Island Girls

by Nancy Thayer

  Arden thought perhaps Tim would invite her for dinner, or at least a drink, so she was surprised when Tim merely asked, “Would you like me to drive you home?”

  Standing on the front porch of the club, Arden was a five-minute walk from the Lily Street house, and because of Nantucket’s narrow one-way streets, a good ten-minute drive. Still, if Tim had spoken differently—if he’d said, “I’d like to drive you home”—she wouldn’t have resisted.

  “No, it’s fine,” Arden told him coolly. “I’ll walk. It’s easier. Tim, thanks for the sail. I haven’t been sailing in years, and this was a perfect day.”

  He smiled down at her. “I know. Perfect for me, too. I wish we could continue it, but I’ve got plans for tonight—not interesting plans, either, I’m sorry to say. I’ve got a customer arriving on the five o’clock ferry who’s desperate for computer help. I’ve got to get home and shower and clean up so I can spend this fabulous evening with him.”

  Arden laughed. “Poor you.” Her ego assuaged, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Another time, then.”

  “Arden.”

  She stopped.

  Tim shifted from foot to foot. “Here’s the deal. You’re a total babe. I like hanging out with you. But these days I’m kind of off women. Romantically, I mean. I’d like to take you sailing again, but …” He grimaced, unable to find the words.

  Arden took pity on him. “But no romance, right? Just friends?”

  He nodded, visibly relieved.

  “I’d enjoy a good male friend to sail with,” Arden assured him. “No worries, okay?” With a little wave, she set off walking.

  ELEVEN

  “Are you busy, Liam?”

  “Meg! I was hoping you’d call. How are you?”

  Meg laughed deep in her throat. Only someone who’d seen her heaving her heavy book bags through the dirty winter slush of Sudbury College’s campus could fully appreciate the stark contrast with her present surroundings.

  “Well, Liam, I’m sitting on a bench at the top of Steps Beach, looking out over Nantucket Sound. A ferry is coming in, and I can count at least ten sailboats drifting out in the water. One has red sails.”

  “Okay, bye now,” Liam joked.

  “I’m surrounded by wild roses. The perfume is heavenly. I’ve got a great tan. I never tan, I usually burn, but I’ve gotten into a routine. I run on the beach in the morning and walk in the evening, when it’s not so hot, when the sun’s not so direct.”

  “Sounds perfect. Are you getting any work done?”

  “Yes, O Voice of My Conscience! I work every morning alter my run. In the afternoons, I work in the library on my laptop, just to get out of the house.”

  “How’s it going with your sisters?”

  “Not as bad as I’d feared,” Meg told him. “We’re all busy, and the house is so big that we don’t get in each other’s way. Plenty of bathwater and all that. We take turns cooking dinner for the three of us most nights, and yum, the seafood here is amazing. Fresh sea bass, or tuna, or bluefish—”

  Liam groaned. “You’re killing me.”

  “Oh, Liam.” Meg pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, cuddling the phone against her ear. “Tell me how you are. How are your summer school classes?”

  “My fresh comp class is worse than usual. Our slacker student body becomes even more so in the summer. They miss half the classes and want me to give them A’s anyway. But my lit class is good. Nice kids, lots of fun. Unfortunately, the air-conditioning in the building broke and you know our windows don’t open. It’s so hot and humid it’s like teaching in a rain forest. Perfect for Heart of Darkness. I expect brightly colored macaws to fly out of the students’ hair.”

  “I remember that heat,” Meg said with real sympathy.

  “I miss trapping you in your office, Meg.” His voice was low, sweet, almost shy.

  Something sexual, something spiritual, too, sped directly through Meg’s body, catching her on a silken hook. For a moment she couldn’t speak. She shifted on the bench. “Miss you, too,” she answered brightly. “I’d better go. It’s my night to fix dinner.”

  “Don’t tell me what you’re cooking,” Liam begged. “Don’t say a word.”

  “Spaghetti with red clam sauce,” Meg told him, laughing. “What are you having?”

  Liam whined with fake pathos, “Oh, I’m sure there are some leftovers in the back of the fridge.”

