by Nancy Thayer
His voice was serious. She glanced up.
“I want to have children with you.”
She swallowed her cracker, putting her hand to her throat, where her pulse suddenly fluttered like a bird taking wing.
“I want to have children with you right away.” One side of his mouth quirked upward in a sexy smile. “Because you, Meg, are so very, very old.”
She grinned helplessly at the way he’d turned the age difference around.
Terrified and courageous, she asked, “Liam—are you proposing?”
His voice trembled slightly. “I’ll do it again, formally, on my knee, ring in hand.”
Meg looked around the busy restaurant. “Perhaps not on your knee.”
Liam sighed with relief. “Good call.” Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a black velvet box. He handed it to Meg. Opening it, she saw a large diamond in an antique platinum setting.
“It was my grandmother’s,” Liam told her. “Shall I put it on your hand?”
Meg blinked back tears. “I feel like a Roman candle.”
Liam smiled triumphantly. “I feel like a match.”
“Oh,” Meg said in a long blissful sigh.
Liam slid the ring onto her finger. It was slightly too large, but she kept it on, turning it this way and that, watching it flash flares of light.
——
Later that night, Meg and Liam returned to the Lily Street house, slightly giddy with happiness and hope. Meg showed her ring to Jenny and Arden. Jenny promptly burst into tears, and Arden discovered one last bottle of champagne for them to share in celebration.
So Liam was exhausted and a bit hungover the next day as Meg drove him out to the airport to catch his flight back to Boston. Meg would join him in a week, when the Nantucket house was closed. They both had heavy fall teaching schedules. Liam was putting together another book of poems. And they had a wedding to plan.
The week brought more change. Palmer flew back to Boston, promising he’d meet Arden’s plane when she arrived and sit down with her to hash out the details of her Houston contract—and Arden would let him know whether she’d decided to take Zoey with her or not. She couldn’t leave Ernest and Channel Six in the lurch; they would all have to meet to strategize the next season of the show. She’d filmed enough on the island to keep them going for a few months. Arden could foresee a lot of travel between Houston and Boston in her future.
Invitations to parties diminished, then disappeared as families closed up their houses. Tim and Jenny rushed to complete projects for their off-island clients. Time, which had stretched in a golden dream during the summer, suddenly shook itself briskly, as hurricanes boiled and blustered off the southern coasts. Fresh air gusted over the island, carrying the electric energy of change.
The cupboards at the Lily Street house began to empty. No more jars of capers, bluefish pâté, beach plum jam. No more wine in the rack, no more champagne and Prosecco in the refrigerator door. The bowl that had held lemons and limes was washed and put away. The three agreed to spend one day washing beach towels and bedsheets and going through the house choosing any objects they might want to keep.
Three days before September first, Arden, Meg, and Jenny lounged around the kitchen table, reluctant to finish their coffee and begin packing. They were all wearing shorts, flip-flops, tank tops. The heat remained intense.
Arden had pulled her auburn hair back with clips so it wouldn’t get in her face. She wrapped an ice cube in a paper towel and dabbed it on her wrists as she talked.
“Jenny. Meg and I have been talking.”
Jenny quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“According to Marcia Kirkpatrick, there are several clients poised to make an offer on this house. So you’re going to have to find another place to live.”
“Wait,” Jenny said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize that.”
Arden ignored Jenny’s tone. “So here’s what Meg and I thought: I’m going to be in Houston, and it’s going to be damned hot there in the summer. Meg enjoys it here in the summer and would love to have a place to come with Liam. The three of us should each get a nice big pile of money from the sale of the house, at least six hundred thousand. So Meg and I think that we should buy another house with you, or part of another house. We’ve agreed on the sum of two hundred thousand each. That would add four hundred thousand to the amount you could put toward a house on the island. That means you’d be able to buy a bigger house—which you’d have to, because it would need to have at least two guest bedrooms, one for Meg and one for me, for when we come in the summer.”
“Perhaps at Christmas, too,” Meg added. “I’ve never been here for the Christmas Stroll.”
Jenny had turned white. Softly, she said, “You two want to buy a house with me?”
“Um, yeah,” Arden said. “I think that’s what I just said.” Jenny began to cry.
Alarmed, Meg said, “Well, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It was just an idea. We can always rent a place, or, gosh, we don’t even have to come here—”
Arden said to Meg, “I think Jenny’s happy.”
Jenny nodded yes and made blubbering noises. After a moment, she repeated, “You guys want to buy a house with me.”
Arden spoke with precision, as if to someone slightly deaf. “Yes, Jenny, Meg and I want to buy a house with you. Or at least part of a house. We’d also agree to help with taxes and upkeep. We can have a lawyer work out the details.”
