by CF Frizzell
“Valentin Enterprises could hire someone to continue the flip projects while you turn Tuck’r into a full-fledged inn. You could cook to your heart’s content. At the very least, becoming an innkeeper would be a long-term adventure, but you’re bold enough to tackle it.”
“As the innkeeper, I probably wouldn’t have time for all the traveling or the design challenges. There’d be no more Philly.”
“Nope. Just cobblestones, higher prices, and raw, wet winters.”
“And beaches, tourists, and everybody knowing your name.”
“And salt air, ferries, and Nantucket roses.”
Maggie had to smile at that. “I’d miss one Nantucket rose in particular.”
“You don’t have to miss her.”
“Already, there’s so much I’d miss, Rach, and Ellis—”
“Answer me this: If there were no Ellis, would you still want to stay?”
“Jesus. You don’t just throw your life up in the air because of a few dates. I know that.” The word “but” almost came out. Maggie closed her eyes and tried to sort emotion out of rational thought. “Okay, so my first impulse was to say yes, I’d want to stay even without her. Nantucket’s grown on me. I’m adapting to life here and I like it.”
“Nantucket’s grown on you in, what, about four months? A summer’s worth of romance? Will you outgrow it just as quickly if the winter months are quiet, dark, and miserable—and you’re single? Personally, I think you go for what matters most. If flipping Tuck’r will maintain that financial comfort and achievement that completes you, then that’s the way to go. What Ellis could bring to your life is something only you can say. Either way, it’s a risk. The time’s come to weigh the pluses and minuses.”
“This is all so new. Life here, a house that feels so much like home, growing so attached to someone. I’d leave so much behind.”
“Then break it all down to the bottom line. Staying would require a significant career change, rooting yourself into a completely different lifestyle, and a woman you’re nuts about as part of your daily life. Moving on from Tuck’r means continued professional challenge, an ever-changing environment, no roots, no house, no one tying you down. Freedom.”
“How ridiculous is it to want to be tied down after building an exciting career? Is that the most immature thing ever?”
“No, not if that’s what you want.”
“I just don’t know, Rach. God, I can’t believe it’s come to this. I never dreamed it would. But it all feels so…”
“Honey, hear yourself. The fact that we’ve been hammering at this subject and you’re on the verge of tears should tell you that leaving Nantucket, Tuck’r, and Ellis isn’t in your heart.”
“I don’t know if she’d want any part of me if I left.”
“It may not be wise to base such a huge decision on a new romance.”
“I know. You’re right, but…but Ellis is special.”
“Mags. Ms. High-and-Mighty is coming in a week or so. Whether you sign and move on now, or four years from now…or never, you have to get your head straight and make a decision.”
“I will. Somehow.” Her stomach coiled at the thought.
“Want me to come over? Just to be there with you? We could drink wine and repeat ourselves and you could cry and we could drink more wine.”
“Sounds productive.”
“She’s due next Saturday morning, right? Pencil me into my favorite little room as of Friday. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Ellis stopped on the gravel walk, appreciating the view. A stiff Atlantic breeze crested the bluff and lofted Maggie’s ponytail off her back, staggering her as she scanned the height of Sankaty Head Light through her expensive Nikon. This was probably her sixth or seventh shot, Ellis had lost track, but the tightest so far, and judging by Maggie’s enthusiasm, it wouldn’t be the last on this glorious Sunday afternoon.
Couldn’t have chosen a finer day, Ellis mused, even though we didn’t sleep much last night. Maggie had grilled an amazing salmon dinner on the Rose and they’d spent hours in bed before Ellis walked her and Retta home. And this morning, she woke wanting more, unable to resist calling with an invitation to brunch and an afternoon “out.”
Ever the tour guide, Ellis pointed out historic landmarks and recounted legendary tales as they meandered around the island in her truck. Playing tourist from Dionis to Madaket to Cisco beaches had never felt this good, and Maggie’s rapt attention, her desire for details, her hand on Ellis’s thigh, made all the difference in the world.
