Island Girls: A Novel

by Nancy Thayer

  “I’m sure they’ve seen it before, and worse,” Justine said.

  “Probably. Still … Still, I suppose I’m more content with Tom. He’s more my type.”

  “Yeah. I get that.” Justine sat on the floor and began to tape the sides of a cardboard box she’d found in the attic. “Let’s put all the shirts and stuff you want to take in here. How about socks for your boys? Underwear?”

  “Underwear, ugh. Who wears other men’s underwear?”

  Justine reached over and yanked a drawer open. “It’s Tommy Hilfiger. Look at the stack. Probably worn once if at all. Wash it in hot water, who would know?”

  Cyndi glanced in the drawer. “Rory had red boxer shorts?”

  Justine stared up from the floor, tilting her head as she studied Cyndi. “Oh my gosh. I have such an idea.” Jumping up from the floor, she went to her own closet, shoved back the clothes hanging right in front, and lifted out a bunch from the back. “Cyndi. You should try these on. I bet they’d fit you and you’d look spectacular in them.”

  Cyndi eyed the rainbow of garments uneasily. “They’re not really my style.”

  “Like you have a style,” Justine joked. “Seriously, Cyndi, look in the mirror. How old is that dress? Where did you buy it? Goodwill?”

  Cyndi bridled. “I have two sons. We’re paying college tuition. We don’t have the kind of money you and Rory had to throw around on clothing.”

  “Fine. So take some of these. Why not, for God’s sake?”

  “To start with, they belong to you.”

  “Honey, these are at least two years old.”

  “Gosh, how ghastly,” Cyndi replied sarcastically.

  “Now, look at me closely. How much weight have I lost since Rory died?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Justine made a face. “That’s right. You don’t. Well, trust me. I’ve lost over ten pounds since Rory died.”

  “I wish I could lose ten pounds.”

  “Try on one of these dresses. You’ll look like you did. Better yet, you’ll look like you don’t need to lose ten pounds.”

  Cyndi’s eyes were wistful as she fingered a simple blue linen shirtdress. “Well …”

  She held it up to her and checked her image in the mirror. “It might fit.”

  Justine guessed at Cyndi’s shyness. “Take all these into the bathroom and try them on. If you think they work, keep them.”

  “You’re sure you don’t need them?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Cyndi took the clothes into the en suite bathroom. Justine continued folding shirts. After a moment, she heard Cyndi exclaim, “Oh.”

  The bathroom door opened. Cyndi stepped out in the blue shirtdress. It fit her nicely.

  “Doesn’t it suit me?” Cyndi asked shyly.

  Justine put her hands on her hips. “I want to cut your hair. Trim it. Trust me. I’m good at it. And I want to experiment on you with my lipstick and blusher.”

  “Oh, really, I …”

  “Did you look in the basket on the bathroom counter? How many lipsticks do you see? How much blusher? How many eyeliner pencils? Please. Do me a favor. Or do you want me to just throw it all out?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Of course I would. I have twice as much back at home in Belmont.”

  Cyndi was too stunned with hope to speak.

  “Go sit on the toilet,” Justine said. When Cyndi flinched, she clarified, “Put the lid down first. I’ll come in where the light is good and put some makeup on you and trim your hair. When you get home tonight, Tom might find himself in a more romantic frame of mind.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At nine in the morning, Arden went for a walk around town by herself.

  Arden’s mother had left the house after breakfast, wearing one of her most casual power suits, on her way to visit Marcia Kirkpatrick. Justine and Cyndi were cleaning out the master bedroom. Meg had wandered off to the beach, and Jenny was deep in her closet, sorting through clutter.

  Once Arden packed her bags, nothing of hers would be here.

  Perhaps someday she’d have the money to purchase a small vacation cottage here. It would be hot in Houston. She’d be working hard, and she was all about working hard, but it would be nice to come here for a few weeks in the summer to beachcomb or laze in the sun.