“This is wonderful,” Jenny said, wiping her eyes. “I never dreamed … I always wanted … So we’ll be spending time with each other, as if, as if, as if …” She stalled, unable to pronounce the words.
“As if we’re part of a family,” Meg articulated.
Jenny burbled, “I love you guys.”
Arden sniffed. “Love you, too.”
Meg had tears in her own eyes. Reaching over, she took Jenny’s hand. “We’re island girls,” she said.
THIRTY
Drop a coin in the water as you leave the island, the saying goes, and you’re sure to return. The first day of September was as sunny, hot, and bright as the last day of August, but on the island everything had already switched seasons. After her many years of living on Nantucket, Jenny was accustomed to this, but this day resonated deeply within her like the rings circling out from the pennies dropped into the water by the tourists leaving on the ferry.
She and Meg had driven Arden to the airport for her plane to Boston. Now Jenny stood on the dock at the Steamship Authority, watching as Meg drove the Volvo up the ramp into the great white ferry.
Meg paused at the top of the ramp, leaned out the window, and waved one last time at Jenny. Jenny waved back.
Meg steered the car into the hold of the ship, and for Jenny the summer was over.
Still, she stayed until all the cars were loaded and the huge groaning boarding ramp was raised and locked to the stern. Meg came out onto the upper deck, peered over, spotted Jenny among the others, and waved to her. Jenny waved back. Meg blew Jenny a kiss. Jenny blew a kiss back and cried a bit, but the tears were more sweet than bitter.
The vessel churned, hummed, and pulled away from the dock. Slowly it made its way toward Brant Point and around that significant landmark, and soon it was out of sight.
Jenny slowly walked home. The morning was too enchanting for weeping. Birds chirped and swooped from tree to bush. Honeysuckle spilled sweetness as it frothed over white picket fences. The low mutter of lawn mowers drifted through the air, carrying the fragrance of cut green grass. The sun was hot on her shoulders. She let her thoughts float free. When she got home, she would sit down with a fresh cup of coffee and consider the day ahead.
She was going to live in the house until it sold. Until papers were passed and checks cut and the closing carried out at the bank. She dreaded entering the house again. It would seem so empty—it would be so empty. Meg and Arden had left, and so had her mother. So had her father. Her father, who had, in his own way, given Jenny her sister
s.
Perhaps it was thinking about her father that made her hallucinate a man sitting on the front porch of the house. She stopped dead at the end of the sidewalk, lifting her sunglasses to get a clearer view.
A man. Wearing a suit. But not her father, because he didn’t have Rory’s thick silver hair—
But her father, after all. William Chivers rose from the wicker chair and stiffly waved at Jenny.
“Hello,” she called, hurrying up the walk. “What a surprise.”
“I intended it to be.” His smile made him look almost handsome, in spite of his white-fringed chrome dome and wrinkled forehead.
He held out his hand, but Jenny bypassed it and gave him a quick, light hug. “I’m so glad to see you. Come in. Would you like some coffee? The door was unlocked, by the way. We seldom lock our doors here. I could make iced coffee. We could sit out in the backyard, it’s very shady with all the trees—” She laughed out loud. “I know I’m babbling, but I can’t believe you’re here!”
William Chivers followed her into the kitchen, where he told her he’d prefer lemonade. Jenny filled two glasses and carried them out the back and down the steps to the wooden lawn chairs.
“Look,” she whispered, pointing to a birdbath at the far end of the garden. “Meg suggested we get it. I don’t know why I never bought one before. It’s such a pleasure to watch the birds drinking and bathing. Look at the fellow—what is it? I think it’s a house finch—splashing away so happily.”
“Do I make you nervous?” Chivers asked in a gentle voice.
“What? No, no. It’s just so surprising to see you. And I’m all over the place emotionally. We’ve got the house up for sale, and I’m going to have to move out, and the summer has been one bombshell after another.…” She put her hand on her chest and inhaled. “I’m sorry if I seem nervous. I’m glad to see you. I guess I’m just so surprised.”
“Take another deep breath,” Chivers told her. “I speak in my professional capacity as a physician.”
Jenny cocked her head quizzically. “Um, okay.”
“Jenny,” Chivers said, “I bought the house. I bought this house.” Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a stiff piece of paper and held it out to her. “For you.”
Jenny stared.
“This is the deed,” Chivers continued, still holding the paper out for her to take. “The house is now in your name.”
Jenny took the paper, unfolded it, and read it. She raised her eyes to William Chivers’s face. “I don’t understand. Why would you do this?”
“Because I can.” Leaning back, Chivers crossed one slim, elegant leg over the other. He couldn’t stop smiling. He seemed pleased with himself.
Jenny said, “But this house cost so much!”
“True. But if, for example, I’d known about you when you were born, I would have supported you financially your whole life. In a way, I’m making up for all the lost time.”
