by Nancy Thayer
“Here we go.” Suddenly he’d returned, with ice wrapped in one of the caterer’s white napkins. “Can you hold it against your foot? That should keep the swelling down.”
She felt like an idiot, sitting in such an unalluring position, with one leg up, knee to her chin, as she held the ice on her foot, trying to keep her dress tucked tidily beneath her thigh.
He sat next to her. “I’m Tim Robinson, and my clumsy feet are the bane of my existence.”
She laughed. “Arden Randall.”
Companionably, they eyed his feet, neatly shod in tasseled leather loafers.
“You do have big feet,” she remarked gently.
“Size twelve. You’d think by now I’d be used to them. I’ve had them all my life.”
Arden laughed. It seemed natural to ask, “What do you do?”
“Computers,” he told her. “I’m ‘the computer guy.’ That’s the name of my store here on the island: The Computer Guy. I sell computers, printers, accessories, and I repair computers. I make house calls to help people when their computers are being obstinate.”
“You must be the most popular guy on the island.”
“I’m not sure popular is precisely the right word,” Tim joked. “By the time people call me, they’ve worked themselves up into a state of four-letter fury that makes them completely inarticulate. It usually takes me more time to understand what the problem is than to fix it.”
Arden laughed. “Oh, I know. Nothing makes me as angry as my computer.” For some reason, she thought of Palmer White. “Well, almost nothing.”
“When computers do work, things happen so quickly that it makes everyone short tempered when a problem isn’t fixed instantaneously.” He looked at her ice-covered toes. “How’s your foot?”
“I think it will be okay,” she told him. “Nothing broken.”
“That’s good. I hope you don’t have to lead a hiking tour tomorrow.”
“I’m on vacation,” she assured him. “I’ll lie in the sun and recuperate from my terrible injury.”
“Where do you live when you’re not here?”
“Boston. But I’ll be on the island for the entire summer.”
“Three months vacationing on the island? Nice.”
She shifted to face him. He was a handsome man to face. “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” she said. “I’m actually drawing a salary while I’m vacationing, plus I’ll be doing some research for the television show I host in Boston.”
“You host a TV show? Impressive. What is it?” Before she could reply, he hurriedly explained, “I don’t watch television much anymore. I get my news on the computer and play DVDs when I have the time.”
“No problem, though I believe I have a universal message. My show’s called Simplify This.”
He burst out into a full-bodied laugh. “Man, if only!”
Their conversation was interrupted by a tapping at the microphone.
“Hello, y’all. I’m Genevieve Beaudreau, and I’m the hostess of this li’l ol’ get-together.”
Genevieve had back-combed white hair, a silver sequined dress draped over a tall, voluptuous yet shapely body, and everything about her glittered. Even though she was at least in her fifties and of more than generous proportions, she still wore bling covered with bling. She was like a 1930s movie star, lacking only the white fox stole.
“I’m just so happy to see all of you, and I want to thank you for coming to help support this new organization, the Arts Coalition of Nantucket. Now I know I’m just a li’l old summer person from Texas, but I’ve been comin’ to this adorable island for years and years, and if there’s one thing I know in my life, it’s that this island breeds super artists like a raccoon breeds fleas. Now that we’ve entered the new age of technology, I believe we owe it to the world to let everyone know all about the artistic excellence of Nantucket, and that’s why I founded the arts coalition, and that’s why I’m asking you charming people for your help.”
Arden looked around the crowd to gauge their reaction. Some of the women were exchanging looks of skepticism and amusement, but every man there had his eyes glued to their hostess’s sparkling form. As she continued to talk, the audience warmed up, smiling, then chuckling, then outright laughing at Genevieve’s southern charm. Arden decided the savvy Texan hostess knew exactly what she was doing. She knew how to get attention, and how to keep it.
After a few more minutes, Genevieve stepped off the platform and the band started up again. A gentleman in a tux handed Genevieve a glass of wine, and a flock of other men surrounded her.
