by Nancy Thayer
“God, me, too.” Jenny followed.
“Are you drunk?” Meg demanded, entering the kitchen.
“Jeez, Meg, don’t be such a prig,” Jenny carped.
“We’re not drunk,” Arden informed Meg in a nicer tone of voice. “We hardly drank at all.”
“Then why did you get arrested?”
“We didn’t say arrested,” Jenny corrected her. “We got stopped. I didn’t have my lights on.”
“So you were drunk!” Meg argued.
“No,” Jenny said with patience. “It was just turning dark. This nature thing called twilight? It stays light here late in the summer. We’d only gone one block when the child in black biker shorts and yellow shirt with POLICE on it stopped us. He just reminded me to turn on my headlights. We were very law abiding and respectful, okay?”
“But then,” Arden added, “we had to watch him pedal away over the cobblestones. It’s extremely hard to appear dignified and tough when your butt’s bouncing on a bike.”
“So did you make some contacts?” Meg asked Arden.
Arden waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll say.”
“Arden, I’m warning you, don’t trust that guy,” Jenny reminded her.
“What guy?” Meg demanded.
Arden smiled smugly. “His name is Tim Robinson,” she told Meg. “He’s a computer techie and a dreamboat.”
“He’s an idiot,” Jenny snorted.
“I’ve got a date with him next Saturday,” Arden told Meg. “Wait till you check him out.”
“You’d be much better off going out with Palmer White,” Jenny told Arden. “I thought you went to the party to make contacts, not to hit on good-looking morons.”
In a flash, Arden flicked from lighthearted to cranky. “Well, you know what, Jenny? If I’d been able to spend some time here every summer when I was a teenager instead of your mother imposing The Exile, I could have had my fill of good-looking morons. But I missed out then and I’m all in now.”
“Arden, stop it,” Jenny said, her voice soft. “It’s not my fault my mother kicked you two out. That’s unfair.”
“I don’t think so,” Arden responded. She stormed out of the room and up the stairs. Her bedroom door slammed.
“We have got to talk about this,” Jenny said. “Or it will fester.”
“I know,” Meg agreed. She sat down at the table, thinking Jenny would join her.
“We have to do it with the three of us together,” Jenny said. “Maybe tomorrow.” She left the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “Turn off the lights when you’re done, okay?”
After a moment, Meg turned off the lights and went upstairs to her room.
The next morning, Jenny returned from her early-morning run to find Arden and Meg sitting at the kitchen table.
“Hey!” Jenny let the screen door slam and stood panting away with a big smile on her face. Running shot good endorphins through her. “What are you two doing here on this excellent day, still in your PJ’s?”
Arden gave Jenny a sullen glare. “Jenny. It. Is. Eight. O’clock.”
Meg added, “On a Saturday morning. But you know, I guess that since Arden and I have been working our butts off for the past few months to pay the rent instead of lounging around in our father’s house working whenever we feel like it, Arden and I deserve a little Saturday laziness.”
“You guys.” Jenny threw herself into a kitchen chair, folded her arms on the table, and scowled, her happy mood vanished. “Give me a break here. The past is over and done. We all want a slice of the sale of this house. The only way we’re going to get it is to do what our father stipulated. We’ve got to be here for three months, together. No way out. Why can’t we three act like civilized adults and behave with a little courtesy toward each other?”
“Easy for you to say,” Arden grumbled. “You are the winner and still champion of our father’s affections, even though you aren’t even his blood.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Jenny replied.
Her voice quiet but firm, Meg asked, “Do you expect us to forget that you got us kicked out of this house?”
Jenny shook her head in frustration. “But I didn’t. It was my mother who made you two leave because one of you stole her emerald necklace.”
Arden shoved back her chair and stood up, all one hundred ten pounds quivering. “I did not steal your mother’s damned necklace!”
Meg shook her head stubbornly. “I didn’t, either.”
