by Nancy Thayer
“It’s not far,” Ryder said, as much to himself as to Beth.
“I know,” she answered. “Do you want me to video it?”
“Good idea. Yes.”
She was outrageously pleased with herself. She looked straight ahead, feeling important and purposeful.
After a few moments of silence, she sneaked a look at Ryder’s hands on the steering wheel. They looked strong and tan, as if he was a man who sailed boats. Carefully, she slid her eyes up to settle on the side of his face. He had a handsome, strong profile, like a king or the commander of a ship. His nose and cheeks were red from the sun and his forehead was paler than the rest of his face, like so many men who wore their scalloper’s caps all the time. When Prudence hired Beth for the job, she’d informed Beth that Ryder was divorced, lived in Boston, and was president of the board of Ocean Matters.
She jumped a bit when he asked, “Where are you from?”
“Nantucket.”
“I mean, where did you grow up?”
“On Nantucket. I’m a real native. Born here, went to high school here, went to college at Wheaton, and got a master’s in museum studies at BU. But all along I knew I wanted to come back here. I’d like to be director of the Nantucket Historical Association someday.” Beth blushed when she told him her deepest dream.
Ryder took his eyes off the road to look at her. “You’re really extraordinary, Beth, and a very lucky woman to know where you want to live and what you want to do. So many people your age have no idea. I know I didn’t. It took me a long time to find out and I did a lot of stupid things on the way.”
“Well, doing stupid things is half the fun, isn’t it?” Beth joked and almost covered her mouth, shocked that such a carefree sentiment had come from her own voice. But something about Ryder, maybe simply his age, or maybe his calm very controlled presence, made her feel safe. If she’d said something like that to her father, he’d have given her a lecture about safe driving and the use of contraceptives.
Ryder leaned forward, concentrating as they bumped over the rutted dirt road to Cisco Beach. He parked at the top of the bluff leading down to the water. They both jumped out.
“There,” Ryder said, pointing.
They slid down the sandy bluff to the beach. A man in shorts, work boots, and T-shirt was straddling a harbor seal, who was wallowing side to side, trying to escape and getting nowhere.
“Leo,” Ryder said.
“Ryder, hey. Stand over this little lady and hold her steady while I cut the plastic off.”
Ryder straddled the animal, gripping it with his calves, holding it firmly with his hands.
The seal was about five feet long, its fat body covered with soft speckled gray fur. Beth stayed a few feet away, knowing that the presence of people stressed these animals. She positioned herself to the side of the seal’s face. It looked like a puppy, a sad puppy, its short snout bewhiskered and spotted and its black nose shaped like a black button.
She clicked pictures and moved to the side to video the men struggling to free the seal from the net of turquoise plastic that ringed the seal’s neck, choking it.
Something about the bulk of the creature and those wide dark eyes made her think of the last time she had seen Atticus, even though then his eyes had been blank and staring.
She shook it off. This was now. This animal would live.
As the plastic was cut away, the seal lifted its head and cried out. It wasn’t a bark or a groan, it was more like a song, a long note held, expressing its fear…and its hope. After Leo sliced the last plastic cord away, he turned the seal’s head to check the neck for injuries—none—and said “Okay” to Ryder. Ryder released the struggling seal. Immediately, it humped its ungraceful way down to the ocean and disappeared beneath the waves.
The two men shook hands and congratulated each other. Both were out of breath, and Leo actually dropped right to the ground.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” Leo said to Ryder. “I tried to deal with her myself, but she fought me. She really wanted to bite me.”
“I was glad to help,” Ryder said. “Beth, did you get it all on video?”
She double-checked. “I did!”
“Great,” Ryder told her. “We’ll get it up on Facebook and Instagram right away.”
“Send me a copy,” Leo said. “We’ll post it on our marine mammal rescue site.”
“So,” Ryder said as they got back into his SUV, “first thing, get a Facebook and an Instagram account. Claim a domain and start building our website. We need to get this up fast.”
“I can design the website but I’ll need someone else to build it.”
“Fine. Get someone right away.”
His Bluetooth phone buzzed, the number flashing on the dashboard panel. As they drove back to town, Ryder talked with his secretary in Boston and there was no way Beth could not overhear the conversation. Ryder had a lot of meetings scheduled, including one with the governor. She was impressed, and she was glad that this new organization she was starting to work for was gaining support. It made her even more excited and eager to do her job.
They reached Easy Street, Ryder pulling into a parking space near the small grassy park that overlooked the harbor.
As Beth started to open her door, Ryder put his hand lightly on her arm. She turned back to look at him.
“Beth, what we did today was important. We were only three people, and we can’t save the entire ocean. But think how that seal feels now, free of that plastic noose. We’re starting a grassroots movement—” He stopped and corrected himself. “An eelgrass movement,” he continued with a smile. “That seal was lucky, but so were we. We’ve got the perfect iconic video for what’s happening out there in the ocean and how people can help. Think about that when you design the website.”
Beth blinked as Ryder spoke, so passionately, a fire in his eyes and his hand so warm and restraining on her arm. As if he might draw her closer.
