“Okay.” Abbie wrapped her glass in a paper towel and laid it in the basket. “Let’s go.”
As they shook the sand off the blanket and folded it into a neat rectangle, Lily asked, “Do you ever think that maybe Mom’s really out there? Somewhere? That she can see us?”
Emma chuckled. “It’s a nice thought, Lily, but there are times when I wouldn’t want Mom to be watching me.”
Abbie swirled her toes in the sand. “Remember the things Mom said when she brought us beachcombing? She told us to always believe in something more. She told us to look at what was right in front of us, and we’d see that even a grain of sand was a miracle. That even a bit of glass was a message, that the universe was full of tricks and clues and signs.”
They gazed out at the water in silence for a moment. The sun was low, lighting the tips of the waves with points of light.
“Come on,” Emma said.
They slogged up the steep sand dune, carrying the basket and blanket.
Lily said, “But do you, Abbie? Believe in something else?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Lily. I guess in my head I think it’s not possible, but in my heart I want it to be true. So I guess I believe, in a vague kind of way.” Abbie turned to look out at the sea one more time.
Something flashed in the water. Something like a gleam of skin. She gasped.
“What, Abbie?” Lily stopped and turned, too.
“Oh, nothing,” Abbie decided. “It was just a trick of the light.”
62
The Family
It had been a gamble, and as the wedding day approached, the suspense was nerve-racking for everyone. Jim checked the weather on his iPhone every hour and still went outside and stared up at the sky. They had rented the house on the beach so the bride and her bridesmaids could have a place to dress, and they were prepared, if necessary, to hold the ceremony inside. Marina and the girls had decorated the expansive downstairs living room with shell lights and had buckets of flowers waiting, just in case.
But the April day dawned clear, bright, and unseasonably warm. It was a gift of a day, and the wedding party were elated, as if the day was a message from nature, and who, Abbie insisted, could say that it wasn’t?
Earlier, Jim and Howell and Spencer and Jason drove their four-wheel drives onto the sand and set up rows of handsome white folding chairs borrowed from the yacht club in a semicircle, facing the ocean. Abbie and Lily created a low altar out of driftwood and set buckets of pink tulips and yellow daffodils on either side. The boardwalk from the house came right down to the beach through the beach grass, and they set vases of flowers here and there along the way.
Now cars and trucks were arriving, parking along the side roads, and the wedding guests in all their bright colors made their way, in sandals or barefoot, over the sand to the chairs. Inside, on the second floor, the bride slipped into her gown. The guitarist was still playing softly, and the notes of “The Water Is Wide” drifted up to the house.
On the first floor, Abbie gathered her skirt with both hands and knelt down next to Harry.
“You can do it, Harry,” she assured him. “Just like last night at the rehearsal.”
Harry twisted one foot around the other leg and looked miserable. It wasn’t his navy blazer and tie making him unhappy. He actually thought it was cool to wear such grown-up clothing, especially since he was also barefoot. He was just having an extreme fit of shyness.
Abbie took a deep breath and looked questioningly up at Howell.
“We’ll all be right there with you at the front, buddy,” Howell assured him.
Harry squirmed. “Too many people.”
It was understandable. Last night the beach had not been crowded with what seemed like half of Nantucket Island. Now all the folding chairs were filled, and waves of conversation and laughter drifted toward them.
“I have an idea,” Abbie said. “What if Bill walked with you?”
Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! That would be cool.”
Howell shook his head. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. He’s only a puppy.”
“But Bill is so calm,” Abbie reminded him.
“Should I ask Marina or Jim?” Howell wondered. “They might think it’s too, oh, I don’t know, daffy.”
“Sure.” Abbie took Harry’s hand. “You double-check with them. Harry and I will go get Bill.”