Jenny shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Her endorphins were fading, but she still felt the results of a great run on a sunny day by the ocean. “Let’s start again, please. Let’s agree that none of us stole it, okay? Let’s forget about that.”
“Forget about it?” Meg’s fighting spirit rose. “That would be fine with you, wouldn’t it, Jenny? You got to spend every summer of your life here in this fabulous house on an island with golden beaches and gorgeous boys, while Arden and I were in exile. You’ve been living rent-free in Dad’s house for at least the past ten years, while Arden and I have had to work to pay our rent. And you would like us to forget about it? I don’t think so.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Jenny demanded. “Turn back time?”
Arden and Meg were silent, arms folded over their chests. Arden wore pink silk boxer short pajamas that brought out the red accents in her auburn hair. Meg was wrapped in a cotton robe like Joseph’s Technicolor coat and her glorious strawberry-blonde hair was loose.
“You guys are stunning,” Jenny observed quietly. “You both have Dad’s red hair.”
Arden rolled her eyes.
Through the screen door came the trill of a bird. Impulsively, Meg shifted in her chair. “I want to walk on the beach.”
“Wait,” Arden told her. “Jenny’s right. Let’s finish this first. We can’t turn back the clock. We have to live here for three months. We don’t need the atmosphere to be toxic.”
“True.” Encouraged by Arden’s words, Jenny proposed, “I think we should make a list of rules.”
“Oh, Jenny, grow up. We’re adults. Let’s just agree to be civil to each other, as if we’re, oh, I don’t know, three strangers renting the house for the summer. We can be helpful, we can even have fun, we can let go of the past.”
“For three months,” Meg specified.
“For three months,” Arden agreed. She looked at Jenny. “And I don’t want to hear anything about Tim Robinson, okay?”
Jenny bit back a few choice words. “Okay.”
Meg shifted in her chair, rewrapping her colorful robe around her. “I was just thinking. You know what? None of the three of us has been married yet, and we’re all in our thirties.”
“Well, duh, Meg,” Arden snorted. “Why do you guess that is?”
“I know.” Jenny jumped in before the others could say it. “You were both too busy working to meet men. So it’s my fault.” She sat back in her chair, satisfied.
Arden squinted at Jenny. “Actually, for me, it’s true. I’ve been too busy working to settle down!”
Meg asked, “But what about you, Jenny?”
“I was kind of with a guy for the past two years.” She gave the thought a moment’s regret, then shrugged. “But, you know, I’ve been working, too. Maybe Dad paid my college tuition, but I had my nose to the grindstone making those grades. Understanding computer code and algorithms isn’t that easy, either—”
“Enough.” Arden put her hands to her head. “You’re hurting my brain. Fine, we believe you. You’ve worked hard.”
“Who was the guy you were with for two years?” Meg asked.
Jenny paused. “Bjorn,” she said.
“Bjorn?” Meg echoed.
“He’s Swedish. Once you see him, you’ll know why I went with him for two years. He’s like California Ken except he lived here. He’s crazy about Nantucket. Crazy about swimming, surfing when he can. He worked as a bartender at High Winds. Everyone knows him. He’s a truly sweet guy.”
“Why did
you break up?” Meg asked.
Jenny pulled her shoulders up to her ears. “The truth? Bjorn’s adorable, like a yellow lab puppy. But he’s … maybe not the brightest guy in the world.”
“Well, not everyone can talk about algorithms,” Arden pointed out.
“I realize that. We’re just on different planes, we have fun doing different things—listen, why doesn’t one of you go out with him and you’ll see what I mean.”
Arden grinned. “You take him, Meg. I’ve got Tim Robinson.”
Jenny snorted.