  “Mmm, probably a curled-up piece of old pizza,” she teased. They said good-bye and clicked off. She felt oddly overheated in spite of the sea breeze.

  Sitting at the kitchen table that evening with Arden and Jenny, Meg said, “I think we should throw a Fourth of July party.”

  “Here at my house?” Jenny asked, shocked.

  “Yes, here at our house.” Meg looked steadily across the table at Jenny. “When will we ever have the opportunity to have a Fourth of July party on Nantucket again?”

  “But,” Jenny objected, “you don’t know anyone.”

  “Duh,” Meg said. “We’d invite them down from Boston. I’m yearning for Liam to come down here. I miss him. He’s my colleague at the college, my best friend, really. I don’t think he’s ever been to Nantucket.”

  Arden nodded. “Good idea, Meg. I could ask Serena; she’s my best friend, a lawyer in Boston. Plus,” she added, turning to Jenny, “I do know Palmer White and Tim Robinson.”

  Jenny chewed her lip. “Tim’s not exactly my friend.”

  “Well, he’s my friend,” Arden cooed suggestively. She enjoyed teasing Jenny, the spoiled princess who had it all.

  Jenny put her fork down on her plate very slowly. “Oh, really.”

  Arden smirked. “Yes. Really.”

  Jenny was clearly working to keep it together. “So you slept with him.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Arden replied silkily. “But we did go sailing and we’re going to see each other again.”

  Jenny folded her hands in her lap and gave herself a moment. “Arden. I don’t want to have Tim in m—this house. We’re not friendly.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You know?” Jenny lost all pretense of remaining poised. “Exactly what do you know?”

  Arden relented. “Nothing, honestly.” Holding up her hands, she admitted, “He just seems edgy about you. What’s the problem?”

  “I have no idea,” Jenny said.

  “You won’t even know he’s here,” Arden argued. “We’ll invite lots of people. We’ll have some guests down from Boston—we can put a couple up in the front bedroom, and there’s a pullout double bed in the den, and there’s always the living room sofa. Plus, Jenny, you must have lots of friends on the island.”

  Jenny bugged out her eyes at them. “Of course I have friends.”

  “Fab!” Arden clapped her hands. “Then let’s plan our party!”

  “Darling,” Nora said. “How’s it going down there on the sunny isle of dreams?”

  “Actually, Mom, it’s good.” Arden lay on her bed in the mermaid room, cell phone to her ear. “We’re all getting along okay, and Jenny has taken me to parties where I’ve met some very interesting people.”

  “I knew you’d meet the right people there. Anyone special?”

  “Well, there’s a guy named Palmer White—”

  “Palmer White!” Nora whooped. “Arden! Palmer White is huge. He owns everything! Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!”

  “If you’d be quiet a moment, I will. And don’t get so excited over him. Have you met the man? He’s completely conceited.”

  “That’s because he’s brilliant.”

  “Mom, listen, I’ve met several other cool people, too. Like Genevieve Beaudreau—”

  “Don’t recognize the name.”

  “She’s from Texas. I’ve had lunch with Bettina Winters, and I think she’s going to let me use—”

  “Bettina Winters? Is she married to Perry Winters?”

  “If you keep interrupting me, I’ll never finish,”
Arden snapped. Her mother huffed into the phone. “Yes. Yes, Bettina is married to Perry Winters, the drugstore mogul. They have a fabulous house down here, and about a thousand grandchildren, so she would adore, that’s her word, to have me simplify her life.”

  “Darling, that’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m excited by the idea, I have to admit. We’re going to do a series about it, because they’ve decided to build a separate guesthouse on their property for some of the family. Also, they’ve been storing bikes, wheelbarrows, and so on in the same shed where they keep their kayaks and canoes, so it’s a dream come true for before and after. I’ve got pages of notes.”

  Nora said, “I’ve got to come down sometime.”

  “Want to come for our Fourth of July party?”

  “Sweet, I can’t. I’m going to Tanglewood with friends. The 1812 Overture and all those sexy cannon explosions.”

  Arden rolled her eyes. “Right. Another time, then.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Meg! How are you?”

  “Great. Loving it here. How are you? How are the boys?”

  “I’m fine. The boys are backpacking through Europe, you know, and I haven’t heard from them for three days.”

