Island Girls

by Nancy Thayer

  Jenny rose, fetched a glass of cool water, and handed it to her mother. “It’s late. We should all go to bed.”

  “Have we covered everything?” Meg asked.

  “Not yet.” Nora held up her hand. “Where’s Justine’s necklace?”

  “I put it in a safe-deposit box.” Arden went to the rack by the back door and lifted a small key off the hook. She placed it on the table in front of Justine. “Here’s the key. You can retrieve it whenever you want it.”

  Justine shuddered. “I don’t want it. It’s tainted.”

  “Really,” Arden said flatly.

  Justine wiped her eyes. “It’s my fault, I know. I’ve admitted it. I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t done it. But we all have to move on, right? So why don’t you three girls sell it and split the proceeds. Rory gave it to me, so in a way, it’s from Rory.”

  “Kind of perverse, isn’t it?” Arden wondered aloud. “I mean, to give me the jewelry you used to get rid of me?”

  “Arden,” her mother said, touching her arm lightly. “Get over it already. Sell it and buy something nice for yourself.”

  “Yes,” Cyndi agreed. “Good idea, Nora.”

  “Fine,” Arden said.

  Nora stood up. “I’m going to bed. Tomorrow I’m going to talk to Marcia Kirkpatrick. The rest of you have work to do. You’ve got to get this house ready to sell.”

  The mothers pushed back their chairs and left the room, yawning, talking in low voices about how exhausted they were. Arden, Meg, and Jenny removed the dishes and glasses from the table, stacked the dishwasher, wiped the counters, prepared the coffeemaker for the morning.

  “Your mother did really well,” Meg told Jenny. Jenny glanced at Arden.

  Arden nodded. “She did, Jenny. It’s hard to apologize.”

  Jenny let out a long sigh of relief. “God, it’s like she’s my child. I don’t want her to embarrass herself.”

  “Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Arden said. “Tomorrow we’ll all have fresh chances to embarrass ourselves.”

  Jenny headed out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs, turning off the lights as she went. Meg went into the den to sleep, too tired to open the fold-out bed, and collapsed on the sofa in her clothes.

  Arden undressed in the living room with the lights off. Enough moonlight came through the windows for her to find her nightgown, which she’d brought down earlier in preparation for this moment. She slid it over her head, loving the sensation of silk against her skin. She settled onto one of the living room sofas, trying different pillows until she found one just the right softness for her head. She lay for a long time thinking about how she enjoyed sleeping in different places, like a cat she’d once had who sampled different places to nap: in Arden’s lingerie drawer, under the sofa, in the laundry basket. She thought about Houston, how first she would sleep in a hotel, then perhaps in a rented apartment with a brand-new bed and mattress, and then, who knew, perhaps in bed with Palmer White. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Randall Real Estate was located in a small brick building on Easy Street, facing the harbor. The door was a handsome sea blue, the window trim white, and, of course, full of photos of houses for sale.

  Nora had phoned ahead to make an appointment with Marcia at eleven o’clock, and exactly at that time, Nora strode up the brick walk and opened the door. Wanting to look businesslike but not forbidding, she wore her ecru skirt with a sleeveless white cotton shirt and all her gold jewelry.

  It took her a moment to comprehend what she saw when she stepped inside the office. An expensive wooden desk held pride of place in the center of the room, but it was surrounded by cardboard boxes.

  Marcia Kirkpatrick was working at the computer behind the desk. Today she wore a bright floral Lilly Pulitzer dress and a pink headband in her tumbling blond hair. When Nora entered, Marcia stood up. The two women eyed each other for a moment, then smiled nervously.

  “Nora.”

  “Marcia.” Nora looked around the office. “You’re moving?”

  Marcia nodded. “We only rent this space. Rory didn’t want to buy it—he didn’t much like the owner, but it’s such a great location.” She gestured to a comfortable chair. “Please. Sit. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Not yet, thanks.” Nora continued to scan the room, her brain clicking like a digital camera, summing up what she surveyed. Each opened cardboard box held color-coded files with marked tabs. The sides of the boxes were labeled clearly. More folders and piles of papers towered on Marcia’s desk, but they were stacked neatly, edges aligned. The woman was busy, but unruffled.

