by Nancy Thayer
“But why does Ben live in the Orange Street house?”
“Ben is now—wait for it—a real estate broker. He tried working as a stockbroker for a while, but Ben will never be a desk man, and he wasn’t any good at it. He considered selling the Orange Street house, which would give him a fat chunk of money, but he needs a house of his own—he wouldn’t want to live with us at the farm, how could he bring home his thousands of women? So he got his Realtor’s license, joined a brokerage firm, and is doing quite well. He insists he’s working for the island as well as for himself, showing people places that are already built, not showing them land we all hope will be kept open.” Maggie stops to catch her breath. “Tyler, how is your mother? I know she married Clary Able and they moved off island—was it to Boston?”
“Portland. Look, I have appointments to look at some apartments, but can you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m your chauffeur for the day.”
“Could I borrow your car instead? I want to concentrate on business, and you’re interfering with my focus.”
“Can’t let that happen to an optometrist,” Maggie jokes. She’s light-headed.
Tyler drops Maggie at the farm before driving off to check out rental spaces, commercial and residential.
Maggie searches out Frances and finds her in her sewing room, embroidering.
“Mom, you’ll never believe it! I just picked up Tyler from the boat, and he’s gorgeous!”
Frances pushes her sewing glasses up onto her forehead, leans back in her chair, and closes her eyes. “Tyler Madison. Smart boy. One of your best friends. His mother and father divorced … and then they both left the island, right?”
“Right. But Tyler’s an optometrist now—”
“That’s not surprising.”
“—and he’s going to practice on the island!”
“Good for him. I’d like to see him.”
“I’ll bring him in later. He’s driving my car to some appointments. He’s picking me up for dinner at six.” Maggie clutches her hair. “You can babysit Heather, right? She’s at Kerrie’s for a playdate with Marina. Kerrie can drive her home. I’ve got to do something about my hair.”
“A change of clothes might be good, too,” Frances suggests, smiling.
In her bedroom, Maggie pauses to check herself out in the mirror. Over the past four years, she’s been too busy being what Virginia Woolf called “the essential angel of the house”—meaning doing most of the grocery shopping, caring for her baby, caring for Clarice. She’s hung out with girlfriends for fun, and she’s written a few articles for Nantucket Glossy during the summer. On winter evenings, she works on her novel. All in all, not a lifestyle requiring any sort of glamour.
She showers, washes her hair, blows it dry, taming it with hot rollers while she applies eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush, lip gloss, reminding herself that this isn’t a date, this is dinner with Tyler, an old friend. Still, she pulls on her sexiest dress, the red one that plunges low over her bosom.
When she opens the door to Tyler’s knock, he whistles. “Wow. You’re all grown up.”
“Come in. Mom wants to see you.” Maggie can tell she’s blushing at his compliment. Blushing because of Tyler? Whoa.
While Tyler and Frances and Clarice chat, Maggie waits impatiently, trying not to wriggle. Heather has been asked to spend the night at Kerrie’s. Maggie’s disappointed because she wants Tyler to see her beautiful daughter, but also rather relieved, because with one more person to drool over Tyler, they’d never escape this house and be alone.
She clears her throat. Tyler glances at his watch. “Sorry,” he says to Frances and Clarice, “I’ve made a reservation for seven.”
“Have fun,” Frances tells them, eyes twinkling.
As they walk out to Maggie’s Bronco, Tyler tosses Maggie the keys. “Thanks for loaning it to me.”
“Did you have any luck?” Maggie asks as they drive into town.
“Great luck,” Tyler tells her. “Dawn Holdgate showed me several places. I think I’ve found an excellent location for my office, on North Beach Street, within walking distance of town.”
“Which building?”
“Across from the Harbor House.”
“Oh, I know which one you mean.”
“The rent is reasonable, too.”
“Did you find an apartment?” As she drives, Maggie’s aware that Tyler’s angled in his seat so he can look at her while they talk. She can’t believe how nervous this makes her. She has to concentrate to find the restaurant she’s frequented for years.
