by Nancy Thayer
35
Barefoot, Shirley idled along the beach, stopping to toss a rock into the water or inhale the fresh salt air. Mentally, she felt like those sandpipers, running back and forth frantically at the water’s edge.
What were they looking for? Clams? Worms?
Shirley was looking for Harry.
She had awakened this Friday morning, depressed and absolutely weary, wondering how she was going to survive another date with Stan. She took an extra dose of omega-three capsules and ginseng, but her spirits wouldn’t lift. Then she phoned Nantucket to see how Polly and Faye were doing, and Polly told her she was coming back to Boston to deal with some necessary errands. Well! It seemed just logical for Shirley to hurry down to Nantucket so Faye wouldn’t be alone in that big old house. After all, it was because of Shirley that Faye was there. Although Faye insisted she felt safe by herself. And since Polly and Faye had put out the photos of Nora’s objects, the thefts had stopped. Still, it just seemed companionable, to go down to stay with Faye. She knew Marilyn couldn’t go—Marilyn’s fiancé and his best friend’s widow Fiona were arriving today from Scotland. Alice was all tied up with her granddaughter. Shirley had some paperwork to catch up on, but that could wait. She’d worked her ass off this week, and she deserved a little break.
She packed a bag, left a message on Stan’s machine, grabbed a bus down to Hyannis, and jumped on the first plane she could get to the island. She took a cab to the house, arriving in time to chat with Faye, who was dressing for an evening cruising all the openings at the various art galleries. She invited Shirley to join her, and Shirley said perhaps she’d catch up with her later, but first she needed to go to the beach. She didn’t tell Faye why she was so eager to get there. Probably the less her Hot Flash friends knew about her romantic dreams, the better.
She’d been on the beach for about an hour now, and no sign of Harry. Downhearted, she collapsed in the sand, crossing her legs yoga-style, trying to center her thoughts. It was idiotic to expect Harry to show up on the beach just because Shirley was here. He could be anywhere on the island! He could be on the moors. Or at his house. Or at another woman’s house! She hadn’t told him she’d be here this evening. They hadn’t made any plans to see each other again—although he had said he wanted to show her ’Sconset. So she wouldn’t feel too shy to phone him—but how could she phone him? She didn’t have his phone number! She didn’t even know his last name!
A burst of laughter sailed over the harbor from one of the larger sloops anchored there. Bright summer light illuminated all the people relaxing on their yachts and sailboats, drinking, talking, laughing, enjoying this golden evening. Everyone was part of a group.
Shirley slumped. She knew she was the most romantic and least realistic of the Hot Flash friends. Alice often told Shirley her thought processes were bizarre, the triumph of optimism over experience. But Shirley had found that Fate often left unexpected little presents on the pillow of her life, and after all, life itself was a gift.
So she sat on the sand, and then she walked up and down the beach until the summer sun finally began to sink toward the horizon.
The next morning, Shirley rented a bike and pedaled her way out to the moors. This time she’d packed a lunch and two bottles of water, plus a handsome little book about the wildflowers of Nantucket. Her knowledge of plants was pretty minimal, which was odd, really, since she knew so much about the various herbal remedies and supplements which came from plants. Faye sometimes called plants flora, a Latin name, an intellectual name. Shirley was going to try to become familiar enough with the flora that she could casually drop the word into one of her cocktail party conversations. She’d often felt less cultured than her Hot Flash friends, and it was never too late to change.
She didn’t hurry as she spun along the bike path. It was too hot to push herself, plus she wanted to remain near the road as long as possible, to increase the chances of seeing Harry’s red truck. But she’d biked for what seemed like hours without a sighting, and her trembling legs begged for mercy, so when she came to a dirt road leading into the moors, she got off the bike, took a big swig of water, and walked it in.
It was damned hard work! The bike did all right when the dirt was hard-packed, but occasionally she hit a patch of soft sand, and then she could barely move it. She gave up, locked the bike to the trunk of a sapling, and hiked on into the interior of the moors. The land rose and fell in a sweeping vista of greens as far as she could see. Here and there brown ribbons of road curled up and across, and she knew from a map that somewhere around here were some ponds, where she’d love to dip her exhausted feet.