Meg said, “I can arrange my own love life, thank you very much. And Bjorn doesn’t sound like my type, anyway.” She stood up, gathering her flashy wrapper around her. “You two might not be aware that I’m working on an important—no, a significant book.” Meg coiled her finger in a long fiery red curl, and her blue-green eyes grew luminous. “Do you know that Louisa May Alcott paid for May’s art lessons, made her gowns, took May with her to Europe to study art, and when May’s painting was accepted by the Paris Salon, May wrote in her journal …” Meg paused before quoting the passage verbatim: “ ‘Who would have imagined such good fortune and so strong proof that Lu does not monopolize the Alcott talent. Ha! Ha! Sister, this is the first feather plucked from your cap!’ ”
The kitchen was quiet.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jenny said at last, gawking at her sister like she was a nutcase. “I’ve got work to do, too.” She left the room and jogged upstairs.
SEVEN
Monday morning, Arden pulled on white capris, a black tee, and black sandals. She slung a straw bag over her shoulder and set out to renew her acquaintance with the town.
The big brick edifice of the Jared Coffin House rose on the corner of Centre and Broad Streets, a touchstone for Arden. From here she could turn left and stroll past Bookworks, the Brotherhood—yum, cheeseburgers!—and down to the Whaling Museum, or turn right and walk down Centre Street, past all sorts of glorious boutiques. She turned right. She window-shopped, thinking about what she needed to buy for a casual summer.
Main Street was charming, as always, with brick sidewalks edging the cobblestone street and more stores filled with enticing goods. She walked down to the water, today rippled by a light wind, back up to Easy Street, and over to the library. She renewed her library card, checked out a mystery, then returned to the fresh air and sunshine.
She needed sunblock. She needed a new swimsuit. She needed a sun hat.
Two hours later, happily lugging several bags from various shops, she collapsed, exhausted, at a table at the Boarding House’s patio. After ordering a salad, she leaned back in her chair and surrendered to the pleasure of people watching.
How soon would she be able to gracefully contact Genevieve Beaudreau about the possibility of appearing on Simplify This? Even though Palmer White had warned her that Genevieve wouldn’t ever want any advice about her summer house, the kitchen could definitely use an update. She took her notebook out of her bag and jotted down some ideas.
“May I join you?”
Arden looked up. Palmer White stood by her table, tall, confident, splendidly dressed in white ducks and a blue polo shirt.
She hesitated. She needed to get to know people on this island, and he probably knew a lot of people she’d like to meet.
“All right,” she answered indifferently.
Palmer had scarcely pulled out his chair when the waitress arrived, all smiles and flapping eyelashes. “Mr. White, how wonderful to see you again. Would you like your usual?”
“That would be great, Andrea.”
After the waitress went off, Arden said softly, “You know her?”
Palmer looked pleased with himself. “I know lots of people.” He lounged in his chair. “That’s why you should be very, very nice to me.”
Arden took a deep breath. “And I’m supposed to be nice to you how?”
“Don’t look so indignant. I’m not asking you to crawl toward me in harem pants.”
Her mouth quirked with amusement at the thought. She couldn’t help but admire his persistence. She’d been accused of being too assertive herself.
“I’m suggesting,” he continued, “that you accompany me to a few parties. You’d be making some crucial connections.”
“What would you get out of it?”
“I’d have a beautiful and moderately famous woman on my arm. Most important, an intelligent woman. I get tired of good-looking airheads.”
The waitress appeared with his beverage—iced tea. Arden narrowed her eyes and coolly observed him. She’d Googled him when she got home from the party, naturally, and was impressed. He’d gone to St. Mark’s boarding school, Harvard, and the London School of Economics. He owned several technology and media companies. He’d been married and divorced, without children. Not that it mattered to Arden.
“Fine, then,” Arden conceded. “When’s the first event?”
“Now, see,” Palmer complained, “I don’t consider that to be pleasant or even nice. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be feminine?”
“I am feminine!”
“No, you’re controlling and abrasive. You want to make it crystal clear that you would only go out with me as long as I’m aware that it’s a kind of business deal. Let’s just make that understood, okay? I get it. So when we’re in front of other people, you don’t treat me like some kind of snake. You’ll act as if we’re on a date.”
