by Nancy Thayer
“The point is, we’re having an important conversation. Lots of things have happened. We need a kind of council of war, or brainstorming session. Look, you can fly over, spend the evening and the night, and fly back the next morning.”
Cyndi slammed a cupboard door shut. “All right, I’ll come. But you’ve got to know it’s going to create havoc with my schedule. I’m sure Tom will be upset.”
“Oh, Mom, thank you! I’m so excited that you’re coming down. We’ll treat you like a queen. You’ll have fabulous food and we’ll have such a good time.”
“I’ve put it on my calendar, Meg. Okay? I have to go now.”
Meg hung up the phone. She felt as she always did after a conversation with her mother, both happy and sad.
“Hello, Jennykins. What’s up?”
Jenny was sprawled on her bed with the bedroom door shut. “Lots of things, Mom, but to find out, you’re going to have to come to the island.”
“Oh, sweetie, you know I’m not ready to do that yet. All I can think about is Rory, and if I see the house, our room …”
“You can have my room, Mom. Listen, I wouldn’t ask you, but it’s important. It’s crucial.”
“Jenny. Are you ill?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s—” It’s that I’m betraying you and inviting you into the lion’s den, Jenny thought. But what was her option? “Meg, Arden, and I are inviting all our mothers down here for one last big family night before we sell the house.”
“Family night?”
“Well, we are all kind of related.” Jenny had an inspiration. “For one thing, we want to let everyone choose something from the house to keep before it all goes to an auctioneer.”
“Why should anyone else have anything from that house!” Justine demanded indignantly.
“Meg’s mother, Cyndi, was married to Dad when he bought the house,” Jenny reminded her mother. “She chose some of the paintings, and I think she actually made some of the curtains that are still hanging.”
“God, they’ll be a thousand years old and faded. She’s welcome to them.” But Justine was mollified. “Still, I don’t understand why Nora should get anything. She never was in the house.”
“No, but she was Rory’s first wife. She might like a memento.”
“I’ve never heard of a first wife wanting a memento of her ex-husband.”
“Plus,” Jenny continued, “we’ve all got a lot of things to talk about.”
Justine went quiet. Then, warily, she asked, “What things?”
“Who gets to handle the sale of the house, for example. Nora wants to do it, of course. She’s the logical choice since she’s a real estate agent. Actually, you and Cyndi don’t really have a vote in this—it’s up to me, Meg, and Arden—but it’s just one of the things we’d like your input on.”
“Why can’t I just agree over the phone? I don’t care who handles the sale of the house. I’m so sad we have to sell it; I’ll never be in it again, and I don’t want to be, not without Rory.”
“But I’ll be here, Mom.” Jenny paused. “Please. Just one night.” After a moment, she coaxed, “It might be helpful for you to be back on the island. The sea air, the memories, even things in the house you’ve forgotten.”
Justine sighed. “All right, Jenny. For you, I’ll come.”
Nora, not unexpectedly, was the first mother to arrive. She wore an ecru DKNY suit with a short skirt and no shirt so that her stunning cleavage, while not quite exposed, was definitely alluded to. Her hair was shorn crisply short and colored in a variety of shades of blonde that went well with her gold and diamond jewelry. No dummy, she chose high heels with wedge cork soles, which wouldn’t get stuck in the brick sidewalks but still gave her slender figure more height.
Arden was at the small airport to meet Nora’s plane, and she watched admiringly as Nora sauntered toward the terminal. She saw others, of all ages, watching Nora admiringly, too.
“Mom.” Arden hugged her mother and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Nora tilted her head away so Arden wouldn’t ruin her perfect makeup. “Darling.” She pointed to the window where the luggage was being unloaded. “That’s my case. The pink leather.”
Arden hefted the case from the carousel and rolled it along as she ushered her mother out to the waiting car.
“Could you turn up the air-conditioning?” Nora asked the moment she sat in the passenger seat.
“It’s not that hot here, compared to Boston,” Arden pointed out as she flicked the blower on.