God! she thought, what was she even thinking? He was old! But he didn’t look old and he didn’t seem old. He was energetic, fiery, strong. She wanted to throw herself into his embrace and kiss him. Her heart was racing. She hoped he couldn’t feel it through her arm. It was so many things at once, the excitement of doing something significant, the attraction of this frighteningly brilliant man, the opportunity to use her own skills and intelligence…and the chance of humiliation if she failed.
Beth said, “You know, different groups are already doing research here, on the loss of eelgrass, on water quality.”
“Good,” Ryder said absentmindedly, glancing at his watch. He lifted his hand from Beth’s arm, and straightened in his seat. “I’ve got a meeting. Keep working on this. This seal did us a great favor. Email me.”
“Sure,” Beth said, smiling, and stepped down from the SUV.
Back in the office, Beth was energized. She sat down in her comfortable executive chair, pulled up a pad of lined yellow paper, and started a list. She studied her video of the men with the seal and decided it was really pretty awesome. For an hour she worked in a kind of cool-minded, emotion-hot intensity, until she paused, emotionally punched by the realization that her home, her island, was a kind of canary in the mine for the future of the coasts. Suddenly, this was very personal.
It was odd, difficult, to read the daily weather reports and mix that news with her memories of growing up on the island. She’d been so very happy, and sometimes she felt guilty about that happiness, because she had lost her mother, so shouldn’t she always be sad? But the loss had happened when she was so young, she hadn’t known what was normal, she didn’t comprehend what she had lost. Her father had been her world, and she was his.
Her father loved the island. On weekends Mack took her hiking around the wild, lonely barrier beach called Coskata-Coatue that protected the Nantucket Harbor from the more savage waters of
Nantucket Sound. He woke her early Sunday mornings to go to uninhabited island preserves to join the group of bird-watchers; he drove through a snowstorm to Coskata so she could see the snowy owl perched majestically on an evergreen. He taught her how to handle a Boston Whaler, how to fish, how to gut and dress the fish. He explained how the Wampanoag tribes had hunted whales from a canoe and gathered wild blueberries and beach plums from the moors to keep them healthy through the winters. He’d taken her with friends to spend the night on the nearby lonely island, Tuckernuck, and he’d shown her all the exquisite Main Street homes once built by the whaling captains. He’d impressed on her that this environment was fragile, the history of the island was unique, the beauty of the island unsurpassed.
Beth grew up knowing, deep in her heart where words could not go, that she was part of the island. She belonged to it.
And now, with the arrival of Ocean Matters and Ryder Hastings, she glimpsed an opportunity to help it. She had not been able to help her mother, and although Beth took as many chemistry and science courses as she could tolerate, she knew that she would never be the person to cure cancer, not the kind of cancer that had taken her mother. She’d never obsessed about that, she couldn’t control the past. But when Atticus died, Beth had carried a kind of guilt with her that weighed heavily on her heart. She had not loved him enough to make him love his life. No one blamed Beth for this, and she never spoke with anyone about it, because she knew with the rational part of her mind that she couldn’t have saved Atticus, even if she’d stayed by his side every moment of every day. But she was determined to do something life-affirming, something that helped, that mattered.
And working for Ocean Matters made her believe she could do that. Would do that.
I am doing that, she thought as she looked at the work she’d done, as she saw more and more comments about the seal landing on the Facebook page. She was getting the word out. In her own small way, she was part of something larger, this island and the waters around it.
But what she’d done was only the beginning. She’d created a Facebook page and an Instagram page, but she needed help in order to build a website. She’d gone as far as she could go without technical help. Leaning back in her chair, she wondered what her next step should be.
fifteen
Juliet woke early, her mental alarm clock set to work time. For a while she allowed herself to look around her room, her childhood room. She’d been away for so long, first college, then her job with Kazaam. When she’d returned home for Christmas, for a week in the summer, she hadn’t paid attention to her bedroom, but now she was almost twenty-eight, which in her mind meant she was almost thirty, and here she was, in bed alone, gazing at a poster of Ashton Kutcher on the wall.
Well, he was nice to look at.
Ryder Hastings was nice to look at, too.
She reached for her phone on the bedside table. Yesterday he had answered her text canceling dinner with a brief: Maybe sometime next week?
She had texted: I’ll probably be on Nantucket.
So will I, he replied.
Since then, nothing new from him, and why should there be, she hadn’t contacted him. Would she? Closing her eyes, she remembered how he had kissed her in his Tesla. What she’d felt for Ryder Hastings as they kissed, and what had lingered during the drive to Boston, was deeper than what she’d ever felt before. More dimensional.
Ha, Juliet said to herself, throwing back the covers and sitting up in bed. More delusional would be the correct word. She’d always known she didn’t want to follow the traditional path, love, marriage, children. She’d always wanted to make a difference in the world, and while Kazaam hadn’t actually brought world peace, she knew from comments on the website that her posts of dogs who had been mistreated and rescued and given a good home had brought a moment of joy and belief in the goodness of people. Maybe that was an event of little significance, but still, it counted.
She pulled on a pair of leggings to wear with the Red Sox tee she slept in, slid her feet into flip-flops, and went down the stairs, carrying her laptop with her. In Cambridge, she often waited until noon to dress, working in bed or on her sofa in a robe and slippers. She smelled the tantalizing aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen and headed toward it.
