by Nancy Thayer
"You're a good boy, Slappy." Harry's voice was flute-like and tremulous. Abbie was proud of him for not being paralyzed with fear.
"Okay, here we go." Shelley led the horse into the corral and began to walk him around the ring.
Howell and Abbie leaned against the fence, watching.
"Look at his face," Howell said. "He's shining." For a moment he rested his hand on Abbie's back. "Thank you for this, Abbie."
Abbie had brought her digital camera. She snapped a dozen photos. "I'll print these off on my computer and make a couple into posters for his room."
"God, what a good idea. You're wonderful, Abbie." Howell's smile was tender. "In so many ways."
Abbie gazed back at him, and for a moment their look was a kind of embrace.
Shelley always had patience for her horses and anyone who loved horses, and she led Slappy in circles around the ring for a good fifteen minutes. Then she helped the little boy dismount and took him into the barn to introduce him to the other two horses. She gave Harry a curry comb and showed him how to groom Slappy. Harry brushed the horse--he had to reach up to get to the animal's side--his face tight with concentration.
Finally, Shelley said, "Okay, Harry, I've got some boring old paperwork waiting for me in the house."
Abbie thanked her friend and hugged her. As they drove away from Shelley's, Harry chattered away, reliving his moments of glory.
"Slappy liked me! He really did! He was so big! I didn't fall off! Did you see how I went all around the circle, Dad?"
"I did. You were brave, Harry. I'm proud of you."
"Howell," Abbie suggested, "show Harry the pictures I snapped." She reached into her bag and handed the camera over the seat back to Howell.
At Howell's suggestion, Abbie drove them back into town so they could stop at the library and get horse books for Harry. Howell limped along into the adult section and checked out a few for himself. Then he settled on a bench in the Atheneum garden while Abbie took Harry to the Nantucket Pharmacy for strawberry ice cream cones. She returned to the garden, gave Howell a cone, and sat on the bench with him while Harry devoured his ice cream. Then he changed into a horse, galloping in circles over the grass.
Abbie sat next to Howell, watching, content in the shade of the crabapple tree.
"This is a perfect day," Howell told Abbie. "Well, almost perfect. I wish I could hold your hand. I wish I could put my arm around you. It's all I want to do--touch you."
Abbie smiled. "I know. Me, too."
Howell leaned back against the bench and stretched his arm out so that it was behind Abbie, just barely touching her. She almost whimpered with lust.
An older woman carrying a book bag and walking with a cane toddled past them toward another bench set under a tree. Harry galloped up to Abbie and Howell and whinnied. Abbie held out the last bit of her cone on the flat of her hand, and Harry the Horse nibbled it up, shook his head, and galloped away.
The old lady smiled at Abbie and Howell. "You have an adorable little boy."
Abbie's face went hot.
Howell said simply, "Thank you."
Abbie's heart leapt. They could be a family, Howell, Harry, and Abbie.
At the end of the afternoon, Abbie drove Harry and his father back to their house near Brant Point. She helped Harry out of the SUV while Howell negotiated his exit without banging his ankle, then she hefted the bundle of Harry's library books and held his hand as she led him to the house. She would fix something special for dinner, she thought. Harry didn't like vegetables, but she thought she could get him to eat carrots now, since Slappy had eaten them. She was pleased with herself for the thought, pleased with herself for giving the little boy such a special day, and she was looking forward with a kind of dreamy confidence to this evening. Harry would fall asleep easily tonight. Then she and Howell would make love.
She unlocked the door, shoved it open, and ushered Harry inside, then held it wide for Howell to limp through. As she did, something caught at the edge of her senses, something--
Howell's wife stood at the end of the hallway. She wore white biker shorts and a crimson halter top, and her black hair swayed as she walked toward them.
"Surprise," she said coolly.
"Mommy!" Harry ran down the hall and threw himself on his mother.
She lifted him up in her arms. "Hello, Big Guy."
"I rode a horse and he liked me and I got an ice cream cone and--"
Howell limped past Abbie, who had come to a frozen standstill by the front door, to his wife's side. He kissed her cheek. "You're home early."