She and Howell had gotten the puppy for Harry for Christmas. They thought it might help the little boy feel older, more responsible, if he had an animal to care for, and the mixed-breed orphan from the MSPCA had turned out to be a perfect fit for their newly evolving family. Harry had named the dog Bill. He was a placid, good-natured, unexcitable little animal with black-and-white markings and one floppy ear. He always looked content, even amused, by his small doggy life. When Harry came to Nantucket for his time with Howell, he was allowed to have Bill sleep in bed with him. Boy and dog had become best friends.
Howell’s new Jeep was parked in the drive. Bill was curled up on the front seat, sleeping, and when Abbie opened the door, the little dog cocked his head.
“Come on, Billy Boy,” Abbie said. “You’re going to walk down the aisle.”
She fastened the leash on the dog’s collar and handed the leash to Harry. Then, with a laugh, she said, “Wait, Harry.” Kneeling down, she took one of the white magnolia blossoms from her hair and fastened it carefully to the top of Bill’s collar.
“Perfect!” she said.
She held Harry’s hand as they walked back up the path to the house. Now she could see the wedding party gathering on the deck overlooking the beach.
Emma leaned on Spencer as he ushered her out to the deck. He looked splendid in a tux, while Emma looked, well, impressive, in the sky-blue chiffon gown they’d had to alter to fit her enormous girth.
“I’m waddling,” she said.
He gave her waist a squeeze. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
She laughed. “You know, I sort of think that’s true. And you’ve never looked more handsome.”
Emma knew Spencer’s mother was gale-force wind with fury because Emma was pregnant and they weren’t yet married, but Millicent didn’t seem bothered. After all, when, in November, they had planned their wedding for the summer, they hadn’t known that Emma was pregnant, due in May.
Emma and Spencer had tried to convince Sandra to come to this wedding. Soon they would all be part of one big family, they reminded her, but Sandra was enjoying her ire too much and refused to attend. But Millicent was here. Spencer had brought her to the beach himself, and settled her in one of the front rows, next to Sheila Lester and her husband. Millicent had attired herself quite regally for the wedding, in a silver wool suit and a silver wide-brimmed hat trimmed with feathers and rhinestones and pearls.
Emma and Spencer were living in the big house with Millicent for the next few months. The baby would be born in the hospital, but it was reassuring, having a home health nurse around at night, and during the day when Spencer was working. Emma was working part-time for the historical association, helping Millicent unearth, sort through, and catalog her enormous collection of Nantucket arts and crafts which, when organized (for tax purposes, to assuage Sandra), Millicent would give to the historical association. Emma still read to Millicent during most afternoons. Sometimes she read from contemporary books about pregnancy, which made Millicent bark with laughter.
“Gosh,” Spencer said now. “Look. I think Bill’s going to take part in the wedding.”
Emma laughed. “I love our crazy family,” she said.
Lily checked her reflection one last time in the mirror. Marina had wanted her bridesmaids to wear sea colors. Abbie’s gown was almost indigo blue, Emma’s was sky blue, and Lily’s was turquoise. Lily thought her color was hands down the most stunning. She wore the dangling turquoise earrings Eartha had given her, and she’d had Jason take lots of photos with his digital camera so she could email pictures to Eartha to show her just how f
abulous she looked. Eartha was invited to the wedding, of course, but she was still down in Sarasota, visiting friends. She didn’t want to come up to the island until July, when the social season really got under way.
With a final smile of approval at herself in the mirror, Lily turned, lifted her gown in her hands, and stepped out onto the deck. She felt like Cinderella as she went down the steps, there was something about holding her skirt up that made her feel royal, princessy.
Jason was waiting for her on the deck, looking like a movie star in his tux. She was quite aware of the looks other women gave him, the way even some of her friends invented problems with their houses and begged him to come over to help them. Some of the women were even married—but most of them weren’t. Lily knew she was going to have to stop stalling and make a decision. Jason wouldn’t wait forever. He’d enjoyed their two weeks in Paris, but he was an island guy, the island was in his blood and bones and heart and soul. Jason would never leave the island, not even for Lily.
