“But you’ve found Suzette,” Charlotte reminded him. “You’ve found your person. Don’t be so down on yourself. Most people don’t know what kind of work they want to do. Most people don’t even get to choose.”
“I know, I know, I’m fortunate, I’m rich, I’m educated—” His voice caught the edge of a whine.
“Stop it, Teddy. You’re a husband and you’re about to be a father. You’ve got a place to stay while your wife has her baby, and before long you can all move back to Tucson, or wherever you want. Gosh, you could leave now if you wanted to. No one’s stopping you.”
They reached the end of the drive. Suzette was there, leaning against the big concrete vase with the spilling fuchsia. “Existential crisis?” she asked.
Charlotte gaped. Suzette was continually surprising her. She didn’t look like someone who had ever read Sartre. Before she could answer, Suzette reached out and pulled Teddy to her.
“Let’s get some food into you. Then bed. You’ve got to get up early for work tomorrow.”
Charlotte followed them into the house. Collapsing on the bench in the mudroom, she unlaced her boots, then just leaned against the wall. She was tired. Plus, she had melancholy. She envied Teddy his particular sin. She envied him because everyone knew about it, and their anger or indignation was, if nothing else, a clean, true reaction. Her own offense was still a secret. She couldn’t imagine telling anyone in her family, and there was no reason to; it would only cause hurt and distrust by cracking open a family chasm. Besides, it was over now. It was done. She couldn’t change it. She could only go forward. And what she had done, really, had not been so terribly bad. She was not the devil. She wished she had someone to say, as she had said to Teddy, “Don’t be so down on yourself.”
Later, she raided the freezer, indulging in a pint of ice cream for dinner, then taking a long soaking shower. She fell asleep the moment she tumbled into bed. But she woke several times during the night, wondering if she heard the old convertible crunching along the drive and hearing only the silken sound of the island breeze.
The next morning, she was weeding in her garden when she looked up to see a familiar lean figure loping toward her. Not Coop, Whit. Whit in white ducks, a blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a baseball cap shielding his face from the sun.
He held up a plastic bag. “Just bought some of your arugula.”
Charlotte unfolded herself from her squat in the dirt, rose to standing, dusted off her knees and rear, and brushed several stray hairs from her face. “Hi, Whit. Thanks for the business.”
Whit looked around. “This is really something. I can’t believe you’re doing it all with just one helper.”
“I’ve got two now. Suzette’s manning the farm stand.” Charlotte put her hands on her back and leaned into them, stretching her spine. “If business keeps growing, I’ll have to hire another worker.”
“Do you want it to keep growing?” Whit stopped a few feet from her, his cap shading his eyes.
“Of course I do.” She furrowed her brow at him.
“It’s just that you never called about meeting the woman from Eat Local.”
“What woman?”
“Laura Riding. I gave Mee the information on the phone yesterday. Laura wanted to have lunch with you today, to get to know you, probably initiate an interview and an article for her magazine.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“I guess Mee forgot to tell you.”
“I guess she did! What an idiot! Whit, I’d love to meet her—is it too late?”
Whit looked at his watch. “I’m meeting her for lunch in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll come with you. Can you give me a few minutes to change?” She looked down at her grimy shorts and shirt. “I think this is just a little too authentic!”
“My car’s parked by your farm stand. I’ll get it and drive you up to the house.”
Charlotte raced to the attic, stripped off her work clothes, pulled on a filmy skirt and clean T-shirt, let her hair loose, slipped on a pair of turquoise earrings, and hurried back downstairs. She caught glimpses of some of her family as she went, but she didn’t see Mee.
Laura Riding was young, passionate, and energetic, and she possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of plants, farming, and food. They sat in the shade of the back patio at Even Keel, talking about local crops and Nantucket’s unique gastronomic heritage, and every word Charlotte said—mesclun, blueberries—sent Laura off on a quixotic soliloquy about a culinary utopia where everyone ate local, all diseases vanished, and small town economies flourished. She spoke with charming intensity, caused perhaps by her topic but also, Charlotte quickly realized, by what seemed to be a gigantic crush on Whit. She touched his arm, his hand, she actually batted her eyelashes at him, and when he spoke she was completely captivated.
