Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  Marina held up the pitcher. “Would you like some sangria?”

  Lily’s father’s expression was skeptical. “Um, what’s in it?”

  “Red wine, a little brandy, a little club soda, and lots of healthy fruit.” Marina leaned against the kitchen counter as she talked, as if she were offering herself as well as the drink.

  “I think I’d rather have a beer.” Jim reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a Heineken. “Okay, ladies, see you later.” He took off for the upstairs and his shower.

  “You seem very chummy with my father,” Lily said.

  “Oh, well—” Marina began to reply but stopped when Emma swept into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Lily, how’s it going? Oh, wow, Marina, that smells fabulous!”

  “Paella,” Marina told her. “And—” she held up the pitcher triumphantly. “Sangria.”

  “You are the best,” Emma said. “And man, do I need a drink.” She took the glass Marina offered and plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. After a long sip, she said, “I need your advice on something.”

  Lily’s eyes went back and forth between her sister and this strange woman who seemed to have enchanted everyone. Why would Emma need advice from Marina? Why didn’t she ask Lily? Lily was family!

  Marina poured herself a drink and sat down at the table. “Shoot.”

  Lily sat down, too.

  “You’re making a lightship basket with Sheila Lester, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, you know I’m reading every afternoon to Millicent Bracebridge.”

  “Yes, you’ve spoken about her a lot. And also about her grandson, Spencer.” Marina waggled her eyebrows teasingly.

  What the hell! Lily thought. When did Emma tell Marina all this?

  “You know Millicent has a lot of valuable Nantucket heirlooms. Oil paintings. Sailor’s valentines. And seven lightship baskets, very old, probably by José Reyes, probably worth thousands of dollars. I mean each one. She has them arranged according to size on the windowsill in her living room.”

  “I’m with you so far,” Marina said.

  “Well, today while I was reading, I glanced at the collection and it seems to me, no, I’m sure of it—five of the baskets have been exchanged. Five of them are lighter than the others.”

  “Have you asked Millicent about them?”

  “No. No, I haven’t for several reasons. For one thing, she has macular degeneration, so she wouldn’t have noticed the change. For another, she treasures all her Nantucket antiques, and I’m sure she’d never sell them or give them away. I think someone is stealing them and replacing them with cheap reproductions.”

  “That’s a pretty serious accusation,” Marina said. “Do you have any idea who’s doing it?”

  Emma looked grim. “It’s got to be Sandra. I’ve gone over and over this in my mind. I know Cathy Evans, she’s the housekeeper, and she would never steal anything. Nor would Patty LaFleur. She’s the home health nurse who comes in to help Millicent every evening. Feeds her dinner, gets her into the shower, in and out of her clothes, into bed, spends the night with her and gets her up and going in the morning. Both these women have been on the island forever and have sterling reputations and great families. They just wouldn’t steal. I’d stake my life on it. No, it’s got to be Millicent’s daughter-in-law, Sandra.”

  “What are you going to do?” Marina asked.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Emma answered.

  Lily shot up from her chair. “I’ve got to get to work.” She left her drink on the table and stormed from the room. Why did Emma want to talk to Marina about this problem! Why didn’t Emma want to talk to Lily? Or at least wait and talk to Abbie! What was going on? Emma was acting as if Marina was a good friend. Confiding in her. Asking her advice.

  Emma was almost acting as if Marina were her mother!

  For sure, Marina was driving a wedge between Lily and the rest of her family.

  At the cocktail party, Lily’s thoughts about Marina revolved on an obsessive hamster wheel, hampering her work. She forgot to write down the names of a couple she’d just met and worst of all, she missed the opportunity to snap a photo of a television anchor who briefly dropped in to the party. But Eartha arrived, with much drama, as always, and Lily cheered up. She loved the way Eartha embraced Lily and whispered in her ear. She knew others were watching them, wondering what fabulous bit of gossip Eartha had now.

  “I’ll get you a martini,” Lily told the older woman, once Eartha was ensconced on the sofa.