“I believe she’s going to make a success of her cause,” Arden remarked.
Tim agreed. “Who could turn her down? She reminds me of Jean Harlow.”
“I should have known you two would find each other.”
Arden looked up from her bench to see Jenny standing above her, hand on cocked hip, eyes narrowed dangerously.
Jenny said, “I should have known that out of all this crowd, you’d find my sister.”
Tim almost leapt from the bench. He stood just inches in front of Jenny, glaring down at her. “You told me you don’t have any sisters!”
“Well,” Jenny sputtered, “I only sort of do—”
Tim pounced. “You lied!”
Arden watched, fascinated. Tim and Jenny faced each other with such passionate intensity, Arden couldn’t decide whether they were going to murder each other or throw themselves into a torrid embrace.
“I did not lie!” Jenny insisted. “Arden isn’t my sister—”
“You just said she was!” Tim reminded Jenny triumphantly. “You are a proven liar.”
Jenny went purple. “Arden is my stepsister. I haven’t even seen her in years.”
Tim tore his gaze away from Jenny’s face and aimed it at Arden. “Is this true?”
Arden knew she had the opportunity to get Jenny in trouble. It was just too delicious to resist. Sweetly, she replied, “It’s true that we’re stepsisters. But we have seen each other every year. Our father would take the three of us out on the town for a special dinner, so we’d all be together.”
“Oh, turkey breast,” snapped Jenny, in her turmoil reverting to her childhood swear. “One night doesn’t count.”
“Yes it does,” Arden insisted, surprised to find herself becoming emotionally involved. “What Jenny probably means is that we never met on Nantucket because she got me and my real sister exiled.”
“That was not my fault!” Jenny hissed.
Before Arden could respond, she noticed their hostess, Genevieve, coming toward them, all smiles and glitter.
“Darlin’s!” Genevieve swooped down to gather Jenny and Tim against her like baby chicks. “I’m so glad to find you here together like this. I just knew it was the right idea, and look here, I’m right again.”
Jenny and Tim both smiled nervously.
“Now, we need to have a meetin’ soon because I want the two of you to design, build, and run the arts coalition website,” Genevieve declared.
Arden bit back a smile as she watched Jenny and Tim exchange a meaningful glance.
“Of course you know I’ll pay you, and top rate, too,” Genevieve cooed. “You’re only young’uns, and I wouldn’t expect kids like you just starting out to donate your time, so don’t even think about it. Bill me like you’re both lawyers.” She chuckled at her own wit. “Okay, Monday morning, my office, eleven?” She bent to peck a kiss on Jenny’s forehead and stood on tiptoe to kiss Tim’s chin, then whirled away, leaving a mist of perfume as sweet as a Taylor Swift song.
Jenny’s smile disappeared. Her face grew stormy. “I’m going to kill myself,” she muttered.
“Grow up,” Tim told her. “We can do this.”
“I’m sys admin,” Jenny snapped.
“That is so wrong. You should be site designer and the graphic artist—that’s the stuff you do well,” Tim retorted.
Arden’s head turned back and forth as if she were watching
a tennis match. Okay, Arden thought, Tim gave Jenny a compliment. Now Jenny will be nice back.
Jenny only bristled. “I do everything well.”
Tim stepped closer to Jenny, hands on his hips, mouth tense, glaring down at her with the ferocity of some futuristic death-ray machine. Arden thought he might zap her with a toxic glow and Jenny would disappear. Serve her right, Arden thought with a wicked inner smile.
Instead, Tim spoke with obvious patience. “Let’s just make the meeting and go from there, okay? This could be important to both of us.”
Mouth tightened into a thin line, Jenny nodded. Then she spun on her heel and stalked away.
Tim took a long, deep breath. After a moment, he realized Arden was standing there. “So she’s your sister?”
Arden made a helpless shoulder shrug. “As she said, she’s a stepsister. We’re not exactly close. Our relationship is neutral at the best of times. It’s complicated.”
