Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  Lexi started walking. “It’s lovely for me, hearing about your new best friend, but I don’t want to be late for the concert.”

  “Fine. But get ready. People will stare. People will whisper. Remember, it’s April. We don’t have much to entertain us. My advice is, smile at people and say hello and forget high school and start fresh. Give everyone a chance.”

  “I intend to!”

  “Then stop gritting your teeth and clenching your jaw and flaring your nostrils like some racehorse being dragged into a barn full of mules.”

  Lexi stopped walking. “That’s how I look?”

  “That’s how you’ve always looked when you’re out in public.”

  Lexi cast a desperate glance up at the heavens.

  “Oh, cut it out,” Clare chided. “This isn’t surgery you’re facing. Loosen up a bit. Think of something funny. Remember when Amber and Spring did karaoke night?”

  Lexi smiled at the memory. She shook her arms out and stamped her feet and tossed her head. “Right. Okay, I’m ready now. Thanks.”

  The ticket table was at the front of the building, where the stage was also located. Clare’s lecture and Lexi’s fidgeting had made them almost late, and as they gave the pretty teenage girl their ten dollars, they saw that the room was completely filled. The only empty seats left were either in the back row, or the front, and everyone was staring at them. The thought of all those eyes on her for the next hour gave Lexi the heebie-jeebies. “Back,” she said tersely to Clare.

  Lexi didn’t feel like a flamingo now, she felt like a chicken, with the eyes of one hundred slavering foxes following her as she and Clare hurried to the last row and sat down. The few people who turned to mouth hello to Clare performed classic double takes when they spotted Lexi. In row after row heads bent to those next to them as the community went into a whisper-fest.

  Patricia Moody, the chorus conductor, walked onto the stage and began her few announcements. The audience settled down. The concert began.

  The program was an upbeat mixture of Gilbert and Sullivan, Broadway show tunes, and Cole Porter. As Lexi listened, she scanned the chorus for familiar faces. It took her brain a moment to adjust for the passing of the past ten years. Age, weight, wrinkles, gray hair, and glasses transfigured many of the older folk, while those who had been just kids when Lexi left now wore a look of authority and, in some cases, exhaustion. Lexi understood. Life was expensive here. People her age had to work two jobs to get by, and most of them lived with their parents because summer rents were impossibly high. Clare still lived with her father, and Lexi bet that when Jesse married Clare, he’d move into her parents’ home. It was a nice, big old house with room enough for everyone. She spotted the Barbie Dolls in the front row of the audience. Amber Young and Spring Macmillan weren’t related by blood, but in high school they’d been inseparable, rah-rah, gum-chewing cheerleaders who’d never been especially nice to Lexi—or especially mean, either. She was surprised at how pleased she was simply to see them again.

  Old Marvin Meriweather was still singing. His rich baritone had been corrugated with age so that his voice vibrated like a galloping elephant’s. Of course, Patricia Moody would not have asked Marvin to leave the chorus. That would have been too cruel, and this ensemble was about the community as much as it was about music.

  Now Caitlin, whom Lexi and Clare had secretly nicknamed Queen of Sluts even before she dumped Adam to marry Corby Turner, opened her bright red lips and shrieked out a solo so truly off-key that a shiver of vengeful pleasure went down Lexi’s spine. Clare elbowed her in the ribs. They exchanged glances and simultaneously bit their lips to keep from laughing. Seated here in the back row, they could see similar movements going on with the rest of the audience. In the front row, old Harsh Marsh dug a handkerchief out of her purse and noisily blew her nose. The only individual in the room who seemed to thrill to Caitlin’s warbling was Patricia Moody, Caitlin’s proud mother.

  Or maybe Caitlin’s mother knew what she was doing, because after two more songs from the entire ensemble, the program ended with the audience applauding heartily. Whatever else was wrong with their lives, at least they hadn’t made fools of themselves.

  When the applause died down, Patricia Moody said, “Please join us for refreshments,” and the crowd rose, glad to stretch and greet their neighbors to agree this had been the best concert ever, and, a kind of buzz swept the room, wasn’t that Lexi Laney Hardin back there with Clare Hart?