“Won’t your”—Jenny stumbled over her words; she almost said “your real children” but caught herself in time—“other children be upset that you’ve given away so much money? Two million dollars?”
“They have plenty of money,” William Chivers assured her. “And, Jenny, they know about you now. They’d like to meet you.”
“This is overwhelming,” Jenny gasped. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s only money,” William Chivers told her quietly. “It’s only, after all, a house. I would trade all my money to get back the years I missed when you were growing up. You are my first child. I would have liked to have held you when you were born. Look at you, how fetching you are, like your mother, and I can tell you have a superior mind. Your college graduation—I’ve missed it all.”
Jenny bit her lip to stop it quivering. “I’m slightly on overload.”
“This money, this house, isn’t meant to be a bribe,” William Chivers continued. “I mean, I’m not trying to buy my way into your life. But I would like to see you in the future. I’d like to introduce you to my son and my daughter. I’d like to meet Meg and Arden.”
Jenny nodded, robotically, still stunned.
“Drink your lemonade, Jenny,” William Chivers told her.
She picked up her glass and drank. The tart, sugary cold braced her, revitalized her.
“I’m acting like an idiot,” she said. “I want to say thank you—but it’s almost unbelievable.”
“You’re perhaps a bit in shock, yes,” he agreed. “Drink more lemonade.”
She drank more lemonade. They sat together in silence for a few minutes.
“You know,” she said, “Meg and Arden have offered to help me buy a new house. With part of their share of the money they’ll get from the sale of this house.”
“Which you arranged for them to inherit,” William Chivers reminded her.
“But they don’t know that.” Jenny leaned toward William Chivers. “That’s the important thing, don’t you see, the essential thing. They have no idea I was involved with the stipulation. All on their own, because we did get along so well this summer, they decided they want to buy a house with me, so they can come here in the summer. So we can all be together.”
“Do you think they’ll be jealous when they find out I’ve bought the house for you?” William Chivers asked. “Do you think they’ll be angry?”
Jenny slid lower into her seat and let her eyes travel around the yard, taking in the birdbath, the privet hedge, the cheerful petunias and hardy phlox still blooming away in spite of the heat.
Jenny smiled. “They’ll be happy for me. For all of us. We’ll use their money to put an addition on the house, so they’ll have bigger rooms, for when they’re married and have children.”
William Chivers nodded. “Yes. You now have a world of possibilities.”
Jenny inhaled deeply. She smiled gratefully at William Chivers. “Thanks to you.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “In many ways, thanks to me. But also, thanks to Rory Randall.”
THIRTY-ONE
Justine was watering her houseplants after her short time away when someone knocked on the door. Surprised, she looked at her watch. It was late afternoon, almost time for a relaxing drink. Carrying her watering can to the door, she went down the hall. She opened the door.
William Chivers stood there, in a seersucker summer suit and a snowy white shirt. His head was bald except for a fringe of white hair, but his brown eyes were as warm as they had been so long ago.
He said, “Justine.”
For Linda Marrow
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am fortunate and extremely grateful to work with the superlative team at Ballantine. I send my sincere thanks to my editor, the peerless Linda Marrow, and to Libby McGuire, Gina Centrello, Junessa Viloria, Dana Isaacson, Kim Hovey, Quinne Rogers, Alison Masciovecchio, Mark LaFlaur, and Penelope Haynes.
My gratitude once again goes out to the true blue island girl Meg Ruley, my excellent agent. Also I thank Peggy Gordijn, Christina Hogrebe, and everyone at the Jane Rotrosen Agency.
Finally, a brief explanation: I realize that in my novels women meet wonderful men on Nantucket. Honestly, this is simply a matter of fiction imitating fact. Thirty years ago I came to Nantucket to visit a friend. She introduced me to Charley Walters. We’ve been married for more than twenty-eight years, some of them relatively challenging, pun intended. Charley is my constant inspiration for all good men. He is my companion, my champion, my cavalier, and the steady center of my soul. Thank you, Charley.
Maybe everyone should be an island girl, at least once.
BY NANCY THAYER
Island Girls
Summer Breeze
Heat Wave
Beachcombers
Summer House
Moon Shell Beach
The Hot Flash Club Chills Out
Hot Flash Holidays
The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again
The Hot Flash Club
Custody
Between Husbands and Friends
An Act of Love
Belonging
Family Secrets
Everlasting
My Dearest Friend
Spirit Lost
Morning
Nell
Bodies and Souls
Three Women at the Water’s Edge
Stepping
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NANCY THAYER is the New York Times bestselling author of Summer Breeze, Heat Wave, Beachcombers, Summer House, Moon Shell Beach, and The Hot Flash Club. She lives in Nantucket.
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