Beachcombers

by Nancy Thayer

  Tonight Jim and all three girls came for dinner. As they sat around the table, the conversation was casual and fast, everyone complaining about the humid heat and the traffic, sharing anecdotes from their day. Even Lily seemed friendly, or at least relaxed, resigned to Marina's presence. Perhaps she just needed to get used to the idea.

  Abbie had a babysitting job and left right after dinner. Lily excused herself to dress for yet another party.

  "Go watch the Red Sox, Dad," Emma said. "I don't have a job tonight. I'll help Marina clean up."

  Jim glanced at Marina.

  "Go ahead," she said. "I'll join you in awhile."

  Emma was the daughter Marina felt most comfortable with, and as they moved around the kitchen, clearing off the table, stacking the dishwasher, putting away leftovers, they fell into an easy, natural rhythm.

  "I've had an idea about Millicent Bracebridge's lightship baskets," Emma told Marina once the work was done.

  "Share?" Marina held up the wine bottle, which had just enough left for each of them.

  "Thanks." Emma held out her glass and leaned against the counter. "I'd like Sheila Lester to check them out. If she says they're fake, then I can tell Spencer about it and he can do something."

  "Do you want me to ask Sheila if she'd appraise them?" Emma asked.

  "Would you? I know her, but not as well as you do."

  "Oh, I wouldn't say I know her well ... but I know her well enough," Marina decided. "I'll phone her tomorrow."

  "Oh, that would be great, Marina. Thanks."

  After the kitchen was clean, with the dishwasher gargling along, Marina went in to watch the baseball game with Jim. She'd only sat down when Emma stuck her head into the living room.

  "Want to take an evening swim with me, Marina?"

  "That's a great idea." Marina turned to Jim. "Want to join us?"

  "The Red Sox are tied with the Yankees," Jim said, keeping his eyes on the screen.

  Marina laughed. "Okay. See you later."

  As they walked through the moonlit streets, Emma said, casually, "You and Dad seem to be getting along nicely."

  Marina chose her words carefully. "Your father is a pretty special man."

  Emma laughed a full-bodied laugh and linked her arm through Marina's. "I am not five years old! I can tell my father's in love with you."

  Startled, Marina said, "You can?"

  "Gosh, yes. In fact, I think Lily knew it even before he did."

  "What? That doesn't even make sense."

  "Yes, it does. Lily noticed the way Dad always brought you fish, when you first rented the cottage. She saw the way he looked at you, and how happy he was after he'd seen you. It freaked her out, actually. She emailed me and Abbie, all in a dither."

  "Oh, dear."

  "Don't worry about Lily, Marina. She's the baby of the family. It just takes her a little longer to adjust to things."

  Should she tell Emma that Jim had asked her to move in with them? Marina wondered. No. No, she should let Jim broach the subject with his daughters. But she wanted to tell Emma something of her feelings. "I really like your father," she said carefully.

  "I can tell that. It kind of cheers me up. If you can find someone you enjoy being with so soon after getting dumped, maybe there's hope for me, too."

  "So you don't mind that I'm--dating--your father?"

  "God, no! I'm glad! He hasn't had anyone make a fuss over him for years."

  They arrived at the beach and kicked off their sandals to walk barefoot over the sand to the water's edge. The night was hot, the water still. Music floated out from boats moored in the harbor and in the distance the lights of the ferry floated toward them like a slowly moving spaceship.

  Marina waded out into the shallows. The water was warm against her skin, and then, as she went deeper, the water became cool. Beside her, Emma dog-paddled, flipping her feet, clowning around.

  "I'm so happy!" Emma laughed. "I don't know why, Marina, but right now, I'm happy."

  Marina laughed. She felt as if she could swim forever. "I'm happy, too," she told Emma, and rolled over to do a lazy back crawl so she could gaze up at the moon.

  38

  Abbie

  The relentlessness of the late August heat and humidity was irritating even the happiest of tourists. Main Street was crowded, you couldn't walk along the sidewalk without bumping into people. The grocery stores were so packed, you couldn't get down the aisles. Marine Home Center sold out of window air conditioners. All over the island, car alarms seemed to blare incessantly, and babies wailed as mothers pushed the double-sided strollers along, making everyone else get out of their way.

