Nantucket Blue

by Leila Howland

  “You make it sound easy. And you may not start calling me Kate.”

  “Maybe it’s not as hard as you think.” We threw our garbage away, walked back to the car, and got inside. We sat there for a minute staring at the water. I checked my phone. Still no word from Zack. I didn’t want to go back to Nantucket. I didn’t even want to go back to Providence. I wanted to stay right here, at Sue’s Clam Shack. Forever.

  Mom spoke first, as if she could read my mind. “I can’t force you to go back. But you only have one week left. If you just quit, you’ll ruin your first job reference, and who knows if that writer will write you a letter of recommendation for college? Quitting right at the end doesn’t look good. And don’t you think it’s better to talk to Jules while it’s still fresh?”

  “No. The thought of going there and talking to Jules gives me a stomachache.”

  “Sometimes you have to do things that make you uncomfortable.”

  “But you don’t,” I said, turning to face her. “You won’t even go on one date.”

  “That’s different,” she said.

  “Bullshit.” I unrolled the window and stuck my feet out. “This apple has landed directly under the tree.”

  She leaned into her seat, rubbed her temples, and closed her eyes. Then she sighed.

  “Put your feet in the car.” I did, and she started the engine. “Okay. If I go on a date with this Paul Morgan, will you go back to Nantucket? Will you finish out this job and talk to Jules?”

  “Yes,” I said, and buckled my seat belt as we headed out of the parking lot. Then I leaned over and hugged her so hard we swerved a little onto the grass.

  “Quick, turn on the radio,” Mom said as she steered us back onto the road. “Before I change my mind.”

  I put on the ’80s station and turned it all the way up.

  That night, I heard Mom laughing in her bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” I called into the darkness.

  “I’m reading my diary,” she said, nearly wheezing. “This thing is hysterical.”

  Forty-four

  “I THINK THAT GUY was working here the last time I was on the ferry,” Mom said under her breath about the unfriendly white-haired guy behind the food counter. We bought hot dogs, chips, an iced tea for me, and a white wine for her, and found two seats by the railing. It was cloudy and even a little cold today. I wished I’d worn my jeans. I told Mom that she didn’t have to come, but now I was glad she was here. I was scared of seeing Jules and Parker and of being rejected by Zack, but it was the thought of having another one of the moments when I couldn’t breathe or move that made me want her around the most.

  I’d described the moment with the red Volvo to her back in Providence. I was sitting on her bed with my laptop as she packed. I told her it felt like someone was choking me.

  “It’s called an anxiety attack,” Mom said. “Now, do you think we can find a picture of this Paul Morgan person?” I Googled him and found a picture on his law firm’s Web site.

  “Oh, yeah, I think I do remember him. He was fun.” She studied the picture. “Nice hair. He remembers me?” she asked.

  “I already told you, he’s, like, in love with you.”

  Mom smiled and tucked hair behind her ear. Then she looked in her closet and pulled out…oh my god…a pair of heels. They actually had dust on them.

  “Cricket, you’re back!” Liz was headed upstairs with an armful of clean towels. She put them on a table and threw her arms around me. “I’m glad to see you.” She pulled back and mock slapped me. “Leaving me alone with Bernadette for two whole days, the nerve.” She stuck out her hand to Mom. “You must be Cricket’s mum. I’m Liz.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Mom said.

  “I’m Cricket’s top advisor on matters of the heart,” Liz said.

  “We could all use one of those,” Mom said, laughing.

  “Especially this one,” Liz said, blowing a loose curl from her eyes. “What room are you in, Mrs. Cricket? We’ll make sure you get plenty of towels. Maybe even an extra bar of soap if you play your cards right.”

  “I think we can put her in room fourteen. I’ve got to check with Gavin,” I said.

  “You should visit Liz in Ireland, Cricket,” Mom said. “That would be fun.”

  “That’s impossible, actually, because I’m going to be living on Nantucket full-time.” Liz beamed.

  “What about college?” I asked.

  “Shane and I decided we’re happy here and want to stay. Why mess with a good thing? If we can avoid becoming raging alcoholics, I think we have a very nice life ahead of us.”

  “Cool,” I said. Not going to college seemed crazy to me, but Liz just did whatever she wanted.

  “The rooms aren’t cleaning themselves, Liz.” Bernadette glared as she passed us on the steps.

  “Thank you for covering for me, Bernadette.”

  “Yup,” she said, without looking back.

  Liz leaned in and whispered, “And how could I part with such island charmers as Bernadette?” She picked up the towels and headed up the stairs. I showed Mom my room with the slanted ceiling and the rose wallpaper, and the kitchen and the backyard. I knocked on the annex door, which was halfway open. George, as usual, was inside typing away.

