Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  That afternoon, Carley’s phone rang.

  “Darling, it’s Annabel. Do you have a moment to talk?”

  Carley was on her knees at the back of the linen closet, digging out all the delicate lace-embroidered tablecloths she hadn’t used in all the years of her marriage. She sat up straight and leaned against the wall. “Of course.”

  “Cisco stopped by on her way home from school. She told me about her and Polo smoking in the attic.”

  “Oh, gosh, Annabel, I should have told you. I—”

  “I really think you’re being too strict with her, Carley. Cutting off communication with her best friend for a week? That seems cruel, especially when her father died only two months ago.”

  “But—but—” Carley sputtered. “I thought you’d be just as upset as I am. Smoking in the attic?”

  “All kids her age try smoking.”

  Reluctantly, Carley agreed. “I suppose. Still, parents have to make it clear that we disapprove. We don’t want it to become a habit.”

  “Don’t be such an alarmist. It’s not going to become a habit.” Carley was speechless.

  Annabel continued, her voice full of warmth and love. “Darling, I’m sure they won’t do it again. I’ve told Cisco that the attic was a stupid, dangerous, place to smoke. She understands. She said she won’t do it again. I promised I’d speak to you. I told her I’d suggest that you consider lightening her punishment. The poor child lost her father. She needs her friends.”

  Carley took a deep breath. Wasn’t it only yesterday that she bemoaned the loss of Gus’s point of view, his opinion of how to raise the girls? Why did she feel so resistant to Annabel’s suggestion? Perhaps because Annabel had sided with Cisco against Carley, because Cisco was Carley’s child, not Annabel’s. Because Annabel was making herself the good guy and Carley the bad guy.

  Annabel obviously believed it was her place to interfere. Hadn’t Annabel and Russell asked Carley to bring the girls and live with them? The hairs stood up on the back of Carley’s neck at the thought of her charming, powerful mother-in-law so silkily, smoothly, relentlessly taking over.

  “Annabel, I appreciate your concern, but this is a matter between Cisco and me. I am quite concerned about her smoking, and very worried that Cisco, who is twelve, would be foolish enough to smoke in the attic. There are times when I need to set limits to stress my rules with Cisco, and this is one of them.” She was glad she wasn’t in the same room with her mother-in-law; her knees were shaking. Always before Gus had been the perfect buffer. Anything he said brought smiles of approval to Annabel’s face.

  “Well.” Annabel cleared her throat. “It seems then I have nothing more to say than that I think you’re making a mistake.” With a faint click, the connection ended.

  Did she just hang up on me? Carley wondered. But she didn’t have time to worry about it. She had too much to do.

  Just before dinner, Cisco came in, hugging her books to her chest, humming to herself.

  “Hi, Mom.” She was all sweetness and smiles as she slipped out of her parka.

  “Hello, darling. Want to wash your hands and call Margaret? I’ve made tacos.”

  “Oh, yum.” Cisco went out of the room, then turned back, as if she’d just remembered something. “Um, did Nana phone you?”

  “She did, yes. We discussed your smoking in the attic. She is much less inclined to discipline you than I am. On the other hand, she’s your grandmother and not responsible for your welfare and safety, not to mention morals. I thanked her for her advice but told her I’m not changing my mind.”

  “Mo-om!” Cisco’s face darkened. “You are such a stick!”

  “Probably,” Carley mildly replied. She set the bowl of chopped tomatoes and shredded cheese on the table. This was one meal Cisco found impossible to resist.

  Cisco’s jaw clenched with anger. “I can’t believe you don’t—honor—Nana!”

  “I do respect and esteem Annabel, of course,” Carley said. “But Cisco, you are my daughter.”

  Cisco stomped from the room, muttering. Carley was sure Cisco said I wish I weren’t.

  10

  • • • • •

  Very early on the morning of the tag sale, Carley woke, jumped out of bed, and pushed open the curtains to check the weather.

  The sun shone down on a bright, clear day. The Weather Channel had predicted temperatures in the forties today, and no precipitation.