“I found two that will work. One’s more than I wanted to pay, but it’s close to the office space.”
They park on India Street, walk to the Boarding House, and are ushered to a table in the corner. Other diners glance up as they come in, but to Maggie’s relief, no one recognizes Tyler, so she can have him all to herself.
After they order drinks, Maggie says, “Now. Tell me everything.”
His mouth (his beautiful mouth!) quirks up in a half-smile. “Which everything?”
“Any serious romances?” she asks boldly.
“One. Penelope. Three years.” He smiles wryly. “A college thing, you know.”
She asks, “Where’s Penelope now?”
“Australia.”
“Ah.” Maggie can’t help smiling. “Good place for her.”
He laughs. Does he find her attractive? Can he tell Maggie’s going wild?
“You obviously had a serious romance,” Tyler remarks.
“I did?” She’s so flustered she can’t think straight.
“Well, you have a daughter,” Tyler reminds her.
Maggie throws her head back and laughs full-heartedly. “Honestly, Tyler? It was a one-night stand. I was such a fool, but I got Heather out of it, and I’m glad. Heather is my pride and joy, sweet and smart—oh, I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“Weren’t you dating Shane Anderson?”
“I can’t believe you remember that. Yes. Yes, I did date him, and he’s a nice guy. But not the one for me. He’s married now. He and his wife have twins.”
Their meals are set before them. For a few moments they concentrate on their scallops and steak, but the mood between them changes.
Their eyes meet. Maggie feels her protective façade melt in the face of her good old friend. “Tyler? I know this is weird, but I feel kind of shy around you. You’re so handsome. I can’t believe that you’re you.”
Tyler leans back in his chair and considers her words. “Maybe I’m not the me I used to be. Actually, I hope I’m not the me I used to be. I was awfully isolated, Maggie, when I was a kid. It was hard, being such a dork. Plus, with both my parents finding other partners, having other kids … I became a real loner.”
Maggie nods. “You stopped emailing me. We lost touch.” She smiles at him. “But you’ve changed.”
“The changes didn’t take place overnight, Maggie. The eye operations were hard. Having surgery isn’t fun, wondering if you’ll be able to see normally is scary. I had a few years of real misery. Plus, braces. Damn, they hurt.”
“Could you tell me about your operations, Tyler? I’d like to hear about them. Really.”
His eyes are meltingly deep. Slowly he straightens and smiles. “Sure. I’ll tell you about them. But not tonight, not over this delicious meal. I want to enjoy myself.” He cuts off a bite of steak and chews it. “Let’s focus on you. What about your writing?”
The mood changes to a brighter, lighter tone. “Oh, Tyler, I have such fun in the summer, going to galas for Nantucket Glossy. Some summer people are snobs who don’t give a fig about the island, I know, but some are really nice. A lot of them are truly generous to the island institutions. I enjoy interviewing most of them.”
“And your novel?”
“I work on it in the off-season. But taking care of Heather has been my priority. The first couple of years I could hardly take my eyes off her. She�
��s the most beautiful, magical, darling, and fast-moving thing I’ve ever seen.” Thinking about Heather makes Maggie glow. “She is my one true love.”
“Really?” Tyler raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Really what?”
“She is your one true love?”
Maggie stirs her pasta with her fork. “You know what I mean.”
“No grown-up, male one true loves?”
Maggie deliberately takes a bite of pasta and chews, giving Tyler an insolent look. All at once she feels flirtatious. Maggie’s emotions are taking her on a carnival ride, one of those centrifugal force things; she has no idea what’s going on, but she feels as if she’s whirling around ten feet in the air. Such a mix of childish responses to this old friend, plus a tsunami of entirely new adult physical flashes.
“Maybe. Maybe I’ve had several grown-up, male one true loves,” she says mischievously.
