No Home Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  “Thanks, Mom.” He wiped the tear tracks off his face and straightened up. It felt as though the sad moment had passed like a cloud over the sun and left in its wake was pure pride in what he had done. “Now, time for the big show! Come on, follow me.”

  He turned and opened the door of the guesthouse. Everybody filed in after him.

  “Brent!” Holly gasped when she got her first look. “You gotta be kidding me. This is … this is amazing.”

  “I don’t even have the words,” Sara chimed in.

  Even Eliza, whose tastes for interior decorating had never quite lined up with the nautical Nantucket aesthetic, had her jaw hanging open.

  Best of all was Mae’s face. She’d clapped her hands to her mouth and was looking around, wide-eyed.

  Brent couldn’t hide the smile that crept on his face. “Enough, you’re making me blush,” he joked. “Let me give you guys the tour. So, this is the living room.” He swept his arm around. The fresh white paint on all the doors and trim was gleaming and flawless. It was a nice complement to the soft gray he’d picked for the walls, the same color as the ocean in the wintertime. The floors were a blonde wood with a nice lacquered finish, and he’d hung new curtains over the windows in a weathered gray that looked lovely against the lighter gray of the walls. The black iron hinges and door handles he’d installed stood out sharply and added some contrast to everything.

  “I kept most of the original furniture,” he explained, pointing at the robin’s egg blue couch and armchair in the living room, “though I also built a new coffee table and stained it with this dark wine color right over here.”

  The women trailed after him, still in shock, as he led them into the kitchen.

  “In here, we got new cabinets, courtesy of Fredo’s Fixtures downtown, and new countertops.”

  “Where on earth did you get this marble?” Mae asked in astonishment.

  “Scavenged it from a buddy working a demo on the other end of the island,” he admitted sheepishly. “The one question I was hoping you weren’t going to ask! But, don’t worry, I did a thorough job of cleaning it and cutting it to fit and all that.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Holly declared. Brent agreed. He was partial to the whites and grays that swirled through it, looking almost like they were liquid.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom.” In there, he pointed out more new curtains and the same fresh flooring, along with some picture frames he’d knocked together to hold a few dozen pretty seashells he’d found during his morning runs. “New nightstand and linens shelves in here, too.”

  The bathroom, which they went to next, was his favorite part of the house. It, too, was gleaming white, with a dark sealant running between the tiles. He’d placed a soft teal-colored tile at regular intervals throughout the tiling to give everything a true Nantucket feel.

  “And that’s pretty much it!” he announced when they’d all made their way back to the living room.

  “Brent, you’ve got serious talent,” Eliza said. She was smiling at him like his dad used to do. Like, Look at what you’re capable of! He didn’t think he could feel any warmer, but at the sight of her smile, his own ticked a notch wider.

  Stone-cold sober for a month, running every morning, and working his butt off to do the best possible job he could—this moment made it all worth it. All the nights when he wanted nothing more than a drink, when he’d wondered if this was a stupid vanity project and he ought to go back to drowning himself in booze … those seemed so utterly distant. He felt big.

  “I want to hear about how you did all this,” Holly added. “I mean, seriously, you need to start hiring yourself out around the island. I never even realized you knew how to do all this stuff on your own!”

  “Dad taught me a lot when I wasn’t even paying attention,” he explained with a shrug.

  “I want to hear, too,” Sara said. “Maybe you can do the inn kitchen next. It could use a little TLC.”

  “Why don’t we all go sit down to breakfast?” Mae suggested.

  Eliza’s stomach rumbled and they all laughed. “Sounds good to me,” she joked, “since I’m eating for two.”

  Brent looked out the window. The morning light coming in was as beautiful as he’d hoped for. But he still had one more piece of unfinished business.

  He turned back to his family. “I’ll be a little late to breakfast,” he said. “I gotta go take care of something first.”

  “You’re late, Ironman,” Rose accused teasingly as he ran up to her huffing and puffing, Henrietta close on his heels.

  “Sorry, I was busy working up the courage.”

  Rose frowned. He liked how her button nose wrinkled up when she was confused. “The courage for what?”

  “To ask if you wanted to go out with me sometime,” he blurted. He winced. Not his smoothest moment, that was for sure. But he was a little out of practice. It would have to do.

  When she comprehended what he’d asked her, she smiled. “I’d love to.”

  Brent felt like he could do a backflip then and there, though he’d never attempted one before in his life and now probably wasn’t the time. “Awesome,” he said, finally catching his breath. “I’d love that, too.”

  33

  Eliza

  Everyone was still chattering about how well Brent had done when they sat down to breakfast in the inn’s kitchen. Holly kept saying that Brent ought to start up his own handyman business like Dad used to have. Eliza was inclined to agree. That level of craftsmanship demanded a big payday. She thought Brent could do really well for himself if he decided to embark down that path.

  After crab and spinach omelets for everybody, Eliza and Sara decided to take a walk down to the beach. Holly said she wanted to go back to the house on Howard Street to do some laundry and take care of a few odds and ends, while Mae had some similar work to do around the inn. They all hugged and parted ways.

