Beachcombers

by Nancy Thayer

  Finally it was time to go home. The streets were emptying of cars and people. The sky was dark, a quarter moon riding high overhead. As they wended their way down the narrow lanes to Jim's house, even the birds in the trees were quiet. In some houses lights burned, spilling illumination and shadows on the streets and occasionally a door would open and people would come out, laughing, happy on this hot summer night.

  When they got to Jim's driveway, Marina said, "Jim. Come in for coffee, please?" She knew he understood what she was offering.

  He sighed. "Not tonight, Marina. I've got to get up early tomorrow." He walked her halfway down the drive before saying, "Good night, then." And he turned and headed for his house, leaving Marina to walk to her little cottage alone.

  As she organized the food for Thursday evening, Marina obsessed over Jim's reaction. She ran their conversation over and over again in her mind, searching for any hints that would help her understand his response. She longed to ask Sheila Lester about him, but remembered how, when she'd asked Sheila about Jim's wife's death, Sheila had shut her off, telling her to talk to Jim about that subject. Part of the time she scolded herself for so eagerly, hopefully, stupidly inviting the girls to dinner. Part of the time she was angry at Jim for his bizarre behavior. It was only dinner! And if Lily hadn't come in that night, she knew she and Jim would have gone to bed together. And enjoyed it. He was attracted to her, Marina knew it, and she felt there was some value in their desire, some significance. Some hope.

  Still, she planned to behave with complete propriety when they all came to dinner. She would not touch Jim, she would not sneak an intimate glance his way, she would behave like someone's maiden aunt. The girls would like her. She would like them. It would be a fun evening, not laden with whatever heavy memories Jim seemed to keep safeguarded and treasured.

  Jim phoned in the afternoon to tell her he wasn't going to be able to make it to dinner. The interior of a client's house was behind schedule, and he was going to continue working with his crew so it would be ready when the family arrived in August.

  Marina was stunned. "I'm sorry you won't be coming," she said, forcing her tone to be cheerful. "I know the girls will miss you. I'll miss you, too."

  "They're used to this," Jim told her. "They know what summer's like for me. But thanks for the invitation."

  His formality was an insult. She cursed as she put down the phone.

  Well, she thought, so much for any chance of a relationship developing between them.

  She prepared the dinner with all the care she'd have taken if Jim were coming. She made a potato salad with small red potatoes with their skins still on and capers and bits of dill. She made a green salad spiked with thin slices of pear and crumbles of blue cheese. She concocted meringues with raspberry sauce and whipped cream. She bought fresh Portuguese bread and several bottles of wine. She spread a blue tablecloth on the little table--a tablecloth she'd bought brand new at Marine Home Center, nothing secondhand. She tucked daisies into a little white pitcher and set it in the middle of the table. She placed candles all around the cottage--to let the girls know she liked candlelight all the time, not just when entertaining a man.

  She thought about wearing her shorts and tee shirt for dinner, but decided she didn't want the girls to think she hadn't dressed up because Jim wasn't coming. So she pulled on a yellow sundress and a wild beaded necklace. She coated her eyelashes heavily with mascara and brushed her lips with pink color. When she scrutinized her face in the mirror, she saw how sad she looked, really. How sad her eyes were--just like they'd been a month ago, before she came to the island.

  Damn, this was just unacceptable! So what if Jim Fox had lost interest in her. No, so what if she had acted prematurely, inviting his daughters for dinner, assuming he would enjoy this, assuming he was comfortable with his daughters knowing he liked her. So what if her rash action had driven Jim away, had cost her the undying love of the last good man on earth. She was not going to allow herself to snivel and whine. Men weren't everything! She was still on a gorgeous island, she'd made friends, she'd feathered a dreamy little nest, and she would enjoy herself!

  She put a Glen Miller record on her used record player. " ... is that the Chattanooga choo-choo?" filled the room. She sang to it as she finished the dinner preparations, and she felt her spirits lift.

  When the girls arrived, Marina could tell at once they'd been arguing. Abbie and Emma both greeted Marina pleasantly, but Lily clearly was not amused about being there.

