweat and saliva and other hot, sweet fluids.
Afterward, they doze for a while. When they wake, they lie on their sides, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“I love you, Emily.”
“I love you, Ben.” She skims her fingers over his chest, twining the curls of his black chest hair.
“I don’t want to be away from you for so long again.”
“No. I don’t, either.” She strokes the side of his face. Is now a good time to tell him about her fellowship? “Ben—”
He turns his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “We should get married in May,” he says.
“Oh.” His words are so unexpected, they knock the breath out of her. She’s rattled. She’s thrilled, yet terrified. “Is this a proposal?”
Ben looks surprised. “Do you need a proposal?”
Pulling her hand away from his, Emily sits up in bed, leans against the wall—no headboard on this bed—pulling the sheet up over her breasts. “Every girl likes a proposal.”
“Oh, you’re a girl?” Ben sits up, too, next to her.
“Of course. I’m hardly a guy.”
“Yeah, but—a girl?”
Emily’s completely confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Girls live with their parents. They don’t earn their livings. They don’t have credit cards they pay off themselves. Women live with their husbands. They work and help pay the mortgage and pay off their credit cards themselves. They have babies and take care of them. They cook dinner.”
“I know all that,” Emily snaps defensively. “I can be a woman. I am a woman. But that doesn’t mean I can’t expect other things I’ve always wanted.”
“Like what?” His voice is raspy with emotion.
“Like a proper proposal. Like an engagement ring. Like a church wedding. Like—”
“Stop.” Rising from the bed, he pulls on his pants and shirt, then pads barefoot to the sink. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
While Ben works the cork from the bottle, Emily opens her suitcase and takes out her robe, wrapping it around her as if the cloth were protection.
He pours the bubbly into mismatched water glasses and hands one to her. “I meant this for a celebration,” he tells her, but his voice is mild. “I guess I was premature.”
She sips the liquid. “It’s nice to have it, anyway. Anytime we’re together is a celebration.” That is the truth, for her.
“Then we should be together permanently.” Before she can respond, he continues, “But you know marriage can’t be a continual celebration—”
She interrupts him. “I’m not an idiot, Ben. I do know that. I know marriage means commitment and hard work and highs and lows and all that stuff, but isn’t that one of the reasons people have wonderful weddings? So they can start with the high? So they have some romance to remember?”
“Go on,” Ben says. “I’m listening.”
She stares into her glass, thinking. “Well, first I think there’s an engagement ring. I’d really like one, Ben. A big one, if I’m honest.”
“I’ll be honest, too.” Ben sets his glass on the table. “I want to buy you an engagement ring. I intend to do that, and I’d like you with me to help pick it out. I don’t know about jewelry. But I can’t spend too much on it, Emily, because I’m saving money to buy us a house. You know how expensive real estate is here.”
“But, Ben, you shouldn’t be so worried. You know my parents will help us.”
Ben flinches. “No. No, I won’t take charity from your parents.”
“Don’t be silly—”
“You think I’m being silly?”
They’ve been postponing this argument for months, if not years. “Excuse me. I used the wrong word. I should have said, ‘Don’t be an arrogant prick.’ Let’s get it all out in the open, okay? My parents have a lot of money and you don’t. I’m used to a certain standard of living. Do you expect me to lower my standards, to live …” She stutters to a stop. “Ben, where do you expect us to live while we’re saving money for this house of ours?”
Ben rises and walks away from her. Turning back, he admits, “I don’t know. One option is to live with my parents—”
Emily coughs to cover her laugh. “Oh, sweetie, with your parents? Maybe in the bedroom where you were a boy? We could share a room? Gee, could we have our own bathroom?”
Ben flinches. “Another option is that over the winter Thaddeus and I could turn the barn into an apartment for us. It wouldn’t be large, but it would be separate.”
“But if you did that, Ben”—she slowly thinks out loud—“that would use up a lot of your savings for the house, right? To put in plumbing and electricity and heating and so on?”
“Or we could rent—” Ben begins.
“Same problem.” She wraps her arms around herself, shaking her head. “No, no, it won’t work unless my parents help out. If my parents help out, Ben, it would be so much simpler.”
“I won’t take your parents’ money.” Ben’s jaw is set.
&nbs
p; “Okay, well, listen. Ben—there’s something else.”
Ben frowns.
