by Nancy Thayer
They all settled into the car, sinking into the luxurious leather seats. As they pulled away from her house, Marilyn felt as if she were on a spaceship, leaving a planet with exceptional gravitational pull. They went through Cambridge, along Memorial Drive, and were through the Big Dig area in Boston before the tug of responsibility finally thinned.
“We didn’t pick up Alice,” Marilyn noticed suddenly.
“She’s flying down to Nantucket,” Faye told her. “She’s not thrilled about this whole thing, doesn’t want to take the boat, thinks it’s a waste of time.”
“I’m looking forward to it!” Shirley said enthusiastically. “I’ve never been on a ferry before.”
“Neither have I,” Polly said. “And isn’t it a gorgeous day for a trip!”
They all looked out the window. Along the highway, the tender tips of newly budding trees waved beneath the blue sky like flags of a brand new country.
8
Hyannis was a crowded port. Getting to the ferry and then on the ferry seemed, for a while, a lot like their normal lives—full of schedules, rules, and organization. They found a parking place in one of the lots near the Steamship Authority’s terminal, and clustered around to observe Faye putting the receipt in the zipper pocket of her purse, so one of them would remember where it was when the time came to reclaim the Mercedes. They lugged and pulled their weekend luggage along the busy street and through the lines of cars to the office, where they bought their tickets.
By the time they joined the line of fellow voyagers standing by the boat slip, the handsome white ferry was making its stately approach. It docked, releasing passengers, cars, and trucks. They handed their tickets to the attendant, tramped up the ramp onto the first deck, and up a set of metal stairs to the main deck with its scores of blue vinyl benches and white tables, all securely fastened down.
“Let’s grab a booth,” Faye suggested. “We can go out if we want sunshine, but it might be too cool to spend the entire trip outside.”
Taking Faye’s advice, they claimed a booth, dropped their bags, and climbed another flight of stairs to the top deck with its double smokestacks and rows of seats, where people were already settling, opening picnic baskets, or leaning back to soak in the sun. A male voice came over a public address system, welcoming them to the boat, advising them there was no smoking, and providing information about where to find life jackets, which freaked them all out for a moment, until they noticed that no one else was paying any attention. The boat sounded its horn three times, and with a deep satisfied rumble, pulled away from shore.
The four women stood together at the stern, watching the buildings, streets, trees, and rooftops of the mainland retreat.
“That’s the Kennedy compound,” Faye told them, pointing toward the shore, her other hand pulling her hair from her face as the wind blew it.
The houses grew smaller and farther away. Gulls swooped through the clear air. Duck couples idled placidly in the gentle swells. The ferry chugged steadily toward the horizon, until it was surrounded by Nantucket Sound, the wind furrowing the blue waters into fields of white-tipped waves. Sunlight struck sparks on the water, as if someone beneath the surface were tossing handfuls of diamonds up into the air.
One by one, the four women separated, silently going off alone to lean on the white rails, gazing out at the dancing azure waters. One by one, they felt the duties of the real world slip away, evaporating into the fresh air. The horizon was empty—almost. Far in the distance, sails cut white triangles in the blue, but for a while they saw no land, no houses, no human edifices, only the eternal expanse of sky and water, impervious to their power and their desires. They didn’t notice how their breathing deepened, how their shoulders relaxed, how their blood slowed. The blue waters were hypnotic, allowing a white ship of calm to sail through their minds.
A dog barked. A baby cried. A pack of teenage girls giggled past. The spell was broken. Faye, realizing she was slightly chilled from the breeze, hurried back down to the main deck and bought herself a cup of coffee.
Polly, Shirley, and Marilyn joined her at the booth, which, with their purses, duffels, sweaters, and scarves had become a temporary nest. The boat was in deeper waters now, and waves smashed against the ship.
Marilyn put her hand to her belly. “I think I’m getting a little motion sick.”
“Eat something,” Faye advised.
“What a good idea!” Polly bent over her duffel bag and brought out a plastic plate covered with foil. She opened it to reveal dark-chocolate fudge brownies, caramel-chip cookies, and almond macaroons. “Made them myself, just for the trip,” she told them, with a smile.