  “Thanks, dawling.” Eartha spread out the skirts of her fuchsia silk dress and flashed a welcome smile to the friends who were flocking to see her.

  Jason had told her he was bartending at this party, still it gave Lily a little shiver of delight to see him there behind the table, handsome in his white shirt and black tie, flashing his great smile at people. A willowy brunette approached Jason to ask for a drink, leaning forward over the table so he could hear her—and so he could catch a view of the remarkable cleavage exposed by her dress. Sorry, honey, he’s taken, Lily thought smugly.

  “Ah, Lily. How nice to see you here.”

  Lily turned. Bancroft Stone stood there smiling at her. She’d met Bancroft the night Eartha took her to the dinner party on the yacht. Bancroft had just finished at the London School of Economics and was working with a hedge fund company based in London and New York. Even though his hairline was receding, he was handsome enough. And his British accent—genuine, one of his grandmothers lived in England—thrilled Lily. She returned the greeting and easily fell into a conversation with him. He hadn’t paid special attention to her at the dinner party, so she was surprised at how he lingered next to her now, treating her as if she were the center of the universe, leaning toward her—of course, that could be because the noise level was so high all around them. Still, she thought he seemed to be flirting with her. What would it be like to date this man? He was smooth, cultured, cosmopolitan. The kind of man who could take her to the opera in New York, to polo matches in Connecticut, to ski at Vail. He would never marry Lily, she was certain he was from the sort of family who only married among their narrow social set, but she wouldn’t want to marry the man. Date him, yes. Sleep with him? Perhaps.

  “Want to go out to dinner later?” Bancroft asked.

  Dumbfounded, Lily blinked and stammered. “Well, I–I …”

  Jason loomed up. “Hi, Lily. What can I get for you?”

  She turned, flushing like a schoolchild copying from a friend’s paper. “A martini for Eartha, all gin, and I’ll have a white wine, or red if it’s easier.” She knew she was babbling. She couldn’t tell whether or not Jason noticed Bancroft’s attentions, but really, that didn’t matter. Lots of men flirted with Lily, just like lots of women of all ages flirted with Jason.

  “Coming right up.” Jason set to work and quickly handed Lily the glasses.

  “Is the martini for Eartha?” Bancroft asked.

  Lily nodded. “I’ll just take it to her.”

  “I’ll join you in a minute.” Bancroft turned to Jason. “Waiter, I’d like a martini just like that one.”

  Lily’s thoughts spun as she squeezed her way through the crowd to Eartha. One of the reasons her boss liked her work was that she knew how to schmooze, to make connections with the wealthy and the slightly famous and infamous. Last year she’d charmed her way into doing a photo essay on a billionaire’s waterfront estate. This year—well, imagine who Bancroft Stone knew! Couldn’t going out to dinner with Bancroft be considered work? Of course it could! She certainly wasn’t going to go to bed with him.

  Was she?

  37

  Marina

  Marina and Jim lay entwined in each other’s arms, even though this August night was really too hot for such intimacy. They were in the loft of the Playhouse, with a fan playing over them, slowly sweeping back and forth, humming hypnotically. The drift of cool air across her bare skin was just anothe
r sensual pleasure for Marina. The world seemed full of sensual pleasures now.

  She lay with her cheek on Jim’s chest. Idly, she ran her finger through the hair on his belly. When he spoke, she could hear his words rumbling.

  “I’ve got a question, Marina.”

  “I’ve got an answer,” she replied. She felt him smile.

  “You might want to take awhile to think about this,” he said. “What I want to ask you is—why don’t you move in with me?”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her expression. She knew she was smiling, probably ear to ear. She cleared her throat before speaking. “For how long? The rest of the summer?”

  “Yes. And the fall. And the winter. And the spring.” Gently he lifted her away from him, changing positions so they could face each other. “I know it’s too early to ask you to marry me. I know you’re still raw from your divorce. Perhaps you think this has all gone too fast for us. Perhaps it has. But I trust it, what we’ve got between us. I want you to be in my life.”