Going to him, Emily puts her hand on his chest. “This is a good thing. Maybe it will help us. Ben, I’ve won a fellowship in water ecology at UMass Amherst. I’ll study there for two years. I’ll receive my master’s degree. Then, when I come back to Nantucket, I’ll deserve a better-paying job at Maria Mitchell. They know I want to work there, and—”
“So you’re not moving here for two more years.” Ben’s voice is flat.
“No. I’ll be in Amherst. Come on, we’ve lasted for four years. It’s the same. I’ll come back as often as possible, and you can come up to see me …”
Ben sinks onto the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “I don’t know, Emily.”
She sits next to him. “Honey, what don’t you know?”
Without looking at her, he mumbles, “I’ve been faithful to you.”
She blinks. “And I’ve been faithful to you. Are you saying this is all about sex?”
Lifting his head, he turns his face to hers, and his beautiful blue eyes are dark with sorrow. “Emily. Did you hear anything I said? I want to marry you. Have a home with you. Come home every day and make dinner with you, kick off our shoes and watch some stupid video with you, choose furniture, make babies …”
Tears fill her eyes. “I want that, too, Ben. But not yet. I’m only twenty-two. You’re twenty-four. We have all the time in the world.”
“Right. Plus, you want an engagement ring. You want a big wedding. You want to live in the style to which you have become accustomed. Emily, you have always known I’ll never have the kind of money your father has. It sounds to me like we’ve been fooling ourselves. This has been all wrong from the start.”
“That’s not true. And I don’t need the kind of money my father has, but I won’t live with you in a barn or with your parents. And I won’t give up my education and my chance to make a difference in the world just because it might hurt your feelings.”
Ben’s face closes up. He’s gone into himself, pulled down the drawbridge, barred the doors and windows to his soul. He’s done this before and Emily knows her only option is to wait it out.
She says, “It’s good it’s all out in the air, Ben. We need to think about all this.”
“Right. I’ll take you back to the airport.” Ben pulls on his shoes. “You can still catch a flight back to Boston.”
“What? I just got here! Ben—”
“We’ll both think better when we’re not together,” Ben mutters. His face is stormy with repressed anger.
Emily understands that he’s hurt. Over the past few years she’s learned to read the signs of his wounded male pride. She makes one more attempt, speaking softly. “Ben, please. Let’s not part like this. We have so much to talk about.”
“I think we’ve said enough already.”
“Come on, Ben, I thought you’d be glad I won that fellowship. I thought you’d be proud of me. I thought you’d see that this would mean so much for our future.”
His face bleak, Ben turns to her. “I am proud of you, Emily. I’m always proud of you. I understand what you mean. Why you want a master’s. Perhaps I’m just being an obstinate male. But somehow … let’s take some time off from each other, okay?”
“Do you mean we’re breaking up?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Emily, I really don’t know. We need to think about it seriously.”
“Well. Wow.” Her heart thuds with emotion—shock, sorrow, anger. Her hands shake as she dresses and organizes her suitcase.
Ben carries it to the Jeep for her. They drive in an anguished silence back to the airport.
As they pull onto the terminal road, Emily looks at him.
“Ben.” Saying his name is her offer, her flag of truce. “Please.”
Ben doesn’t answer. He pulls into the ten-minute loading zone at the airport. He doesn’t offer to carry her suitcase. She steps out of the Jeep, lifts it out herself, and wheels it back into the terminal. She takes the next flight to Boston.
Your brother insane. I’m done with men. xoE
What r men? I’m dried up old spinster, years without sex, must pull hair back in bun. xoM
This summer u/me nuns. xoE
Amen! xoM
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As her own life expands, Maggie discovers a whole new world in herself, drawn out by her college reading list. During her four years at Wheaton College, Maggie majors in English literature. She’s been warned that this will prepare her for absolutely nothing in the job market, but she doesn’t care. She wants to be a writer of good novels, and she needs to learn from educated, thoughtful professors how they are written, what makes them good. She wants to live on Nantucket, too, and when she returns to the island, she plans to work at whatever jobs she can find to support her writing during the evenings and weekends.
Maggie’s first week back on the island, Thaddeus’s mother, Clarice, has to have a hysterectomy, which slows even this formidable woman down. It’s only logical for Maggie to stay with Clarice in her elegant Greek Revival on Orange Street. Maggie cooks her meals, brings her books and magazines, and becomes nurse and companion for her step-grandmother. The arrangement suits them both nicely. As the weeks progress, Maggie moves her summer clothes, laptop, books, and other necessary belongings into Clarice’s house.