  “Let’s go,” Lexi hissed at Clare.

  “No way. You are going to run this gauntlet, sport. You need to get it over with.” As Clare spoke, she nodded and waved at friends in the audience.

  Lexi grabbed her arm. “Then look at me,” she hissed. “Talk to me. Pretend we’re discussing something fascinating.”

  Clare linked her arm through Lexi’s. “Okay, come on. Let’s go get some hot apple cider. Close your mouth, you look like an idiot. Hmm, hot apple cider. What about apple cider chocolates? Not for the spring and summer, but maybe next fall? I might play around with that idea. Lexi, loosen up. They’re not going to murder you.”

  “No, but they’ll snub me. Or insult me.”

  “Then suck it up. You chose to come back here. Smile, or I’ll pinch you.”

  Clare would, too. Lexi grinned and somehow managed not to trip over her own feet as Clare maneuvered her through the throng into the back room where the refreshments were set out. They joined the crowd reaching for cups, napkins, and cookies, then squeezed their way to the side of the room where they stood for a moment pretending to study an oil painting of Nantucket harbor in the whaling era.

  “My goodness.” The voice slicing through the air next to them was as familiar as an old nightmare. Harsh Marsh approached, older now, thinner, in a puce wool suit Lexi could have sworn she wore back when Lexi was in her sophomore English class. “If it isn’t Lexi Laney. What causes you to grace our humble town?”

  Lexi raised her chin defiantly. Was she imagining a sudden hush in the room? From the look on HM’s face, it was obvious the older woman was eager to use her old powers to intimidate and judge. Lexi couldn’t remember anyone ever liking HM. Gosh, maybe Lexi and HM could form their own club.

  Clare kicked Lexi in the shin.

  Lexi took a deep breath. “I’ve moved back to the island. I’m opening my own clothing shop. I’m divorced now, and I’m starting my life over, and this is the place I want to be.”

  Whispers flitted through the crowd.

  HM looked smug. “The island’s changed.”

  Lexi looked smug back. “So have I. Ten years changes everyone. Are you still teaching?”

  HM’s mouth went prune-shape, always a bad sign.

  “I like your jacket,” a high sweet voice rang out. “I think it’s quite felicitous to the eye.”

  A girl approached Lexi. Perhaps ten years old, her curly red hair framed an elfin face sprinkled with freckles. Behind tortoiseshell glasses, a pair of astute blue eyes gleamed. The girl wore cargo pants and a white sweater.

  “Thank you,” Lexi said. “I like your glasses.”

  The girl beamed. “They provide a useful contradiction to my name. Jewel. My mother was addicted to her music when she was pregnant with me. It could be worse. I could be named Snoop Dogg.”

  Lexi laughed, genuinely entertained. “What’s your mother’s name?”

  Jewel rolled her eyes. “Bonnie Frost. My father’s name is Tristram Chandler.”

  “Hey, I knew a Bonnie Lott in high school. And Tris Chandler was a friend of my brother’s.” Lexi smiled, remembering. “He was really cute.”

  Jewel nodded. “He’s still cute. Also, he’s available, if you’re interested.”

  Startled and amused, Lexi faked a cough to hide a smile.

  “My parents are divorced,” Jewel explained coolly. “My mother has married again. My stepfather’s name is Ken Frost. They have a new baby, a little boy. His name is Franklin Frost. Frankie for short.”

  “It m
ust be fun, having a baby around.”

  “Sometimes.” Jewel shrugged, so blasé. “I often find him a bit truculent.” She changed the subject. “And are you Lexi Laney?”

  “I am.” It seemed only polite to offer her hand to Jewel in a polite handshake.

  “I’ve heard about you,” Jewel said cryptically.

  “Is my daughter bothering you?” Bonnie Frost squeezed her way through the crowd. She wore her long chestnut curls caught up with combs to show off the enormous diamond studs in her ears. She was slightly plump with new baby weight and sleepless nights had brushed shadows under her eyes, but she was absolutely lovely. A baby—it must be the truculent one—lay in a kind of sling across Bonnie’s body. “Oh, hi, Lexi, I heard you were back.” Before Lexi could reply, the baby let out a long glass-shattering wail. Bonnie looked desperate. “I’ve got to go before everyone here kills me. Sorry about the noise,” she apologized over the air-raid siren of her son’s voice. “Nice to see you, Lexi. Jewel, honey, come on.”