Tyler responds by saying nothing, only staring at her with his beautiful, dark intense eyes.
“Okay, fine.” Maggie takes a sip of wine. “No, I’ve never truly been in love. Have you?”
Tyler smiles enigmatically. “Yes. For almost all my life.”
Maggie’s heart skips a beat.
Tyler leans forward. “I want to ask you something, well, personal.”
Maggie nearly stops breathing. “All right.”
“Do you still have The Official Register of Secrets?”
It takes her brain a beat or two to switch tracks. “Well, of course I do.”
His face lights up. “That’s great. But I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“I thought since you had to move from Thaddeus’s house, you might have chucked it out with any other miscellaneous junk.”
“Hey! That masterpiece? It was never junk!”
With a lopsided smile and a shrug, he says, “We were silly kids when I wrote it.”
The waitress appears, setting the bill on the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“We’re ready now.” Tyler looks at his watch. “I’d better not be late to the airport.” Pulling a credit card from his wallet, he hands it to the waitress, who goes off. He leans forward again. “Know what I’d like to do?”
Kiss me? Maggie thinks. Go to bed? Damn, she is giddy. “What?”
“I’d like to go for a nice long walk over the moors, with The Official Register of Secrets, checking out the old rocks and trees and ponds and stuff.”
“Oh.”
The waitress returns. Tyler scribbles on the credit receipt, takes his credit card, and sticks it in his wallet. “I’m coming back this Thursday. I need to start organizing my move here. How about Sunday?”
Maggie blinks. “How about Sunday what?”
“To spend a day with me on the moors? We could take a picnic.” He checks his watch, pushes back his chair, and rises.
He moves with such authority, Maggie thinks, He’s become such a man. “Lord Boulder,” she says, grinning. “Princess Pond!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sunday afternoon, Maggie and Tyler spend hours walking over the moors, checking out boulders, rocks, ponds, and trees. Tyler scarcely speaks, and Maggie, understanding his silent communion with the sacred places of his youth, respects his need for silence.
By the time they return to the car, it’s too cold to stay out any longer, and the light’s fading, so they bump over the rutted dirt lanes back to the main roads and to Tyler’s hotel room. They set out the bread, cheese, and wine left over from their picnic. Tyler moves a chair so they can both sit at the small round table while Maggie pours the wine.
“I can’t believe how many new houses there are on the island,” Tyler says.
Maggie looks at his hands, pale and long, covered with fine brown hairs. His nails are long and rounded and clean. “I don’t mind the number as much as how gigantic they are,” Maggie tells him. “And the way they’re situated on the land, as if saying, Forget about the beautiful land. Look at me! But never mind.” She taps her glass against his. “A toast. Good luck. I’m glad you’re moving back.”
Tyler smiles. “Because I respect the island?”
Something about the way he’s looking at her makes her breath catch. “Well … sure.”
“Is that the only reason?” Tyler asks, as if in jest, but Maggie believes she senses something in his eyes that assures her his question isn’t frivolous.
“Tyler, you’re confusing me,” she tells him, her voice louder than she means it to be.
“I am?”
“Yes, you are! I mean, we’re friends, and we haven’t seen each other for a long time, and here you are back again, and I don’t feel friendly at all.”
He smiles. He reaches out and takes her glass, which is a good thing, because she’s started to tremble so much she’s about to slosh wine on the rug. “How do you feel?” he asks.
“How do you feel?” she shoots back.
He sets his glass and hers on the table behind them. Then he turns his full attention on her. “Right now I feel happier than I’ve felt in years. And absolutely terrified.”
She almost bursts into tears. “I’m scared, too.”
Tyler takes her hand in his. “Then I guess you and I are going to have to go slow.”
His hand is warm and firm, his voice steady, his eyes clear and honest, his aura purely good—she wants to unbutton his flannel shirt and crawl inside and curl up next to his heart. “Yes,” she says. “I guess we should.”