“I don’t like heat,” Nora reminded her daughter. “I’m not crazy about beaches, either. Just lying there, getting skin cancer and sand in every crack? No thank you.”
“I can see why you’ve never sold a house on Nantucket before,” Arden said wryly.
“I’ve been here, of course, for parties, and weddings, and I’ve done some shopping. Good little boutiques, I’ve got to say. I’ve found some nice things.” Nora scanned the scenery as Arden drove. “More houses since I was here last. Some good professional landscaping, too. The town must be spending some money.”
“You’re the first mother to arrive,” Arden told Nora. “So you get to choose the bedroom you want. Meg, Jenny, and I are going to take the den and the living room sofas, and I assume Justine will want to sleep in the bedroom where she slept with Rory, so you can have my room or Jenny’s.”
“I saw there’s a house on the market on Polpis Harbor going for fifty-six million dollars,” Nora remarked. “That should help the sale of the Lily Street house. Do you have the town tax assessment?”
“I don’t, but maybe Justine does.”
“I’ve got a couple of buyers interested,” Nora said. “Both have families and like the idea of being in town. I hear the Dreamland Theater is completed. That will be a big draw to families, having a decent movie theater that can show first-run summer films. Oh, wait, I’ve got an important text.” Nora fastened her attention on her iPhone.
Arden pulled into the driveway of the Lily Street house, behind Jenny’s Jeep.
Nora had been here before—back when she and Justine got into a shouting match—but now, as she slid out of the Volvo, Nora took her time scrutinizing the house.
“Trim’s in good repair,” she said. “The shrubbery needs a decent smartening up. Let’s see, nothing expensive, you can just plant a few fall flowers, but not mums.”
“Let’s go in the house and get you settled, Mom,” Arden suggested. “You’ll want to choose your room.”
Not surprisingly, Nora chose Jenny’s room, because it was the biggest room at the front of the house. Justine would sleep in her own bed in the master bedroom. When Cyndi came, she could take Meg’s room and Meg could have the den.
“Jenny and Meg are out in the backyard,” Arden told her mother. “Come out and sit with us.”
“In the heat?”
“It’s four o’clock. The house is shaded by the trees. It’s pleasant. I’ll make you a drink.”
“When do the others get here?”
“Any minute.”
“I think I’d rather give myself a good look through the house while I can,” Nora decided. She took out her iPhone and snapped a picture of the windows in Jenny’s bedroom. “Jenny will have to get rid of all this ugly computer furniture before we show the house.”
“You can make a list for us,” Arden began.
Nora crossed the hall and clicked pictures of Justine’s room. “Oh dear, Justine’s a bit chintzy, isn’t she? This is like a little girl’s room.”
“Not everyone prefers chrome and leather,” Arden informed her mother. “I think it’s a delightful room.”
“You can change the bedspread.” Nora made a note in her iPhone. “Something not floral, and a dark color. Maybe navy blue.”
Nora stalked down the hall to the mermaid bedroom. “Now, this is charming. This is a selling point.”
“Before the others get here, Mom,” Arden interjected, “I thought I’d tell you my news.”
“Oh, right.” Nora slid past Arden and went down the hall to check out the large bathroom. “Hmm. Old-fashioned, but the tiles are ceramic, so it seems historic. That will work.”
“Palmer White has offered me a job in Houston.”
Nora snapped to attention. “Houston?”
“He’s bought a new TV station. He wants me to do a morning show.”
“Oh my goodness!” Nora hugged Arden tightly. “Darling, I’m so proud of you! This is fabulous! Houston is a dynamite city. The oil money, the banking money, the whole livestock thing. You’ll have so much fun!”
“I’m kind of nervous about it,” Arden confessed. “It’s so far away.”
“Nothing is far away these days,” Nora told her. “Get on a plane, do some work or read a book, and suddenly you’re somewhere else.” She turned her back on Arden. “God, I wish I lived in Houston. The real estate is killer. Wait till you see the houses. They know how to do it stately and sumptuous in Texas.” She opened a door at the end of the hall. “Oh. This little cell must be Meg’s room. Maybe we can bill it as a walk-in closet.”