Arden bristled. She found the man irritating—and tantalizing. She needed to keep her balance here. “All right, then, but you’ve got to stop taking the way I am personally. I talk to everyone the way I talk to you. It’s how I get things done. I have a chance to rejuvenate Simplify This, and that’s my priority. I’m not interested in flirting with you so you’ll marry me, make me rich, and allow me to lie around having my toenails painted. I can already afford that myself. I’ll go out with you because you’ll introduce me to some people I need to meet, and I’ll be pleasant, but it’s agreed at the beginning that there’s no kind of sexual niceties involved, okay?”
Palmer narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Of course I’d like to take you to bed. You’re bewitching. But I’m thirty-eight years old and quite a bit more complicated than the men you’ve obviously been seeing.”
“You know nothing about the men I’ve been seeing,” Arden shot back. Truth was, she hadn’t seen any men for quite a while.
Palmer sipped his iced tea. He waited.
The waitress brought Arden’s salad. It did not skip Arden’s notice that her salad came much later than Palmer’s iced tea. Of course, a salad took more time to prepare than … Oh, she ordered herself, stop it!
“Palmer,” Arden said in an amiable voice, “I would be pleased to be your companion at any events you might wish to invite me to attend with you.”
“How about next Friday night, then? Black tie, at the Forbeses’. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“That sounds nice,” Arden replied, thinking, Which Forbes? But she wouldn’t give Palmer the satisfaction of asking. She’d find out online when she got home.
“Good.” Palmer stood up. “Enjoy your lunch.”
At eleven on Monday morning, Jenny sat in Genevieve’s office, located in what had once been the front parlor of the historic old home. Tim Robinson sat in a chair next to her as they waited for Genevieve to make an appearance. Genevieve’s maid had ushered them into the room, asked if they wanted coffee, and promised that Ms. Beaudreau would join them soon.
Jenny usually wore tank tops, jeans, and flip-flops, but in deference to her southern hostess and temporary client, she’d pulled on a blue dress, sandals, and earrings. She wanted to tell Tim that she hadn’t dressed up because she was seeing him. She understood that Genevieve was an authentically considerate benefactress who wanted both island computer experts to be on board with her arts project. Genevieve was all about cooperation and harmony. It would upset her if Jenny and Tim couldn’t appear to be friendly. Gen
evieve had no idea of the personal history between them.
Tim wore khakis and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His sandy hair was, as usual, sort of sticking up all over, not for style’s sake but because each strand seemed to have a mind of its own.
“Look,” Tim whispered to Jenny now. “Let’s agree before she gets here that you’ll design the logo for the arts coalition, and the home page of the website.”
Jenny shook her head. “I think Genevieve should hold a contest among the artists for the design of the logo and the general overall appearance. We’ll take it from there.”
Tim didn’t flinch. “Hey, great idea. I should have thought of that. Okay. You take the lead when Genevieve gets in here. She doesn’t need to know every detail of what you and I are going to do; she couldn’t understand the whole code-writing business.”
“We’ll say we’re going to share the work and the pay, right?” Jenny asked. “Half and half, equally?”
“Right,” Tim agreed, just as their client entered the room.
Genevieve was frothed in turquoise silk from shoulders to ankles. “I am so sorry I’m not dressed yet,” she apologized, although she could have worn the garment to a party. “But you can just ignore that, okay? Now, what do you have for me?”
Jenny explained the idea of a contest for a logo and the overall look of the site.
Genevieve’s brow puckered. “But won’t that just take forevah?”
“Not if we put a deadline on it,” Tim told her. “We’ll e-mail the artists on your list today, tell them we need the idea by Thursday, and the three of us can decide on Friday.”
Her lily-white brow crinkled even more. “The three of us will decide?”
Jenny leaned forward. “You’ll have the final say, of course, but Tim and I will have to weigh in on feasibility and efficiency.”
“Efficiency?” Genevieve looked as if the word hurt.
“Some designs might be simpler, and offer more versatility for our purposes. We can get the site live faster. Also, what might be striking on paper might be impossible to reproduce on a website.”
