by Nancy Thayer
Maggie’s heart stops.
Almost exactly Heather’s height, the child has curly, glossy black hair and dark blue eyes with thick black lashes.
This little girl is Ben’s child. Has to be.
She swallows, as if absorbing this knowledge: her daughter is Cameron’s child; Cameron’s daughter is Ben’s child. Are the little girls half-sisters? Cousins? Maggie’s mind reels.
“Maggie!” Emily and her daughter come through the electronic doors and walk straight toward Maggie.
The two women look at each other for a long moment, taking it all in, what has changed, and what has stayed the same.
“Maggie.” Tears spring into Emily’s eyes. “Dear Lord in heaven, it is completely fucking great to see you again.”
Maggie’s heart breaks. She takes Emily in her arms. “Emily. Oh, honey, I’m glad to see you, too.”
Emily hugs Maggie so hard she can scarcely breathe.
Serena tugs on her mother’s dress. Emily picks Serena up. “Serena, this is my oldest best friend, Mrs.— What is it, Maggie? Sorry, I only remember Tyler’s first name.”
“Madison. I’m Maggie Madison now, isn’t that cool?” Maggie takes Serena’s little hand. “Serena, you can call me Maggie.” She starts to pick up a suitcase.
“Wait, I can do that,” Emily says. “I mean, you probably shouldn’t …”
“Pick up heavy objects because I’m pregnant?” Maggie laughs.
“How far along?”
“Six months.”
“Lucky you. Where’s Heather?”
“She has a playdate today. Come on, let’s go.” Maggie leads the way out of the building. “Have you decided where you want to stay?” She tosses the question over her shoulder.
“In ’Sconset,” Emily tells her. “You’re awfully kind to offer to let us stay with you, but Serena and I love the house and the beach. It will be exactly what we need, won’t it, Serena?” She buckles her daughter into Heather’s car seat.
“How long will you be able to stay?” Maggie asks.
“I don’t know. Haven’t decided yet. I’m going day by day.” Emily looks over at Maggie as she pulls out of the parking lot. “You look fabulous. Beautiful, healthy, happy. Marriage becomes you.”
“It does,” Maggie purrs.
“Are you writing?”
“When I have time. But of course I’m busy decorating our house, and taking care of Heather, and hanging out with my mother and Clarice, oh, yes”—she smiles—“and being with Tyler every night. Life flies by.” Maggie remembers why Emily’s here. “Serena? Do you see that bag next to you? The one with the butterflies on it?”
In the rearview mirror, she watches Emily’s daughter shyly nod her head.
“Open it, sweetheart. Everything inside is for you. Presents from me and Heather.”
“Maggie. That’s really sweet.” Emily turns in her seat to help Serena unpack books, a jigsaw puzzle, and a wooden cut-out game of dress-the-princess.
“Thank you,” Serena says politely.
While Serena studies her little books, Emily says to Maggie, “You know we’ve come here now and then. In the summers, usually with my parents. Cameron didn’t like Nantucket,” she finds herself over-explaining, “so I had to find a time to sneak off with Serena.”
“And you never called?”
Emily lowers her voice. “Part of it was that I didn’t want to run into Ben.”
Maggie jerks her head toward the backseat where dark-haired Serena sits. “Yeah, I can understand why.”
Emily ignores her. “But it wasn’t only Ben. The longer I didn’t call you, the more I was afraid to call you.”
“Afraid to—”
Emily’s words rush over Maggie’s. “Listen to me. Maggie, I love this island. I’ve always loved it here. Until I met Cameron, the only place I wanted to be was on Nantucket. I thought I would live my life here. I love you, and I did love Ben. I suppose I still do. But the island, with or without you and Ben, is a wonderfully special place for me.” Observing the change in Maggie’s posture, the challenge in the lift of her old friend’s chin, she leans closer. “Listen, Maggie. This is not your island. It’s my island, too.”
When Maggie turns her head to meet Emily’s gaze, her own eyes are full of tears. “Of course it is, Emily. I know that. I want that. Why do you think I called you and told you to come here?”
Emily laughs and cries at the same time. “Oh, Maggie, sometimes I think I lost my way. All my hopes and dreams of saving the world. And when I came here to the island, sometimes I had to be by myself, to be free from other people’s needs tugging and pulling on me. I needed to walk on the beach and breathe.”