  "Oh, wow," Abbie said. "You've done wonders, Marina!"

  As the three women walked around studying the cottage, Marina studied them. The family resemblance was striking in the shape of their faces, but their individuality was distinct.

  Abbie wore a faded Something Natural tee shirt with a short denim skirt and sandals. Her only jewelry was a wide silver cuff bracelet. She carried herself with a natural authority, no doubt because she was the eldest.

  Emma wore baggy cotton trousers, a coral-colored linen shirt tied at the waist, and turquoise and coral earrings. The sprinkling of freckles over her nose gave her an innocent appearance, but the depths of her dark eyes held sorrow, a sorrow Marina could understand.

  Lily was the beauty of the family and she played it to the hilt. Her emerald tank top brought out the green of her eyes and accentuated her slender waist. Her skirt was a swirl of green, and everything about Lily sparkled. Her dangling earrings glittered with colored stones, bangle bracelets clattered on her arms, a gold chain glinted from around her ankle, and she even wore a toe ring with her sequined sandals.

  Marina poured them all glasses of sparkling Prosecco mixed with peach nectar.

  "Bellinis," she told them. "It's a girl drink, but since your father can't come, I thought we could indulge."

  Lily brightened. "Dad's not coming?"

  "No. He phoned to say he's working late."

  Lily couldn't hide a smile. "Oh, too bad."

  "I can't believe how you've changed this place," Abbie said.

  "The walls are such a dreamy blue," Emma added. "And the pictures. They're so interesting."

  "Compliments of the Madaket Mall," Marina told them.

  Lily asked, "How did you get out to the dump?"

  "Sheila Lester took me," Marina began.

  Lily interrupted. "How do you know Sheila?"

  Marina waited a beat or two before responding, indicating--she hoped--that she found Lily's tone a little rude. Something childish within her wanted to say snarkily, Through your father. She bit back her annoyance. "I met Sheila when I volunteered to help with the library book sale. She's giving me private lessons in making a lightship basket."

  "Sheila's the best," Emma said. "She knows everything about the island."

  Abbie asked, "Would you mind if I climbed the ladder and peeked at the loft? It's just that I haven't seen it in years."

  "Go ahead," Marina told her.

  Abbie went up the ladder. Emma followed. Lily followed her sisters. Marina relaxed, sipping her drink, listening to the girls as they walked around the loft. Because the loft had no closets, Marina had bought plastic crates in a variety of colors and used them as she had in college like an open chest of drawers, her pastel tees and shorts folded neatly and stacked inside. She'd hung her skirts and dresses on hangers on the hooks nailed into the walls, and all the patterns swirled like abstract art.

  "Oh, wow, this wasn't here the last time I came up," Lily said, and Marina knew she'd found the mirror.

  Emma said, "Such careful workmanship. It must have cost a fortune."

  Abbie stuck her head over the edge of the loft. "Where did you get that seashell mirror?"

  Marina smiled. "I made it."

  "You made it?"

  "It's not difficult. You just have to be patient. I gathered the shells whenever I walked on the beach, and soaked them in soapy water and dried them in the sun and arranged them the way I wanted them, then super-glued them on the frame."

  "Well, I'm
impressed." Emma carefully backed down the loft ladder. "I love what you've done up there."

  "It's very summery, isn't it?"

  "Doesn't it get awfully hot at night?" Emma asked.

  "That's why I bought that fan." As she chatted with Emma, Marina strained to hear Abbie and Lily, still up in the loft. Abbie hissed at Lily, "Stop that, Lily. That's private." She suspected that Lily was opening the drawer of the bedside table, and she didn't know if that was a good thing or bad--she'd bought a box of condoms at the pharmacy recently, just in case. If Lily saw them, tough luck. Marina had the right to have sex with whomever she wanted.

  "Come on, Lily." Abbie's voice was louder. "We've seen everything there is to see."