  “I’m sure they’re okay, Mom. They’re nineteen. They’re big guys. They’re in Norway now. That’s a safe place, right?”

  Cyndi said, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Listen, I’m calling to see if you, or you and Tom, would like to come down to spend the Fourth of July on Nantucket.” Cyndi was silent.

  “In our house, of course. You’d have the master bedroom and bath all to yourselves.” Still silence.

  “We’ve decided to throw a party. We’re inviting friends down, and I thought it would be fun for you and Tom to come.”

  Finally Meg’s mother spoke, squeaking up an octave as she did when she was nervous. “The thing is, honey, ever since the boys went off to college, your stepfather and I have developed the most active social life. You would be completely shocked. We belong to a bridge club, and a book group, and a dinner club, where each month someone hosts a dinner with a theme. Like Italian food and wine, or sushi. I have to say the sushi didn’t go over very well.”

  Meg’s shoulders slumped. She’d guessed what her mother would say before she said it. Tom had never developed any kind of connection with Meg. Perhaps it was her fault. By now it shouldn’t matter. She was an adult. She didn’t need his affection. But she did want her mother’s attention and affection; she couldn’t help it, it was a deep, fierce craving. Perhaps that was why she favored Little Women so much, with the warmly maternal Marmee, who worshipped her daughters, all four of them; who spoke softly, gave moral instruction, was patient and even doting. Meg had actually wondered whether she preferred the book because the father wasn’t there, just as her own father hadn’t been there, just as, in her deepest, most selfish heart, she wished Tom had never been there to steal away her mother’s heart, to give her mother twin sons who took her devotion from Meg.

  Cyndi said, “Meg, I’m so sorry, but we’ve got a party already scheduled for the holiday. Tom will have to get back to work the next day, anyway, so we really can’t fit even an overnight trip in right now. Perhaps later in the summer?”

  “Okay, Mom. Just thought I’d check. I’ll call you again to see when a good time would be for you both. Wouldn’t you like a nice little free holiday on the island?”

  Cyndi sighed. “The truth is—I might as well admit it—I don’t think Tom would ever want to stay in Rory’s house. That’s just too—oh, I don’t know—strange.”

  “But Dad died,” Meg protested.

  “Yes, but he slept in that house. Probably in the master bedroom you’re offering us. I don’t think Tom would ever want to sleep in Rory’s bed.”

  “Okay, I get that. But there’s a pullout sofa in the den,” Meg persisted.

  “Still, it was Rory’s house. You need to be a little more sensitive, Meg, you really do.”

  Meg felt as if she’d been slapped. It took a moment for her to get her breath back. “All right, then,” she said weakly.

  “I’m sorry, Meg. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Tom has nothing to do with me,” Meg echoed.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. Honestly, Meg, I think you’re trying to pick a fight!”

  Meg forced herself to back down. “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t mean to. I just wanted to ask you and Tom down for a visit. But I can understand why you might not want to come.”

  “Thank you for that, Meg. You know how I hate being caught between Tom and you. Listen, enjoy yourself. You’ve got the opportunity to spend the summer on the island. Then you’ll be able to sell the house and have a good nest egg to buy your own house someday. The weeks will fly. We’ll see you back in Boston in no time at all.”

  “Right. Well, okay, then, say hi to the boys when you talk to them. Say hi to Tom for me, okay?”

  “Of course, Meg. Good-bye, sweetheart.”

  “Mom, how are you?”

  “Jenny. Hi, sweetie. So good to hear your voice. The question is: How are you?”

  “We’re all getting along fine,” Jenny assured her mother.

  “I’m so glad. I really hope the three of you can bond, especially now that Rory’s gone. You’re all grown up, with your own lives. The past is behind us. It would be nice for you to have stepsisters you could share things with.”

  “It’s a good thought, Mom. We’ll see how it goes. Listen, the reason I’m calling is that we’ve decided to have a Fourth of July party. The three of us together. Sort of an all-day picnic and swimming at the beach, then a cookout at home and then the fireworks at Jetties Beach. Would you like to come down?”