From the backseat, Serena pipes up in her sweet high voice, “Mommy, why are you crying?”
“Because I’m happy, sweetie,” Emily tells her.
“Oh. Happy tears.” Serena goes back to her book.
Maggie sniffs back her own tears. In a practical voice, the one she often uses with Heather, she informs Emily: “By the way, I have some groceries in the back for you. They should carry you through for a few days.”
“How’d you know I’d want to go to my house instead of staying with you?” Emily asks.
“Because I know you so well,” Maggie replies. “I would say I know almost everything about you, Emily, except—” Again, she tilts her head backward, toward the car seat where Emily’s daughter sits.
“Please, can we talk about everything another time?” Emily asks. “I’m exhausted. I want to walk on the beach and let the wind blow through my brain, isn’t that what we used to say? I want to eat enormous amounts of ice cream and watch the most idiotic shows television has to offer.”
“You’ll have a lot to choose from,” Maggie says wryly.
Milestone Road becomes Main Street in the small village of ’Sconset. Everywhere trees are budding, flowers are blossoming, and the sun casts shadows that dance in the breeze. As they turn the corner onto Baxter Road, Emily gasps.
“It’s lovely! Thank you, Maggie, thank you for telling me to come here!”
“It’s my pleasure,” Maggie says truthfully.
She pulls into the driveway of the Porter house, the house where Emily once dressed Maggie up for her first reporting job as a teenager. She carries bags of groceries up and into the house while Emily and Serena bring in their things. She watches Emily go around the house, raising blinds, pulling back curtains. She can tell that Emily has already gone into her Nantucket mode, into her “I-am-one-with-the-island” self; it’s a state of mind she knows well.
“Call me if you need anything,” Maggie shouts as she goes out the door.
Emily’s staring out the window at the sea. “I will, Maggie. Thanks!”
Children’s Beach is a small strip of white sand curving between the Nantucket Yacht Club and the White Elephant hotel. Tucked safely on the harbor, it allows children to play in the shallow water and watch the ferries and sailboats glide in. Behind, in a grassy field, are swing sets and a concession stand.
It’s the perfect place to play. The day is bright with strong spring sun, and the breeze is light and intermittent. The water is still too cold for the girls to swim in, but they can wade, and use buckets and spades to build sand castles.
This morning Emily phoned Maggie, asking if they could meet here this afternoon, with their daughters. Emily had been awake almost all night, yet oddly enough today she feels as refreshed as if she’d slept for eight hours. Sitting up in the wide queen-sized bed she’d once slept in with Cameron—but not often, for Cameron seldom came to the island—she tapped To Do lists on her Mac Air, lists about groceries to buy, who she should phone at Maria Mitchell about interviewing for a job, items she could have Donna, her housekeeper in Manhattan, pack up and send to her and Serena, phone calls she has to make.
This afternoon is her free time, her take-a-deep-breath-and-remember-that-life-is-good period. The afternoon glows with spring sunshine, gilding the sand and the water. Th
e moment they step out of the car, Serena takes her bucket and shovel and runs on her pink flowered flip-flops to the beach. Emily follows, her arms laden with beach chairs, a bag of snacks and bottled water, beach towels. At the far end of the small beach, two young mothers with toddlers kneel in the sand, chatting above their children’s heads.
Emily goes to the other end of the beach, sets up the deck chairs, organizes the bag, and spreads the towels. She hears Maggie calling hello. Turning, she sees her old friend approaching, wearing maternity tights and a long, loose cotton shirt, holding the hand of a little girl with blond hair and blue eyes.
“Serena,” Emily calls. “Come here a moment.”
Serena reluctantly leaves the hole she’s begun to dig. She notices a very pregnant Maggie waddling their way, and her eyes widen when she sees a girl her own age holding Maggie’s hand.
“Hi, Serena,” Maggie calls cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you again. This is my daughter, Heather.”
“Hello, Heather,” Emily says. She sinks to her knees, to be eye level with the girls, and puts a steadying arm around Serena’s waist. “This is my daughter, Serena.”