  She passed the library, the Catholic church, The Hub. She slipped inside The Hub, bought a few house and garden magazines, and wandered out again. She walked away from the water, up past Vineyard Vines, The Golden Basket, gazing in the windows at the straw hats with striped ribbons, the glittering jewelry, past the wide front window of Arno’s restaurant, where Palmer and Zoey sat across the table from each other, talking intensely. Palmer and Zoey?

  She smiled, fluttering her fingers at them. They didn’t notice her, so engrossed were they with each other as they leaned across the table, ignoring the food on their plates.

  Arden’s legs continued to move of their own accord, one step after the other, automatically. She was certain her expression didn’t change from its pleasant, bland state. Certainly she didn’t stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shrieking Palmer and Zoey?

  What was Zoey doing down here on the island?

  Why was she having breakfast with Palmer at nine o’clock in the morning?

  Had Zoey spent the night with Palmer?

  Shit, why did Arden even care? She didn’t care! Really. She did. Not. Care.

  She turned the corner onto Centre Street and collapsed on the first bench she came to. She would sit here for a moment and get her breath back. Then she would go home and make notes about tomorrow’s filming session at Winkie’s house.

  After all, her relationship with Palmer was strictly work.

  If Zoey wanted to fly all the way down here to be with the man, and she must have been with him all night long to be having breakfast with him, well, if that’s what Zoey had done, yay for her. Arden was going to Houston.

  People strolled past, holding hands, pushing baby carriages, swinging beach bags. They were chattering, linking arms, sipping beverages, giggling.

  Arden gritted her teeth and started walking to Lily Street.

  ——

  Deep in her closet, Jenny was filling a clear garbage bag with shoes, clothes, and miscellaneous—whatever had been hiding back here for years. Had she actually ever worn this purple jumpsuit with the pink trim? Frightening! What was this thing? A shell necklace glued to a ribbon, and not very neatly done. Wait, now she remembered. The year Arden and Meg were sent away, her mother had convinced her to create a little “project”—gathering shells, cleaning them, varnishing them with nail polish, and gluing them to ribbons. She’d sat out in front of her house with a table displaying them before a handmade sign offering them for sale for one dollar. One kind grandmotherly neighbor had bought three for her granddaughters, who were all about seven years old. Jenny had felt like such a dork. Such a lonely, miserable dork. Her cell phone vibrated. She lifted it out of her pocket.

  ——

  “Hey,” said Tim. “What’s up?”

  “We’re getting ready to sell the house. I’m packing up. Tossing out years of accumulated junk. It’s like traveling through my past, which was not always a bed of roses.”

  “That must be difficult.”

  Jenny cleared her throat. “It is. Mother and Cyndi are in Mother’s room, sorting through Dad’s clothes, and Nora’s getting ready to list this house for sale. I’m going to have to find someplace else to live and work.”

  Tim said, “Want me to come over?”

  Jenny was shocked to realize she wanted nothing more.

  “Jenny? Did you say something?”

  She laughed again in slight hysteria. “I just nodded. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Nod as in yes?”

  She continued nodding. “Yes. As in yes, please.”

  She crawled out of the closet, detached an old belt whose hook had caught on her shorts, and went to the mirror to com
b her hair, which was adorned with a dust ball.

  Tim was probably calling about work. They’d finished the arts coalition website, and Genevieve was so pleased she’d recommended them to a psychiatrist who was setting up a clinic with counselors who would be based on the Cape and make weekly trips to the island. Jenny looked around her room. Her bed was neatly made, but the rest of the room was chaotic. She’d awakened early, heart pounding, freaked at the thought of moving out of this house, out of this room, where she’d lived and worked for the past ten years since college. How was she going to get rid of this stuff? Would Nora expect her to move her computers, work-tables, and printers out of the bedroom?

  She’d gone into a bit of a fit, finding an old Staples box, tossing in her flash drives, her paper knife, a bunch of computer cords and power strips, several unopened reams of recycled paper, a clipboard, her pen holder—The pen holder had brought her to a halt. She’d made it herself in sixth grade, when she’d considered it a work of art, a ceramic mug dipped in whirling paints, very psychedelic. Very stupid, sure, but she’d had it all these years, and so what if it was unprofessional, it was part of her life. It had always lived here in this room.