  “I’m delighted to hear you three are cooperating like this,” Justine said. “That’s wonderful. Let me think about it, will you? After all, Meg and Arden hold a serious grudge against me. I’m afraid I’d be the thirteenth fairy at the christening.”

  “That’s silly, Mom.”

  “I don’t think so. Are Cyndi and Nora coming?”

  “No, I think they’re busy.”

  “Mmm. Even more reason I shouldn’t come. It will be all young people. You don’t need a disconsolate old widow haunting the house.”

  “You’re hardly—”

  Justine broke in. “But I am, Jenny. I really am disconsolate. I miss Rory so much. I cry all the time. He was my soul mate. No, no, I can’t do anything social for a while. You’ve got to give me time to grieve, honey. Okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. I’m sorry you’re so sad.”

  “I’ll be fine. If you’re happy, then I’m happy. I can’t tell you how it cheers me that you and your stepsisters are getting along. I tell you what. I’ll call Murray’s Liquor and have them deliver a case each of red and white wine to your house for the party.”

  “Mom, that’s not necessary.”

  “No, but I want to do it.”

  “But, Mom, most of the guys will want beer.”

  “All right, then, I’ll have them deliver a case of beer, too.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “I want to do it. For Meg and Arden as well as for you. If you can’t drink all the wine on the Fourth, you can have it another time. Now I’ve got to go. I’m sorting through Rory’s clothing; I want to give some to the thrift shop.”

  “That must be hard,” Jenny sympathized.

  “Not really. At least not so far. Your father had so many clothes, and he hadn’t worn a lot of them for years. Those are the ones I’m tossing. I do cry a lot, of course, but I cry a lot, anyway.”

  “Take care of yourself, Mom. Go out to dinner with your friends. See a movie.”

  “I will, Jenny. I do. You, too.”

  TWELVE

  Monday night the three gathered around the kitchen table, which Meg had covered with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth. Meg served lasagna, green salad, and a buttery, garlicky bread. They dr
ank an Italian Chianti with the meal.

  “This is delicious,” Arden said, licking her lips.

  “Yummy,” Jenny agreed. Leaning back in her chair, she asked, “How’s your Alcott work going, Meg?”

  “Okay.” Meg put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, thinking. “Although I have to admit my research has got me in a slump about men.”

  “Why?” Jenny asked, tearing off a piece of garlic bread.

  “Bronson Alcott allowed his oldest daughter to work herself sick to support him while he sat on his butt thinking great philosophical thoughts that no one cared about—”

  “Meg.” Arden leveled a look across the table. “That was a zillion years ago. Times have changed.”

  “But have men?” Meg countered.

  Arden began to clear the table. Jenny stood up to help her. They worked together in silence, covering the leftover lasagna, stacking the dishwasher, wiping down the counter.

  “Aren’t men better fathers these days?” Arden clarified.

  Meg gave herself a moment to consider. “I believe Tom is a good, faithful husband to my mother. He’s a good father to his sons. He’s reliable and trustworthy.”

  “How is he as a stepfather?” Arden asked. She turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel, watching Meg and realizing she’d never thought about Tom as Meg’s stepfather before. Arden could scarcely remember the years before Gavin and Mike were born. When Arden’s parents were first divorced, Cyndi used to babysit her while Arden’s mother worked, but after the twins were born, Arden seldom was invited to Meg’s house. “As I recall, Tom was kind of distant. Boring. I mean, he didn’t ever pick me up or hug me. He didn’t even really notice me.”

  Meg folded her arms across her chest. “Interesting to hear you say that. I don’t think of Tom as my stepfather, actually. I called him that when I was in school, but I’m pretty sure he never felt any affection for me.”

  “I always thought you were treated like Cinderella in that household. After the babies were born.”

  Meg laughed. “You did? I guess you’re right. But with sickly twins, Mom needed the help, and I was crazy about those little boys when they were babies. When they got older, not so much. They were all about each other, their own exclusive club. Then I got sent to boarding school, and at first I felt hurt by that, so shoved away.… That was a couple of years after The Exile.” The lightness of laughter fell away from her face as her memories returned with their burden of sorrow. “I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. That no one wanted me.” Tears filled her eyes. “Shit, I hate remembering those days.”