"Mmm. I missed my boys." She snuggled her son closer.
Harry chirped, "And we went to the library and I got lots of horse books and I was a horse in the garden and--"
"Would you like to go for a little swim?" Howell asked.
"No, it's too late for that. I'll tell you what I would like." Sydney smiled up at her husband, a teasing expression on her face. "I'd like Abbie to take Harry off for a little evening out." She aimed her gaze at Abbie. "Howell will give you some money. You can take Harry to eat at any restaurant you choose. Show him the big yachts along the wharves. Whatever. Keep him out for a good couple of hours, okay?"
Howell stalled. "Maybe today's not the best day for that, Syd. I mean, Harry's been away from the house all afternoon."
"Well, I've been away from you all week," Sydney said. "And now and then an adult's needs come before a child's." She flashed a glance at Abbie. "Isn't that right, Abbie?"
Abbie was too shaken with emotion to speak, but she managed to nod an affirmation.
Sydney bent down and set her son on the floor. "Abbie's going to take you out for a special treat. Go on with Abbie now. Mommy and Daddy will see you later."
Harry's lower lip quivered. "But Mommy, I want to stay with you."
"Harry, I'll be with you all weekend, I promise. Run along now, Mommy and Daddy have some--work--to do."
Harry trudged toward Abbie, his face contorted in a pout.
Abbie forced herself to squat down to the little boy's level. "Come on, Harry, we're going to have fun!" She was proud of the lightness of her voice. Actually, she was proud that she wasn't bursting into tears of jealousy and rage.
Sydney leaned against Howell, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Poor baby," she cooed. "Let's get you off your poor ankle and settled somewhere nice and comfortable."
Howell winced as he limped toward the living room.
"Not there," Sydney said. "I want you upstairs." Her voice was silky, seductive. She glanced at Abbie, who stood paralyzed in the hallway. "All right, good-bye, see you in a couple of hours. Take your time."
Abbie had no other choice than to take Harry's little hand and lead him out of the house.
31
Emma
When Emma woke on Sunday morning, she lay in bed listening to the birds sing in the maple tree just outside her window. The summer had grown hot, so she slept naked. Her old soft sheets were luxuriously smooth against her skin. Cinnamon lay purring at the foot of the bed. She stroked him with her toes. He yawned and rolled over.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee floated tantalizingly up from the kitchen. She didn't work for Francine today, but she'd agreed to help out her friend Marcia with some landscaping work, and before that, she had her share of the housework to do. Still, she allowed herself a few more minutes to luxuriate in the sultry summer morning.
A peculiar thing was happening to her. She allowed the thought to surface like a diamond from the dark depths of her mind. She turned it from side to side, watching it flare and sparkle. She was actually glad to be back on Nantucket. No, more than that--it was as if she were getting to know the island for the first time. With Millicent Bracebridge and Spencer, she was learning and relearning Nantucket lore, and every time she walked around the town, she remembered the island's past--the whaling captains' brick houses, the windmill--and she remembered her own past as well.
She was oddly happy. She was
enjoying her life.
And she realized, with a start, that she'd been lying here lost in her reflections for at least ten minutes, and she hadn't thought of Duncan or Alicia or the investment firm once.
It was almost a miracle. Certainly, it was a kind of rejuvenation.
Throwing back the cotton sheet, she rose, dressed in shorts and a tee, and padded barefoot down the stairs and into the kitchen. Abbie was standing in front of the refrigerator.
Emma smiled. "Good morning!"
Abbie slammed the refrigerator door shut. Her face was dark with anger. "There's no milk." She seemed on the verge of tears.
Emma wanted to back away from the zone of Abbie's black mood. "Well, I'll bike over to Cumberland Farms and grab a quart."
"No. I'm going to wake Lily. She can damn well go get the milk. Shopping for groceries is her responsibility."
"Oh, come on, Abbie. It's only seven o'clock. She probably stayed out late last night at one of her functions. I'm up and I don't mind."
Abbie was adamant. "Lily made an agreement with us to do her share of the necessary chores around the house. Honestly, Emma, Lily's not going to grow up if we keep doing her work for her!"