Jenny met her mother at the Hy-Line fast ferry. Justine had made this trip many times before and still had several trips left in her ticket book. Justine wore white capris, white sandals with glittering stones, and a magenta halter top that showed off her sleek figure. Her long black hair was pulled up into a cooling high ponytail. She looked more like Jenny’s sister than her mother.
Jenny and her mother embraced, and Justine gave her daughter an extra hug, because it was an emotional moment for her, being on the island without Rory.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Jenny asked.
“I’ll be fine.”
“How was the crossing?” Jenny asked as they strolled over to the luggage rack.
“Smooth as silk. They serve a decent white wine on the boat, surprisingly. Your father used to like it, too, although he usually had a beer.”
“Here, Mom. I’ll pull it.” Jenny reached over for the handle of Justine’s rolling suitcase and they walked together down the parking lot, took the shortcut near The Tavern, bumped over the Belgian blocks, and came out on Easy Street.
“Has anyone else arrived yet?” Justine asked.
“Nora has. Arden drove out to pick her up about thirty minutes ago. I’m sure Nora’s looking the house over so she can take the listing.”
“Nora.” Justine’s mouth tightened. “It breaks my heart that we have to let it go,” Justine said. “So many wonderful memories. I had dreamed of being a grandmother here, taking your toddlers down to the beach to play in the sand.” They turned up Broad Street, strolling past the Brotherhood, Bookworks, and the Jared Coffin House. “And yet,” Justine continued, “it might be better to sell it, since Rory’s gone.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Jenny reminded her mother. “It was what Dad wanted.”
Rounding the corner onto Centre Street, they headed toward the Congregational Church, with its famous high pointed steeple.
“Do you have any idea where you’ll live after the house is sold?” Justine asked.
“I’m keeping my eye out for a little house I might be able to afford.”
“Really? On Nantucket? Everything is so overpriced. Are you sure you want to stay here?”
“To be honest, no, I’m not sure. I think I want to stay, but now that I’ve met … William Chivers—”
Justine stopped dead on the sidewalk. She put her hand to her chest. “Did you like him?”
“I liked him a lot. I want to meet his other children. His wife died two years ago.” Jenny watched her mother more closely when she spoke.
“I’m sorry for that. I wouldn’t want him to be lonely.”
The two women, mother and daughter, stood in front of the long walk of steps leading up the hill to the high white church. The street was dappled with shade and fragrant with honeysuckle and roses. Jenny suddenly realized that she was taller than her mother, perhaps only an inch, but it surprised her.
“You look good, Mom,” Jenny said. “Much better than when I saw you in Belmont.”
“I looked like hell warmed over then,” Justine said. “Felt like it, too.” Reaching out, she stroked her daughter’s cheek. “You’re such a splendid young woman.”
Jenny smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” A knife of knowledge stabbed her heart: She was delivering her mother to the jury, judge, and executioner.
Although the hard truth might well be that her mother had betrayed her, and Meg and Arden, first.
Pulling the suitcase, Jenny walked on toward Lily Street.
By five o’clock, Nora had left the house to saunter up and down the street, checking out the neighborhood, making notes of what was new and what was worth mentioning. Justine had the door to her room shut and was resting on her bed.
The three girls—for today they thought of themselves that way—were gathered in the kitchen, preparing platters of finger food. They’d agreed the six of them might never get past drinks and munchies and to an actual dinner table.
Meg was making deviled eggs from her mother’s recipe. Arden unwrapped expensive cheeses and fanned wheat crackers around them, with a small pot of pickles and one of olives on the board. Jenny sliced the crusts off bread and put together cucumber sandwiches, chutney and cheese sandwiches, and salmon sandwiches. They filled the ice bucket and carried it to the living room. They set out a variety of wines and liquors and the appropriate glasses. They splayed napkins out on the coffee table. They had discussed having drinks outside in the cool of the backyard but decided the conversation might not be anything they’d want the neighbors to overhear.