The two girls size each other up in silence. Serena wears a pink bathing suit with white polka dots. Her black hair is in pigtails held with pink ribbons. Heather wears a blue bathing suit with white polka dots and her long blond hair is tied into pigtails with blue ribbons.
Heather announces, “I’m five.”
Serena grins. “I’m five, too! Want to help me build a sand castle?”
“Sure!” Heather tugs Maggie’s hand. “Did you bring my pail?”
“Right here.” Maggie reaches into her voluminous beach bag and takes out several bright plastic beach toys.
In a flash, the two girls scurry to the edge of the water.
“Here,” Emily says to Maggie. “I’ve set up a beach chair for you.”
“Thanks. Now if you’ll allow me to hold your arm while I lower my enormous ass …” Awkwardly, Maggie manages to sit in the low beach chair, her legs stretched out in front of her.
Emily sits, too. For a few moments, they watch their daughters as they chatter away, patting sand tightly into the pails to mold for building.
“Heather’s lovely,” Emily says. “But she doesn’t look a thing like you, Maggie. I mean, her coloring is quite different.”
“You’re one to talk,” Maggie says, jerking her head in Serena’s direction. “I know Heather doesn’t look like me, but I don’t care. I adore her. She’s amazing. I’m proud of the way my mother and Clarice have dealt with it, and my friends, too. No one’s acted as if I should be shunned and live my life wearing a scarlet letter.” She shifts on her chair, arranges a strap on her shirt.
“What have you told Heather?”
“When she was very young, I told her her daddy was a man who liked to climb mountains. Then Tyler came, and she thought he was the man, and oh, my goodness, Tyler is the man. He’s legally adopted her. As far as she knows, Tyler’s her father.”
Emily squeezes Maggie’s hand. “I’m glad. You deserve this, Maggie. You deserve to be happy.”
“Oh, Emily.” Pregnancy hormones are making Maggie cry all the time.
“We’re thirsty, Mommy!” Serena yells.
Both girls come galloping up to the blanket, their bare feet spraying sand on everything as they run.
Emily hands out the bottles of water. “Do you want your snacks now?”
“Yeah,” Heather says.
“Yes, please?” Maggie reminds her daughter.
“Yes, please.”
The girls take two bites of their apple slices, then abandon them to run back to their castle.
When the children are out of earshot, Maggie whispers, “So we both have daughters who don’t share our coloring.”
Emily shifts in her chair. She knows what Maggie is getting at. Still, she hesitates. How much anger is she going to set off when she opens this particular Pandora’s box?
“Is Ben Serena’s father?” Maggie presses.
“Yes, of course.” She turns toward Maggie, puts her hand on Maggie’s arm, and speaks low and urgently. “When I married Cameron, I thought he possibly could be the father. I mean, I had sex with Cameron and with Ben in, um, the same general period of time.”
“Oh, my.” Maggie smiles ruefully. “You wild thing.”
Maggie sees the girls wave at her and Emily. She waves back cheerfully.
Emily finds a stick and digs into the sand while she talks. “Maggie, you know Ben and I had been fighting for months when he broke it off. We couldn’t agree on much of anything.” Tears suddenly fill her eyes as she remembers that time—as she remembers Ben.
“Ben has no idea about Serena?”
“No.” Summoning her courage, Emily remembers the resolution she made in the middle of last night. “I need to see Ben.”
Maggie nods. “Will you tell him about Serena?”
“Yes. I want to. I don’t know if he’ll be receptive …” She holds her breath, waiting for Maggie’s opinion.
“Emily, listen. He’s changed. He’s harder now.”
Emily puts her face in her hands. “It wasn’t only my fault.”
“I’m not saying it was. But I want to be honest. Ben loved you so much. I think he still loves you. He’s rich now, if that interests you.”
“Oh, stop that,” Emily snaps.
“He inherited Thaddeus’s farm. I inherited the Orange Street house. We made a legal trade and now Mom and Clarice live there and Ben’s at Orange Street. He’s a real estate broker now …”
“Yes, I saw his name in the newspaper.”
