Girls of Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  She felt his body press against hers. Oh, sweet lovely sensation, she’d forgotten this—had she ever known this? She helped him pull off his shirt, and in the dim light she noticed his muscular torso, scarred lightly here and there from, he told her, work accidents. He took off his shoes and socks and pants and his boxer shorts. Finally it was her turn, and she allowed him to tug her sundress up over her head. She quickly dealt with the business of removing her bra and panties, and then there she was naked before him.

  She thought she would want to run away or hide her imperfect body with its extra cellulite and slight sags, but the touch of Mack’s hand transformed all of her body that she’d disparaged into a creation she’d forgotten about. She was a magical vessel of sensations. Her heart raced, her breath shuddered, her limbs, smooth, round, and feminine, slid against Mack’s rough, hairy, muscular limbs, and her body went right ahead without her conscious thought or worry, into a world of pleasure, and more pleasure, and then joy.

  Afterward, lying there together, sweating and cooling, beach towels puddled around them, Lisa said, “Mack? I think I’d like to marry you. Someday.”

  “So you and I are secretly engaged to get married?”

  Lisa took a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s wait until the summer is over to tell the kids. That will give them some time to sort through their own relationships.”

  Mack laughed, a satisfied rumble in his chest. He reached over and took her hand. “And we can enjoy the summer with our secret and let the young ones chart their own course.”

  “Yes,” Lisa said.

  She stood up, and Mack rose, and they held each other for a long time, not only desiring each other, although there was always desire in their feelings for each other, but also in a companionable way. A comforting way. A promise.

  They carried the beach towels with them as they went downstairs. Mack said he’d launder them at home and return them. They left the house and hurried to his truck. As they rode back to Lisa’s house, she felt absolutely giddy. She giggled, and how long had it been since she’d done that?

  “I feel light-headed,” she told Mack. “I feel so pleased with myself. I’m a little bit crazy, I think.”

  “I’m crazy about you,” Mack said.

  “I must settle down before we get home,” Lisa said, laughing. “I don’t want Theo or Juliet to see me like this.”

  “It is going to happen again, you know,” Mack told her.

  “Oh,” Lisa said. “I hope so.”

  Mack pulled into her driveway and they entered her house. No one else was there. Together they tidied the kitchen, enjoying each small moment when their arms touched, each easy normal task of covering the lasagna for Mack to take home, washing the salad bowl, putting plates in the dishwasher. It was as if they were already a couple living an ordinary life with its extraordinary joys.

  Afterward, they sat on the sofa, watching the Red Sox beat the Yankees. A perfect evening.

  twenty-nine

  When Beth walked to work Thursday morning, she carried an umbrella and wore a light raincoat. For the past two days, the skies had been dark, muttering, and the mirroring seas had darkened, too. Something in the air was making everyone uncomfortable, restless. She wished the rain would go ahead and get it over with. As she reached Easy Street, the rain started full force, pelleting out of the sky in rapid hard drops.

  At her office, Beth turned on all the lights, settled in at her computer, and tried to focus on Ocean Matters.

  But her mind kept wandering. Theo hadn’t called for three days, not since they walked in the rain and saw his mom with her dad. They needed to talk about it. Even if they broke up—although, were they even together?—they needed to talk. It had been great discussing it all with Juliet. Maybe Juliet had said something to Theo?

  After a while, she realized the room had become cool, so she left her chair to find the thermostat on the opposite wall, and as she did, she glanced out the window.

  Still raining. The sky was almost black, and she could see the waves bouncing around in the harbor. In the distance, boats were rocking up and down and tugging at their moorings. The fast ferry Iyanough was still in its dock at the Steamship Authority, which meant the ferry hadn’t made its eleven o’clock run to Hyannis.

  Okay, so that wasn’t good. That meant the seas were choppy and the wind near gale force, with powerful gusts. Beth wondered if she should close the office. Last year the town had added a foot of wood to the small Easy Street bulkhead where people sat on benches to watch the boats come and go. So far, no waves were breaching the wall, so all the water flooding the street was from the rain.

  She returned to her desk. A note in the inbox from Ryder.

  Beth, if you’re in the office, go home. This storm is more serious than was predicted.

  Well, Beth thought with a smile. That was nice of Ryder and funny, too. He wasn’t from Nantucket, so he didn’t know that the Weather Channel and all weather stations very seldom got Nantucket’s predictions right. Something about being a small lump thirty miles from the continent seemed to amuse the weather gods, so gale force winds that were predicted often appeared as minor breezes and two inches of snow became twelve.

  Still, she should close up and go home, or maybe over to the library to check out a good book. She closed the files on her computer, and then, before she could shut it down, the power went out. The computer went blank. The ceiling lights died. The light coming from outside was gray and shadowy. It was spooky.

  She stood up. Why did the gray light make her feel so lonely? Walking to the window, she could barely make out through the splatter of rain the way that waves were now surging over the bulkhead and onto the street.

  Wow. But okay, don’t panic, she told herself. Easy Street often flooded. No big deal. Returning to her desk, she picked up her cell and called her dad. He didn’t answer.