  And Harry had morphed into a little brat. He wouldn't eat any vegetables. He couldn't sit still. He screamed like a two-year-old in the grocery store when Abbie wouldn't buy him a box of cookies. Wednesday evening he wouldn't get out of the bath, so Abbie sat on the bathroom floor for thirty minutes until the child gave up. Then he didn't like his summer pajamas, and he didn't like any of the books Abbie wanted to read to him when she finally got him tucked into bed. By the time she got him to sleep, she was ready to lie down next to him and sleep herself.

  Instead, she went downstairs. Howell was at his desk, tapping at his computer.

  "Coffee?" she asked. "Or a beer?"

  "I've got to get this done," Howell told her. He stretched and yawned. "But I'll take a break." Rising, he walked over to Abbie and enfolded her against him.

  "How's your ankle?" she asked.

  "Perfect. Not even a twinge. Which is a good thing, since I've got to go to this conference."

  Howell was flying out Thursday morning to a conference in Seattle. He had arranged for Abbie to spend Wednesday and Thursday nights with Harry; Sydney would fly in Friday evening. Howell wouldn't be back until Sunday night.

  As they settled on the sofa, Abbie asked, "Do you think Harry's so moody because you're leaving?"

  "Maybe. Or maybe it's more than that," Howell told Abbie. "I think Harry's aware of the tension between me and Sydney. I don't think he knows anything, but he certainly senses something. Be patient with him, Abbie, please."

  "Of course I'll be patient with him," Abbie assured Howell. "I love Harry."

  "And I love you," Howell whispered and kissed her lips, and her throat, and her collarbone. "Let's go to bed."

  It was like a dream life. And it was a glimpse into her future.

  Abbie slept with Howell all night through, but made sure to set her things around in the guest bedroom so that Harry would think she'd stayed there, just as she would that night.

  In the morning she made breakfast for Harry and his father, and dressed Harry for the day while Howell finished packing for his trip. She tucked Harry into his car seat and drove Howell to the airport, and she stood holding hands with Harry as they waved to Howell when he walked out to the plane. She gave Harry a perfect day--beach, library, ice-cream cone, stories--and when she went to bed at night, she couldn't fall asleep for happiness. This was what it would be like when she married Howell.

  Friday was the first day of the traveling fair that visited Nantucket annually. It was small, but that only made it seem quaint and perfect for little children. Knowing how easily Harry got overexcited, Abbie opted to take him to the fair in the morning, to give him plenty of time to calm down by evening. When Abbie parked in the sandy lot, she saw lots of other mothers with little children. Good. That made it seem she'd made a good decision.

  The day was hot and bright, and the ground was dry and dusty, but once they'd walked through the balloon-covered arch, they entered a fantasy world of rides and arcades and music. Abbie held tight to Harry's little hand, partly because she didn't want to lose him in the crowd, and also to give him a sense of safety. She could tell he was overwhelmed.

  She knelt next to Harry. "What shall we do first? How about a ride on the train?"

  Harry held back. "Can you sit with me, Nanny Abbie?"

  "No, honey, I can't. Look, the seats are jus
t right for someone your age, and the train doesn't go very fast." As she spoke, the little train clacked around the track. The conductor waved and blew the whistle, which made Harry jump.

  What a strange little life the boy had had, Abbie thought. He'd ridden in jet airplanes and limos, but hadn't seen much television and he'd certainly never been to an amusement park.

  "Why don't we go try our hand at one of the games?" she suggested.

  It took fifteen minutes of patiently watching other children throw balls at plastic ducks, all of them walking away with a stuffed animal, before Harry tugged on Abbie's hand and whispered that he'd like to try it.

  They got in line, and waited their turn at the wildly decorated stand. The game operator spoke gently and encouragingly to Harry. Eyes wide, Harry threw the balls three times. The third time, he knocked over a duck and got to choose a stuffed animal. He chose a seahorse with a stiff satin mane and hugged it to his chest, triumphant.

