Island Girls: A Novel

by Nancy Thayer

  Eleanor stood up and extended a hand across the desk. “You realize the tenure bit has to be passed by a committee, blah blah blah, but consider it done. I’ll start e-mailing you about the composition syllabus soon.”

  Meg shook her hand. By the time she’d turned to leave the office, Eleanor was tapping numbers into her phone.

  Back at her own office, Meg just sat for a few minutes, giving herself time to absorb it all. Tenure. A raise. A book! She was a good teacher. She was a really good teacher!

  She wanted to celebrate.

  And she wanted to celebrate with Liam, who would know exactly how fabulous this all was.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Jenny and Meg agreed to remain on the mainland for one more day, and Meg told Jenny she’d make her own way to the island by bus and boat or plane. They arrived home to find that Arden had prepared a picnic dinner for the three of them. Once Jenny and Meg had unpacked and caught up with their e-mail, they slipped into shorts and tank tops, piled the Jeep with coolers, blankets, and baskets of food, and drove the long six miles to Madaket. This area of the island was the least known, because on Nantucket, six miles was considered far away, especially when you could bike or walk from town to several other beaches.

  They got up to a speedy forty-five miles an hour on the straight part of the road, but closer to the western tip of the island, the road curved, and after they passed the creek leading to Long Pond, where several boys were crabbing, they slowed to maneuver the curves. Handsome shingled houses lined the two-lane road, creating a small village with even narrower roads leading off to Madaket Marine and the harbor on the calm, less surfy Nantucket Sound side. They parked near a tremendous sand dune that rose up like a shifting wall between the paved road and the long stretch of white-gold beach on the west side of the spit of land.

  Lugging the coolers and beach blankets and baskets, they went barefoot up the dune and down, and along the sweeping western finger of the island. Their feet sank into the warm sand. In the distance, a group of people were gathered for their own picnic, but since few families with children ever came here, where the surf was rough and treacherous, much of the beach was empty and quiet.

  They set up camp, helping one another flap out the big blanket, holding down each corner with a cooler or basket, and finally, flopping down onto the blanket to ponder the blue Atlantic. It was calm today, as if stunned by the summer heat, and the surf rolled in lazily, making gentle shushing sounds.

  Meg got to her knees, opened her beach bag, and brought out a bottle of champagne. “Now,” she began.

  “What?” Jenny asked. “Champagne? Wait! I brought champagne, too.” She opened her cooler and took out a bottle.

  Arden laughed. “So did I. Plus,” she added smugly, “I brought glasses.”

  “Did anyone bring any food?” Jenny asked.

  “Of course.” Meg opened her basket to display a platter of cheese, crackers, and fruits. “I’ve got sandwiches, too.”

  “But champagne,” Arden said. “We each brought champagne? What’s going on?”

  Meg puffed out her chest. “Meet the new tenured head of freshman English at Sudbury College.”

  “Congratulations!” Jenny said.

  “That’s wonderful,” Arden agreed. “I’m not sure how you went to see Liam and ended up with tenure, though.”

  “I saw Liam, too.” Meg smirked. “How can I put this …? My new style was a great success.” Suddenly her cheeks were red. “I spent both nights with him. We talked so much about so many serious things. I think—I believe he loves me. I know I love him. And I don’t think I’d have had the courage to take this risk and trust if you two hadn’t helped me believe in myself. If you hadn’t helped me sort of reinvent myself. So thank you.” Fearing she’d sounded sappy, she hurriedly asked, “Arden, why have you brought champagne?”

  Arden said, “First, a toast to you, Meg.” She poured the bubbly.

  The sisters toasted and sipped, toasted and sipped again. They sat back, Indian-style, legs crossed in front of them, like Girl Scouts by a campfire as they talked. Arden explained about Palmer’s offer of a job in Houston.

  “But Arden,” Meg said with a pout. “Houston’s so far away!”

  “Airplanes,” Arden reminded her. “Plus, I doubt I’ll stay there forever. It might be a stepping-stone to someplace else.”

  “Moving all over the place?” Meg shook her head. “I couldn’t live that way.”

  “Fortunately, I can,” Arden countered. She turned to Jenny. “Now, you.”

  Jenny cleared her throat. Very seriously, she said, “I met my biological father.” She waited a few beats, letting the suspense build. “William Chivers. Transplant surgeon. In Boston.”

  “Shut up!” Arden cried. “How lucky are you? He could have been some alcoholic old taxi driver who’d been hot when he was young but fell so far off the wagon he turned into a reprobate.”

  “I know.” Jenny was smug. “It’s almost miraculous, isn’t it?”

  “How did you find him?” Meg asked.

  “I talked to my mother. I convinced her to tell me what she knew, and as it turns out, she knew a lot.” Jenny spilled out the story, which now seemed sugared with romance, of her mother’s love for a dedicated medical student, her accidental pregnancy, and her decision to disappear.

  They poured more champagne, clicked glasses again, and set the food out on the blanket. They talked about freshman English, Houston, and William Chivers. They talked about marriage, careers, and future families—the one Meg wanted with Liam, the half brother and sister Jenny was going to meet. The sun, slowly rolling lower in the sky, gilded their limbs and haloed their faces.