It was very quiet. Occasionally a bird called or a bush rustled—she jumped, wondering if there were mice out here. But mostly the land lay still and hot under the summer sun. No trucks rumbled over the roads. Not even another biker was in sight. Every sensible person was at the beach, Shirley decided, with a rueful laugh at herself.
For a while she turned her attention to getting to know the plants. The flora. The mealy plum bearberry was easy to spot because there was so much of it. She liked the pasture thistle, standing tall and independent, with its little purple bristle like a flag. She spotted the blue-eyed grass Harry had told her about.
But she didn’t spot Harry.
Soon she felt too tired to continue, so she found a rock protruding from a carpet of velvety moss and settled on it to eat her lunch. Refreshed, she wandered up and down a hill, keeping an eye out for a pond. She felt very proud of herself, rather brave, to be out here alone like this. She had always been a city girl. Now she felt that she had some stuff to tell Marilyn that scientific Marilyn might actually find interesting.
The sun rose higher. The greenery seemed to steam. She hadn’t worn her watch, so she didn’t know what time it was when she finally decided that enough was enough. It was too hot to stay out here, and she hadn’t seen another person, and she wanted to go home to take a cool shower and a nap.
So she turned around to retrace her steps.
And realized she was lost.
She seemed to be at the bottom of a bowl. Dirt roads coiled uphill in all directions—but which one led back to her bike?
Figure it out, Shirley, she told herself. What would Marilyn do?
She’d follow her own footprints in the sand! Just like Hansel and Gretel following a trail of breadcrumbs! Relieved, Shirley began walking.
But when she came to a crossroads, she found one of those sandy patches, too deep to hold footprints, and when she inspected each path leading away from the intersection, she discovered that they all had footprints, lots of footprints.
“Damn!” Shirley stomped her foot, put her hands on her hips, and glared around. What was she going to do? Was she going to die out here, dehydrated and starved, her body turned into a weathered piece of driftwood? Why had she ever come out here alone? She was a moron! She was no Girl Scout, she’d never been a Girl Scout! She was just an idiotic recovering alcoholic with brains fried by the sun. She was just silly. She thought she’d find the one attractive man she’d met in the past year by wandering around this big empty island with her head up her ass! She should have stayed with Stan, she deserved Stan, Stan was what Fate had put on her pillow, not some gorgeous sexy outdoor guy from this island paradise. What if she couldn’t find her way out? Could she really die here? Was she the stupidest sixty-two-year-old on the planet? Yes, definitely!
Angry tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d seen enough survivor shows on television to realize she would only hasten the dehydration process by crying, so she sucked back her sobs, took another big gulp of water, which helped calm her down, and made a plan. She would climb to the top of the highest hill, which would be easy, because the hills were really tame. From there, she’d be able to spot the two main roads bordering the moors. She’d head for the Polpis Road, but just in case she was turned around, which most likely she was because she was such a dunce, she’d be glad to be on any paved road. She could find her w
ay back to town, and when Faye came back from painting, they could drive out to pick up her rented bike, which Shirley never wanted to ride again as long as she lived.
She had to pee.
Oh, good, she was going to die of dehydration, and she still had to pee. Briefly she entertained the notion of saving her pee in a cup—didn’t some survivor do that in order to have some liquid to drink to keep from dying? She decided she couldn’t go to that extreme. Behind her in a little basin was a thick cluster of evergreen shrubs. Shrubs were everywhere, actually, but Shirley eased her way through the scratchy branches until she felt she’d achieved some modicum of privacy. She eased off her gorgeous spandex biking pants, snorting at herself as she did for buying them, dreaming of becoming a jock. She squatted. A branch from a shrub scraped her bare bum.
“Ouch!” Angrily, she snapped the branch in two, then hated herself for destroying the poor plant that was just being there where it belonged.
It felt weird to have her bum exposed out here in the middle of nowhere, but it was such a relief to pee!