  Eliza and Sara were mostly quiet on the way to the beach. It was a nice day, finally cooling down a little bit after the scorching hot summer, so both of the women were content to just enjoy the fresh air and exercise.

  “Have you thought of a name yet?” Sara asked, nodding towards Eliza’s pregnant belly. She was showing more and more every day.

  “What? Oh, no. I don’t want to. I think I’m just going to be spontaneous when the day comes.”

  “That’s a bold move for you, sis,” Sara teased. “Eliza the planner is never spontaneous.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a new chapter in my life, I guess,” she said with a grin. Truer words had never been spoken. She’d been thinking a lot about chapters in her life lately. The baby would definitely change a lot of things, that was for sure. But she wondered whether she ought to make an effort to keep other things the same.

  For instance, maybe it was time to return to New York.

  She’d been reluctant to even consider it, but over the last few days, it had been buzzing in her head nonstop. Even when she was hanging out with Oliver, like they’d been doing most nights, just watching movies or taking long walks on the beach, she had thoughts of Manhattan and Goldman Sachs in the back of her head. She was set with savings for a while, so it wasn’t about the money. Part of her just craved the power and importance of her job. She liked feeling needed, strong, essential. Nantucket was … not that. Life was good here in its own ways—slower, calmer, a little slice of backwater paradise far away from the honking taxi horns and pretentious people who populated New York. But she just couldn’t shake the desire to be back in the midst of things.

  Whenever Oliver caught her lost in thought, he’d say the same words he’d said to her when they first met: “What’s your story, Eliza Benson?” Usually, she demurred and changed the subject.

  When the women settled down, Sara turned to her. “Do you miss New York?”

  Eliza decided to answer honestly. “Yeah. I do. I miss the … just the New York-ness of it, you know? I miss my job. I miss being surrounded by people. I miss feeling like the whole w
orld revolved around me. I know that sounds selfish and silly, but I can’t think of a better way to explain it.”

  “No, I know what you mean,” Sara said.

  She’d been on a journey of her own this summer, Eliza knew. It seemed like things were going really well with her and Russell, but Eliza had caught Sara staring at her phone on more than a few occasions. Once, when Sara was in the shower and her phone buzzed, Eliza had taken a guilty big-sister snoop and saw the contact name “GAVIN” lighting up her screen. She felt certain that that path held only trouble for Sara, but she also knew that there was no dissuading her little sister when she wanted something. Gavin was bad news. But if Sara was set on pursuing him anyway, not a soul on earth could convince her not to. It was a tricky situation.

  “I’ve been thinking of going back too, you know,” Sara added after a long pause.

  “Really?” Eliza pretended to be a little bit surprised. She knew Sara would not appreciate learning that Eliza had snooped on her phone. If she wanted to talk about Gavin, Eliza would be all ears, but she was going to let Sara come to that decision on her own terms.

  “I just … I miss it like you do. I miss my job. I miss my—”

  “Your Gavin?” Eliza blurted. Welp, so much for letting Sara come to that on her own. It was unlike her to be so loose-lipped. Nantucket had softened her.

  But to her surprise, Sara just blushed instead of getting defensive. “Have I been that obvious?”

  “No, no,” Eliza reassured her. “But you’re my little sister. I know you. I can see when you’re conflicted.”

  “‘Conflicted’ is exactly the right word. I feel like Gavin and Russ are boxing each other in my head all the time.”

  “Well, who’s winning?”

  “Both of them. Neither. I don’t know. It’s hard. They’re complete opposites.”

  That certainly seemed to be true. Eliza had never met Gavin, but from the way Sara had described him on the few occasions when she opened up about him, she could tell that he was a photo negative of the goofy, warmhearted Russell.

  “I can definitely see that. Maybe just take some time to yourself and see where your heart leads you.”

  “Where my heart leads me?” Sara chuckled. “I think Nantucket is getting to your head, Lizzy. You never used to care about hearts.”

  Eliza smiled inwardly. “You might be right about that.”

  “Speaking of hearts, how’s yours? I still think it’s super weird that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hasn’t tried harder to patch things up.” It was true—since the fruit basket debacle, Clay hadn’t reached out to Eliza even once. She supposed she should be grateful—she’d been the one to tell him not to try anything again—but she had to agree with Sara that it was a little bit strange. Clay wasn’t the type to just let things go so easily.

  “Maybe. I’m happy with my heart these days, though. Oliver is—he’s … I like him.”

  “I can tell. I’ve never seen you this happy, Lizzy,” Sara said with seriousness in her eyes. “Ever.” The waves crashed before them, licking at the white sand as Eliza weighed her sister’s words.

  She couldn’t deny it. Oliver did make her happy. It was far too soon to call it love. Eliza would hardly be the first person to make that designation anyway. But there was something there between them, something real and palpable that made her nervous and excited all at once.

  It was the uncertainty of him that did it, she’d decided. Everything else in her life had always been rigid. A place for everything and everything in its place. Oliver refused to fall in line like that. He was unpredictable and funny and constantly surprising her. An enigma wrapped within a mystery, like a Magic-8 ball with unlimited possibilities for what might bubble up if you shook it just right. Like Sara with Gavin and Russell, Eliza was finding herself caught between two men who couldn’t be more different. The big difference between her and her sister was that Eliza was very, very sure which route she intended to take—anything that led away from Clay.