But he pulls her to him and brings his mouth down onto hers. At first his kiss is tentative, a breath of warmth on her skin. She turns toward him; moving closer, she puts her hands on his chest, and Tyler groans, his arms hug her against him, his mouth searches hers, and he finds the answer he needs.
They can hardly stop kissing long enough to reach the bed. Tyler pulls her down onto it, kissing her and unbuttoning her shirt, kissing her and unzipping her jeans, while she tugs his clothes away from him.
“Oh, my God,” Tyler says, when they’re both naked. “Oh, my God, Maggie.”
Tyler’s long body is warm. He’s inside her almost instantly, and she folds her legs and arms around him to bring him tighter against her. They kiss as they move, wet, salty, sweaty kisses with strands of her hair caught in their mouths, and when they climax they hold each other as close as they can.
He collapses on top of her, and she does not loosen her arms and legs, she wants to hold him against her like this forever, his muscular chest pressing hers, his face nestled against her neck. She has so much to learn about him, she wants to roll him over and search out every detail of his skin, find his moles, what kind of hair furs his chest and crotch, and yet she doesn’t want him to move away from her, not yet.
Finally he rolls over, and she takes a huge breath.
“Was I crushing you?” he asks.
“Yes,” she murmurs.
“Should I do it again?”
“Yes, please.”
They turn toward one another, this time less frantically. They explore one another, caress and kiss one another. It’s almost unbearably exciting to Maggie, to touch this man she knew when he was a boy, to find such intimate physical joys with the friend who knows her deepest thoughts. Nothing is missing. Nothing is held back.
His kisses lap against her skin like waves. He enters her, he rocks her, he whispers the sweetest words in her ear, and soon she’s sinking, floating down. Light fades, darkness covers her, pleasure flickers against her and through her, then she rolls over and rides Tyler like a girl on a dolphin, casting her body against him, as they rise, then plunge. Her body seems to liquefy. Maggie is all ebb and flow, suds and whirlpool, salt wetness and briny surf. The gleaming treasure flickers at the seabed, golden, radiant, shimmering—she touches it, she reaches it—she merges into it, she is the gleaming treasure, lost, then found.
Afterward, they lie together. “Tyler?” The word squeaks out of her mouth, squeezed by hope and fear. “Would you like to meet Heather
?” She knows he’s aware of how important this is.
“As soon as possible,” Tyler replies. He smooths back Maggie’s hair. “Tell me. What have you told Heather about her father?”
Maggie’s shoulders squeeze up to her ears in discomfort. “She’s only a little girl. Only four years old. I haven’t had to talk seriously with her about it. I told her that her father is a traveler who hikes in the mountains on the other side of the world and never uses phones or computers. She’s not sad. She doesn’t worry about it, about not having a father. Lots of children don’t, it’s not a big deal among the children she plays with.”
“What about Ben? How often does she see him?”
“Oh, Ben.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “When Heather was a baby and a toddler, he doted on her, but as he sold more properties and made more contacts, his life changed. Now he shows up whenever it suits him, bringing some fantastically expensive toy, spending half an hour with us all on a Sunday morning, then rushing off again. But she knows she’s got an uncle. When she plays families in her doll-houses, she usually calls the man Ben. That’s better than nothing, I suppose.”
“Well, good,” Tyler says decisively. “That means there’s plenty of room for me in her life.”
Maggie smiles.
“We should go,” Tyler says after a few more peaceful moments.
“Hmm,” Maggie murmurs. “I know. I promised I’d tuck Heather in bed.”
They rise and shower—separately—before dressing and painstakingly arranging their hair and clothing to show no sign of having been tousled or touched. As Tyler drives them to the farm in his rental car, they’re quiet, holding hands, allowing the glow to continue.
Maggie leads Tyler into the living room of the farmhouse where Clarice sits in her armchair watching Frances read a storybook to Heather.
“How was dinner?” Frances’s eyes twinkle.
“Great,” Maggie replies, and can’t help grinning.