  “George, this is my mother, Kate Campbell.”

  “Nice to meet you,” George said, rising to shake her hand. “Your daughter is just terrific. She might have a future in journalism.”

  “Thanks,” I said. Oh, George. It was good to see him. When I’m much, much, much older, I’d like to marry someone like him. I was glad I’d come back.

  “Cricket told me about your book,” Mom said. “I think I might have a story that interests you.” So she’d decided to talk to him!

  “Great,” George said. He smiled at me, mystified.

  “But I’d like to remain anonymous,” Mom said.

  “Absolutely.” He clapped once. “I’m intrigued.” They agreed to meet the next morning at the Even Keel.

  We were walking back inside to find Gavin when I spotted him in the rosebushes with a pair of clippers.

  “Hi, Gavin, I’m back.”

  “Hi, Cricket.” Gavin turned around. He paused. He smiled at Mom. He put down his clippers and walked toward us, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “This is my mom, Kate. What room should I put her in?” I asked. “Fourteen is free, right?”

  “Yes, but the ventilation isn’t that great in there. How about the Admiral’s Suite?”

  “She doesn’t need a Jacuzzi and a canopy bed,” I said.

  “Actually,” Mom said, shooting me a look, “I could stand a little pampering.”

  “It’s like, four hundred dollars a night,” I said.

  “I can get you a discount,” Gavin said, waving me away. “I kind of run this place.” He smiled and wiped off his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Kate, I’m just about done here. Would I be able to tempt you with a fresh piece of blueberry pie and a glass of iced tea?”

  “Sounds yum,” Mom said with a sly smile. Pampering? Yum? Yuck! She was flirting. With Gavin. I almost preferred her in her bathrobe with her mysteries. Almost.

  Forty-five

  I SHOOK as I walked up to the door at 4 Darling Street. I took a deep breath and knocked. After the longest thirty seconds of my life, Jules appeared at the door. She must’ve checked out a window or something, because she didn’t look shocked to see me.

  “What do you want?” she asked, a hand on her hip. “Or, Oh, I’m sorry, are you looking for Zack?”

  “No, I want to talk to you.” I handed her the bouquet of flowers that I’d picked from the backyard at the inn, but she didn’t take them. “Please.”

  Jules sighed, stepped outside, and plunked down on one of the little benches. I sat opposite her and put the flowers next to her on the bench.

  She crossed her arms and looked at me like she didn’t know me, like our history had been wiped from her memory. I wanted to remind
her of how I’d practically lived at her house for the past year, or how I’d taught her to drive a stick in the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Or how we’d danced in her old gymnastics leotards for hours to the same Rihanna song on REPEAT, laughing until we almost wet our pants. I wanted to find the notebook with all the notes we’d ever passed, tear the pages out, and cover her with them like a quilt. I wanted to play her the three-and-a-half-minute voice mail she left me when she got her period, in which she laughed and cried as she went back and forth between being excited and sad.

  I wanted to remind her of the time I’d called her, frozen with fear, when I’d found a hair growing someplace it shouldn’t, worried I was a werewolf or a late-blooming hermaphrodite, and she didn’t laugh or make fun of me; she made me feel better. I wanted to thank her for that. I wanted to tell her how, even though it was funny now, in that moment I’d been as scared as I’d ever been. Or the time we drove to that boarding school outside Boston for their spring weekend and pretended to be Finnish exchange students. We called sodas “fizzy fizzy pop pop” and declared everything to be “extra cool” in weird, pseudo-European accents. I wanted to read our story to her like a book. In those moments, she’d made it feel like the world was ours. Now she was looking at me like any world I inhabited was one she’d flee.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my eyes filling. “I know what I did hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

  “I was trying to be nice to you at the Even Keel. I thought I’d been the bitch all summer.”

  “I should’ve said something then,” I said, tears dripping into my lap.

  “I told you I needed space from you, and you slept with my little brother.” She shook her head. “He’s a sophomore. Don’t you think he’s a little young for you? Don’t you think he’s a little young for anyone?”

  So, Zack had told her that we’d had sex. I wanted to say that I wasn’t his first, but that wasn’t my information to share. It was Zack’s. “I can’t help how I feel. Besides, senior guys go out with sophomore girls all the time,” I added quietly. I had to point it out. “Are you mad that I lost my virginity first?”

  “You didn’t.” She smiled. “I had sex with Fitzy in like, June.”

  “Oh.” It made me sad for Jules. Fitzy had flirted with me when I’d run into Jay and those guys just a few days ago. Maybe it was okay that they weren’t in love. But I don’t know. I wanted something else for her. “That’s great.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Is there anything else?”