Her mother was in the kitchen.
“You look nice, Mom,” Juliet said, kissing Lisa on the cheek.
“Nice,” Lisa echoed, and smiled.
“What? You want your daughter to say you look like a babe?” Juliet poured herself a cup of coffee and settled in a kitchen chair. “Speaking of men—”
Lisa interrupted. “I didn’t realize we were speaking of men. And I need to open the shop.”
“So you don’t want to hear about the time I spent with Ryder Hastings?”
“The time you spent with Ryder Hastings?” Lisa echoed. “I do want to hear about that.”
“After his lecture, somehow we were on the same boat back and he offered to drive me up to Cambridge in his Tesla.”
“Go on.” Lisa folded her arms and leaned against the sink.
“He asked me out to dinner. I accepted. But then Theo arrived and we wanted to come down here, so I texted him to cancel.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it. He hasn’t called back.”
“Do you want him to?”
“Of course I want him to! He’s all the things, Mom. Smart and rich and charming.”
Lisa looked worried.
Oh God, Juliet thought, she’s going to get all anxious and tell me that smart and rich and charming aren’t the best qualities in a husband, my father was smart, rich, and charming and look what happened to them…
“Isn’t he a lot older than you are?” Lisa asked, making herself all bright-eyed and chirpy, like a sweet bird on a branch.
“Isn’t Mack a lot younger than you are?” Juliet countered.
“Touché,” Lisa said, with a genuine smile. She pulled her large leather bag over her shoulder and kissed Juliet on the forehead. “I do have to open the shop. We’ll talk more, later.” She went out the back door into the day.
Juliet stood at the open door, soaking in the sweetness of the morning.
“Must run,” she told herself and tore up the stairs to put on a sports bra, a loose T-shirt, and running shoes. No iPod, no music in her earbuds. Simplicity.
This was what she needed. It worked every time, clearing her head, getting away from electronics, enjoying the weather on this beautiful island. She hurried downstairs, opened the front door, checked her Fitbit, and headed off.
It felt good to run. June was a gentle time, with hydrangea blooming and roses budding. She zigzagged along the narrow streets down the hill to the town pier where sailboats, Boston Whalers, and fishing boats bobbed in the breezy waters. And now she was home, really back home. When she was younger, she went to Cisco and Dionis with her friends for parties, but the town pier and the small beach patrolled by gulls and mallards felt like her very own. Here, the water was translucent, the ducks paddling along complacently, the wooden dock scattered with shells the gulls had dropped from a great height to break open so they could swoop down and seize the sweet meat inside. From here she could see the small chubby Brant Point lighthouse and a fast ferry slowing as it came into the harbor. Here, between the beach and the street, wild roses were already in bloom, perfuming the air. Across the harbor, on the Monomoy beach, someone was flying a red kite.
She sat on the sand to catch her breath, then untied her shoes and walked down the cool sand and into the water. It was very cold, and yet she wanted to fall into the water, as if being baptized by the bliss of being alive. Instead, she went back to her shoes, retied them, and stood, looking in all directions. She decided to walk the docks, up and down Swain’s Wharf, Old South Wharf, Straight Wharf, and Old North Wharf until she was across from the Harborside Stop & Shop and
headed up Main Street.
At the corner of Main and South Water, she paused as a large Range Rover drove past. Beth Whitney was in the passenger seat, and Ryder was driving.
The shock stopped her dead. She bent over with her hands on her knees, shaking her head in dismay. Ryder was with beautiful Beth. Juliet groaned. A woman walking her spaniel gave her a curious glance, but Juliet ignored her.
Juliet turned around, picked up speed, ignored the rest of her route, and raced to her house, wanting to get to her phone. She hated having it with her all the time, but if she didn’t have it, that seemed to be when she needed it.
She crashed into the house, leaving the door open behind her. For a moment she put her hands on her knees again, catching her breath.
“Juliet? Is that you?” Theo called from the kitchen.
“Yes,” Juliet called back. “Give me a moment.”
“I want coffee,” Theo said.
Juliet staggered into the kitchen and collapsed on a chair. “So have some. The Keurig’s right there.”
Theo searched the countertops. “Where are the pods?”
“We don’t use the pods. They aren’t recyclable. They don’t biodegrade. There’s a basket in the drainer, and ground coffee in the pottery canister that says ‘sugar.’ ”
Theo found a spoon, filled the basket, grumbling under his breath. “How can anyone fill this damn thing when you’ve just woken up? You need caffeine before you can do this kind of teeny-weeny tiny hands operation.”
Juliet snorted. “So, fill it the night before.”
“You’re such a hard-ass.” Theo waited while the machine boiled the water and filled his cup. He carried it over to the kitchen table and sat down.
“Theo, you talk like a fifteen-year-old. Stop it. You’re too old to be so crude.”
“Well, you’re too pretty to be so cranky.”
Surprised, Juliet let down her guard. “I just saw Beth Whitney in the car with Ryder Hastings.”
“Who’s Ryder Hastings?”