  She heard Tim knocking downstairs. She raced to let him in.

  He was so tall, clean, and tidy, smelling of soap and sunshine in his chinos and white polo shirt. He was so together. His hair stuck up like a porcupine’s, but it was the style these days, she supposed, and around his blue eyes, his dark lashes gleamed as if he’d put on mascara. He was so handsome it wasn’t fair.

  “You look terrible,” Tim greeted her.

  “Thanks.” She held the door open. “I suppose you want to talk about the psychiatrist’s website.”

  He came inside and shut the door behind him. “Does that work for you?”

  Thuds and laughter came from the second floor.

  “You might as well come up,” Jenny told him.

  In the second-floor hallway, they saw Justine and Cyndi hauling suitcases from the attic doorway. Cyndi had on one of Justine’s dresses and some makeup. She looked like a different woman from the one who had arrived last night.

  Jenny rolled her eyes and led Tim into her bedroom. Plopping down on her bed, she gestured at the mess. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know where to start. I guess I knew we’d have to sell the house eventually, but I never expected it to happen so soon.”

  She noticed that one of her bras lay next to a computer keyboard. At least it was a lacy black one.

  Tim pulled out her comfy typing chair, sat down, and swiveled to face her. “Okay. Let’s break it into manageable parts. First, work. I can see that in order to sell this house, you’d need to get your computer workstations out of here. They take up a lot of room and make the bedroom look weird.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes. “Thank you again.”

  “I’ve got space in my office,” Tim said.

  Jenny gaped. “But you hate me.”

  Tim leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “Bjorn told me you’d dumped him. Said you’d been a real witch about it.”

  “Bjorn? All this anger at me has been because of Bjorn?”

  “Perhaps I wanted to believe him. Perhaps I needed to believe him. If you remember, Jenny, when I met you, it was at that party where you met Bjorn.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  A flush stained Tim’s neck. “We both talked with you that evening. Bjorn talked to you. And I talked to you.”

  “Right …”

  “We both asked you out. You accepted Bjorn’s invitation and not mine.”

  Jenny stared at him. He stared at her. She sensed so much going on between them, so much seriousness, intensity, and, suddenly she realized, sexual attraction.

  “So that’s why you’ve been … hostile … all this time?”

  Tim shrugged. “First, you were Bjorn’s girl. I was his best friend. Then, you shafted him.”

  Jenny struggled with her thoughts. “Bjorn is a really nice guy. Fun to be with. But he’s not … my type. Plus, I didn’t dump him. He wanted to live in California because the surf’s better there.”

  “Yeah. I know now. I thought it was because you broke his heart. He was so cut up. He’s in California now. He just e-mailed me to say he’d been a little dramatic about the way you broke up with him.” Tim grinned. “Bjorn’s kind of a yellow lab guy, you know? Likable, friendly, gets his feelings hurt easily.”

  “So maybe you don’t hate me anymore?”

  “I never did hate you, Jenny.” Tim’s gaze was almost tender.

  “I never hated you,” she replied.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, unable to speak.

  Tim straightened in his chair. “Okay. So here’s what I propose: You and I should join forces. Go into business together. Robinson and Randall. Nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Jenny’s jaw dropped. “Well, this is sudden.”

  “Hey, you’ve got to go somewhere, don’t you? I know you’re good at what you do. I think we balance each other out nicely.” Restless, he rose from the chair and paced around her room. “You and I can dismantle all this and move it in a matter of hours.”

  “We need a pickup truck for the tables and chair.”

  “Gee, I don’t know anyone who drives a pickup,” Tim said sarcastically. More gently, he said, “I’ll find someone. When do you want to do it?”

  Tears welled in Jenny’s eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional about this. I’m like some adolescent who can’t grow up and get real.”