“So we’re just waiting on Cyndi?” Arden asked, although she knew the answer. She was talking for the sake of talking, to fill the room with a sound other than their rather nervous breath.
“She’ll be here any moment,” Meg said defensively. Her mother hadn’t been able to state exactly when her plane would arrive and had insisted she’d take a taxi. Meg was just a little afraid that Cyndi would be a no-show.
But as they carried the platters into the living room, someone knocked on the door.
Meg ran to answer it. “Mom!” she cried. “You’re here! Come in.”
“The three of them are here now,” Arden whispered. “I need a drink.”
“I need one more,” Jenny murmured.
Meg ushered her mother into the living room. Cyndi collapsed wearily on the first chair she saw. She wore the air of an exhausted martyr, someone who’d just finished scrubbing the convent floors instead of a happy woman who’d just arrived at a resort island.
“Hi, Cyndi.” Arden shyly approached her stepmother and kissed her forehead.
“Hello, Arden.”
“Hello, Cyndi,” Jenny said.
“Hello.” A bitter note rimmed Cyndi’s voice as she replied to Jenny.
Of all three mothers, Cyndi was the one who had aged the most. She’d gained weight, and appeared to have chosen an inexpensive dress to emphasize the point. Her sandals were cheap and worn. She’d allowed the yellowish gray to stain her once auburn hair, and she wore no makeup. Looking at her, it was impossible to believe that Rory Randall had left Nora for this woman or that Meg, with her glorious mane of strawberry-blonde hair and voluptuous beauty, had sprung from this woman’s DNA.
“How was your trip?” Meg asked.
“Exhausting. The plane bounced all over. I nearly threw up.”
“But, Mom, today is so calm. Even the sound is like a mirror.”
Cyndi shrugged. “I was in the sky, and I can assure you it wasn’t calm up there.”
“Can I get you a drink?” Arden asked. “Or perhaps you’d like to go to your room to freshen up?”
“My room.” For a moment, Cyndi lurched out of her apathy and moved her eyes over the living room furniture, taking in the crisp blue-and-white décor Justine had so carefully chosen. Her thoughts flittered clearly across her face: once she had owned this house; once she had lived in
it during the summer with her husband, Rory, and their daughter, Meg.
Before that marriage-wrecker Justine ruined everything.
“Where is my room?” Cyndi inquired.
Meg hurried to tell her mother, “Let me take you up. It’s the sweetest room, at the back of the house, near the biggest bathroom. You can wash up, rest from your trip, and unpack.”
“I brought only a nightgown. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, okay. Well, anyway, let me show you where you’ll stay. I’m giving you my room upstairs—” Meg turned to leave.
“It’s not worth it, making you leave your room for the night,” Cyndi protested. “I’ll just sleep on one of the sofas in here.”
Meg froze. Why was her mother acting like such a martyr? Certainly Cyndi wouldn’t want to sleep on a living room sofa tonight, not after the discussion with all the mothers that was planned.
“Mom, I’ve already put clean sheets on the bed.”
“All right, then, if you insist.” Cyndi rose and followed Meg as if being led to the guillotine.
“Well, she’s turned into a cranky old shrew,” Arden whispered to Jenny when Meg and Cyndi were out of hearing.
“She’ll cheer up tonight,” Jenny replied with quiet dread. “When we gang up on my mother.”
TWENTY-FOUR
It hadn’t been so long ago that the six women had been in the same room together, but the circumstances had been quite different. Last May, they’d met at the lawyer’s office to discuss the memorial service and hear the reading of the will.
They had all known Rory had already had a heart attack, but none of them had imagined that his great heart could actually give out so soon. Stunned by his death, the group of women had been formal, respectful, and grieving. Justine had hidden her swollen eyes behind sunglasses and had barely been able to walk. The three daughters were also stricken with sorrow, snatched unaware from the routines of their daily lives by the death of their father. Nora and Cyndi, while not inconsolable, had been considerate, even reverential, in the face of death. They had come separately with their daughters to the reading of the will. They had left separately, without speaking to Justine or Jenny. They had not kissed or touched or hugged.