  “Who inherits all this?” Nora asked, gesturing with her arm to indicate the boxes, the files, the computer, the furniture.

  “Rory didn’t mention his office in his will.” Marcia slid her hand over her skirt as she returned to her own chair. “For such an excellent businessman, he was remarkably lax when it came to certain details about his own business affairs. I think he believed he would never die. Or at least not for decades.”

  “Yes, that sounds like the Rory I knew,” Nora agreed. “He probably thought he could charm even death.”

  Marcia looked down for a moment, then recovered her poise. “I’ve taken it upon myself—with Frank Boyd’s knowledge and assent—to finalize the pending sales. I’ve stopped taking listings, although Rory handled most of that. I’m packing up the office, seeing that all bills are paid, and then I’ll close it down. Our rent has been paid until October. I won’t renew the lease.”

  “What will you do when the office is closed?” Nora inquired.

  Marcia smiled. “I’ve had quite a few offers from other real estate firms for my services. I know the business, the houses, the people.” She relaxed back against her chair and sighed. “I think I’ll give myself a little vacation, first.”

  “I’ve got a proposition to make to you,” Nora said. “Two, actually.”

  “Oh?” Marcia looked skeptical.

  “You might know that I’m also a real estate broker.”

  Defensively, Marcia said, “Of course I know.”

  “My firm is based in Boston. The girls—my daughter, Arden, and her sisters, Meg and Jenny—have decided to give me the listing on the sale of the Lily Street house. The three of them will divide the proceeds from the sale.”

  Marcia waited.

  Nora continued, “I stopped by the lawyer’s office on my way here. Frank Boyd said your letters are called holographic wills, not enforceable by law unless witnessed properly. By two witnesses.”

  Marcia dropped her eyes.

  “Did anyone witness those letters?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So, as you said yesterday, you can make a scandal, if you’d like. But Frank also told me it’s common knowledge that you and Rory were more than just boss and office manager.” Nora paused. “I don’t think your threat carries much power.”

  Marcia nodded in defeat.

  “I have a proposal for you,” Nora continued. “We’d like you to represent the seller and to take the commission when the sale goes through.”

  Marcia looked up. She picked up a pencil and twirled it in her fingers, thinking.

  “The commission won’t provide you enough money to buy a house on this island,” Nora continued. “But it will be a good start.”

  “Justine agrees?” Marcia asked.

  “She does, although legally that doesn’t matter. The three girls agree. I’d better stop calling them girls, hadn’t I? Legally, they’re adults.”

  “That’s kind of them. Kind of you, to let me be the seller’s broker.” She swiveled slightly back and forth in her desk chair, thinking. “Jenny lives and works in that house, so she won’t be in a hurry to sell. That means we can price the house high and not negotiate.”

  “Do you have your broker’s license?” Nora asked.

  “Of course. Although Rory preferred to handle most of the listings and sales. He was so good at it. I�
��m better at the desk work, paperwork, that sort of thing. We were the perfect team.” Her face fell. “Professionally, at least.”

  Nora had no patience left for grieving women. Almost brusquely, she continued, “I’ve never spent much time on this island, but I’m aware of the way it’s boomed recently, with houses going for tens of millions of dollars. I’ve got a lot of clients in Boston who might be interested in a summer home here. I’d like to open a branch of my real estate agency here and hire you as the branch manager.”

  Marcia stared at Nora, speechless.

  Nora took a pen and pad out of her purse and wrote a number on it. She slid it across the desk toward Marcia. “This is what I’d pay you to work for me full time. I also would offer health insurance. No retirement benefits. I assume you’re savvy enough to work those out yourself.”

  Marcia looked at the number on the paper. She rose and walked across the room, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, staring out the window.