  Bonnie grabbed Jewel’s hand and towed her swiftly from the room. Jewel threw Lexi a see-what-I-mean look over her shoulder. Lexi waved at Jewel.

  “Lexi Laney!” Patricia Moody, the choir director, put her hands on Lexi’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I saw a picture of you last year in the Globe. You were at Madame Butterfly. Was it fabulous?”

  Gradually the platters of brownies and small sandwiches set out on the long table emptied. A volunteer unplugged the heavy coffee urn and carried it off to the kitchen. People checked their watches or allowed themselves to be dragged away by fussy children. But the room was still fairly crowded when a teenage boy exploded in, his face glowing from exertion and excitement.

  “Hey, parts of a Nantucket boat have washed up in Maine!”

  “A Nantucket boat?” Marvin Meriweather’s voice trembled. “I was down at Tris Chandler’s boatyard just last week. Just gabbing, you know. He said he was going north this week, taking a boat up to a customer in Maine. I wonder if …”

  “Nonsense!” Patricia Moody snapped. “Tris is an excellent sailor. It wouldn’t be Tris.”

  “I don’t know. These spring storms can come up so suddenly.” Amber Young looked genuinely worried.

  “Let’s not be silly now,” Harsh Marsh commanded. “We don’t know that it was Tris’s boat. No point getting upset for nothing.”

  Slowly, reassuring one another, the crowd dispersed, filing out of the building into the cool light of late afternoon.

  “I’m glad Jewel didn’t hear that,” Clare told Lexi. “She’s had a tough time with the divorce. She adores her father.”

  “She seems like an unusual child,” Lexi mused. “I like her.”

  “Of course you do.” Clare elbowed Lexi in the side. “She’s going to set you up with your first crush. And you haven’t seen Tris all grown up, Lexi. He is fine.”

  “I have no time for romantic fantasies,” Lexi said firmly. “I’ve got a business to run.”

  SIXTEEN

  Clare returned the tray of chocolates to the refrigerator. She had two refrigerators here at home, one for normal household use and one only for her chocolates. She liked being able to wander into the kitchen whenever inspiration hit. Often she’d wake up in the middle of the night thinking of a new kind of chocolate and she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until she’d tiptoed downstairs and spent a few hours experimenting. She usually worked in the shop kitchen, especially once she had the recipe perfected. There was much more room.

  Now she untied her apron. It was early afternoon. The windows bloomed with light. She opened the back door, and leaned against it, breathing in the fresh spring air. She’d work on the truffle later. After the long gray winter, this bright blue-sky day was too irresistible to resist. Maybe she’d go for a bike ride. The thought of whizzing along beneath the spring sun made her smile.

  Her father was in the den, his eyes glassy as he stared at the television. It was after eleven in the morning, and he was still in his robe and slippers.

  “Hey, Dad.” Clare kissed the top of his balding head. “What’s up?”

  “Hello, sweetheart.” He shifted around in his chair, obviously making an attempt to prove he wasn’t in another one of his grief-inspired comas. “Um, is Jesse coming over?”

  “Tonight. He’s coming for dinner. Actually, he’s bringing dinner. He’s got some kind of fish he caught up in Maine.” When had her father last dressed, she wondered. “Hey, Dad, want to go for a walk? It’s a nice day.” If she could get him to dress for a walk, she could run his robe and pajamas through the wash.

  Her father shook his head. “I don’t think so, honey. I think I’ll just watch this program.”

  The TV was tuned to ESPN, which was some kind of relief—Clare had seen her father sit through jewelry channel shows—but the program was about bowling, something they never did since there was no bowling alley on the island.

  “Dad …”

  “Maybe later.” He waved his hand, as if swatting away a pesky fly.

  “All righty then.” Sometimes he seemed determined to be miserable. Often it was hard not to take his lethargy personally. She couldn’t bring his wife back from the dead, but she was here, wasn’t she? They’d never been close, but she was trying so hard, couldn’t he try just a little, too? She was his daughter, after all.