Tim smiled at her. “I’d like to hear about it.”
Wow, did this guy have a dangerous smile. Arden narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why? So you can learn more about Jenny?”
“Believe me, I know all I need to about her,” he answered. “No, so I can learn more about you. I don’t believe I’ve started off on my best foot, so to speak. Let me take you out to dinner. Or better yet, out on my boat.”
“It would be heavenly to get out on the water,” Arden said.
“Next Saturday?”
She thought for a moment. She wasn’t used to having free time, but for three months, she had all the time in the world. “Next Saturday,” she agreed.
SIX
Meg kept looking at the clock.
Arden had assured Jenny they didn’t have to eat before the party because there would be so many catered goodies on offer. They’d hurried into the house to shower and dress, leaving Meg alone in the garden.
Meg had tried to relax in her chair. Tried to enjoy the soft summer air. But she was hurt that Jenny hadn’t invited Meg to the party, too. She felt left out. She was left out. Restless and annoyed with herself, she went back into the house and up to her room, trying not to notice the fragrance of Arden’s and Jenny’s bath salts and perfumes. She shut her door and seated herself at her desk. She organized her papers, laying her research notes, computer, books, and notebooks on the rickety wooden table. She almost didn’t hear Arden calling out “Bye!”
After they left, Meg went down to the kitchen and made a sandwich—from the food that Jenny had bought. She scribbled a note in her little book of days so she could keep track of what she owed Jenny. God forbid she’d ever be indebted to her, even for five cents. Jenny’s mother, Justine, would take Meg to court.
She could have walked into town and enjoyed a meal at any number of restaurants, but she didn’t like eating alone, and she didn’t need to gain any more weight. She wasn’t in the mood to go out. It had been so long since she’d been on the island. She wanted to see the town again in the daylight, to take her time observing what remained from her childhood and what had changed.
Returning to her room, she leaned on her desk and watched the light play over the little town. Really, it was enchanting, and probably almost exactly what the town looked like over a hundred and twenty-five years ago when May Alcott was living with her brilliant older sister Louisa in Boston. Birds were singing and rustling in the trees and bushes outside—and then a strange, modern ring interrupted her thoughts.
Her cell phone. She checked the number: Liam.
They’d gotten into the habit of calling each other every day to talk, some days more than once, mostly about college matters such as students, deadlines, committees, conferences, but lately their conversations had taken a more personal tone. She had gotten too relaxed, genuine, comfortable with him, assuming he saw her as a kind of big sister. Big being the operative term. She knew she was good-looking in her full-figured way, with a pretty enough face; rather striking, even she would admit, strawberry-blonde hair; and her curvaceous body, but she wasn’t enough of a babe to attract someone as downright gorgeous as Liam. Over the school term, she’d flirted with him in a lighthearted, frivolous fashion, but when he’d asked her out to dinner, she’d been surprised, even suspicious.
They’d been in his office on campus at the end of the first semester. She’d brought in a chunk of her Alcott outline for him to critique over the Christmas holiday. He’d asked her out to dinner. She’d laughed. “You mean, like on a date?”
Liam had crossed his office to stand close to her. With a slight smile on his handsome face, he’d said, in a low voice that gave her shivers, “I mean absolutely like on a date.”
She’d backed off so fast she’d bumped into the bookcase.
“Don’t be silly. We can’t date.”
“Why not?” He took a step closer. She could feel his breath. She smelled cinnamon.
She thought: Because you’ll sleep with me, make me fall in love with you, and drop me for the first Gisele Bündchen look-alike you see. She said, “Liam, you and I are such good friends.”
“I know. Why can’t we be more than that?”
She shook her head. “No. Somehow one of us would do something stupid and we’d ruin our friendship. I don’t want to do that.”
“Meg—”
She slid sideways, out of his reach, and pulled open the office door. “Happy holidays, Liam. I’ll see you in January.”