  Abbie came down the steps, and Lily sulkily followed. They chatted about the island arts and crafts while Marina served dinner, and because the little table was too small for four, they sat on the sofa and chairs, holding their plates on their laps as they ate. Marina asked the girls about their day and refilled their Bellinis. Gradually, as twilight fell, the girls relaxed their guard. Emma seemed the most responsive to Marina's conversation, but Lily answered in abrupt monosyllables. Marina focused her attention on Abbie.

  "So you've been traveling for a while, I hear. Where did you go?"

  Abbie lit up. "I lived with a family in London."

  "Oh, I love London. It's such a great city for walking."

  "Exactly! Sometimes on my time off, I'd just wander around the city, ogling the shopwindows, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square--"

  Lily broke in. "Well, I love being on the island. It's good enough to last a lifetime, for most people."

  "Oh, come on, Lily," Emma scoffed. "You're always talking about wanting to live in New York."

  "Could I ever just say something without you correcting me?" Lily snapped.

  Emma began, "I wasn't--"

  Lily glared at Marina. "How long are you renting our Playhouse for?"

  Marina blinked, startled by Lily's abrupt change of subject.

  "I mean," Lily continued, almost snarling, "since you love cities so much, you're probably bored here."

  Marina couldn't stop herself. "Oh, Nantucket's got lots of other ... pleasures." Her tone was gloating, and she was immediately ashamed of herself. Rattled, she rose. "Let me get dessert. Would any of you like coffee?"

  Conversation was easy as they ate their meringues, centering on how Marina had baked them, and which island cookbooks were the best. Lily excused herself the moment she'd finished her dessert, explaining that she had work to do for her magazine article. Abbie took her leave shortly after, but to Marina's surprise, Emma remained.

  Emma perched on the sofa, holding her dessert plate. She'd hardly eaten all evening. Marina leaned against the kitchen counter and waited.

  "How do you do it?" Emma asked quietly. "How do you recover so quickly?"

  Marina answered honestly. "I haven't recovered, Emma. I still cry myself to sleep some nights. It helps that I've left the place where Gerry and Dara live, where all our friends live, where every day I have to pass the stores where we shopped together, the restaurants where we ate. And where we worked ... I think I miss my work as much as my husband. Ex-husband."

  "But you seem to enjoy life," Emma said, and as she spoke, her false cheer disappeared and her eyes were full of pain. "I can't believe I'll ever enjoy life again."

  Marina took a deep breath. "It's still early for you," she said. "And I'm older than you." She glanced out at the night, so soft and full of stars. "You know what? Let's go for a swim."

  Emma shrugged. "My bathing suit--"

  "Use one of mine." She climbed the loft stairs, dug out her Speedo and tossed it down to Emma. She pulled on her bikini and tugged a tee shirt on over it.

  It was only a few blocks from the Fox house to the Jetties beach, and as they ambled along, Marina found herself telling Emma about finding out about Gerry's affair with Dara, about Dara telling Marina she was pregnant with Gerry's child.

  "That's so terrible," Emma said. "How does anybody get over something like that?"

  "I guess you just do everything you can," Marina told her. "I saw a therapist, but I have to say she wasn't much help. My friends were all divided between Gerry and me, so they were uncomfortable if I let loose with my anger and misery. A change of scene helps. Being here helps."

  They had reached the beach. It was after ten, fully dark. All the families were gone, but here and there couples strolled along the water's edge, holding hands and laughing as the gentle tide rinsed over their feet. From the distance, the Sankaty lighthouse winked at them.

  Marina waded into the water. The night air was hot, the shallow waves cool.

  "It does seem magical here," she told Emma, who had waded in next to her. "Perhaps that's because I'm here as a tourist, and my ex-husband and all that horrible stuff is far away."

  "Perhaps." Emma was slowly moving deeper into the water, letting the waves lap at her fingertips, her wrists, her elbows. "As much as I love the island, being here makes me consider myself a failure. Because I failed at work and I failed at love and I have to come home."

  Marina gasped a bit as the water lapped against her rib cage. They were far from the shore now. Beneath her feet, the sand was cool and firm.

  "Maybe there's another way to think about it," she suggested. "Perhaps you were meant to come home. Perhaps this is where you should be."

