Summer Beach Reads
Page 19
“So you’ve been traveling for a while, I hear. Where did you go?”
Abbie lit up. “I lived with a family in London.”
“Oh, I love London. It’s such a great city for walking.”
“Exactly! Sometimes on my time off, I’d just wander around the city, ogling the shopwindows, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square—”
Lily broke in. “Well, I love being on the island. It’s good enough to last a lifetime, for most people.”
“Oh, come on, Lily,” Emma scoffed. “You’re always talking about wanting to live in New York.”
“Could I ever just say something without you correcting me?” Lily snapped.
Emma began, “I wasn’t—”
Lily glared at Marina. “How long are you renting our Playhouse for?”
Marina blinked, startled by Lily’s abrupt change of subject.
“I mean,” Lily continued, almost snarling, “since you love cities so much, you’re probably bored here.”
Marina couldn’t stop herself. “Oh, Nantucket’s got lots of other … pleasures.” Her tone was gloating, and she was immediately ashamed of herself. Rattled, she rose. “Let me get dessert. Would any of you like coffee?”
Conversation was easy as they ate their meringues, centering on how Marina had baked them, and which island cookbooks were the best. Lily excused herself the moment she’d finished her dessert, explaining that she had work to do for her magazine article. Abbie took her leave shortly after, but to Marina’s surprise, Emma remained.
Emma perched on the sofa, holding her dessert plate. She’d hardly eaten all evening. Marina leaned against the kitchen counter and waited.
“How do you do it?” Emma asked quietly. “How do you recover so quickly?”
Marina answered honestly. “I haven’t recovered, Emma. I still cry myself to sleep some nights. It helps that I’ve left the place where Gerry and Dara live, where all our friends live, where every day I have to pass the stores where we shopped together, the restaurants where we ate. And where we worked … I think I miss my work as much as my husband. Ex-husband.”
“But you seem to enjoy life,” Emma said, and as she spoke, her false cheer disappeared and her eyes were full of pain. “I can’t believe I’ll ever enjoy life again.”
Marina took a deep breath. “It’s still early for you,” she said. “And I’m older than you.” She glanced out at the night, so soft and full of stars. “You know what? Let’s go for a swim.”
Emma shrugged. “My bathing suit—”
“Use one of mine.” She climbed the loft stairs, dug out her Speedo and tossed it down to Emma. She pulled on her bikini and tugged a tee shirt on over it.
It was only a few blocks from the Fox house to the Jetties beach, and as they ambled along, Marina found herself telling Emma about finding out about Gerry’s affair with Dara, about Dara telling Marina she was pregnant with Gerry’s child.
“That’s so terrible,” Emma said. “How does anybody get over something like that?”
“I guess you just do everything you can,” Marina told her. “I saw a therapist, but I have to say she wasn’t much help. My friends were all divided between Gerry and me, so they were uncomfortable if I let loose with my anger and misery. A change of scene helps. Being here helps.”
They had reached the beach. It was after ten, fully dark. All the families were gone, but here and there couples strolled along the water’s edge, holding hands and laughing as the gentle tide rinsed over their feet. From the distance, the Sankaty lighthouse winked at them.
Marina waded into the water. The night air was hot, the shallow waves cool.
“It does seem magical here,” she told Emma, who had waded in next to her. “Perhaps that’s because I’m here as a tourist, and my ex-husband and all that horrible stuff is far away.”
“Perhaps.” Emma was slowly moving deeper into the water, letting the waves lap at her fingertips, her wrists, her elbows. “As much as I love the island, being here makes me consider myself a failure. Because I failed at work and I failed at love and I have to come home.”
Marina gasped a bit as the water lapped against her rib cage. They were far from the shore now. Beneath her feet, the sand was cool and firm.
“Maybe there’s another way to think about it,” she suggested. “Perhaps you were meant to come home. Perhaps this is where you should be.”
“I want to be married,” Emma confessed, more to herself than to Marina. “I want to have children. And I want to have enough money to help my father. Perhaps I want too much.”
The waters of Nantucket Sound billowed against Marina, lifting her and dropping her with each gentle wave. Far above, the night sky glittered with stars, and in the distance, lights gleamed from boats and laughter drifted from the boats moored in the harbor. All around her the water, so blue in the day, shimmered indigo, only slightly darker than the air around them, and full of glitter.
“Tonight,” Marina told Emma, “we have all this.” She held her arms out. The last Steamship ferry was approaching, slowly gliding toward the pier, like an enormous swan.
The beach here was wide and gentle. Marina knew she could swim for a long way without coming to any danger. Next to her, Emma flipped on her back and lazily stroked along, her feet making little splashes as she kicked. She felt brave and slightly adventurous, swimming at night, and safe because Emma was next to her. For a while, Marina was a creature of the sea, she could swim forever and never drown. All her sorrows were as far away as the moon, her limbs were strong and willing, and her heart swelled and sang with the pleasure of this unfamiliar act.
She glanced over at Emma. Emma’s eyes shone as she turned onto her stomach and did a lazy crawl beside Marina.