Something in the distance grumbled and roared. Shirley nearly leaped out of her skin. Were there coyotes on the moors? Bears? Of course not, she knew that! The noise came nearer—oh, it was a car or a truck, a vehicle driven by a human being! Shirley wanted to run out and flag it down, but she couldn’t stop peeing! She clenched her muscles, but the flow continued. What if the person drove by without seeing her? For that matter, what if the person drove by and saw her! How embarrassing would that be?
Finally, she was able to pull up her tight pants. She crashed her way out of the brush, knowing she was getting cuts and scrapes on her legs and not caring. She burst out onto the road just as the vehicle came over the hill and down toward the intersection.
It was a red pickup truck.
36
Saturday afternoon, as Polly waited for Hugh to arrive at her house, she fretted—a good, old-fashioned word, fret, capturing exactly how she felt. Irritated, peevish, nerves on edge. Much of the lace her mother-in-law had bequeathed to her, which Polly used on the Havenly Yours clothes, was fretwork. The pattern was ornamental, yet rigid—a series of small, straight bars intersecting one another at right angles. Guitar strings were pressed against frets, she recalled, and her nerves felt just like plucked strings.
Probably she should have waited until tomorrow to see Hugh. She still was tired from her trip. Friday morning had been fair and bright, but so windy the ferry bucked and shuddered, making Polly nauseous. She’d dragged her luggage with her up to the nearby bus station and taken the bus to South Station and a cab from there to her house. She hadn’t had enough energy even to go for fresh milk and groceries for herself. She took a nap, then phoned Hugh. He’d been his normal warm self. He’d agreed to stop by to see her today. Together they’d plan what to do that evening.
She’d taken a lasagna from the freezer this morning, in case they stayed in tonight. It was just after lunch, so she arranged a platter of cheese, crackers, and crisp veggies—she’d nibble on the veggies while they talked. Nerves always made her eat. Well, anything made her eat. As she moved around the kitchen, the memory of Roy Orbison moved with her. Now there was a constant and loyal companion! God, she missed him. Tears sprang to her eyes. She closed them tight and clenched her fists, willing the sorrow to retreat. She had to be upbeat, not gloomy, when she saw Hugh.
For she wanted to have it out with Hugh once and for all. She didn’t want to be like Shirley had been with her former boyfriend, Justin, pathetically eager to do anything to keep the relationship alive. She wanted marriage, a shared life. She wouldn’t press Hugh for that right away, but she did need to know whether or not that was a possibility in their future.
The doorbell chimed. She checked her reflection in the mirror—she looked good, tanned from the week on the island, feminine in her green flowered shift which set off the green of her eyes. Hugh had told her many times how beautiful her eyes were. She was glad she’d taken it easy last night; she looked rested.
“Polly.” He wore a light summer suit and carried a bottle of wine.
“Hello, Hugh.” God, those blue eyes! She kissed his lips lightly in greeting, then led him back to the sunporch. “Come in. How’s your day been so far?”
Hugh took off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar as Polly opened and poured the wine. As they chatted, she smiled to herself, thinking how, in many ways, they were already such a couple, familiar with each other’s rhythms and habits, comfortable together. When they both had their glasses, they settled on chairs across from each other.
“You look great, Polly,” Hugh told her. “Island life becomes you.”
“Thanks.” Her heart did jumping jacks. Now she could broach the subject. Or she could just let it go…. “Hugh, can we talk seriously for a moment?”
He frowned. “Sure. What’s up?”
Polly took a deep breath. “I need to know where you think our relationship is going.”
He looked puzzled. “Going? I don’t understand. Why should it go anywhere?” Lightheartedly, he waggled his eyebrows. “I rather thought we had already arrived.”
Could he truly be so clueless?
“I guess I’m talking about marriage,” Polly admitted. She looked him straight in the face.
“Oh, Polly.” He heaved a huge sigh and shook his head. “Marriage? I don’t think I’ll ever want to marry again. And why should I? It’s not like I’m going to have any more children. I wouldn’t have thought you cared about legalities and formalities.”