  Nora kept on talking. “I would want a strictly business relationship. I don’t need friends. I have friends. You have friends. I want a good office manager and someone who knows the real estate on this island from soup to nuts.”

  Marcia’s voice was unsteady. “Rory never handled anything under a million.”

  “Nor do I. Also, no rentals. Strictly top-of-the-line.” Nora paused. “I’m not doing this to be nice. You’ll find many people in Boston who’ll attest to the fact that nice is not my thing. I learned about real estate from Rory, and I’ve got to believe you’ve learned as much from him as I did. So I can trust your judgment and your capabilities. I think we could make a good deal of money with this collaboration.”

  After a moment, Marcia said, “Rory always did admire you.”

  “I’ve built up a successful real estate firm. Nothing to rival his own, but big enough. I’ve had a wonderful life with lots of friends and fabulous trips. I also have a first-rate staff. All seven people have worked under me for over fifteen years. I invite you to phone any of them and ask what it’s like. I think you’ll find the answers satisfactory.”

  “I’m sure I would.” Marcia returned to the desk. Reaching into a drawer, she took out a tissue and blew her nose. “This is an amazing opportunity for me, Nora. As I said, I’ve had offers from real estate agents all over the island. Some are good friends. But this—well, this sounds like fun. Kind of adventurous. Connecting up with an office off-island. This will open our office up to a whole new crowd.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

  Nora smiled and looked at her watch. “Why don’t I take you to lunch?”

  After breakfast, all the other women were involved in tasks and errands, so Meg pocketed her cell phone and strolled down to the beach, settling by a dune out of the wind, where she could watch the blue water of Nantucket Sound.

  “Hi,” Liam said when he answered the phone.

  “Hi,” Meg said back.

  For a moment they were quiet, just breathing together.

  Liam broke the silence. “How are you?”

  “I miss you,” Meg whispered.

  “I miss you, too. A lot.”

  They were silent again. Meg closed her eyes and leaned into the warm shoulder of the sand dune.

  “Okay,” Liam said. “No more of this or I’ll have to take a cold shower. Tell me about last night.”

  Meg opened her eyes and sat up. “Indescribable, really. Yet another one of Dad’s women showed up.” She recounted the evening, giving short shrift to Justine’s admission of guilt for taking the necklace and focusing on the shock of Marcia’s appearance and claims.

  After a moment, Liam asked, “So what happens next?”

  “We’re getting the house ready to put on the market. Technically, legally, the three of us have to stay in the house until the last day of August, but there’s no stipulation that we can’t start showing it to prospective buyers.”

  “Are you ready for that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Meg kicked off her sandals and buried her feet in the warm sand. As she looked out at the horizon, a windsurfer sailed past in a blur of color.

  “Oh, I don’t know. A lot of people get connected to their summer homes. My parents won’t move a shell or a cracked oar in our Maine house. Everything’s still where their grandparents put it. It will be like that when it’s excavated by Martians in the year 5013.”

  Meg laughed. “I have some good memories of summer here with Dad and Mom when I was about seven. That’s when Dad bought the house. Mom took me to the beach and the library and the movies, and the swings by Children’s Beach.” She smiled. “I haven’t thought about those days for a long time. They sort of got smushed into the back of my mind when Dad left Mom for Justine and everything was messy.”

  “So I’d say your feelings about the house must be mixed,” Liam summed up.

  “Pretty much,” Meg agreed. She watched a naked toddler waddle past, shrieking with giggles. A moment later, his older sister ran after him, a diaper in her hand. “But the island’s nice,” she told Liam. “I’m on the beach right now. The temperature’s perfect, not too hot, not too cold.”

  “Lucky you,” Liam said. “We’ve got low nineties on the way with ninety percent humidity.”

  Meg suggested invitingly, “Why don’t you come down here?”

  “Could I?”

  “I don’t see why not. I have to stay till the end of August, but there’s no reason I couldn’t have a guest.”

  “I’ve got a lot of work to do to get ready for the fall semester.”

  “Bring it. We’ll work together. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

  “Where would I sleep?”