“Brilliant, Polly!” Faye exclaimed. “We don’t dock until 11:30, we won’t get to the house till after noon, by the time we get back into town for lunch, it will most likely be one or after. This will tide us over nicely.”
Munching away happily, they gazed out the window as another ferry, a cheerful white, red, and blue, passed them going in the opposite direction. Passengers waved from the upper decks.
“This is the way to travel,” Polly sighed contently. “We sit and eat while the scenery moves.”
“I can’t wait to see the house,” Shirley said.
Marilyn asked, “Have you found anyone to take Polly’s place at Havenly Yours for the summer?”
Polly nodded, her mouth full of chocolate.
Shirley answered for her. “We think Rosa, one of the seamstresses, can do the job. She’s smart enough, works well with the other women, and seems comfortable with authority.”
“I’ve left her in charge before,” Polly continued. “Some days I couldn’t make it in for one reason or another, and Rosa has always kept things running smoothly. Shirley and I have spoken with her, and told her she’s getting a raise and will get another one after the summer, if all goes well.”
“Plus, there’s always the cell phone,” Shirley added. “Faye, how does Aubrey feel about you spending time on Nantucket this summer?”
Faye grimaced. “To be honest, he’s become a bit of an old crab. His shoulder isn’t healing as quickly as he’d like, and now that he’s moved back to his own apartment, I’m not there to fetch and carry for him at the drop of a hat.” She stopped, looking startled. “Gosh, that sounded bitchy!”
“You’re allowed,” Shirley assured her.
Faye made a face. “Well, I feel guilty, but by the way, I’m not the only reason his bursitis is acting up. He admitted that earlier that day he’d gone golfing with a friend and it bothered him then. I was just the straw—let me rephrase that. I was just the elephant that broke the camel’s back.”
“You’re not an elephant!” Polly argued.
“Thanks, Polly.” Faye squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how quickly we fall back into the role of Florence Nightingale/Mama. I loved being a nurturer when my daughter was young, but I was younger then. I had more energy, more stamina. I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my life nurturing Aubrey. Does that sound wicked of me?”
“Not at all,” Marilyn assured her.
Faye folded her paper napkin into intricate patterns. “Aubrey has begun to talk about marriage.”
“Oh, Faye!” Shirley, ever romantic, sighed at the fairy tale word.
Faye smiled ruefully. “I’m not sure I want to marry him. I’m not even sure I want to live with him. I like my new little house. Now that I’ve gotten used to it, I like my independence. If I married Aubrey, we’d have to buy a new house and compromise on everything. Aubrey’s apartment is overwhelming, in a gentleman’s smoking room sort of way, all dark wood and Remington statues of cowboys.”
“Goodness, Ian and I haven’t even considered décor.” Marilyn looked alarmed.
“That’s because it doesn’t matter to you,” Faye told her. “Which is fine for both of you. And it’s only one part of the equation of marriage. For example, as much as I love Aubrey’s company, there are nights when all I really want to do is set
tle down on the sofa with a thick novel and a bowl of popcorn.” Looking at healthy Shirley, she added, “Finished off with a crisp apple.”
Shirley weighed in, her face earnest. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who loved you to rub your feet? Who brought you chicken noodle soup and ginger ale when you were sick? Who cheered you up at the end of a long day?”
“Is that what you want, Shirley?” Faye asked. “You could have that, if you married Stan.”
Shirley’s face fell. She stuck her lower lip out in a little pout. “That’s mean, Faye.”
“Why? I don’t mean to be mean!”
Shirley heaved an enormous sigh. “It’s not like Stan and I are anywhere close to talking marriage. I’m not even sure that we’re seeing each other exclusively.”
“Have you slept together yet?” Marilyn asked.
Shirley leaned her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.
“That bad, huh?” Polly’s voice was gentle.
“Not bad,” Shirley amended. “Just not wonderful. It’s kind of like he’s operating on a timetable. One compliment, two kisses, three touches, in, out, and we’re done!”
“But he could still bring you chicken noodle soup,” Faye said. “Or rub your feet. He would be company. You wouldn’t feel alone.”