Emma squinted at her older sister. "Something else is going on. Something else is wrong."
Abbie flushed and averted her eyes.
"Look," Emma said quietly. "It's Sunday. We've got the morning off. I'd like to sit out on the deck and enjoy the day." She had a brainstorm. "Hey. I'll bet Marina could loan us some milk."
Abbie sulked. "She's probably not awake."
"She is. I can see her. She's sitting under the tree." Without waiting for Abbie's decision, Emma opened the kitchen door. "I'll be right back with the milk."
Emma strolled down the backyard, enjoying the soft brush of green grass against the soles of her feet. Marina was settled in the red chair, a mug of coffee on the little table next to her, a book in her hands. She wore a slinky silk caftan in a pale blue that made her blond coloring angelic.
"Hi, Emma." Marina put her book on the table and stretched her arms high. "Isn't it a glorious day?"
"It is. Or it will be once we've had our coffee. I've come to ask if we could borrow some milk."
"Of course. Help yourself."
"Thanks. I'll bring you a fresh carton. I've got to go to the grocery store today. Lily forgot to go."
"Are you working today?" Marina asked.
"I am. For a friend who's a landscaper." Emma stared up at the cloudless sky. "I'd better remember my sunblock. What are you doing today?"
"Later on I'm going over to Sheila's to work on my lightship basket."
Emma nodded toward the driveway. "Dad's truck is already gone."
"I know. I haven't seen him since I invited you girls to dinner." Marina laughed. "I think he's terrified that I'm trying to get serious."
Emma laughed, too, surprised and pleased that Marina would speak so openly about her father. "No, Dad's just really busy in the summer. He's OCD about every nail on every board on anything he's building." She slipped into the cottage, found the milk, poured some into a pitcher, and went back outside. "Thanks for this. Maybe I'll see you later."
"We could go for a swim tonight," Marina suggested. "Maybe Abbie and Lily would like to go, too."
"Good idea. I'll ask them."
Back at the house, Emma presented Abbie with the pitcher of milk. They stirred their coffee and went out onto the deck to lounge in the morning sun. Cinnamon was already there, stretched out on a wicker rocker, drugged with the heat.
After a few moments of silence, Emma said, "Okay, Abbie, what's wrong?"
Abbie shrugged. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."
Emma studied her sister. "It's that man, isn't it? That married man."
"You know nothing about it."
"It's because it's the weekend. His wife's home."
Abbie sniffed and refused to answer.
"You don't want to be a home wrecker, Abbie. They've got a little boy."
"Yes," Abbie said, and all at once she was spilling with emotion. "Emma, Harry's mother is a world-class bitch. She's cold and heartless and domineering. She's an absolute Nazi mom. If you saw how happy Harry is when he's with me, you'd understand. The poor kid is so fragile mentally, he's like a turtle hiding in a shell, but when he's with me, he's secure enough to emerge. I took him over to Shelley's on Friday and he got to ride a horse, and he was so brave! He was so proud of himself!" Abbie began to cry.
"Oh, honey." Emma went into the kitchen, grabbed a box of tissues, and brought it out to Abbie. After a moment she said, "Abbie. You need to find your own husband. You need to have your own children."
Abbie shook her head rapidly as she blew her nose. "No. You don't understand. I've never felt like this about any other man. Howell and I are soul mates. He's in love with me, Emma. He told me he's in love with me. He's not in love with his wife. But things can't be changed with a snap of the fingers. I know that. I trust him. It's just hard to be away from him and Harry. They are where I belong."
"Yes, well, I thought Duncan was where I belonged," Emma reminded her sister. "I thought the investment firm was where I belonged. Sometimes your instincts are just off."
"Fine." Abruptly, Abbie stood up. "I've got to clean the upstairs and you've got to clean the downstairs, and Lily has to get out of bed and go to the grocery store."
"Abbie. It's early," Emma objected.
But Abbie stormed off, letting the screen door slam behind her as she charged into the kitchen.