  Abbie felt pretty triumphant herself as she continued around the little fair. Harry was now brave enough to climb up inside the bright red fire truck, where he himself could push the button that activated the siren as the operator pushed another button that made the truck rock back and forth. After that, Harry was ready for the train, and he liked that so much he asked if he could go around three more times. Abbie was delighted. She'd bet that the seahorse Harry had clutched to his chest was providing him with courage, or at least a sense of companionship. Sydney was so wrong to deprive Harry of the experience of horses!

  The tantalizing aroma of hot dogs drifted through the air. Abbie was pretty sure Harry hadn't had a hot dog at a fair before. She bought one for each of them and laughed to see how quickly Harry devoured his. He was still hungry, so she prudently bought him a cup of milk, and then allowed him a cone of cotton candy for his dessert. Harry's eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he was allowed to choose either pink or blue, and when he tasted the concoction, he broke into a surprised smile.

  "This is really good, Nanny Abbie," Harry said. "Would you like a taste?"

  She almost cried with pleasure at his offer. "No, thanks, Harry. It's all for you."

  It was noon, and the sun beat down fiercely. She took Harry to the little Porta Potti, which was an adventure in itself for the child. She wiped his hands and face with the hygienic wipes she carried in her purse, and spread more sunblock over his nose and cheeks and insisted he wear his baseball cap to shade his face. He obeyed easily, as eager as any other child to get back to the amusement park. She loved it when other mothers saw Abbie and smiled--as if Abbie were Harry's mother!

  Which she kind of almost was.

  Harry went on the train two more times, and then sat in a helicopter as it jolted back and forth, making a whirring, whapping sound even though the blades didn't really move. The Ferris wheel was very small, but the seats were large enough for adults as well as children, so Abbie and Harry sat together, Harry clutching her hand tightly as they rose high into the sky. Or what seemed high to Harry--Abbie thought it probably didn't go more than twenty feet off the ground.

  "How about the carousel?" Abbie asked next. Harry had stared at it in consternation when they first arrived. Loud music overwhelmed him, and the carousel music was loud.

  "Okay," Harry announced bravely. "If you come with me, Nanny Abbie."

  "Of course!" Abbie waited until the carousel stopped, then led Harry up onto the platform. "What color horse would you like to ride? Black? White?"

  "The Appaloosa," Harry announced, proud of knowing the word.

  Abbie led him to the painted horse and lifted him onto its back. "Now hold tight, right here on the pommel of the saddle," she instructed.

  Harry clasped the pommel in one hand, but kept hold of his seahorse with the other. He gawked openmouthed at all the painted horses with their jeweled saddles and arched tails and streaming manes, and all the other children who were being lifted up onto their own horses.

  "Why don't you let me hold your seahorse so you can use both hands on the reins," Abbie suggested.

  Harry only shook his head.

  Abbie hooked her bag over her shoulder so she could keep one hand on Harry's back and hold on to the pole with the other. "Your horse has spots, Harry. What do you think his name is?"

  "Slappy!" Harry crowed, laughing.

  Abbie laughed back, loving it that he'd remember the real horse Shelley had let him ride.

  With a jolt, the merry-go-round began to revolve. Harry's face lit up as his horse dipped and rose.

  "This is fun!" he yelled, laughing. "We're going fast, Nanny Abbie!"

  "I know! Hang on tight!"

  They circled around, the music tinkling, while mothers and fathers and grandparents stood on the ground waving at them. Harry grinned from ear to ear.

  Suddenly, "Oh, no!" he cried. He had dropped his seahorse.

  Abbie saw it land on the wooden board between two horses.

  "Don't worry, Harry. I'll get it," Abbie said.

  She bent to pick up the stuffed bit of satin.

  As she stood up, she heard Harry scream.

  She caught a flash of his leather sandal as the little boy slipped sideways off his horse, his thin legs whipping into the air. Helplessly she watched his head knock into the horse next to his. She tore around the moving horse but Harry slammed to the platform of the carousel before she could break his fall.

  "Harry!" Abbie threw herself next to the child, trying to gather him into her arms. The movement of the carousel unbalanced her and threw her sideways. "Stop!" she yelled.