  She called Theo. He answered at once.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In the office on Easy Street. Theo, it looks scary out there. I didn’t realize the waves were coming in so fast. I don’t know whether to stay or go.”

  “Stay there,” Theo said. “I’ll come get you.”

  “You can’t drive on the street, it’s flooded.”

  “Yeah, I’ll drive as far as I can, then I’ll walk down. Don’t worry. I’ll be there soon.”

  They disconnected. She’d been fortunate that her cell still worked. The last time her cell had quit was during the long winter blizzard that shut down the town’s power and its cell towers. She hoped the cell towers didn’t go down. She stationed herself at the window, watching the waves swell over the bulkhead and into the street, washing up against the building.

  A powerful gust of wind hit the glass window fronting the office, causing her to instinctively jump backward. It was as if a superhero had slugged the glass with a giant fist. The glass didn’t break, but it shivered. As she watched, heaving water rose in Easy Street, covering the sidewalk in front of her building. She’d have to wade through it to get to higher ground.

  She shouldn’t wait for Theo. She knew how the traffic into town could be on a day like this. People wanting to get home or to the grocery store for staples would have Orange, Union, and Washington backed up for blocks. This water was coming at the island like a machine. It wasn’t going to stop soon.

  She’d be lucky if she could even open the door against the weight of the water.

  She shouldn’t wait another minute. She’d call Theo when she got up to higher land.

  Beth put her phone in her bag and looped the bag diagonally over her body so that her hands were free. She remembered all the times in high school when she and her friends drove out to Surfside to watch the waves swell and crash, giving off a crazy natural energy that made them dance on the beach.

  Same kind of storm, she told herself. She should enjoy
it. She only had to go around the block and up one street to get to safety.

  She opened the door, stepped outside, and turned to put her key in the lock. The lock clicked shut. At the same time, waves exploded against her, drenching her from head to toe, pushing her against the door. Water surged up past her ankles. Looking around, she saw the familiar landscape vanish. The bulkhead was merely an irritant for the harbor waves that swept up and over and onto the street, washing so high around the benches on the sidewalk that the water hid the legs and slapped against the seats.

  It was still day, but the sky was an angry black, turning the heaving water gray. No lights shone, not from any of the other buildings around her, not from any of the boats bouncing in the harbor. The wind screamed like witches, high piercing wails that seemed supernatural and alive.

  The OM office was in the middle of the block. It would be a short walk either right or left to one of the streets leading up to Water Street and dry land. But Oak Street and Cambridge Street were flooded, too, she was sure. They always flooded in storms like this. Which way should she go?

  The wind screamed. Pieces of paper and fragments of plastic flew straight from the water to smash onto the OM office windows. Something feathery, a small bird, crashed into Beth’s leg, making her jump and yell. It fell into the water and was pushed, relentlessly, into the glass window of the office. This was not a hurricane but it was much like the storms that came in the winter, and much more powerful than the ones she remembered as a child. This storm felt like the ocean was angry.

  Glancing to her left, she saw that the flag for Kidding Around had been taken in, and no lights were on. No people walked or tried to drive through the river that had once been a street. She felt terribly alone. She knew enough about water and storms to know she could never trust them. They were powerful and they were uncaring.

  The water was at her knees now, slapping against them, shoving her backward.

  “Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” she told herself. Stepping away from the building, she walked toward Oak Street. Or tried to walk. It was like wading through molasses, as if the water were thick. Still, she was strong enough. She carried her purse tucked up high under her arm.

  A new brick sidewalk had been laid on this section of the street. She knew it was there and tried to stay on it, although no cars were coming down the road that was now a river. It was eerie, the lack of cars or lights or people. She slogged on, almost to the corner, when something hard hit her in the backs of her knees and she fell over, sinking down into the heaving water. She struggled to get her face back into the air, to right herself, to stand, but the strength of the wind and the raging water forced her backward and down.

  The waves slammed her against the white picket fence fronting a small lawn and an office. She clawed out for the fence, but she was heaved up by the water and smashed down toward the sidewalk. She screamed, but water filled her mouth.

  Was she drowning? That would be ridiculous. A wave sucked her back toward the harbor, tossing her around like a doll. She managed to get her face above water and take a deep breath, and when she did, through her wet eyelashes, she thought she saw Theo.

  thirty

  Everything happened so quickly.

  One moment, she was sitting at the kitchen table, working on her Kazaam website, and the next moment, her mother flew into the house.

  Alarmed, Juliet cried, “What’s going on?”

  “Bad flooding. Bad storm. We’ve got to pile sandbags at the assisted living facility. The waves are crazy, Juliet, and headed right into the end of the harbor.” As she talked, Lisa was pulling off her shoes and running up the stairs. “Put on sweats and sneakers,” Lisa called. “Brownie Folger is picking us up in five minutes.”