“It’s like swimming in honey,” Marina said. “But we’re awfully far out. Let’s turn around and go back before we get too tired.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire out here,” Emma told her, but she ducked under the water and reversed direction.
They swam side by side back to the beach, and the lifting and falling waves carried them gently toward shore.
30
Abbie
When Abbie arrived at the Parker house, she found Harry in the living room, on his father’s lap, while Howell read to him.
“Abbie!” Howell’s eyes held a warm smile especially for her. “I’m going mad with this cast thing. Can’t drive anywhere. I’ve got to get out. Will you drive me and Harry somewhere?”
She laughed at his desperation. “Of course. Where would you like to go?”
Howell said softly, “Anywhere you’ll take me.”
She felt herself blushing. “I was going to take Harry out to r-i-d-e today. You could come watch. Or we could hit one of the beaches.”
“I’d love to watch Harry ride,” Howell said.
Harry began to dance up and down with excitement. “Horses! Horses!”
“Let’s get your sneakers and socks, buddy,” Abbie told the little boy. “You can’t ride barefoot.”
Abbie had already checked with her friend Shelley to be sure it was a good day for a visit. She helped Harry into his booster car seat. Howell leaned on her as she helped him negotiate his ankle into the backseat next to Harry. Her spirits were flying. As she drove out to Hummock Pond Road, she sang silly songs that made Harry giggle, and in the rearview mirror, she saw Howell’s eyes resting affectionately on her face.
They arrived at Shelley’s farm, parking behind the house in a wide dusty yard opening to a barn and a corral. Shelley came out of the barn to greet them, wearing faded blue jeans and an even more faded tee shirt. She led a white horse spotted with black and brown toward them.
“Hi, guys! Harry, meet Slappy.”
Harry was frightened now that he was faced with a real-life, head-tossing horse. He clutched his father’s hand and huddled next to him.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Howell said, bending down to reassure his son. “You can do it.”
Abbie knelt behind Harry, wrapping her arms around him and enclosing his hand in hers as he held out the carrot. The horse craned his humongous head, pulled back his lips, and snatched up the carrot with his humorous long teeth. He snorted in gratitude and tossed his head around. Harry’s eyes were wide.
Shelley laughed. “Come on, Harry. Let’s get you up on Slappy’s back. I use a western saddle for the kids so they can hold on to the pommel. I’ll keep hold of the reins.”
Abbie lifted Harry and settled him in the saddle. Harry clutched the pommel.
“Give him a pat on the neck,” Shelley instructed Harry. “Tell him he’s a good boy. He’s just like the rest of us, happy to be complimented.”
“You’re a good boy, Slappy.” Harry’s voice was flute-like and tremulous. Abbie was proud of him for not being paralyzed with fear.
“Okay, here we go.” Shelley led the horse into the corral and began to walk him around the ring.
Howell and Abbie leaned against the fence, watching.
“Look at his face,” Howell said. “He’s shining.” For a moment he rested his hand on Abbie’s back. “Thank you for this, Abbie.”
Abbie had brought her digital camera. She snapped a dozen photos. “I’ll print these off on my computer and make a couple into posters for his room.”
“God, what a good idea. You’re wonderful, Abbie.” Howell’s smile was tender. “In so many ways.”
Abbie gazed back at him, and for a moment their look was a kind of embrace.
Shelley always had patience for her horses and anyone who loved horses, and she led Slappy in circles around the ring for a good fifteen minutes. Then she helped the little boy dismount and took him into the barn to introduce him to the other two horses. She gave Harry a curry comb and showed him how to groom Slappy. Harry brushed the horse—he had to reach up to get to the animal’s side—his face tight with concentration.
Finally, Shelley said, “Okay, Harry, I’ve got some boring old paperwork waiting for me in the house.”
Abbie thanked her friend and hugged her. As they drove away from Shelley’s, Harry chattered away, reliving his moments of glory.
“Slappy liked me! He really did! He was so big! I didn’t fall off! Did you see how I went all around the circle, Dad?”
“I did. You were brave, Harry. I’m proud of you.”
“Howell,” Abbie suggested, “show Harry the pictures I snapped.” She reached into her bag and handed the camera over the seat back to Howell.
At Howell’s suggestion, Abbie drove them back into town so they could stop at the library and get horse books for Harry. Howell limped along into the adult section and checked out a few for himself. Then he settled on a bench in the Atheneum garden while Abbie took Harry to the Nantucket Pharmacy for strawberry ice cream cones. She returned to the garden, gave Howell a cone, and sat on the bench with him while Harry devoured his ice cream. Then he changed into a horse, galloping in circles over the grass.
Abbie sat next to Howell, watching, content in the shade of the crabapple tree.
“This is a perfect day,” Howell told Abbie. “Well, almost perfect. I wish I could hold your hand. I wish I could put my arm around you. It’s all I want to do—touch you.”
Abbie smiled. “I know. Me, too.”
Howell leaned back against the bench and stretched his arm out so that it was behind Abbie, just barely touching her. She almost whimpered with lust.