Emma sipped her coffee and willed herself to relax. She had housework to do before she joined the landscaping crew, but she wanted to take just a few more minutes to enjoy the serenity of the summer morning. Love was such a mystery, she thought. Certainly she'd been as sure of Duncan's love as Abbie was of Howell Parker's, and Duncan hadn't been married to someone else. Duncan had asked Emma to marry him. Duncan had given Emma an engagement ring. Thinking of Duncan made something inside her cramp with grief. She was learning to think without sorrow, but when would she ever be free of the bitter stings of jealousy and regret?
Damn. Her mood was spoiled. She was worried about Abbie and that married man, and she was a little pissed off at Lily, too. Emma had never felt responsible for Lily like Abbie always had. Abbie had really been a kind of mother to Lily, but they were all adults now, and Abbie was right, Lily needed to grow up. Obviously, the eighteen months Abbie was away had changed her. Her life was no longer centered--anchored--in this house, this family. Lily hadn't seemed to realize that yet. Perhaps she didn't want to, and Emma understood. She missed having a mother figure around, but Abbie had never been that for her. Emma had grown accustomed to living with that loss. It was an ache, and a yearning, that she carried in her body like an injured limb.
Abbie came out of the house, letting the screen door slam. "She's not here. Her bed hasn't been slept in. So she's with some man, and I'll bet you a hundred dollars she'll forget her share of the work."
Emma stood up. "I'll go to the grocery store."
"You shouldn't have to! It's Lily's job. And what about your job, cleaning the downstairs? How are you going to do that?"
"Now who sounds like a Nazi?" Emma retorted. "The downstairs is clean enough. No one's going to run a home inspection on us. I'll get the groceries, and you calm down!"
By the time Emma had gone to the store, bought the groceries, carried them into the house, and put them all away, it was time for her to meet Marcia at the Prestons' house. It was going to be such fun, working at the Prestons'. Their yard was a showplace, an acre of land on the cliffs overlooking the harbor, complete with a rose garden, a maze with topiary, a vegetable garden, and a flower garden circling a reflecting pool and fountain. The job was a plum, enhancing the reputation of any landscaper, and Emma was glad. Marcia had been one of Emma's best friends in high school.
Emma biked out to the Prestons' house and found Marcia unloading tools from her truck. Marcia had the field-hockey swagge
r of a healthy, bossy woman. Her dark hair was in braids and she was already darkly tanned from outdoor work.
She hugged Emma. "Emma, you're a lifesaver. I can't get enough help in July and August." She nodded toward her male clone, a big, broad-shouldered man with his dark hair cut short. "You remember Brian, right?"
Emma grinned. She'd had a crush on Marcia's older brother all through high school. He'd been captain of the football team, leading the Whalers to victory, and all the girls had crushes on him. "Hey, Brian. What are you up to these days?"
"I've joined my dad's plumbing business, just like everyone thought I would," Brian said. "And on summer weekends, I turn into my sister's slave."
Marcia snorted. "I wish. Help me lift the wheelbarrow out." While her brother easily hefted it up and onto the ground, she said to Emma, "I'm giving you the easy job today. All you have to do is weed the flower garden around the reflecting pool. Take this basket. Pile the weeds in it, and when it's full, dump it in the truck. Brian and I will be trimming the topiary. One more thing, the Prestons often have lunch served on their deck. If they do, stop weeding there and go to the vegetable garden. The Prestons don't like to have workers in sight when they're entertaining."
Emma saluted her friend, grabbed the basket, and set off walking around the enormous house and down the lawn toward the pool. The garden was vibrant with daisies, foxglove, delphiniums, globe thistle, and phlox. The variety of colors was stunning. Emma looked toward the deck, and seeing no people there, began to weed at the end closer to the house. She'd forgotten to bring her iPod with her and she found she didn't mind. There was something very satisfying about kneeling among the flowers, feeling the hot sun on her shoulders and the tug of the weeds between her fingers.
She was halfway down the length of the pool when she heard voices. She saw the glass door sliding open from the house to the deck. A group of people came out and a woman in a maid's uniform followed, carrying a tray of drinks. Emma quickly gathered her tools and basket and slipped away from the pool and through the hedge toward the vegetable garden.