  Marina couldn’t control the tears that suddenly flowed down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.” She sat up, reached over to the bedside table for a tissue, and blew her nose.

  Jim sat up, too. He studied her face. “Well, have I terrified you? Freaked you out?”

  “No. Oh, no. No, Jim, you’ve made me happy. But moving in with you—it’s a complicated subject. I mean, what about your daughters? It was only a few weeks ago that you were upset when I invited them to dinner with you.”

  “I know. And I apologize. I was afraid to hurt them. Sometimes I forget that they’re grown women, not little girls.”

  “We’re all probably a little child deep inside,” Marina said. “Maybe we should wait until they’re settled in their own lives before doing something so drastic.”

  Jim chuckled ruefully. “Believe me, I’ve thought about that. I don’t know if we’ll live long enough for all three of my daughters to be settled in their own lives. I mean, Emma came home because she lost her job and her fiancé, but I don’t know if she wants to stay on the island for the rest of her life. I don’t have any idea why Abbie came home or how long she wants to stay. As for Lily …”

  “Lily doesn’t like me,” Marina said bluntly.

  “Lily’s always been pretty self-centered,” Jim told her. “She acts like a brat around you, but she’s a good kid, really. And I’m not about to let her ruin any chance I have of happiness.”

  “All my things are in Missouri,” Marina said. “All my friends are in Missouri.”

  “Really? Seems to me you’ve made a few friends here. Sheila Lester, for one. And I think you can count Abbie and Emma as your friends, don’t you?” He put his arm around her and nuzzled his mouth against her temple. “Not to mention, I feel pretty friendly toward you.”

  “What would I do here?” Marina asked, adding, “I’m just thinking aloud, Jim. I mean, I intended for my visit to Nantucket to be a kind of holiday, a time away from real life, when I could think about the future.”

  “Maybe it could be the beginning of a new life,” Jim said. “Maybe it could be the beginning of your future.”

  “I think I’m overwhelmed,” Marina told him honestly. “Let me think about it?”

  “Absolutely. Take all the time you need. No deadline. No penalty.”

  The next evening, Marina fixed dinner again, in the Fox kitchen, preparing enough barbecued chicken for however large a group showed up for dinner. Jim was working hard—August was a prime month for him—and so were his daughters. Marina found she really enjoyed shopping for groceries, making not just a meal, but a delicious meal, a treat for everyone after a long hot day.

  Tonight Jim and all three girls came for dinner. As they sat around the table, the conversation was casual and fast, everyone complaining about the humid heat and the traffic, sharing anecdotes from their day. Even Lily seemed friendly, or at least relaxed, resigned to Marina’s presence. Perhaps she just needed to get used to the idea.

  Abbie had a babysitting job and left right after dinner. Lily excused herself to dress for yet another party.

  “Go watch the Red Sox, Dad,” Emma said. “I don’t have a job tonight. I’ll help Marina clean up.”

  Jim glanced at Marina.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll join you in awhile.”

  Emma was the daughter Marina felt most comfortable with, and as they moved around the kitchen, clearing off the table, stacking the dishwasher, putting away leftovers, they fell into an easy, natural rhythm.

  “I’ve had an idea about Millicent Bracebridge’s lightship baskets,” Emma told Marina once the work was done.

  “Share?” Marina held up the wine bottle, which had just enough left for each of them.

  “Thanks.” Emma held out her glass and leaned against the counter. “I’d like Sheila Lester to check them out. If she says they’re fake, then I can tell Spencer about it and he can do something.”

  “Do you want me to ask Sheila if she’d appraise them?” Emma asked.

  “Would you? I know her, but not as well as you do.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say I know her well … but I know her well enough,” Marina decided. “I’ll phone her tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that would be great, Marina. Thanks.”

  After the kitchen was clean, with the dishwasher gargling along, Marina went in to watch the baseball game with Jim. She’d only sat down when Emma stuck her head into the living room.

  “Want to take an evening swim with me, Marina?”