  When they opened the second bottle of champagne, Arden pulled a bottle of sparkling water from her bag. “I’m going to be the designated driver,” she told the others. “I get dehydrated quickly, so it’s water for me from now on.”

  “Good,” Jenny said. “More champagne for us.”

  “Also,” Arden said, “not to rain on this glorious parade of events, but I’ve got one more bit of news.”

  Jenny leaned back on her arms, letting her head fall so that her throat was exposed to the setting sun and her black hair swayed against her neck. “Can’t imagine what it could be. Can’t imagine I’d even care right now.”

  Meg was curious. “What’s the news?”

  “I found the necklace.”

  Jenny snapped upright. “Where?”

  Meg gasped. “Justine’s necklace?”

  Arden sat very straight, legs crossed in front of her, hands on her knees, her face somber. She looked like a chief, or a ruler, or a judge.

  Jenny squinted suspiciously. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe me,” Arden said.

  “Where was it?” Meg asked.

  Arden put her hands to her heart in a token of apology. “Jenny, I’m sorry, but I found the necklace beneath a loose board in Justine’s closet.”

  “What were you doing in her closet?” Jenny demanded.

  “Searching. While you two were gone, I searched your rooms.”

  “Why, you little sneak!” Jenny cried.

  “Call me whatever you want, but I did find the necklace.”

  The sun was sinking lower now, and the ocean, gilded by its light, faded to dull gray.

  “Where is it now?” Meg asked.

  “In a safe-deposit box in the bank.”

  Jenny sighed. “We have to tell my mother.”

  Softly, Arden said, “Jenny, I’m sure your mother already knows where the necklace was.”

  Jenny flinched as if hit. “What are you implying?”

  “I’m not implying, Jenny, I’m saying it straight-out. It’s the only logical explanation. You’ve got to see that.”

  Jenny’s lip quivered. “You’re accusing my mother of pretending it was stolen? Why would she do that? She prized that necklace.”

  “I think she hated me and Meg more,” Arden said quietly.

&nb
sp; “That’s not true,” Jenny protested.

  Meg joined in. “Jenny. It makes sense. She accused Arden and me of taking it so that she could get rid of us, and she did get rid of us.”

  Jenny was trembling now, her eyes tearing up. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s not as if your mother hasn’t lied before,” Arden pointed out. “She lied to you when she told you she didn’t know who your biological father is. She lies about big things, Jenny, significant things; she’s willing to fabricate whatever she needs in order to get her own way.”

  Trapped, Jenny said in a low, choked voice, “I hate you, Arden.”

  “Hey,” Meg pleaded. “That’s not fair.”

  Calmly, Arden accused Jenny: “Come on. You know in your heart this is true.”

  “No,” Jenny disagreed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Then let’s get your mother down here and ask her, pointblank.”

  Jenny lurched backward. “Are you kidding? She’s just lost her husband. If you could see how she is now, she’s bereft, she’s lost weight, she’s grieving.”

  Gently, Meg reminded her, “We are, too. Rory was her husband, but he was our father.”

  Jenny shook her head fiercely. “No. I won’t subject her to an inquisition.” Standing up, she said, “I want to go home. Now. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “Running away from the truth, Jenny?” Arden’s voice was not unkind.

  “Stop it, Arden. Give me time to think. This is all too complicated. You’ve ruined the evening. You’ve ruined everything.”

  Arden shrugged. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of that by a female in your family.”

  Jenny bit back a response and began piling food, glasses, bottles, corks, into the nearest basket. Meg and Arden did the same. They trudged back through the sand and up and down the high dune to the Jeep. A breeze brushed their skin as the sun sank below the horizon.

  Frustrated, alienated, troubled by their own thoughts, they didn’t speak on the ride home. Without a word, they carried the baskets, blanket, and empty bottles into the house and disposed of them in the appropriate places.

  Jenny shook out the beach blanket and hung it over the railing of the back porch. Arden rinsed out the champagne bottles and put them in the glass-recycling bag. Meg put away the uneaten food and shook the baskets out over the sink.

  Then there they were, in the kitchen, together.

  Arden leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “I’ve decided that I want my mother and Meg’s mother to be here, too, to hear what Justine has to say when she comes down. Justine owes us all an apology.”

  “I told you. I won’t do it.” Jenny’s voice was shaking but strong.

  Meg said, and her voice was trembling, too, “Jenny. I totally agree with Arden. Furthermore—”

  “Furthermore?” Jenny interrupted. “Oh, please, could you be more academic?”

  “Furthermore,” Meg continued, unfazed, “if you don’t do what Arden suggests, I’m going to pack and leave this house tomorrow. You won’t get any of the money from the sale of the house.”

  Stunned, Jenny went silent. Then she laughed. “Yeah, well, that means you won’t get any of it, either.”

  “Which should show you how important this is to me,” Meg said.

  Jenny stared. She opened her mouth to snap out a snotty retort. She paused. She wanted to tell these two bossy, opinionated smart-asses that she was the one who had convinced her father, their father, on his deathbed, to write the letter that stipulated they would each inherit a third of the house as long as they all stayed together one summer. She had wanted a relationship with these women so much, she had been willing to give up whatever chance she had of inheriting the entire thing.