  "I want to be married," Emma confessed, more to herself than to Marina. "I want to have children. And I want to have enough money to help my father. Perhaps I want too much."

  The waters of Nantucket Sound billowed against Marina, lifting her and dropping her with each gentle wave. Far above, the night sky glittered with stars, and in the distance, lights gleamed from boats and laughter drifted from the boats moored in the harbor. All around her the water, so blue in the day, shimmered indigo, only slightly darker than the air around them, and full of glitter.

  "Tonight," Marina told Emma, "we have all this." She held her arms out. The last Steamship ferry was approaching, slowly gliding toward the pier, like an enormous swan.

  The beach here was wide and gentle. Marina knew she could swim for a long way without coming to any danger. Next to her, Emma flipped on her back and lazily stroked along, her feet making little splashes as she kicked. She felt brave and slightly adventurous, swimming at night, and safe because Emma was next to her. For a while, Marina was a creature of the sea, she could swim forever and never drown. All her sorrows were as far away as the moon, her limbs were strong and willing, and her heart swelled and sang with the pleasure of this unfamiliar act.

  She glanced over at Emma. Emma's eyes shone as she turned onto her stomach and did a lazy crawl beside Marina.

  "It's like swimming in honey," Marina said. "But we're awfully far out. Let's turn around and go back before we get too tired."

  "I don't think I'll ever tire out here," Emma told her, but she ducked under the water and reversed direction.

  They swam side by side back to the beach, and the lifting and falling waves carried them gently toward shore.

  30

  Abbie

  When Abbie arrived at the Parker house, she found Harry in the living room, on his father's lap, while Howell read to him.

  "Abbie!" Howell's eyes held a warm smile especially for her. "I'm going mad with this cast thing. Can't drive anywhere. I've got to get out. Will you drive me and Harry somewhere?"

  She laughed at his desperation. "Of course. Where would you like to go?"

  Howell said softly, "Anywhere you'll take me."

  She felt herself blushing. "I was going to take Harry out to r-i-d-e today. You could come watch. Or we could hit one of the beaches."

  "I'd love to watch Harry ride," Howell said.

  Harry began to dance up and down with excitement. "Horses! Horses!"

  "Let's get your sneakers and socks, buddy," Abbie told the little boy. "You can't ride barefoot."

  Abbi
e had already checked with her friend Shelley to be sure it was a good day for a visit. She helped Harry into his booster car seat. Howell leaned on her as she helped him negotiate his ankle into the backseat next to Harry. Her spirits were flying. As she drove out to Hummock Pond Road, she sang silly songs that made Harry giggle, and in the rearview mirror, she saw Howell's eyes resting affectionately on her face.

  They arrived at Shelley's farm, parking behind the house in a wide dusty yard opening to a barn and a corral. Shelley came out of the barn to greet them, wearing faded blue jeans and an even more faded tee shirt. She led a white horse spotted with black and brown toward them.

  "Hi, guys! Harry, meet Slappy."

  Harry was frightened now that he was faced with a real-life, head-tossing horse. He clutched his father's hand and huddled next to him.

  "It's okay, buddy," Howell said, bending down to reassure his son. "You can do it."

  "He's big, but he's an easy rider," Shelley promised. She fished a bit of carrot out of her pocket and gave it to Harry. "Hold this flat on your hand. Slappy loves treats."

  Abbie knelt behind Harry, wrapping her arms around him and enclosing his hand in hers as he held out the carrot. The horse craned his humongous head, pulled back his lips, and snatched up the carrot with his humorous long teeth. He snorted in gratitude and tossed his head around. Harry's eyes were wide.

  Shelley laughed. "Come on, Harry. Let's get you up on Slappy's back. I use a western saddle for the kids so they can hold on to the pommel. I'll keep hold of the reins."

  Abbie lifted Harry and settled him in the saddle. Harry clutched the pommel.

  "Give him a pat on the neck," Shelley instructed Harry. "Tell him he's a good boy. He's just like the rest of us, happy to be complimented."