  “That’s a great idea.” Marina turned to Jim. “Want to join us?”

  “The Red Sox are tied with the Yankees,” Jim said, keeping his eyes on the screen.

  Marina laughed. “Okay. See you later.”

  As they walked through the moonlit streets, Emma said, casually, “You and Dad seem to be getting along nicely.”

  Marina chose her words carefully. “Your father is a pretty special man.”

  Emma laughed a full-bodied laugh and linked her arm through Marina’s. “I am not five years old! I can tell my father’s in love with you.”

  Startled, Marina said, “You can?”

  “Gosh, yes. In fact, I think Lily knew it even before he did.”

  “What? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Yes, it does. Lily noticed the way Dad always brought you fish, when you first rented the cottage. She saw the way he looked at you, and how happy he was after he’d seen you. It freaked her out, actually. She emailed me and Abbie, all in a dither.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Don’t worry about Lily, Marina. She’s the baby of the family. It just takes her a little longer to adjust to things.”

  Should she tell Emma that Jim had asked her to move in with them? Marina wondered. No. No, she should let Jim broach the subject with his daughters. But she wanted to tell Emma something of her feelings. “I really like your father,” she said carefully.

  “I can tell that. It kind of cheers me up. If you can find someone you enjoy being with so soon after getting dumped, maybe there’s hope for me, too.”

  “So you don’t mind that I’m—dating—your father?”

  “God, no! I’m glad! He hasn’t had anyone make a fuss over him for years.”

  They arrived at the beach and kicked off their sandals to walk barefoot over the sand to the water’s edge. The night was hot, the water still. Music floated out from boats moored in the harbor and in the distance the lights of the ferry floated toward them like a slowly moving spaceship.

  Marina waded out into the shallows. The water was warm against her skin, and then, as she went deeper, the water became cool. Beside her, Emma dog-paddled, flipping her feet, clowning around.

  “I’m so happy!” Emma laughed. “I don’t know why, Marina, but right now, I’m happy.”

  Marina laughed. She felt as if she could swim forever. “I’m happy, too,” she told Emma, and rolled over to do a lazy back crawl so she could gaze up at the moon.

/>   38

  Abbie

  The relentlessness of the late August heat and humidity was irritating even the happiest of tourists. Main Street was crowded, you couldn’t walk along the sidewalk without bumping into people. The grocery stores were so packed, you couldn’t get down the aisles. Marine Home Center sold out of window air conditioners. All over the island, car alarms seemed to blare incessantly, and babies wailed as mothers pushed the double-sided strollers along, making everyone else get out of their way.

  And Harry had morphed into a little brat. He wouldn’t eat any vegetables. He couldn’t sit still. He screamed like a two-year-old in the grocery store when Abbie wouldn’t buy him a box of cookies. Wednesday evening he wouldn’t get out of the bath, so Abbie sat on the bathroom floor for thirty minutes until the child gave up. Then he didn’t like his summer pajamas, and he didn’t like any of the books Abbie wanted to read to him when she finally got him tucked into bed. By the time she got him to sleep, she was ready to lie down next to him and sleep herself.

  Instead, she went downstairs. Howell was at his desk, tapping at his computer.

  “Coffee?” she asked. “Or a beer?”

  “I’ve got to get this done,” Howell told her. He stretched and yawned. “But I’ll take a break.” Rising, he walked over to Abbie and enfolded her against him.

  “How’s your ankle?” she asked.

  “Perfect. Not even a twinge. Which is a good thing, since I’ve got to go to this conference.”

  Howell was flying out Thursday morning to a conference in Seattle. He had arranged for Abbie to spend Wednesday and Thursday nights with Harry; Sydney would fly in Friday evening. Howell wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.

  As they settled on the sofa, Abbie asked, “Do you think Harry’s so moody because you’re leaving?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s more than that,” Howell told Abbie. “I think Harry’s aware of the tension between me and Sydney. I don’t think he knows anything, but he certainly senses something. Be patient with him, Abbie, please.”