  In the far reaches of her confused thoughts, a golden banner of truth flew past as if pulled by an airplane. The banner read: Your mother did lie to you about your birth father. All these years, she knew who he was, and she told you she didn’t.

  Justine could have hidden the jewelry to get her own way. It was possible.

  Jenny took a deep breath. “All three mothers down here in this house at the same time? It will be a screaming match.”

  Arden said, “So we’ll scream.”

  Jenny slowly passed her eyes over Meg and Arden. Their faces were tight, their expressions argumentative, their postures tense. Anger radiated from them like a kind of force field. So we’ll scream.

  She had had so little of this, Jenny thought, this fierce thrust and yank of family altercation, the daily squabbling, making up, hugging, laughing, bickering, fussing, stomping, snorting, and simple collapsing side by side on the sofa. She’d seen it happen in her friends’ families. It had frightened her. But now she saw how it made people whole, how life was made of dark and light, yin and yang, quarrels and peace. This was how a person learned to forgive. It was how a person learned to care so deeply their heart was laid open as if with a knife. She’d been protected all her life by her mother. It was time she came out from under her mother’s wing and became herself.

  Jenny said—and now her voice was calm, not meek, but full of courage and calm—“All right. I’ll call my mother.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Arden, darling.”

  “Yes, Mom, it’s me, with the call you’ve been waiting for.”

  Nora chuckled wickedly. “Oh, you mean you’re marrying Donald Trump?”

  “Gross! Blech! No, Mom, I’m not marrying anyone. I’m calling to invite you down to the island, to the house.”

  “Do I hear a drum roll in my future?”

  “Maybe. Jenny and Meg have agreed to give you the listing.”

  “Fantastic!”

  “We’re having Cyndi and Justine down then, too.”

  “Cyndi and Justine? Please tell me we’re not going to sit around a campfire beating drums and singing about Rory.”

  “You’re a cynic, you know that?”

  Nora sighed. “Honestly, honey, the idea of being around Cyndi isn’t so terrible. I’ve always gotten on with her, you know that. She babysat you for a while when you were a little girl, before she got overwhelmed with her own babies. But Justine. The last time I saw her—well, except for Rory’s funeral and the reading of the will, when we only nodded—was when she sent you packing from the island. I didn’t like her then and she didn’t like me, and nothing’s changed.”

  “Actually, something has changed, Mom. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  “By what?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  “Fine. We’ll give the listing to an island realtor.”

  “Oh, you’re good.”

  “Learned from the best.”

  “All right, darling. I’ll come. Whenever you say.”

  “I’ve got some other exciting news of my own, too. It will knock your socks off, and I’m not telling you until you come down here.”

  “Does it concern Palmer White?”

  “It does. But we’re not getting married if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “A mother can hope.”

  “Yes, marriage worked out so well for you.”

  Nora’s voice softened. “Hey, sweetie, I did get you out of the deal.” She continued, “Just tell me when you want me.”

  “August fourteenth. That’s a Tuesday.”

  “What an odd day to choose.”

  “It has to be the middle of the week because Cyndi goes away on the weekends, little family trips.”

  “Oh, whatever works,” Nora agreed.

  Arden hung up the phone with a smile.

  ——

  “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “Oh, Meg, it’s you. I’m fine, honey, just so busy. You know how summers are.”

  Meg took a deep breath. “I’m about to complicate your life even more.”

  “Oh?”

  Meg could hear her mother rustling around. It so
unded as if she was unpacking groceries. She could see her in her mind’s eye, the cell phone held to her ear with one hand while with the other she lifted juice, bread, eggs out of the bag and put them away.

  “I want you to come to the island. I want you to stay here with me. Just one day and one night. August fourteenth.”

  Cyndi laughed. “Yes, well, I want a fifty-carat diamond, but I’m not getting that, either.”

  “Some really wonderful things have happened to me, Mom. I want to tell you about them.”

  “I’m sure they can wait until you’re back up in Boston.”

  “That’s not the point. Mom, listen to me. Seriously. You have to come down.” Meg had hoped she wouldn’t have to play this card, or play it so soon in their conversation. She’d even been foolish enough to hope that her mother might pause and admit that it would be nice to spend just a little time with her daughter, to get away from all those men. But, of course, that had been wishful thinking. “Mom, if you don’t come down, I won’t get my share of the money from the house.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Cyndi was indignant, and she dropped something—it sounded like a bag of chips.

  Meg could sense her mother bending over to pick up whatever she’d dropped from the floor. “It may be ridiculous, but it’s true. We’re only asking for that one day and night.”

  “Why?”

  “Why that day and night?”

  “No, why do I have to come down?”

  “First of all, Mom, I’m not inviting you to hell.” Why couldn’t her mother ever choose her? Meg wondered. Why was it always her husband and her sons?

  Cyndi sighed audibly. “Meg. I don’t have time for this conversation.”

  “Justine and Nora will be here.”

  “So what? I don’t care if I ever see them again in my life.”