Shirley lifted her head and with her fingertips, pulled down the skin beneath her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Everyone laughed.
“Where’s the romance?” Shirley demanded. “That’s what I want to know!”
“Maybe we’re too old for romance,” Polly suggested.
“Oh, easy for you to say, when you’ve got wonderful Hugh in your life,” Shirley huffed, leaning back in the booth and folding her arms over her chest.
“It’s not all romantic, believe me,” Polly retorted. “Sometimes it is, yes, that’s true. Hugh’s a wonderful lover. And he’s so imaginative and playful. When we go off on trips together, we have a spectacular time! But daily life is—challenging. For example, once again, this year we didn’t spend Valentine’s Day together, because his daughter had one of her intimate family dinners. His children and grandchildren always come first for him, and since they always include his ex-wife, they never invite me. That leaves me alone a lot, and that makes me fret and fume and stomp around feeling rejected.”
“And anger gets in the way of romance,” Faye said quietly.
“You bet it does!” Polly agreed.
“We know too much,” Marilyn said musingly. “We’ve lived long enough to lose patience with Cinderella stories. I think romance belongs to the young and foolish.”
“Well, hey, I’m old and foolish!” Shirley joked, a hopeful note in her voice.
“Look!” Faye interrupted the conversation, leaning toward the window, pointing. “Land!”
“Ahoy, matey,” Polly cried. “Let’s go up on deck!
“Here.” Shirley took out a tube of sunscreen and passed it around.
“Shirley, it’s only May,” Marilyn said.
“Yes, and the sun is strong, and even stronger when you’re near water.”
So as the four leaned on the railing, watching the island come closer, the scent of citrus and coconut drifted around them, waking up little brain cells that had been snoozing for years. There were no palm trees on Nantucket, but there were long expanses of sand, and dozens of boats bobbing in the harbor, and a stubby little lighthouse nestled on a point. Gliding past it, the ferry entered the harbor, its engines churning slowly, and they saw the town rise before them in shades of gray and lilac and white. Gold gleamed from a church steeple and spring buds filigreed the scene in pale green.
“It’s beautiful!” Polly breathed. “It’s like another world!” Grabbing Shirley, she hugged her. “Thank you!”
As they watched, the ferry rumbled into its slip. Chains clanked as the ramps were dropped and fastened, and the boat dipped and rose as cars and trucks roared to life and filed out onto land.
“Time to go!” Faye said.
They grabbed their bags, clattered down the metal stairs, and joined the line of passengers disembarking.
And then, there they were, on Nantucket.
9
They scouted the area for Kezia Jones, Nora Salter’s caretaker, who had said she’d meet them at the boat.
“Maybe she’s over by the luggage racks,” Faye suggested.
They followed the crowds across the parking lot to the blue baggage wagons parked near the pay telephones and taxis. Various individuals approached, then passed on to greet someone else. After ten minutes, most of the crowd had dissipated, everyone else off in a car or cab to enjoy the beautiful day. The four friends stood on the dock, backpacks and duffel bags in hand, looking around.
“She said she’d be here,” Shirley murmured hopefully.
“Do you have her cell phone number?” Polly asked.
Shirley was digging through her purse when they heard a squeal, and around the corner zoomed a huge silver SUV. It braked to a halt next to them.
Out jumped a slender young woman. Her black hair swung in a high ponytail, her eyes were a dazzling dark blue, her nose and cheeks were sunburned, and her smile was infectious. She wore old leather work boots, shorts, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a long-billed scalloper’s cap.
“Hi, guys! Are you Nora’s friends? I’m Kezia! Sorry I’m late! Everything seems to take just a bit longer now that Joe’s in my life.” She nodded over her shoulder.
The women peered in the SUV’s window. Happily ensconced in a car seat was the world’s cutest baby, gnawing on a blue vinyl teething ring. Seeing the women’s faces, he shrieked with glee and offered it to them.
While the women cooed at Joe, Kezia opened the back of her gigantic vehicle and began putting in the luggage. Her long legs were tanned and supple, and she swung the bags up as if they weighed no more than a flea.