  Harry was caught between the poles of two horses, his arms and legs flailing. He was screaming at the top of his lungs.

  "Harry, Harry, you're okay, honey, Harry, let me help you." She leaned forward, and the carousel's motion made her lurch, falling against the child. She steadied herself with one hand. "Harry, you're okay."

  But she could see that he was bleeding from his head.

  The carousel was slowing now, the spinning easing, the horses pausing. Abbie reached out to pick Harry up.

  The little boy fought away from her, a little whirlwind of flailing arms and kicking legs.

  "Mommy!" he cried. "Daddy! Mommy!"

  "Harry, Harry, calm down, let me help you--" She tried to sound both soothing and authoritative.

  "Mommy! I want my mommy!" The child arched his back and twisted away, inadvertently kicking Abbie hard in the stomach.

  Harry was out of control, shrieking in a full-force tantrum. Abbie was aware of the other adults and children watching them. Judging them. Sweat trickled down her face, all her skin seemed on fire with embarrassment.

  "We'll get your mommy. Calm down, Harry, let me help you get off the carousel and then we'll go call your mommy."

  "I want my mommy!" Harry's shrieks were lessening. His little body convulsed as he sobbed. "I want my mommy! I want my mommy!"

  Abbie finally was able to get her arms around the child. She held him against her and staggered to her feet. Someone put a guiding hand beneath her elbow, steadying her as she lurched around the horses and stepped down onto the ground.

  A crowd had gathered around them. Someone said, "Here's a bench. Sit down."

  She half fell onto the bench. Harry was sobbing relentlessly in her arms.

  "I'm a nurse." The woman was older, gray-haired, comfortably plump. "Let me look at him."

  "Thank you," Abbie said gratefully.

  The nurse tried to peel Harry away from Abbie, but he clung to Abbie, digging his fingers into her shoulders. His knees jammed into her rib cage and one foot kicked her arm hard.

  "Stay there," the nurse said. She walked around to the back of the bench and squatted down.

  Harry's face was pressed against Abbie's shoulder, but the nurse could see his temple.

  "He's got a big goose egg," she said. "That's good. The swelling's gone out, not in. He's scraped his cheek. That's where the blood is coming from. He just needs a pack of ice." Standing up, she said
to the crowd, "We need ice. Other than that, he's okay. You can all leave now."

  As if sensing the power of her authority, the crowd began to disperse. A young man ran up with a silver ice pack in his hand. "We keep some here, for accidents like this," he said. "You think he's okay?"

  The nurse bent toward Harry, attempting to put the ice pack next to the child's face, but when he felt it, Harry screamed louder and threw himself away from the nurse, almost propelling himself out of Abbie's arms.

  "I guess no ice," the nurse said. She came around and sat down next to Abbie. "I think he's okay. He didn't lose consciousness. His eyes are tracking fine. The scrape on the side of his face has already stopped bleeding. Children's heads and faces bleed a lot, don't let it worry you. You need to keep an eye on him for about twenty minutes. He might throw up. If he does, don't worry, as long as it's only once or twice."

  "I might throw up," Abbie muttered.

  Harry had subsided against her again, his sobs weakening, his little body calming.

  "I want my mommy," he cried pitifully. "Please, Nanny Abbie. I want my mommy."

  Abbie thought her heart would break.

  39

  Emma

  Emma sat at the kitchen table with her father and Marina, eating the seared garden vegetables and sausage Marina had prepared. Cinnamon crouched beneath the table, purring as he ate the bit of sausage Emma had slipped him.

  "Too spicy?" Marina asked.

  "No, it's fine. I'm just wired." She gave Marina a quick, complicitous glance. Marina grinned.

  The front door slammed and Lily hurried into the kitchen. "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving!" She threw herself into a chair and bent over to remove a high-heeled stiletto sandal. "And do we have any Band-Aids? I've got a blister from Carrie's shoes and it's killing me."

  "Yes, there is food," Emma informed Lily, "thanks to Marina. She went to the grocery store, and cooked dinner."

  Lily ignored her. She had her foot in both hands and was scrutinizing the blister. "If I can't wear the silver heels tonight, my whole outfit will be ruined."