Lily didn’t know if that was enough of a love for her. Paris had been a revelation, and the few weeks she spent with Eartha in New York had been confusing, challenging, and exciting. She knew she needed to spend some time living and working in New York before deciding to settle down with Jason. And perhaps Jason would decide that Lily didn’t love him enough. It was a chance she had to take. She was learning—slowly, with lots of anxiety and trepidation—that she could do pretty well on her own.
But today wasn’t about Lily. It was about Marina and Lily’s father.
Marina had been drinking champagne for the past hour, trying to calm down. She was so happy, and the day was so absolutely dazzling, she was afraid she’d cry, just right out blubber, with joy.
They had decided—they had all decided, for the girls were probably at least as interested in the ceremony as their father—to have the wedding on the beach. The girls had helped her choose this drop-dead-gorgeous, form-fitting, ivory silk sarong. On her feet were the thinnest of white leather sandals. Her hair was adorned with a glittering tiara the three girls had made for her out of seashells and beads.
And the girls looked stunning, all of them together in their coordinating sea colors. It was hard to look at them and not burst into tears.
In just a month, Emma was going to have a baby. Emma had asked Marina to babysit four afternoons a week, while she worked with Millicent. In her secret heart of hearts, Marina sometimes thought she was more excited about Emma’s baby than about her own wedding, but of course she’d never say such a thing to Jim.
And now that Abbie was living with Howell, there had been several occasions when they’d asked Marina to stay with Harry so they could go out to dinner or a movie, and of course all of them, Howell, Abbie, and Harry, came to dinner often. Marina was learning how to create healthy food that was fun to eat, as well as the cookies and cupcakes she decorated for each season. Harry was gaining some much-needed weight, and Marina thought that just a few ounces could be attributed to her culinary creations. In a funny way, Marina was becoming a grandmother without ever having been a mother.
Lily was the one daughter with whom Marina still felt uncomfortable. They didn’t quite “get” each other yet. But Marina had come a long way to achieving Lily’s approval by having the clothes she’d put in storage shipped to the island. She’d invited Lily to join her as she unpacked all her horribly expensive, black designer suits. Lily had almost drooled on them, and she had screamed with joy when Marina told Lily they were all for her. They hardly had to be altered at all, and Lily looked fabulous in them.
Now they were all waiting for her. Jim, Spencer, Jason, and Howell went down the boardwalk to the beach, where the minister stood waiting in his white robe, the breeze playing with the hem. Marina’s bridesmaids, Lily, Emma, and Abbie, were on the deck, all huddled together down at little Harry’s level, giving him moral support for his trip down the aisle as the ring bearer. Their skirts billowed around them in a lovely flurry of blues.
Marina stepped outside.
“Marina!” Harry called. “Look! Bill is going to help me walk down the aisle!”
“Why, what a clever idea,” Marina told him. “Harry, I’m so proud of you.”
“I can hold his leash in my left hand and the rings in my right hand!” Harry assured her.
“Perfect.” Marina nodded to the three sisters, who lined up for the procession. Here we are, Marina thought, four women, one little boy, and a dog. Perhaps an unusual wedding procession, but after all, there were so many kinds of weddings on this earth, and so many kinds of families.
The guitarist began to play Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” The congregation rose. They turned, looking so expectantly—so happily!—toward Marina, who lifted her head, smiled radiantly, and followed her family down the aisle toward the beach. As she walked, she could see, just behind the altar, the wide blue ocean sparkling in the sun.
For
Martha Foshee
The best sister in the world!
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank: Karol Lindquist, lightship basket virtuoso, for the many things she teaches; Libby Oldham, who knows about Nantucket history; Dionis Gauvin, who knows about fashion; Tricia Patterson, who knows about everything; Josh Thayer and Sam Wilde Forbes, who make me proud and make me laugh; Adeline and Ellias Forbes, who make my heart do cartwheels; David Gillum and Neil Forbes, beloved of those I love—I love you, too. Thank you, my friends, for being there, and Charley, for being here.