An older woman carrying a book bag and walking with a cane toddled past them toward another bench set under a tree. Harry galloped up to Abbie and Howell and whinnied. Abbie held out the last bit of her cone on the flat of her hand, and Harry the Horse nibbled it up, shook his head, and galloped away.
The old lady smiled at Abbie and Howell. “You have an adorable little boy.”
Abbie’s face went hot.
Howell said simply, “Thank you.”
Abbie’s heart leapt. They could be a family, Howell, Harry, and Abbie.
At the end of the afternoon, Abbie drove Harry and his father back to their house near Brant Point. She helped Harry out of the SUV while Howell negotiated his exit without banging his ankle, then she hefted the bundle of Harry’s library books and held his hand as she led him to the house. She would fix something special for dinner, she thought. Harry didn’t like vegetables, but she thought she could get him to eat carrots now, since Slappy had eaten them. She was pleased with herself for the thought, pleased with herself for giving the little boy such a special day, and she was looking forward with a kind of dreamy confidence to this evening. Harry would fall asleep easily tonight. Then she and Howell would make love.
She unlocked the door, shoved it open, and ushered Harry inside, then held it wide for Howell to limp through. As she did, something caught at the edge of her senses, something—
Howell’s wife stood at the end of the hallway. She wore white biker shorts and a crimson halter top, and her black hair swayed as she walked toward them.
“Surprise,” she said coolly.
“Mommy!” Harry ran down the hall and threw himself on his mother.
She lifted him up in her arms. “Hello, Big Guy.”
“I rode a horse and he liked me and I got an ice cream cone and—”
Howell limped past Abbie, who had come to a frozen standstill by the front door, to his wife’s side. He kissed her cheek. “You’re home early.”
“Mmm. I missed my boys.” She snuggled her son closer.
Harry chirped, “And we went to the library and I got lots of horse books and I was a horse in the garden and—”
“Would you like to go for a little swim?” Howell asked.
“No, it’s too late for that. I’ll tell you what I would like.” Sydney smiled up at her husband, a teasing expression on her face. “I’d like Abbie to take Harry off for a little evening out.” She aimed her gaze at Abbie. “Howell will give you some money. You can take Harry to eat at any restaurant you choose. Show him the big yachts along the wharves. Whatever. Keep him out for a good couple of hours, okay?”
Howell stalled. “Maybe today’s not the best day for that, Syd. I mean, Harry’s been away from the house all afternoon.”
“Well, I’ve been away from you all week,” Sydney said. “And now and then an adult’s needs come before a child’s.” She flashed a glance at Abbie. “Isn’t that right, Abbie?”
Abbie was too shaken with emotion to speak, but she managed to nod an affirmation.
Sydney bent down and set her son on the floor. “Abbie’s going to take you out for a special treat. Go on with Abbie now. Mommy and Daddy will see you later.”
Harry’s lower lip quivered. “But Mommy, I want to stay with you.”
“Harry, I’ll be with you all weekend, I promise. Run along now, Mommy and Daddy have some—work—to do.”
Harry trudged toward Abbie, his face contorted in a pout.
Abbie forced herself to squat down to the little boy’s level. “Come on, Harry, we’re going to have fun!” She was proud of the lightness of her voice. Actually, she was proud that she wasn’t bursting into tears of jealousy and rage.
Sydney leaned against Howell, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “Let’s get you off your poor ankle and settled somewhere nice and comfortable.”
Howell winced as he limped toward the living room.
“Not there,” Sydney said. “I want you upstairs.” Her voice was silky, seductive. She glanced at Abbie, who stood paralyzed in the hallway. “All right, good-bye, see you in a couple of hours. Take your time.”
Abbie had no other choice than to take Harry’s little hand and lead him out of the house.
31
Emma
When Emma woke on Sunday morning, she lay in bed listening to the birds sing in the maple t
ree just outside her window. The summer had grown hot, so she slept naked. Her old soft sheets were luxuriously smooth against her skin. Cinnamon lay purring at the foot of the bed. She stroked him with her toes. He yawned and rolled over.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee floated tantalizingly up from the kitchen. She didn’t work for Francine today, but she’d agreed to help out her friend Marcia with some landscaping work, and before that, she had her share of the housework to do. Still, she allowed herself a few more minutes to luxuriate in the sultry summer morning.
A peculiar thing was happening to her. She allowed the thought to surface like a diamond from the dark depths of her mind. She turned it from side to side, watching it flare and sparkle. She was actually glad to be back on Nantucket. No, more than that—it was as if she were getting to know the island for the first time. With Millicent Bracebridge and Spencer, she was learning and relearning Nantucket lore, and every time she walked around the town, she remembered the island’s past—the whaling captains’ brick houses, the windmill—and she remembered her own past as well.
She was oddly happy. She was enjoying her life.
And she realized, with a start, that she’d been lying here lost in her reflections for at least ten minutes, and she hadn’t thought of Duncan or Alicia or the investment firm once.
It was almost a miracle. Certainly, it was a kind of rejuvenation.
Throwing back the cotton sheet, she rose, dressed in shorts and a tee, and padded barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen. Abbie was standing in front of the refrigerator.
Emma smiled. “Good morning!”