Charlotte was so engrossed, watching Laura flirt with Whit, that she almost missed Whit’s words: “—why we’re opening a branch of the bank on Nantucket.”
“Wait a minute!” Charlotte forgot all etiquette and waved her hands to interrupt him. “I didn’t know this!”
Whit aimed his steady deep blue gaze at her. “No? I’m surprised. Your father and your uncle and your cousin’s husbands have been doing most of the groundwork.”
“But—but does that mean someone will have to live on the island year round? To oversee things?”
“Yes.” Whit smiled. “That would be me.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t know you wanted to live here year-round.”
Determined not to be ignored, Laura leaned forward, gushing, “Oh, it must be wonderful to live out here in the winter! So atmospheric! And think of the food! Fresh fish! Shellfish! Mussels right off the jetties’ rocks. And I’ve seen the town at Christmas, with all the little trees lit up, so sweet. I’d love to live on the island!”
Somehow, by the end of lunch, Laura managed to return her focus to Charlotte and arranged to come out to Beach Grass Garden with her photographer on Friday.
As Whit drove Charlotte home afterward, she found herself gazing at him assessingly, as if she’d never seen him before, as if she hadn’t known him all her life. He was handsome and powerful-looking, relaxed yet confident. He was sexy. Oh, dear. He was very, very sexy.
“So, that was a good meeting, right?” Whit asked. “Good publicity for your business?”
“It was great. Thank you.” Charlotte looked over at him. “That young woman has quite a crush on you, Whit.”
He shrugged. “She’s a good kid.”
His answer exasperated Charlotte. She snapped, “Oh, come on, Whit! Don’t always be so—so noble.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat, puzzled by the force of her irrational irritation.
“Would you prefer I be a cad?” Whit was still smiling, and suddenly he waggled his eyebrows and said in an oily voice, “Yeah, that Laura can’t keep her hands off me, wants to jump my bones.”
Charlotte laughed. “I’m so grateful to you, Whit, for fixing up the introduction and coming out to get me for the lunch.”
“Glad to do it.” His voice was warm, affectionate.
Suddenly she blurted out, “Teddy got drunk last night.”
“That’s too bad. What happened?”
“He says he drank champagne in the shop with some customers. Then he drove the Jeep home and smashed into the farm stand. Totaled my table and crunched the hood of the Jeep.”
“Wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Dad’s furious. Mom insists on driving Teddy to and from work every day.”
Whit was quiet.
“I know what you’re thinking. She’s enabling him. But Whit, what else can she do? What should she do?”
“I don’t think anyone knows what to do, Charlotte. I think your mother’s doing the right thing. It’s good for Teddy to work, and
it’s good for Suzette to have some relatives around to help her.”
“But?”
“No buts.”
“Oh, come on, Whit, don’t you want to say that our family is a convoluted narcissistic mess that probably drives Teddy to drink?”
“Perhaps, but Charlotte, I don’t think your family is all that different from mine.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. “We’ve got this strong central core. I’ve always felt as if my sisters and I were kind of like planets, revolving in a ring around the sun, and sometimes that track feels comfortable and right, but a lot of the time it feels like an awful rut and I just want to get out and get away.”
It was shocking to hear this, to know that Whit, perfect Whit, might actually chafe at his family ties. Charlotte turned on her seat to face him. She’d never heard Whit talk this way before. Well, she’d never gotten to know Whit, she realized, she’d never looked past that familiar façade. “What do you do when you have to get away?”
Whit grinned at her. “I go off climbing two or three times a year. A completely selfish and expensive experience, if that makes you happy. I spend a lot of money for no good but my own pleasure. Last year I went to Norway and Switzerland and New Zealand.”
“Wow.” Charlotte found herself looking at his long muscular thighs, so elegant in his white trousers. “I didn’t know that.” She lay back against her seat, conjuring up images of foreign terrain, fierce peaks thrusting into the sky, crystalline blue air. All that open empty space. “That must be great.”
“It’s amazing.”
“I’ve never been mountain climbing.”
“You should try it.” They were almost to Nona’s driveway. “What do you do for pleasure, Charlotte?”
She thought of Coop. Bed with Coop. She knew she was blushing. “Oh—well, I’ve pretty much worked on Beach Grass Garden for three years now.”