Their visit to the intimate village of Siasconset, the island’s most eastern point, included a swim and impromptu picnic on Low Beach, Retta’s exploration of yet another shoreline, and ogling multi-million-dollar beachfront estates. Taking Maggie up to Sankaty Light stirred an odd pride, as if she were about to introduce her to a respected tribal elder.
Maggie set a palm on the brick base and looked straight up. “See these?” She suddenly turned to Ellis, face bright with excitement, and thrust out her arm. “Goose bumps. How can a lighthouse give you goose bumps?” She stared up at the lantern. “I’m in awe.”
“They tend to do that, especially when you’re close enough to touch them. From a distance at sea, they move you for different reasons.”
Maggie surveyed the horizon, the seemingly endless ocean, vast and foreboding, from far left to far right. “I’m sure they do.”
“One of a sailor’s best friends, especially with those shoals.” Ellis gestured offshore. “Tricky water. And Sankaty has been around since eighteen fifty, so it’s seen serious service. If only it could tell the tales.” She led Maggie by the hand to a permanent marker in the ground, and Retta bounded out of the sea grass and sat on it. “Hey, you.” Ellis waved her off. “Not too long ago, Sankaty stood here, but erosion took over. Imagine moving that thing? It was quite a show.”
“I can’t imagine. It’s so classic with its red waistband. Hope I can hang a really good picture of it at home.”
Home. Once upon a time, I couldn’t say the word, and now it sounds so perfect coming from you. Ellis slid an arm around her hips, a thrilling reflex every time.
Maggie frowned at the camera. “I hope I timed it right and captured the beacon when it rotated toward us.” She flipped through images on the screen. “It’s hard to see in daylight.”
A burst of sandy wind roared up from the beach, and Ellis tucked Maggie in closer and turned them away from it. She looked back, over Maggie’s head, and spotted Retta nosing along the fence.
“Retta, come! Away from the edge.”
They watched Retta amble closer, in no hurry to obey.
“How bad is the drop on the other side?” Maggie asked. “If she got through—”
“You don’t want to think about it.” Retta strolled by, nose to the ground, and Ellis bent to peer at the camera images. Nearly cheek to cheek, she hummed with approval. “It is hard to be sure, but I think I see the beacon. This shot is the one.”
“If not,” Maggie began, and her voice dropped, “we can always try again.”
Anytime, any place, Maggie.
“As often as you like.”
Maggie rose onto her toes and kissed her. “I’d like often.”
Ellis enclosed her within both arms, brought her mouth to Maggie’s.
“I think you’re an amazing woman. And so beautiful. Have I told you that?” She kissed each lip deliberately. “Your energy and spirit are such a joy, and the light in your eyes…it’s as honest as your touch.” Maggie threaded her arms around her neck and returned the kiss with a fervor Ellis wasn’t sure she could handle. At least not while standing.
Maggie spoke against her mouth. “Kissing you, way up here, so exposed to all the elements…what a high. Just us on top of the world.”
“You deserve that feeling, Maggie. You put so much care in everything you do, and I love that.”
“You are just as special and I hope you know that. I see it so
clearly. You deserve to be on top of the world, too.”
Ellis flashed a look to the ocean before drawing Maggie into a hug. “I just might belong out there.”
“Part of you, maybe, but the other part belongs here.” She kissed Ellis’s ear. “I love this feeling, up here with you.”
Ellis squeezed her tighter. “You’re a treasure to hold, Maggie, a treasure I take to heart.”
Maggie kissed her neck and nuzzled into her chest. “God, Ellis, you…This is just perfect.”
Distantly, Ellis heard the excited chatter of children, and then Retta barked, confirming they were no longer alone.
Back in the truck, Maggie sat closer as they rambled southward on Low Beach Road toward the village of Tom Nevers, and listened attentively to Ellis’s tales of the Wampanoag tribe and early settlers of the area. Maggie commented often about the lay of the open land, its rolling hills and proximity to the shore, and seemed a bit disappointed to come upon modern subdivisions of homes. An “intrusion,” she called it, and Ellis warmed at Maggie’s protective reaction.