  Juliet followed her mother up the stairs. In her bedroom, she pulled on a thick sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. She could tell from her window that this was a super storm, the kind that would make it ridiculous to wear the green rubber Wellington boots she usually wore when it rained. A surging wave would fill the boots in a flash, making it impossible to walk.

  Downstairs, Juliet pulled on an old blue raincoat, put up the hood, and secured it with ties. Her mother had a plastic bonnet from the hairdresser’s tied around her head, squashing her hair.

  Juliet laughed. “Oh, Mom, you’re such a fashion plate!”

  “I’ve lost my rain hat…it doesn’t matter. Brownie’s here.”

  They ran through the rain to the Department of Public Works truck rumbling in front of the house. Brownie Folger, head of the DPW, was driving, his gnarled old hands clutching the steering wheel as if the wheel was pulling him. Harold McMaster, head of the Anglers’ Club, sat in the passenger seat. Lisa climbed into the back, too, and Juliet squeezed up against her. A tower of sandbags took up most of the backseat and all of the truck’s bed. Even with all the weight inside it, the truck rocked when a 60 mph gust of wind hit it hard.

  “I haven’t been this close to you since I gave birth to you,” Lisa whispered, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  Up on the dashboard, the VHF marine radio was set to channel 16, the international calling and distress channel. A forty-foot sports fishing boat had headed off earlier today and was getting pushed out to sea and even with its powerful engines, it couldn’t force its way back to the island. On the sound, several sailboats were getting spun around like a goldfish in a dishwasher. One had a cracked mast. One had a sailor who’d hit his head and was unconscious. The Coast Guard boats were out, fighting to rescue the people.

  “I tell you, I’ve never seen anything quite like this,” Brownie said.

  “None of the forecasters got it right,” Harold told him. “Not the Weather Underground, not the Marine Weather Forecast. This is a rogue storm.”

  “Damn right it is. I’ve lived on this island eighty-six years and I’ve never seen anything like it. Closest I can remember is the No-Name Storm of ’91.”

  Juliet’s cell beeped. With difficulty, she managed to slide it out of the pocket of her jeans.

  “Juliet, are you all right?”

  It was Ryder. She smiled. “I’m all right. How about you?”

  As she spoke, a gust of wind hit the side of the truck like an enormous fist.

  “I’m okay. Listen. I’ve got a jet on the tarmac to the right of the main airport terminal. Come here as soon as you can and we can get out of here, but you’ve got to hurry.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Don’t be afraid. These planes can cut through the wind like knives through butter, and my pilot was a military man. If you’re afraid to drive, I’ll send an Uber.”

  “Ryder, we can’t leave Nantucket! At least, I can’t. I’m joining a bunch of people taking sandbags out to Our Island Home. The salt marsh is already swollen with all the water it can hold, and the waves are making inroads onto the lawn.”

  “Can’t they evacuate to the high school?”

  “It’s the nursing home, Ryder. Some of the people are ambulatory, but most aren’t. Some of their relatives are coming to take them to safety, but many are bedridden and don’t have relatives nearby. They’re hooked up on IVs or can’t walk without a walker. The best we can do is get the sandbags out there, and that should protect the building.”

  “Why not let other people do this, Juliet? There must be a lot of strong men who would be better than you at lifting sandbags, and I’m not being sexist, it’s a fact about upper body strength.”

  “Ryder, you really don’t understand. We’ve got a lot of people we love in that building. People who taught us in school or worked to raise money to build our skating rink or sold us tickets to the plays, or directed our school plays…these are our people. This is Our Island Home. No one who’s grown up here is going to just fly off in a fancy plane to Boston and pretend everybody else will take care of the problem. We all have to take care of the problem.�
�� Juliet was crying from frustration and anger. What kind of guy was Ryder Hastings that he would run away at the first sign of trouble?

  “Juliet—”

  “Goodbye, Ryder.” She clicked off and jammed her phone back in her pocket.

  “Where is he?” Lisa asked.

  “At the airport. With his very own private jet. What a douche.” She was trying to sound tough, but her voice cracked when she spoke.

  “It will be okay,” Lisa said soothingly, like she used to say so often to her children. “It will be okay.”

  But as they headed to lower Orange, Juliet stared out the window and wondered if her mother was right. Small missiles—leaves, bits of paper, feathers, plastic bags—zipped through the air as if propelled by a slingshot. Brownie had to keep his windshield wipers on at full speed, and still the rain washed down the windshield as if they were driving inside a waterfall. Other cars on the two-lane road crept past, not wanting to stir up the deep puddles and spray their cars and everything else with muddy water.

  They turned onto the Island Home road and sped down the street, right into the face of the storm. People were already there, some wearing high rubber boots and raincoats, others, mostly young guys, in jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers, everything thoroughly soaked. Juliet looked toward the harbor and saw waves someone could surf on rolling toward the building. Our Island Home was famous for having great views of the harbor that their residents enjoyed, and that was good, except now, when it was obvious that the building’s length stretched almost the length of the salt marsh. More sandbags were needed if the waves kept coming.

  “It’s not going to stop for hours,” Lisa yelled at Juliet.