“Perhaps it’s time you had some fun.”
Suddenly she was foolish, tongue-tied. She’d never been this way around Whit before, but then she’d never really gotten to know him. She felt so close to him now, and the desire to touch him was stunning.
“Whit—”
They’d arrived at the turnoff to Nona’s house. Whit brought the car to a halt at the end of the driveway. Under the shade of several pine trees, Suzette sat on a lawn chair, her feet propped up on another lawn chair, her belly like a beach ball. The card table, covered in the checked cloth, was almost bare. Only two flower arrangements and a bag of lettuce remained.
Suzette waved lazily from her chair. “Charlotte, we had a rush about an hour ago.”
“I’ve got some new potatoes and some tomatoes to pick,” Charlotte called. “I’ll just change clothes.”
“Scallions, too,” Suzette said. “Someone asked for scallions.”
Whit drove on up to the house and stopped the car at the circle drive. “She’s really coming into her own, isn’t she?”
Whit’s words delighted her. “Oh, yes, Whit. It’s so nice to see her flower like this.”
Whit hit the button to roll down the windows. He turned off the engine and leaned his arm along the back of the seats. The silence of the summer afternoon enclosed them. For a moment she felt very happy to be right where she was. She felt—on the verge of something. She turned toward him. “Whit, thank you so much for everything.”
He turned toward her. “Are you going to Sarah Chamberlain’s wedding?”
“Oh, gosh, I’d almost forgotten about it. Yes, of course.” She chewed her lip, suddenly engrossed with garden thoughts. Could she leave Suzette to man the farm stand and Jorge to weed without her overseeing them all day Saturday?
“I’ll see you there, then.” Whit leaned over and kissed her cheek.
She stared at him. The attraction between them was like a gravity, a heat. “Whit—”
“Hi, guys!” Mee strolled up to the car, wearing only a little bikini. “What are you two up to?” She leaned on Whit’s window, looking in, her posture pushing her breasts up into appealing pillows.
The private moment vanished. Annoyance flashed through Charlotte. “Whit just took me to the lunch with the magazine editor who wants to do an article on me,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm. “The lunch you forgot to mention to me.”
Mee shrugged, making one of her straps slip fetchingly down her shoulder. “Sorry.” She directed her gaze at Whit. “I’m just going down for a swim. Want to come cool off?”
“No, thanks.” Whit turned on the ignition. “I’ve got some work to do.
“Places to go and people to see.” Mee stepped away from the car as Charlotte got out and shut the door. “Want to got for a quick dip, Char?”
“Maybe later,” Charlotte said. “I’ve got some garden stuff to do.” She looked at Whit. “I’ll see you tomorrow at Sarah’s wedding.”
“Me, too!” Mee called to Whit. “I’ll see you there, too, Whit!”
Whit waved at both women and drove away.
Birth
Twenty-two
Sarah Chamberlain’s wedding was held on the long swoop of lawn at her parents’ house in Sconset. The sky was cerulean blue, the air sweet and calm. A rose arbor had been erected to frame the ceremony, and white folding chairs ranged on either side of a pink carpet scattered with rose petals. For this outdoor occasion, women needed to shade their faces from the sun’s rays, and pastel flower-trimmed hats bobbed in the congregation like dozens of giant cupcakes.
Helen often cried at weddings. Today, when Sarah and her groom, Marcus, came down the aisle, Sarah was holding their six-month-old daughter in her arms. Baby Guinevere wore a christening gown whose long skirts trailed over Sarah’s arms more beautifully than any bridal bouquet, and Helen was moved to tears. Sarah and Marcus were young, strong, optimistic, and madly in love. And Ruby Chamberlain, Sarah’s mother, had a granddaughter. O greedy, envious heart, Helen thought, chiding herself as she wept. Stop longing just for a moment, and wish them well.
After the ceremony, everyone went to the yacht club for the reception. Earlier that morning, Grace had driven Charlotte and Helen out to the airport, where they each rented a car. Helen got a Saab, Charlotte a Jeep. Helen drove Teddy and Suzette to the yacht club. Charlotte drove Worth. Grace and her family went in their own SUV and Volvo. At the club, one of the larger tables had their name cards on it, and Helen swiftly rearranged them so that Teddy was seated between Suzette and Charlotte.