“I suppose we’re lucky that zoning codes are so restrictive,” Maggie observed, studying the array of pretty Cape Cod homes, clustered neatly so far from the bustle of downtown. “They could be everywhere on the island, and that would spoil it.”
“Makes me smile,” Ellis said, “that you appreciate the open spaces. Yes, we are very fortunate that so much foresight goes into Nantucket’s development.” She grinned as she turned westward and drove in the direction of Surfside.
The road soon turned to dirt and now offered only brush and pines, all naturally muted by the Atlantic’s wind and salt. The sea was most temperamental here, on the island’s south side, and mist wafted over them in sporadic puffs, forcing Ellis to clear the windshield intermittently. Fog would likely settle in, and she hoped to hold Maggie’s interest on this long, deserted straightaway until the road opened to more rolling meadows. As a new islander, Maggie needed to experience the mystical, surreal beauty that fog lent Nantucket’s varied landscape.
Maggie surprised her by edging away and leaning out the window. She inhaled with purpose, eyes closed against the mist. “The salt is heavy in the air.” She took another deep breath. “But it’s invigorating. There really is nothing like it.”
Ellis drove onto a small patch of sand and shut off the truck. Only the occasional call of birds and the whirl of the wind could be heard, but she knew Maggie would soon pick up on another telling sound.
“It’s close, isn’t it?” Maggie asked, delight in her eyes.
Ellis pointed to the brush alongside the truck. “Very.”
“Can we go look?” She draped her camera around her neck. “Is it safe?”
“Come on. Retta, you stay, pretty girl. We won’t be long.” Ellis went to the front of the truck and took Maggie’s hand. “There’s a narrow path of sorts over here.”
She led them up the slight rise, along a vine-covered strip of sand, and around several pines not much taller than them. In less than a minute, she stopped and drew Maggie to her side, gripping her firmly around the waist.
Maggie’s jaw dropped at the sight of the ocean below. Waves several feet high broke relentlessly, crashing with a steady cadence merely a hundred yards out on the beach. Thickening fog lessened the view somewhat, but there was no denying that Maggie felt the impact, the breadth of ocean to the east, south, and west.
“Wow. It’s magnificent. To drive along that road and suddenly be hit with this is…powerful.”
She wiped the salty mist off her face and took a half dozen photos before sliding an arm around Ellis and taking hold of her belt.
Ellis watched her marvel at the sea, and suddenly saw her in a much different setting, searching for a sighting, waiting. You would stand on a widow’s walk, scanning the horizon for the Rose. I know you would. And I would come home to you.
Maggie jerked in surprise. “Look! A surfer!” She raised her camera and snapped several shots. “I’d heard about…I mean, I know we’re close to Surfside, but—”
“Surfers go out all the time, even in hurricanes, which I think is courageous, maybe even brave, but not always too bright.”
“This is just so breathtaking.” She kissed Ellis quickly. “Thank you so much for bringing me here.”
“Let’s get back inside. It’s getting wetter by the minute.” She urged Maggie away from the edge and back to the truck.
Retta bounced on the front seat at their return, and Maggie coaxed her into the back and lowered the window halfway for her. Immediately, Retta stuck her head out.
“The fog comes in so quickly,” Maggie said as Ellis drove on. “It must catch boaters by surprise.”
“The recreational boaters it does, and that can be really bad news. If you make a living on the ocean, you’re always on guard.”
“Has it ever caught you?”
Ellis nodded. She had a very healthy respect for fog, but there was a magic about it that she’d never trust. It created impressionistic images that captured the imagination, and as long as you were on land, the fascination was innocent, enjoyable enough. At sea, however, fog rendered you helpless, and disregard of its potential could prove fatal.
“I’ve been caught many times,” she said. “I used to like it when I was a kid. You have no worries because the grown-ups take care of things, but I eventually learned about the concern and the fear.” She glanced at Maggie and found her looking on with great interest. “Confidentially, whether I’m on the Eagle or the Rose, this grown-up hates fog.”