  Exasperated now, she tugged a wool hat on over her head, slipped into a down vest, and pulled on leather gloves. Her bike was in the garage. She wheeled it out through the side door, straddled it, and began to pedal.

  As she zipped along the quiet streets, she decided she was being impatient with her father. She was in a more positive place these days, and she knew why, even though she didn’t trust the reason. Lexi was back. And Lexi was just as much fun as she’d always been, and twice as fabulous. When they had walked into the concert, Clare had felt that old thrill from her high school days, to be seen in the company of such a dazzling creature. It was like showing up with a giraffe at her side, a really bewitching giraffe who could communicate only to Clare.

  How could a friendship be explained? It was as mysterious as falling in love. Life seemed brighter, more fun, with Lexi back on the island. Clare couldn’t wait to see the kinds of clothes she’d be selling. And Clare liked that something broken could be mended, especially something as mysterious and ineffable as a friendship. It made her feel optimistic—and all at once, as she spun past a yard where a man was throwing a Frisbee to his golden Lab, Clare thought: I know what! I’ll get Dad a dog!

  Recently, the MSPCA had been transformed by avid fundraisers from a storybook Hansel-and-Gretel cottage tucked away in the woods into a lavish multiroom palace with a huge parking lot and a reception area that rivaled the deck of the Starship Enterprise. Clare had only been out here a few times in her life. Her father had always wanted a dog or cat, but her mother had been allergic, so Clare’s trips had been as a companion to a friend taking a pet in for a checkup. She wondered whether Lexi had seen the new building yet. She wished she’d thought to phone Lexi to ask her to come with her. But no, Lexi’s brother was the head vet out here; probably he’d already brought her out.

  She was glad to see a familiar face. Helen Coffin, one of her mother’s buddies, was seated behind the high curved counter, tapping away at a computer. Over her floral pantsuit, she wore a blue lab coat with Helen embroidered on the pocket.

  “Clare! What brings you out here?”

  “I’m thinking of adopting a dog for my father.”

  “What a good idea! Well, Jenny is our adoption officer, and she’s gone to Jamaica for three weeks, but we do have some very cute little animals here, so let me get myself organized and I’ll take you back myself. Paula’s home sick with this cold that everyone’s got, but fortunately we’ve got a quiet day.” She clicked away at the computer, turning the screen into a series of starburst patterns, pushed back her chair, and took off her glasses, letting them fall to her impressive chest, where they dangled on a
multicolored string of beads.

  “I like your glasses chain,” Clare told Helen as she led the way through the shining white halls to the adoption area.

  “Why, thank you, so do I. I swear, by this time of year I’m so tired of all the gray and bleakness I pile on as much color as I can. Orvis is just grateful I haven’t dyed my hair purple.”

  Laughing over her shoulder, Helen opened the door into a bright room full of clean, spacious cells inhabited by a number of sleeping dogs. At their entrance, the animals sprang to their feet and hurtled to the front of their cages, wagging their tails and barking.

  “Oh, the poor things! I wish I could adopt them all.” Clare walked from cage to cage, smiling and cooing and feeling like a fiend when she deserted one dog to look at another. Soon all the dogs were hurling themselves around their cages, barking, wagging their tails, wriggling all over with hope.

  “Now this one is my favorite.” Helen opened the door and lifted out a tiny bundle of white fur. “She doesn’t have papers but I swear she’s all shih tzu. Oh, give mama some love,” Helen squealed as the little dog licked her face.

  “Clare.” A door swung open and Lexi’s brother strode in, a white lab coat over his street clothes. “I thought I saw you come in.”

  “Adam!” Clare felt herself blush as he walked toward her. He was still handsome at six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, and much more serious-looking—he was a real man now. She couldn’t stop smiling at him. “I saw the article in the paper about you. Welcome back.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad to be here. I really missed the island.”

  He smiled at her as if he found pleasure in just looking at her. Memories of her childhood crush flooded through her. She struggled for composure. “I, uh, I’m thinking of getting a dog for my father.”