  Murmuring prayers of gratitude, she hurriedly pulled on her clothes and rushed down to the kitchen. At seven-thirty, Maud and Vanessa and Toby would arrive to help set up the sale. Until then, Carley could bake one more batch of cookies.

  Cisco came thumping down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a red sweater. She headed robotically to the refrigerator, completely ignoring Carley’s presence, took out the orange juice, and poured herself a glass.

  “Sit down and have breakfast with me first, Cisco.” She was worried about how thin Cisco was, but not ready for a fight first thing in the morning.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “We’re going to be busy today. It’s cold out. Our bodies need fuel and we won’t have time to eat. Just some cereal.”

  Cisco hesitated, then slumped into a chair.

  Carley put a bowl of granola and fruit in front of her daughter. She took a bowl for herself. “I’ve got the chart made out. I’m glad we’re so organized. I hear people show up early for these sales, wanting to be the first to get to the good stuff.”

  Cisco couldn’t resist. She was excited about the tag sale. Her friends were coming; strangers were coming, it was going to be like a party. She gobbled her breakfast down, then pushed back her chair. “Shall I go tie the balloons to the mailbox, Mom?”

  As Carley and her friends were carrying out the tables and baby furniture and setting up, they heard the thud of car doors. Clusters of strangers bustled eagerly toward the yard. Toby, large and male and a figure of authority to those who knew him, took on the job of standing at the end of the driveway, warding people off. “Not open until eight o’clock, folks. Let them get set up.”

  For just a moment, before the sale began, Carley looked around the garage and the yard and was seized with a terrible panic. So many beloved or at least familiar objects, lying naked for strangers to touch and take. It was like having the inner life of their family revealed. It was like selling memories.

  Suddenly Maud was at her side, whispering in her ear. “They’re only things, Carley. Life is fluid. You have to let go and move on.”

  Carley threw Maud a grateful glance. “You’re right. Thanks, Maud.”

  Cisco and Margaret artistically arranged their table of old dolls, rejected books, outgrown tutus, ballet slippers, and used clothing. Vanessa took charge of the baby furniture, receiving blankets, stuffed animals, and baby clothing.

  Carley and Maud each took a table with the rest of the stuff: old clothing of Carley’s, candlesticks, bookends, placemat and napkin sets, all wedding gifts that had never been used; stools, chairs, picture frames, and three different waffle pans. Also they sold the odd unused gifts accumulated over the years like the weed-whacking golf driver, the electric corkscrew, the digital measuring cup, and the speaking clock that spoke in such a depressed monotone that it creeped out the girls.

  Framingham Burr, another friend of Gus’s, volunteered to stay outside. A big man, he never noticed the cold, and he was pleased to run the table holding all of Gus’s things: ice skates, tennis racquets, scalloping gear, electric foot massager, electric nose hair trimmer, electronic multiroom temperature monitor, and mounds of clothes from high school and college days, beloved sweaters, ties, and overcoats Gus hadn’t been emotionally ready to give up but no longer wore, and had been banished to the basement.

  The depressed clock said, “Eight.” Toby stepped aside.

  Dozens of customers poured up the driveway, charging toward the tables, almost desperately eyeing the merchandise, as if sure they would find a treasure. Some of them d
id. Cries of delight floated through the air as a little girl found one of Cisco’s old ballet tutus. The elegant brass carriage clock, one of two Carley and Gus had received as wedding presents, was plucked from the table with triumph by a newlywed couple. An elderly woman happily paid good money for the dusty, outdated 1982 world encyclopedia Maud had convinced Carley to put out. People surged up to the tables, grasped items, shoved money toward her, or dropped the objects back on the table and rushed to another stand.

  Carley looked over to see an extremely pregnant young woman with the Slavic cheekbones of the Russians who were working on the island. The man with her, Carley presumed her husband, was dismantling the crib Cisco and later Margaret had slept in as babies. Once again, a kind of regret, almost a panic, ran through Carley like a thrill. She watched Margaret approach the pregnant woman, holding out one of her favorite, softest, teddy bears.

  “Would you like to have this for your baby?” Margaret asked.

  The woman hesitated.

  “It’s a gift!” Margaret announced. “A gift for your baby. I love babies.”