Shane Anderson waits until Maggie’s been home for a month before contacting her. While Maggie was in college, he stayed on the island, working with his father’s contracting firm. For four years, he and Maggie struggled with an on-again, off-again romance, sometimes coming close to one another, sometimes moving far away. In her deepest secret heart, Maggie cherishes the hope that now that she is an adult, twenty-two, a college graduate, she’ll open the door to her old boyfriend and the veil will vanish from her eyes and she will see—her heart will know—that he is her one true love.
Shane is admirable in so many ways. Maggie misses his companionship, the warmth of his touch, his ardent kisses. It was a very sweet experience, having someone love her. She felt less lonely.
So on the early June evening when she opens the door of Clarice’s house to see him, Maggie gives him the biggest smile she’s got. “Shane!”
He’s come right from work. He’s wearing canvas trousers with pockets for hammers and other tools, an old tee shirt, and an unbuttoned blue-checked flannel shirt as a sweater, because the June evening is cool. His brown eyes gleam with hope. His brown hair has been brushed into a shine. His eyes adore her.
“Hey,” he says, huge and masculine, loving and shy.
All she has to do is step into his arms. Throw herself against him, hug him, kiss him, and her future is set. She could be married to him and still write. He’s always known she wants to be a writer.
It’s possible he’s the nicest man in the world. Certainly he’s in the top ten.
But her spirit doesn’t leap at the sight of the man, her heart doesn’t lift to the heavens with sheer happiness because he exists. Instead, her heart sinks. She won’t lie.
“Come in,” Maggie invites, stepping back, holding the door open, and they both know exactly what this implies. She leads him to the front room, once the parlor, now the living room.
“Nice place,” Shane says, looking around the high-ceilinged rooms with their antique molding.
Maggie waves him to one of the old-fashioned wing chairs by the fireplace. “It is. A little stodgy, perhaps.”
Shane’s like a breath of fresh air in the stuffy room. He seems a bit nervous. He clears his throat. “How’s Clarice? I heard she had an operation.”
Sitting on the wing chair across from him, Maggie has to admit to herself that Shane wins extra points for his thoughtfulness. “It’s nice of you to ask about her. She’s getting better every day. It was a hysterectomy. There’s no cancer or anything, but she’s older, and any operation makes a person tired.” The formality of the living room makes her sit up straight. “
I’ve been home for a month, but I haven’t seen anyone or gone anywhere. I’ve really been her nursemaid.”
“How’s that been?” He crosses his legs and uncrosses them, shifting on the uncomfortable chair.
“Really? Kind of cool. She’s a bit of an old bat but she’s also a massive reader. The first couple of weeks I sat by her bed and read Daphne de Maurier’s Rebecca. Just this week I finished reading some of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, and then we watched a couple of the new TV series, Elementary, where Holmes is in AA and Watson’s played by Lucy Liu. Clarice loves it.” Maggie knows she’s babbling, trying to postpone the inevitable discussion with Shane.
“That’s cool.” He leans toward her, elbows on his knees. “So you’re here for a while.”
“I am.”
He asks, almost desperately, “Won’t you have to get a job eventually? If you want to stay here on the island, I mean?”
She tries to be casual about her intention to live on the island, to live alone, or with friends or relatives, but not, ever, with Shane. “Oh, sure, I’ve got some jobs lined up already. You know I’ve always helped Greta and Artie White with their catering, but most of that isn’t until July and August. Next week I’m going to start helping Domestic Goddess open up houses for the arrival of their summer clients.”
“Good.” Shane looks heartened. “That’s a great group.”
“Yeah. And I’ll babysit, of course, especially in the evenings. Nantucket Glossy hired someone else, but we’re sharing the work. I’m glad about that, because babysitting money’s better, especially for the tourists, who tip big.” She pauses for a breath. “Shane. How are you?”
Ignoring her question, Shane asks, “So do you have any time to go out, Maggie? For a bite to eat sometime? Dinner, even lunch?”
Maggie swallows the rock in her throat. “Not yet. I’ve got to stick around the house for a few more weeks. I’d hate to be out if Clarice needed something.”
He’s quiet, as if waiting for her to say something else. Slowly, he understands what she means. “So, um, you probably don’t want me coming here often, either.”