  “Who says you’d sleep?” Meg felt herself blushing. She’d never been so forward, so playful, with a man.

  “Dude, I am so packing my bags right now.”

  Meg laughed, a low, intimate, satisfied laugh that came from deep in her belly.

  “Seriously,” Liam continued, “what would your sisters think? If I came down for, maybe, an entire week?”

  “I’m sure they’d be fine with it. We know we’re on the countdown stretch. Nora’s getting ready to list the house. You and I would just have to keep our papers organized so the house doesn’t look cluttered.”

  “Um, Meg. My papers? Don’t have any. I’ll just bring my laptop.”

  “Right. Of course.” Meg spoke aloud. “I’ll box up my Alcott books and notes and put the boxes back in the Volvo. That will free up space in my room.”

  “We can take our laptops to the library and work there.” Liam suggested.

  “So you’ll come down?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  Justine and Cyndi were on the second floor in the master bedroom, going through the drawers and closets.

  “Really,” Justine said, “Rory was such a dandy. Look at this! He’s got more clothes in his closet than I have in mine.”

  Cyndi lifted out several hangers with trousers clipped on them. She picked through them. “Nantucket reds. Brooks Brothers yellow. Navy blue with embroidered green whales. Madras. White flannels. Pink. Pink? Jeez, was the man gay?”

  Justine leveled a sardonic stare at Cyndi. “Really? You would ask?”

  “Well, Tom would never be caught dead in any of these.”

  “I think it’s fair to say your Tom could never fill Rory’s trousers.”

  Cyndi opened her mouth to object. This was bordering on intimate territory. But it was all too much, surreal, going through her dead ex-husband’s clothing with his widow after last night and the explosion of confessions. She found herself admitting, “I’m sorry to say you’re right.”

  Justine cooed, “Oooh, do tell.”

  Cyndi hugged the trousers to her protectively. “I don’t want to criticize Tom.”

  “Please. Who am I going to tell?”

  “It’s just that—Rory was so skillful, wasn’t he? He was so romantic.”

  “True.” Justin
e hoisted an armful of long-sleeved shirts in her arms and dumped them on the bed. “He never let it get old.”

  “He never let it get routine. He liked having sex in different places in the house.”

  “Different places everywhere,” Justine added.

  “Where’s the craziest place you ever had sex with Rory?” Cyndi asked.

  Justine slid a shirt off the hanger and began to fold it. “I’d have to think about it. Wait. What size shirt does Tom wear? He might not like the trousers, but these are some nice shirts. There are more in the drawer, still freshly ironed from the laundry.”

  Cyndi’s eyes lit up. “They might not fit Tom, but my sons are both big guys. Wow, they’d look wonderful in these shirts.” She dropped the trousers on the other side of the bed and went around to help Justine fold the shirts in a pile. “Oh, this is fabulous.”

  “I’d have to say the craziest place we ever had sex was in the shower of Senator Mantori’s house in Washington, D.C.” Justine giggled, remembering. “Rory had helped Angelo get elected, and the Mantoris invited us to stay for a night when we were in the area. It was just irresistible.”

  “Of course, for Rory, a mere bed in a senator’s house wouldn’t be sexy enough,” Cyndi said.

  “Right. The shower raised the stakes, so to speak. At least, the stake.”

  They laughed together and continued to remove shirts from hangers and fold them in a neat pile.

  “We did it on the beach at Cisco,” Cyndi reminisced dreamily. “The moon was out, we’d had champagne and oysters, the surf was rolling in slowly.… Actually, it was romantic but uncomfortable. I had scratches on my back and bum for days. I was afraid they’d get infected and I’d have to go to a doctor and they’d know what I’d done.”

  “I’m sure they’ve seen it before, and worse,” Justine said.

  “Probably. Still … Still, I suppose I’m more content with Tom. He’s more my type.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” Justine sat on the floor and began to tape the sides of a cardboard box she’d found in the attic. “Let’s put all the shirts and stuff you want to take in here. How about socks for your boys? Underwear?”