Since their argument about Sweet Cakes, Helen and Worth hadn’t spoken, except for the necessary words exchanged in front of Worth’s sister and her family about the events of the day. Worth’s protestation of love for Helen had been given angrily and under duress, and although he’d said he would break off with Sweet Cakes—with Cindy—Helen felt as if Cindy were still there with him—with them—poisoning their marriage. And of course she was. Even if he never saw her again, Worth would be able to remember the other woman’s body, the smell of her, the sounds she made during passion, the hue and silk of her skin. Thirty-nine. Would it have been less painful if Cindy were fifty-nine? Yes, Helen admitted to herself, she thought it would.
She’d assumed that once she confronted Worth she would feel less burdened, less pressure-driven by the secret, and there was a lessening of anxiety. But it was replaced by a constant searing pain beneath her breast. Worth had confirmed her suspicions. He had given a name and an age to the other woman. She did not know where they would go from here. She did not know where she wanted to go.
For now, she was glad to be out in a crowd. It was natural for her not to be chatting with her own husband, and it was a relief to be away from Grace’s curious gaze. Helen settled at the table next to Suzette. Teddy went off to fetch drinks—sparkling water for him and Suzette, champagne for Helen. Leaning back in her chair, she surveyed the crowd. Joe Abernathy was chatting with Lew Lowry Joe was a handsome man in a completely different way from Worth. Short, compact, bulky, he looked like a retired wrestler but sounded like an
Episcopal minister. He caught Helen staring at him and winked. Helen smiled back.
Joe started shouldering his way through the crowd, coming toward Helen, and her heart skipped a beat. It had been a long time since she’d felt this, this unsettling jolt of sexual attraction. In fact, she’d assumed she was past feeling such things.
Years ago, when Teddy, her youngest child, had finally turned five, old enough to attend kindergarten, when the hot intense chaos of nursing, rocking, soothing, and entertaining babies and toddlers had passed and she finally had space and time to catch her breath and pay attention to the adult world around her, Helen had enjoyed all sorts of playful flirtations. At dinner parties, after doubles tennis, on the ferry coming to the island, during any social engagement with other mommies and daddies, Helen had sensed a man’s interest and felt that knock of engagement, that swift force of desire, and sometimes she’d let herself go with it, as if stepping into a flooding channel of water and allowing herself to be swept off her feet, carried downstream, buffeted and lifted and turned by sensation. But it was always only play. The attraction to another man might be powerful enough that she conjured up fantasies of making love with him, even of running away with him, when she and Worth were making love. But she’d never so much as kissed another man. She’d had opportunities, of course, but she’d always gotten out in time—she’d thought of it as getting out, as escaping—and she’d felt the hot wash of relief that she’d not betrayed Worth, that their marriage was intact, that she truly loved him, and for months after her flirtation she would be fiercely passionate with her husband. In a way, their marriage was stronger for her occasional imaginary wanderings.
Now Worth had changed everything. He was unfaithful in reality, having sex with another woman—with Cindy. Surely Helen was free to do the same. She even deserved an affair, something to make her feel young again, attractive, radiant with sexuality, and she wouldn’t just feel it, she would be that way, for she knew how love could light up a woman’s life and make her glow.
Joe bent and whispered in her ear, because the band was so loud. He asked her to dance. Helen smiled and rose shakily, suddenly nervous. The band was playing a set of fifties love ballads: “In the Still of the Night,” “My Prayer,” “Unchained Melody.” All around them couples danced, holding each other tightly, surrendering to the dreamy mood. Joe pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and allowed herself to relish the man’s body, so different in length and breadth from Worth’s, against hers. His strong thighs touching her thighs. His broad chest against her bosom. She saw Sarah Chamberlain in her sweeping white bridal gown snuggled up against her new husband, both of them deep in private rapture. She could not quite remember such bliss. Joe’s hand, warm against her back, caressed her as he pulled her closer, and he moved his hand down until he was touching the cleft of her lower back. Joe was divorced. His ex-wife lived on the West Coast; she never came to Nantucket these days.
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