“Sounds scary.”
“When it’s like pea soup, it is. Worse than driving your car with your eyes closed. The traffic’s not the same, granted, and you do have gauges to go by, but a mistake can be far more deadly. And collisions aren’t the only fear. Out there, fog is a sea monster. You can be doing everything right and it’ll…claim you.”
Maggie stared forward and Ellis wondered what images were running through her mind. An all-too-familiar one ran through hers, and she considered speaking of it for the first time in years. Because I can. She listens…and she cares.
Maggie turned to her. “The most time I spent on a boat was getting Tuck’r established, all those trips here. A few of those crossings were awful.” She laughed lightly. “One was so bad, I remember thinking of the Titanic—which was a very stupid thing to do. I worked myself up into a pathetic mess and spent most of the ride with my eyes closed and my phone’s music blasting in my ears.”
“Same Atlantic Ocean. We’ve had some wild rides on the Eagle, and the other ferries, but no icebergs, thank God. Only the occasional iced-in harbor, and, of course, the fog. It can take shape suddenly, from out of nowhere, especially out in the Sound, and can suck you out of blue sky and sunshine before you know what hits you.”
She stopped the truck at an old split-rail fence, and they looked out over acres of sprawling meadow, more like moors in the heavy mist than rolling farmland. Ellis let Retta out to run around and slid back in behind the wheel.
“Nantucketters once had a great reputation as farmers. I’m no expert, by any means, but the fog also helps our growing seasons. Today, quite a few folks are bringing farming back. We have some outstanding growers on-island now, and it’s heartwarming to see that happen.”
“It did surprise me to see so much local produce for sale.” Maggie lowered her window and shifted into position. “I’ve bought local right from the start, for the goodies Tuck’r offers and myself, of course, but if Tuck’r served meals, I’d go one hundred percent local. It’s right and popular.” She snapped pictures of scattered farm machinery, rusty and overgrown by tall grass, long since retired on the property. “Tuck’r needs at least one of these shots.”
That’s just part of what it’s all about, Maggie.
“A far cry from the shops on Main, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it is, yes,” Maggie said, now gazing over her camera. “Far from the wharves, the souvenir stores, the traffic. It m
ust be just extraordinary, living out here. An entirely different world.”
“And the mist paints such an antiquated picture.”
“An ethereal scene, through all this fog.”
It pleased Ellis no end that Maggie shared her appreciation of this setting. They’d come back on a clearer day, she figured, when she could introduce Maggie to some of the landowners Ellis had known since childhood, and maybe get tours of these grounds.
Maggie raised her window and wiped the mist off her camera, while Ellis summoned Retta back to the truck. They drove on, Maggie settled in close, a hand again on Ellis’s thigh.
“I never thought much about the role fog plays on an island,” she said and cleared a lock of wet hair off Ellis’s forehead with an attentive touch that made Ellis smile. “Silly to overlook it, because it affects everyone, everything. And when it’s vital to stay connected to the mainland, I just can’t imagine the challenge.”
“It’s rare that the Steamship suspends service. Smaller operators have it the hardest. They can’t afford to not run, so sometimes they take risks.”
“You and your father must have seen it all.”
“Yes. My grandfather, and all the way back.”
“Did you ever need a rescue?”
“Only once because of fog.”
Maggie turned in her seat. “Really? Did you collide with someone?”
Ellis could feel the concerned look on her skin, and it made her heart pound. Say it. You’re in a good place, and strong enough to say it.
“No.” She cleared her throat. “Not a collision, an accident. I lost my father overboard.”
“Oh, Ellis!” Maggie’s hand flinched on her leg.
“The boom broke free and hit his head. There…there was nothing I could do.”
Maggie wrapped her fingers around Ellis’s bicep and squeezed. “Jesus. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine…”
Ellis took a breath and drove by rote as the memory assaulted her. She was grateful for Maggie’s touch, their connection. “He was knocked back just enough and he…he sort of crumbled over the side.”