Polly leaned forward. “I don’t. What I care about is sharing a life. What I care about is coming first in your life.”
Hugh looked away. “I’m sorry about leaving you when your dog died.”
“That really hurt me,” Polly told him frankly.
He shifted guiltily. “I did come back, Polly. I did spend the night with you.”
“Yes, but you left because your ex-wife thought she had a bat in the house. If there were ever a time when I needed you to stay with me, it was then. And you chose to go to Carol. You’ve done this over and over again, Hugh, but when Roy died, why, that just broke my heart! You’ve told me you love me. You know I love you. But you make me feel second place, or if we include your children, even further down on your list of priorities.”
“Love doesn’t come in lists,” Hugh said quietly.
“Oh, don’t be so sanctimonious!” Polly exploded. “Of course it does. When you have to choose where to be at any given moment, it does. And you always put me last. You always drop me, no matter what we’re doing, if Carol or one of your children calls. We—”
Hugh raised a weary hand. “Polly,” he said softly, “I wish you knew how many times Carol scolded me just as you are now. Not because I was with another woman, because I never was. But because I was with my patients. Perhaps I do ‘choose’ my children or Carol over you, but if I do, it’s because I’m trying to rectify a lifetime of letting them down. I’m committed to attending all my grandchildren’s events, because I missed all those recitals and baseball games when my own children were growing up. I’m an oncology doctor, I’m on call, I have to go to my patients when they need me, and that’s often during a holiday, or in the middle of dinner, or in the middle of the night.” Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. “All I’ve wanted to do in life is to help people, and yet with those I love the most, it seems that all I do is let them down.”
“Oh, Hugh.” Polly felt nearly ill. “I didn’t mean to scold you. I didn’t realize—I hadn’t understood how things were with you and Carol and the children. What you’ve just said—well, it helps me understand your actions a little better. But still—I mean, there are other things, Hugh. Like, will I ever be part of your whole life? I mean, will you ever invite me to one of your grandchildren’s games?”
His expression gave her the answer. “I think it might upset my children. I mean, Carol is usually there.”
Polly nodded. “So I’m
always going to be sort of on the sidelines of your life.”
Hugh shook his head. “Well, Polly, I don’t know. I mean, the grandchildren will get older. Perhaps Carol will meet someone else. Things change. And really, is being ‘on the sidelines of my life’ such a dreadful place? You’re so active with your work and your friends…”
“True, but I’d like you, us, us as a couple, to be the center of my life, Hugh. I’d like us to live together. At least I’d like to know whether or not we have a future together.”
His voice was gentle. “Polly, at our age, we can’t say for sure if we’re going to wake up the next day. I don’t want to worry about the future. I want to enjoy the present. And I do enjoy it, with you. Can’t that be enough?”
Polly couldn’t prevent the tears streaming down her face. “I don’t think so, Hugh. I’m sorry. I want to come first with a man. I want to be married again. I want to share a bed and a home and a life, not exist off to the side waiting for you, always longing for more.”
“Oh, Polly.” Hugh rose and came to kneel next to her chair. He took her hands in his. “Polly, we have such fun together.”
“I know we do.” She pulled her hands away and grabbed a cocktail napkin to wipe her nose.
“Not everyone has that. And we do love each other. Just because it’s not legalized, is that any reason to throw it away?”
She smiled bitterly. “You do know how to charm a girl. But give me credit here. I haven’t been just talking about ‘legalizing’ our relationship. I’m talking about the real essence of it.” Reaching out, she stroked his warm, ruddy face. “I think what it comes down to, Hugh, is that I need to be with you more than you need to be with me.”
He caught her hand and kissed the palm. “I do need to be with you, Polly. I truly do. But I have to honor my prior commitments. That’s the kind of man I am.”
“And the kind of woman I am needs to come first. Or at least alongside.” Gently she pulled her hand away. Nothing could be said now to rectify the situation. “Hugh, I think I want you to go now.” Rising, she left the sunporch and went down the hall to the front door.