  Tim waited for a moment. Then he sat down on the bed next to her and put his arm around her shoulders in a comradely kind of way. He sort of rocked her toward him and away, patting her shoulder as if they’d just won a football game. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”

  His touch almost obscured all thoughts of moving. Certainly it short-circuited her senses. “You’re right, Tim. Thanks.”

  They sat together then, very still, with his arm around her shoulder. She put her hand on his knee.

  “Oh God,” he said.

  She smiled.

  Nora entered the house like a brisk summer breeze. “Hello, everyone!” she called.

  “Up here,” Justine yelled back.

  Nora came up the stairs. “It’s set,” she told them as she entered Justine’s room. “I’ve talked to Marcia. She’ll represent the buyers, and we’ve settled on the price. I just have to run it by the girls. I think they’ll be pleased. Hey, Cyndi, you’re looking fabulous.”

  “I know.” Cyndi preened. “I can’t wait to get home. And look, we’re going to mail back all Rory’s old things for my sons to wear.”

  Nora glanced at Justine, who said, “We’re boxing up most of the stuff. Cyndi has a lot of my discards to take back in some of our old suitcases on the plane, but she can’t fly it all back with her, so we’ll have to tape up the boxes and take them out to UPS.”

  “I’ll help,” Nora told them. “It will be my bit toward getting the house ready to sell.”

  In her room, Jenny whispered to Tim, “You see? Listen to them. They’re acting like friends.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “No, I guess not. It’s just so—unexpected.”

  Looking pleased with himself, Tim remarked, “Unexpected can be good.”

  “I know. I’m just not used to things moving quite so fast.” Removing her hand from Tim’s knee, she hugged herself. “Where will I live when this house sells?”

  “You’ll have some money, right?” Tim reminded her. “You’ll be able to find a place on the island. You do want to stay on the island?”

  She nodded. “Of course,” she said, meeting his eyes.

  The front door opened and closed, and Meg came floating up the stairs, angelic with her strawberry-blonde hair and beaming smile.

  She drifted into Jenny’s room. “Hi, Jenny. Hi, Tim.”

  “Tim’s helping me move my computer stuff,” Jenny said
.

  “Great. I’ll box up my books and papers and UPS them back to the college.” Meg came into Jenny’s room and sank down into the desk chair. “I just spoke with Liam. He’s going to come down for a few days. I hope that’s okay. I mean, I can’t leave until August is over, and he and I have some college stuff to do. We’ve got to prepare the fall semester.” She smiled smugly. “Don’t worry, though, we’ll use our laptops. We won’t have piles of papers or anything to mess up the house. He can stay in my room with me.”

  “Or in the front bedroom,” Jenny suggested. “It’s got a queen-sized bed.”

  “Oh, Tim!” Justine peered in from the doorway. “Just what we were hoping to find. Some nice, strong young man with muscles who could help us carry boxes to the car.”

  Jenny and Meg helped Justine and Cyndi pack more boxes, tape them shut, and address them. Tim went up and down the stairs, lugging them to the Jeep, which held a lot. Nora took the Volvo to Something Natural and bought several different kinds of takeout sandwiches for lunch. She set up a picnic area on the table in the backyard shade.

  By the time she was through, the other mothers and Tim had returned from UPS. Meg and Jenny were in the attic, sorting through boxes of children’s books (should they keep them for their own children or give them to the library?), shelves of board games, playing cards, jump ropes, and dress-up clothes—intending to get rid of them but instead lingering over them, as if gazing back into their childhood.

  Nora called them down for lunch. She’d made a huge pitcher of iced tea with mint and another of lemonade. They all collapsed onto the lawn chairs, grateful for the cool drinks.

  “We’re all here but Arden,” Meg noticed. “Where’s she?”

  “I’m here.” Arden came around the side of the house, looking cross. “I went for a long walk in town.”

  “You look grumpy,” Jenny noted.

  “I’m just hot.” Arden fell onto a lawn chair, kicked off her low-heeled sandals, and wiggled her toes in the cool grass. “Hi, everyone.”