  “C’mon, let’s walk a little,” Sara said. “My legs are falling asleep.”

  They left the serious conversation behind as they got up and walked down the beach a little farther. When they’d gone as far as they wanted, they turned around and strolled back to the house.

  Eliza was woken up from her nap that afternoon by her phone dinging with a new email. That in and of itself was strange—she hadn’t been getting many emails these days. Most of them got filtered into her out-of-office autoresponder that said she was taking a leave of absence from the firm. But this one got through. That must mean that it had been marked as urgent.

  Rolling over and groaning, she grabbed her phone with one hand while rubbing her eyes with the other. It took a moment for her vision to adjust enough to read the email at the top of her inbox, but when she finally comprehended what it said, she sat bolt upright in her bed.

  It was from Janine, the head of human resources at Goldman Sachs. The subject line read, “!! FIRM SEPARATION PAPERWORK [Time Sensitive].”

  “What the …” Eliza muttered. She opened the email. It was the standard documentation that Goldman Sachs gave to any employee who was leaving the firm. A release of liability, information on 401k and health-care policies, and a letter from the managing director informing them of their termination and thanking them for their service.

  She was being fired.

  Her hands were shaking as she opened her contacts and found the contact number for Marty Fleishman, the MD. It felt like her vision had narrowed down to just her phone screen.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  The line rang and rang and rang, but Eliza was determined to keep trying until someone answered. She got his voice mail, hung up, dialed again.

  Buzz. Buzz. “Hello, this is Marty Fleishman—”

  Hung up. Dialed again.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  Finally, he answered. “Eliza …” he began.

  She cut him off. “You need to tell me right now what is happening, Marty,” she said icily.

  “I stepped out of a meeting to take this call, Eliza. I have to go back in.”

  “Don’t you dare, Marty,” she hissed. She was all cold fury, an Amazon queen enraged. “Tell me what is happening. Now.”

  He sighed. She could picture him shuffling back on forth on his feet. He was an older man, mid-fifties, classic New Yorker. His paunch hung over his belt, but everything he wore was immaculately tailored. The watches he wore everyday cost more than the net worth of Eliza’s entire apartment building.

  “Marty,” she repeated. “Talk to me.”

  “We couldn’t hold your position open anymore,” he said finally. The words sounded limp and lame coming out of his mouth. Eliza knew instantly that they weren’t true.

  “Bull. I made more for the firm last year than the rest of the department combined. If you couldn’t hold my position, then you must have decided to just stop making money. What is the actual explanation?”

  “Look, Eliza …” He sighed again.

  She wanted to grab him by his tie through the phone, yank his face into hers, and scream until he spoke the truth. “I’ll ask one more time: What. Happened?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. But Eliza was prepared to wait as long as necessary. “Clay told us,” he said.

  Eliza’s blood ran cold. “Clay told you what?”

  “That … if you came back … you’d have to leave again soon. I can’t say anything more, and I shouldn’t have even said that much. You know we’re in delicate territory here.”

  Eliza couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever been angrier. Not when the Harvard pitcher decided to throw three consecutive pitches at her head during conference play her junior year. Not when Nora Simmons tried to make out with her prom date back in high school. Not even when a drunk college kid had thrown up on her shoes on the subway fifteen minutes before she was supposed to meet the CEO of a Fortune 100 technology firm to pitch them on her firm’s services. All those events paled i
n comparison to what was happening right now.

  Clay had told the firm she was pregnant. And those spineless goblins were using it as an excuse to fire her. It was patently illegal. She knew that, they knew that, and they knew that she knew that. But what Eliza also knew was that, if she brought a lawsuit or raised a fuss, she’d never work in finance again. Every bank, hedge fund, and private equity firm in the country would slam its door in her face. She’d be blackballed permanently. No more sitting in the seat of power. No more feeling like she could move millions of dollars with the click of a mouse. She’d be shut out. Iced out. Left out.

  Forever.

  How could they?

  A different woman might have cried in this circumstance. The old Eliza would have marched into the Manhattan headquarters of Goldman Sachs and crucified every man who dared look at her wrong, from the janitor all the way up to the chief executive officer.

  But the new Eliza just hung up.

  She let the phone fall from her hand onto the bedsheets. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling fan. It needed to be dusted. How had she not noticed that? She’d been staying in this room for almost four months now, and she’d just now noticed the thick layer of dust coating the tops of the blades. It was one detail out of a million that she’d missed. She’d been too busy thinking about what—Clay? Work? New York? Oliver?

  Oliver. Now there was a jolt to the heart. Just a few hours ago, she’d been sitting on the beach with Sara and contemplating what it would feel like to go back home to New York and leave Oliver in her past. If she’d done that, he would be nothing more than a fun memory. He’d go on to sweet talk some other woman in the bar, maybe, or a different bar. Maybe he’d marry that woman and they’d have beautiful, green-eyed children with slender pianist’s fingers. He and Eliza would probably never cross paths again.