“Wait, Meg.” He’d looked perplexed, and no wonder, she thought. She was probably the first woman who’d ever turned him down in his life. “Not until January?”
“The holidays are always so busy,” she gabbled, knowing she should run for her life.
“Can we at least talk on the phone?”
“Of course, just like we always do.” Relieved, she threw him a big smile over her shoulder as she hurried away.
Sometimes on the phone they talked about the books they were reading, and the Alcott book Meg was gathering notes for, and about the freshman syllabus she’d designed and used to great success in the fall semester. About the poems he was writing … He read them to her over the phone while she lay in bed, trying to react intellectually, nearly swooning over the sweetness of his voice. She was the only one he shared his first drafts with. That was an honor for her and a gift of intimacy she couldn’t bear to lose. Perhaps he had a schoolboy crush on her, but she had to be strong. She was strong. She made light of any amorous comment he made. She evaded his touch. She was sure she’d managed to safeguard their friendship.
In the solitude of her small room, she lay back on her bed and answered the phone.
“Hey, Meg. Just calling to see if you got there okay.”
Liam’s low, masculine voice flowed through Meg’s body like a warm balm. “Oh, Liam, hi. Yes, I’m here. I’m looking out my window at the town. It’s like looking back in time.”
“How was your trip?”
As they talked, Meg could just see him, probably on the back deck of the little ranch house he rented in Sudbury, his long legs stretched out as he lazed on a lounge chair. He told her he was looking at the stars, enjoying an early June night that was as mild as deep summer.
His blond hair would gleam in the starlight.
“How are you getting on with Drusilla and Anastasia?” Liam knew enough about Meg’s life to use the Disney names for her step- and half sister.
“So far, so good,” she told him. “We’re all tiptoeing around on hot coals, trying to be pleasant and not offend each other. They’re at a party now—”
“And you’re not?”
Meg tried to sound offhand, even witty. “Didn’t get asked to go along.”
“What little witches.”
Liam’s indignation on Meg’s behalf made her laugh. “It’s not like that. I think it’s a business kind of thing for Arden, although we haven’t had a chance to talk seriously.”
“Want me to come down and give them a piece of my mind?” Liam suggested hopefully.
“
Save it. But I do want you to come sometime to enjoy the island,” Meg answered gently. “Just not quite yet.”
“I miss you,” Liam told her.
Meg took a deep breath. Aiming for the voice of a sexless Girl Scout leader, she replied flippantly, “I haven’t even been gone for one day.” Before he could disarm her with any more sweetness, she rushed on, “You know I’m determined to dig into this book.”
“Good for you.” Liam hesitated. “Okay, then, well, if you ever need me …”
“I want you to come visit, and soon,” Meg promised. “I need to get settled and accomplish some work first.”
But after she said good-bye to Liam, Meg went to her desk. Rather than reading, she observed the night sky and pondered life’s mysteries. Louisa May Alcott had financially supported her philosophical but impractical father and the rest of the family. She’d worked incessantly, scribbling away by hand, not only her Little Women books but, under a pseudonym, a series of wild thrillers starring dangerous hypnotic villains. She never had a suitor of her own, never married.
Gales of laughter interrupted her thoughts. Arden and Jenny were home.
For a fraction of a moment, Meg considered keeping her dignity and staying in her room, but instead she went out into the hall and leaned over the railing, looking down at the two women bent over with laughter. “You must have had a good time.”
“We got stopped by a policeman on—on—on—” Jenny sputtered.
“On what?” Meg demanded, so curious she hurried down the stairs.
“A bicycle!” Arden burst out. “He was ten years old!”
Meg arched an eyebrow. “You were arrested by a ten-year-old policeman on a bike?”
Jenny leaned against the wall in the front hall, pulling off her sparkling sandals. “It’s a new arrangement here in the summer, bike cops to help with all the traffic violations.”
Arden added, “He wasn’t really ten, he just looked it.” She wandered into the kitchen. “I’ve got to drink some water.”