I also want to thank Meg Ruley, for her guidance, acumen, and friendship. Enormous thanks to those at Ballantine: Junessa Viloria, Kim Hovey, Katie Rudkin, Sarina Evans, Libby McGuire, and Gina Centrello, and especially that goddess of editing, Linda Marrow.
A Conversation with Nancy Thayer
Random House Reader’s Circle: What made you write this story?
Nancy Thayer: The ideas for my books all come from deep within my heart and my life. In many ways, Beachcombers is about dealing with loss—of a parent, or like Marina, of a husband and best friend, or of an important job, income, and fiancé. We all face loss. Sometimes loss makes you dig deep into yourself to find what you never realized was there.
My mother was ninety-one and failing when I started writing Beachcombers. My sister, Martha, a nurse, visited my mother in her nursing home every day. When she was younger, my mother had worked for the development department of a hospital; she was capable and logical. She loved music and reading above all things. One time when I was a teenager, she was driving a car and I was sitting next to her, in the front seat. She had the radio on, playing classical music, when suddenly, Mother said, with joy, “Nancy, look at those birds!” She pointed to the sky. “It looks like they’re flying in time to the music!” Then she drove the car into a tree. (We weren’t hurt.) In some ways, my character Danielle is like how my mother was, loving, but often forgetting us because she’s hearing other music.
My sister often called from the Kansas City nursing facility to talk with me here in Nantucket. Mother, Martha, and I discussed so many memories. Later, while driving away from the nursing home, my sister would call and we’d talk about other memories of our mother. I knew we would be losing her soon. I began to wonder what it must be like to lose your mother when you are still very young, and that was the germ of Beachcombers.
RHRC: In Beachcombers, you delve into four very different female perspectives. Did you find any one woman harder to write than the others?
NT: Lily was the hardest character for me to write, not because she wasn’t like me, but because she was so very much like I was when I was in my twenties. True, I was the oldest of three children, so I did a lot of nurturing and caretaking like Abbie. I’d once lived in Kansas City, been divorced, and started my life over on Nantucket like Marina. I was practical, hardworking, and history-loving like Emma.
But when I was young, I was so Lily. I desperately wanted to leave Wichita, Kansas, where I grew up. I wanted to live in Paris or New Yor
k City. My best friend and I were going to run away, wear black turtlenecks, recite our poetry in coffee houses, and have mad affairs with dangerous men. If I had met Eartha when I was Lily’s age, I would have been her servant in a flash. When I look back at myself in my late teens and early twenties, I see someone who didn’t care a fig for keeping house or being on time and responsible. I wanted glamour, bright lights, sexy clothes, martinis! (Kansas was a dry state; I’d never had a martini.)
Knowing my past, when I wrote Beachcombers, it was hard for me to give Lily a break, because she was so much like I had been: kind of an idiot. Or are we all idiots at twenty?
RHRC: Do you begin writing with an idea of your characters in mind or do you allow them to evolve as the story progresses?
NT: I always start with characters in mind, and also a kind of theme, like loss, or as in Summer House, generations of family, or how friendships change over time. The characters definitely evolve as I write. They become more fully formed, more definitely themselves. In fact, they take over. Sometimes I have to stop typing and say aloud to my empty study, “I really can’t allow you to say that in print!” I am incapable of sitting and plotting in advance. I either type, or I go for a walk, and things shift in my brain. I want to say, “Well, why didn’t you tell me this in the first place!” Or I phone my daughter, Samantha Wilde, also a published novelist, and ask something like, “Should Joe marry Helen?” Sam will say, “Duh, no, Mom, he’s going to marry Sarah.” And I’ll say, “Oh! I had no idea,” but I know instantly she’s right, and I hang up the phone and go back to work.
Writing is a mystery, and when it works well, a delight. When it doesn’t work well, it goes into the shredder.
RHRC: Reading your novels always makes me want to visit Nantucket. Does the beauty and nature of Nantucket inspire your creativity while writing?
Summer Beach Reads Page 36