  “Thank you very much.” The woman took the bear and smoothed its fur, studying it. “It is a very special bear,” she said to Margaret. “And you are a very nice girl.”

  Margaret grinned, wiggling all over with pleasure at the compliment. She ran to Carley. “Mommy, look, I gave that lady my bear for her baby!”

  “That was nice of you, Margaret,” Carley told her. “What a good, generous girl you are.” Suddenly the day brightened for her—absolutely turned around. How proud Gus would be of his little girl, so instinctively kind and thoughtful. What a good thing it was that her daughters’ crib was going to be used by that young couple from a country so far away. It made Carley feel more connected, somehow, to the wider world.

  Maud leaned over. “You should have baked more.”

  Carley glanced down at the end of the table where she’d placed her gingerbread people, applesauce cake, pumpkin muffins, and her special chocolate, walnut, and a bit of everything else cookies. Every single crumb was gone. Carley didn’t have a chance to answer Maud—she was dealing with a woman who wanted to buy the scarf Carley was wearing around her neck.

  Around noon, things quieted down. The frenzy of eager shoppers ebbed as people headed home for lunch. Most of the items were gone.

  Margaret was crying because she’d sold a baby doll that she realized had been her very favorite. Carley picked her up, took her into the house, and cuddled her while she drank juice and ate a peanut butter sandwich. Moments later, Margaret jumped off Carley’s lap, yanked on her parka, and rushed back out to the action.

  Carley returned to her table. No customers now.

  Maud said, “I need a bathroom run. Can you give me a ten-minute break?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Maud stood up, stretching. “My boys are out at Lauren’s this morning. She said she’d bring them by around noon. If they get here while I’m in the house, don’t let them buy anything!”

  “I promise,” Carley told her.

  Maud went off and Carley settled in the chair at the table, grateful for a moment of peace. A few browsers were still roaming around the front yard. The table, so neatly organized this morning, was a shambles. She began to straighten it up.

  “Carley, my dear.” The minister from their church approached her. He was a dignified older man with a head of white bristly hair and runaway white eyebrows.

  “Hello, Reverend Salter.”

  “May I sit down?” He gestured to the folding chair Maud had left.

  “Of course.”

  He sat, neatly pinching the crease in his trousers. “I have a favor to ask you.” He laughed. “People always look nervous when I say that. Let me jump right in—I want to find a place for my nephew, Kevin, to rent for a month or two this winter. He’s working on his Ph.D. in history, writing a thesis on nineteenth-century New England farms, and he needs to do research at the historical association. He’s an awfully nice fellow, and he’s not impoverished, but he doesn’t want to pay two hundred dollars a night to stay at an inn, and he would like to be in town so he won’t need a car. If you could ask around, see if any of your friends had a room with a bath he could rent …” The minister paused.

  “Of course,” Carley answered. Reverend Salter tilted his head hopefully, like a dog hoping for a treat. “Oh! You’re wondering if I’d like to rent a room.”

  “You do have a large house. And I can vouch for my nephew. He would be no trouble at all, I assure you.”

  Well, I could certainly use the money, Carley thought silently. Aloud, she mused, “There’s a room off the laundry room. It has its own bathroom. It was a maid’s room, once, I think. Kevin wouldn’t have a private entrance, but if he came in the back door, he’d just go through the laundry room, he wouldn’t have to go through the entire house …” She smiled. “Let me think about it, but this might work out for both of us.”

  “Thank you, my dear. Give me a call.”

  “I will. Soon.”

  Reverend Salter performed a courtly bow and took himself off. Carley sat smiling. The day was turning out very nicely!

  Carley reached under her table and brought out the last few items, objects she doubted anyone would buy. A tin box that had once been filled with chocolates. A reproduction lightship basket filled with dusty potpourri she’d won in some raffle years ago. A very pretty Christmas ornament with a Nantucket lighthouse and the date 2004 painted on it.

  She’d barely set them out when a group of women rushed over, inspected the items, and bought them.

  “You’re doing well,” a man said.

  Carley looked up to see Wyatt Anderson standing there.