“He’s made a ton of money. But he’s kind of grown away from the family. He loves Heather and takes her out for ice cream or to a kiddie movie occasionally, but he doesn’t spend much time with the rest of the family. Emily, it’s like he’s tormented. Don’t interrupt. I want you to understand this. I know he broke off with you, but almost immediately”—she snaps her fingers—“you turned around and married Cameron. Wealthy Cameron. That hurt Ben’s pride, but more than that I think it truly somehow undermined his sense of what the world’s about. I believe he thinks that it really is all about money, and nothing else matters. But he isn’t finding any peace or fulfillment in that kind of life, either.”
“Maggie, I’m really sorry. Hearing this breaks my heart.” Emily wants to tell her friend how her Ben had been as steady and true as a compass pointing north. He had been a safe harbor. Her safe harbor, as unchanging as the earth, her refuge, joy, and home. Lifting her head, she bleakly asks Maggie, “Do you think he could ever forgive me?”
Maggie can read the honest emotion on her old friend’s face. She says quietly, “Why don’t you ask him?”
Emily nods. “I will.” After a moment, she asks in a low voice, “Am I terrible to be thinking of Ben this soon after Cameron’s death?”
“With a daughter who looks like Serena, how can you not think of Ben?” Maggie’s mouth quirks upward. “Look at those two. They could be you and me.”
Emily studies the two little girls busily working on their sand castle. It’s true, and it’s odd. Except that Maggie’s daughter looks like Emily, and Emily’s daughter looks like Maggie.
Maggie clutches her old friend’s arm. “Emily. Serena is Ben’s daughter. That makes her my niece. That makes Heather and Serena cousins.”
Emily’s jaw drops. “Oh, my gosh, you’re right.” She takes Maggie’s hands in her own. “You know, this, all this right here and now—it makes me feel that everything that’s happened was meant to be.”
“Yes, like destiny. Like the moment we met, a path unrolled, only we didn’t know where it was leading us.”
“Back here,” Emily tells Maggie. She enfolds her in a warm hug. “Right back here, Nantucket sisters on a beach.”
Maggie hugs Emily back. “Okay, enough. I’m going to cry.”
“Mommy!” Heather calls. “The tide’s ruining our sand castle!”
“Time to go home,” Maggie calls back. “Help me up?” she asks Emily.
Emily clutches Maggie’s upper arms and lifts. Both women stumble in the sand, laughing.
“You mommies are silly,” Heather announces with surprise.
“Yes, Heather,” Emily agrees. “We are silly. Sometimes being silly is good.”
“Well, I know that!” Heather says.
The women gather the beach things and herd their children back to the cars.
“Call me!” Maggie orders as they prepare to drive away.
“Oh, you bet I will!” Emily tells her. Her heart feels lighter, her mind buzzing with plans.
Tuesday afternoon Emily drops Serena off at Maggie’s house on Meadow View Drive, where Heather waits impatiently to play with her new friend.
“Your house is great!” Emily tells Maggie, taking a moment to glance around.
“It is,” Maggie agrees. “You’ll see it all later. Stop procrastinating. Go.”
Emily shoots a pleading look at Maggie. “Want to come with me?”
Maggie laughs. “I’m taking care of the girls, remember? Be brave, Emily. You can do this.” She wraps her arms around Emily. “Good luck.”
Emboldened by Maggie’s spontaneous warmth, by both their hopes for what could be, Emily drives into town. She parks across from the newly spiffed-up Nantucket Hotel and walks into a handsome small house now serving as a real estate office.
When the receptionist greets her, Emily asks for Ben McIntyre, proud that her voice isn’t shaking and her knees aren’t knocking together. She’s doing her best not to hyperventilate. She wears a simple summer dress, nothing too low-cut, nothing that screams “Seduction!” She was unable to leave the house without lipstick and eye makeup, though. She wants to take Ben’s breath away. He’s already taking hers, and she hasn’t even seen him.
“He’s upstairs, first right,” the receptionist informs her.
Emily walks slowly up the stairs, controlling her breathing, turns to the right, and stands in the doorway of a large bedroom transformed into an office. She sees the filing cabinets, the club chairs on either side of a small table, the fireplace mantel with photos of Heather, the long elegant chrome desk, a fresh note in this old room with its wooden floors and Greek Revival woodwork, and there, in a big leather desk chair, sits Ben.