“Can you all squash in?” she inquired. “Sorry, but Joe’s seat takes up a lot of room.”
“We can manage,” Faye affirmed. “Polly, you sit up front. Shirley or Marilyn can sit on my lap. It’s just a short ride, right, Kezia?”
“Right!” She slammed the hatch shut and jumped into the driver’s seat. While the older women got themselves in and adjusted, she turned to the backseat to flirt with her little son. “Who’s Mr. Cutie Pie?” Her baby chuckled, blew bubbles, and waved. “Ready? All hands on deck?” With a flip of her ponytail, Kezia faced front and put the car in gear.
In a matter of seconds, they were bouncing over the uneven cobblestones on South Water and Main Streets.
“Did you have a good trip?” Kezia called over her shoulder. They scarcely had time to respond when she said, “I’ll bet you did. It’s such a great day. You’ll probably find it a little cooler here than in Boston. We’re always cooler here in the spring, but warmer in the fall. You guys’ll want to get outside today, it’s just so gorgeous. Sometimes we get lots of wind and rain in the spring. We’ll probably still get some crazy weather in June, but today is heaven. B.J.—that’s my husband, Big Joe—B.J. works construction and his crew’s getting a pantload of stuff done with weather like this. He’s actually ahead of time!”
As Kezia chattered away, the older women stared out the windows at Main Street, with its charming brick storefronts. The windows displayed gorgeous clothing and needlepoint and furniture. The window boxes shimmered with daffodils, lilacs, and tulips. Then the SUV turned up Orange Street and with breathtaking insouciance, Kezia steered her huge vehicle into the narrowest driveway in the universe.
They clambered out of the car and found themselves in front of a tall, gray-shingled house, with white trim and a neat blue front door that had a brass knocker shaped like a mermaid.
“Good grief!” Shirley looked up and down the narrow street. “These houses all look alike!”
“Many of them do,” Kezia agreed, opening the hatch and hauling out the luggage as she talked. “We’re in the Historic District, so most of these houses were built over a
hundred and fifty years ago, when the Quaker Society of Friends was centered here. To them, simplicity and plainness were virtues. But don’t worry, you’ll find plenty of ostentatious homes.” Tossing all the luggage over her shoulders, she strode up the sidewalk, up the wooden steps to the small front porch, and jangled a set of keys.
“Here you are, guys!” With a flourish, she gestured to the open door.
They hurried up the steps and through the door.
“I won’t come in with you,” Kezia said. “Too much bother getting His Highness out of his throne and all that. But here’s a set of keys to Nora’s house.” She handed them to Shirley. “Now if you want to make copies, go ahead, but remember, we’re already having some theft in this house and you don’t want to go making keys and losing them all over the island for everyone else to find.”
“We’ll be careful,” Shirley promised.
Kezia smiled. She had a gorgeous smile, as wholehearted and carefree as her son’s. “Okay. If you need anything, my phone number’s on the notepad by the phone. If you have any problems with the house, call me. ’Bye, guys!” With that, she sprinted down the front steps and back into her SUV. She leaned over the seat to give her baby a big kiss, then put the car in gear and roared away.
“What a little powerhouse!” Faye said.
“What I wouldn’t give for a fraction of that energy,” Polly murmured.
“Hey, guys!” Shirley bounced up and down, pretending she was Kezia. “Want to see the house?”
Like kids released from school, they raced off in all directions. Inside, the house was larger than it looked from the street. All the rooms—front parlor, back parlor, dining room, den—were floored with gleaming wide boards. All but the kitchen had fireplaces.
Upstairs were five bedrooms, each with a fireplace, and two bathrooms, one with a claw-foot bathtub and wooden floor, and a newer one, built out on an ell, with ceramic tile and a shower. Stairs at the back of the house led to the second floor and on to the attic, where another bathroom and several more bedrooms were squeezed beneath the eaves. Another set of stairs led down to a dark, uninviting basement. The walls were brick, and from the ceiling beams, bare lightbulbs hung down like the tubers of tulips and daffodils, giving the basement a very underground ambience.