  Wyatt and Gus had been best friends since childhood. Wyatt’s parents were Realtors, and friends of Gus’s parents. Gus and Wyatt attended the same law school, and after law school, it had been completely natural and the realization of an adolescent strategy, for Wyatt to join Gus at Russell’s firm. The two friends were as close as brothers even though they had such different energies. Gus was intense, somber, diligent. Wyatt tended to be more easygoing and slow-burning, with a smile that flashed like a lighthouse beacon, bright and engaging. Gus was shorter, more compact, more vivid, with his raven-black hair and eyes. Wyatt was taller, lanky, and handsome enough to make a woman drool. As boys, they sailed together, practical Gus as captain, energetic Wyatt as his willing crew. They won almost every race they entered.

  While Gus eagerly jumped into the life of a married man with children, Wyatt had been a traveler, often sending Gus’s girls postcards and dolls from exotic ports. Years ago, shortly after Cisco turned three, Wyatt had married a woman named Roxie, tiny, sexy, and city. She owned an apartment on Park Avenue, so Wyatt had spent most of his time there. After a couple of years, though, Wyatt had divorced Roxie and returned to the island, living by himself in a cottage in Madaket, his sailboat only a few yards outside, waiting in the water.

  Gus and Carley raised their children, went sailing with their friends, formed an unofficial kind of club centering around their families. In the warm intimacy of their bed they agreed smugly that Wyatt wasn’t cut out for family life, while Gus most certainly was. Carley tried to feel sympathy for lonely Wyatt, but for some reason, she just always felt awkward, bashful, even in the privacy of her thoughts. She was sure Wyatt thought of her as plain, weary, and boring in a settled mommy way. He was handsome, carefree, effortlessly flirtatious. It always embarrassed her that she found him attractive.

  When Gus died, Wyatt had been everywhere, helping with funeral arrangements, driving people to and from the airport, taking the girls out for dinner and a movie. Through the blur of her grief, she was aware of his gentle kindness, and she was grateful. She hoped he knew that. She couldn’t remember thanking him. But she couldn’t remember much about those first terrible days.

  “Hi, Wyatt. Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “I went off hiking.” Wyatt looked around.
“You’ve got a three-ring circus going on here.”

  “You should have seen it earlier.”

  “The girls look flush,” Wyatt told her, nodding toward Margaret and Cisco, who sat at their table, smiling eagerly at some kids pawing over their last articles.

  “They’ve struck it rich, getting rid of their baby toys.”

  “I know. Margaret charmed me into purchasing this.” He held up an ugly plastic whale.

  Carley laughed. “Just what you need!”

  “How are you doing, Carley?” Wyatt’s gaze was warm.

  She couldn’t think about Gus now, not in the middle of the tag sale. “Oh, I’m all right.”

  “Let me take you out to dinner sometime,” he suggested.

  Surprised, Carley went speechless. She was grateful when a customer approached and asked about a teapot. She was just taking the woman’s money when Angie, Wyatt’s current girlfriend, wandered up to the table.

  The appellation “cute as a bug’s ear” could have been designed just for Angie Matthews. Petite and buxom, with a mop of blond curls and freckles across her pug nose, Angie was as energetic, sassy, and cheerful as any woman Carley had ever met. She was a sporty girl, too, excelling in tennis, sailing, swimming, biking, and in spite of her size, she could put away a phenomenal amount of beer.

  “Hey, Big Momma, how are you?” Angie asked Carley, sweeping up to smack a wet kiss on Carley’s cheek.

  How could Carley tell this butterfly not to call her “Big Momma”? It made Carley feel like a moose. But she answered good-naturedly, “The sale has been excellent!”

  A neighbor approached Wyatt, holding up one of Gus’s ancient wooden tennis racquets, asking Wyatt’s opinion. As Wyatt turned away, Angie said, “Oh, I’m so glad! Because Wyatt’s been so worried about you. Financially, I mean. With Gus dead and all.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Carley responded stiffly. Her thoughts were in a whirl. She couldn’t tolerate the thought of Wyatt and this perky little elf pitying poor old widowed, downtrodden Carley. “Listen,” she said suddenly, “would you mind the table for just a minute? I’ve got to go to the john.”