  “Do you think you could accept my apology?” She looked away. “I hope you at least know that I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Zack and I didn’t mean to fall in love.”

  “Maybe you’re in love with him, but he’s really pissed off at you.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “And so is Parker. And Jay. He said you were a tease. You led him on.”

  “Do you know where Zack is?” I asked. “I need to talk to him, too.”

  “No. Anyway, tomorrow he goes to soccer camp. He’ll be at Fitzy’s party tonight.”

  “I guess I could try to find him there,” I said. “Fitz lives on Cliff Road, right?”

  “I wouldn’t go if I were you. Nobody wants to see you, Cricket. Not Jay, not Parker, not Zack. And not me.” Jules stood up and opened the front door, leaving the flowers on the bench. “Seriously, I’m telling you this as a friend. Don’t go.” She went inside and shut the door. And then she did something very un-Nantucket. She locked it.

  Forty-six

  MOM AND I MET PAUL MORGAN at a French restaurant on Broad Street. The hostess led us inside and I spotted him right away. He was seated at a table by the window. He looked clean and handsome in searsucker pants and a crisp white shirt. He stood up to kiss Mom on both cheeks, European style. I felt proud I’d found him for Mom. “You look just the same,” he said, and pulled out a chair for her. He turned to me. “Your mom was kind of like a badass Gwyneth Paltrow.”

  “That was a long time ago.” Mom blushed and ordered a white wine spritzer. As she and Paul reminisced about their beach club days, I sipped an Arnold Palmer, watched the passersby on Broad Street, and thought about my conversation with Jules. Losing her had me hunched with sadness, weighed down by a sense that the world had unraveled.

  Jay thought I’d led him on. Parker thought I was desperate for going out with a sophomore. Jules thought I was a bad friend. And worst of all, Zack thought I betrayed him. I could already hear the names: Tease. Bitch. Slut. All the words designed to make girls feel bad and small. All the words I’d worked so hard to avoid could now be stuck to me like a name tag. And I would have to bear them with quiet dignity. I’d have to put the Jenna Garbetti method back into effect: lie low, look good, and learn. In order to restore my reputation at this point I’d have to lie so low I’d be subterranean. I’d have to learn so much I could operate a NASA spacecraft. I’d have to look as good as a supermodel. I ran my hand through my half-brushed hair, which Mom had encouraged me to put into a ponytail so it was off my face. And I noticed a coffee stain on my T-shirt. I placed my napkin high on my lap to cover it as I tuned back to Paul and Mom’s conversation.

  “Nantucket sure has changed,” she was saying. “Was it always this upscale?”

  “No,” Paul said. “It happened in the past fifteen years when the mega-rich discovered our little paradise.”

  “I was in a shop today,” Mom continued as she stirred her spritzer with the little plastic straw, “and I saw a pair of sandals for seven hundred dollars. I thought, What is this?”

  “Some of these shops are ridiculous, but there are also some gems.” His eyes widened and his voice rose. “I should take you shopping.”

  “I would love that,” Mom said.

  “We’ll get some lattes and make an afternoon of it.”

  “That sounds like just what I need.” Mom and I exchanged a smile. How had I missed it? Paul Morgan was gay. I thought I’d found her the perfect new husband, but maybe what she needed right now was a new friend.

  I looked up and saw Zack through the window, from behind, walking up Broad Street. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I knew those shorts and that red T-shirt. I sat up. My heart slammed, pushing blood faster through my veins. Here was my chance to talk to him, in person and alone.

  “I have to go,” I said, sitting up straight.

  “Where are you going?” Mom asked. Paul looked confused.

  “I see Zack,” I said. “And he’s alone. And I really want to talk to him before he gets to that party.”

  “Okay,” Mom said, her brow wrinkled with concern. “Be careful.”

  “What’s happening?” Paul asked, a hand to his chest.

  “I’ll explain,” Mom said as I stood from the table, letting my napkin drop to the floor.

  The entrance to the restaurant was crowded. There were people trying to get in and people trying to get out, and the line by the hostess podium was thick and busy with people who smelled like perfume and cologne; laughers and chatters who were slow to move out of the way. It took me a while to get clear of them. When I did, I spotted Zack at the top of the street, about to turn up Centre Street. He was on his way to Fitzy’s. It was a busy August night, and the sidewalk was crowded with amblers; couples holding hands; families walking in loose, lolling groups; and kids licking dripping, precarious ice-cream cones. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I said as I wove though them to get to Zack.

  “Hey!” I called when I’d almost caught up to him. “Hey, it’s me!” He turned around. But it wasn’t Zack. It was some guy with a baby strapped to his chest.

  “Sorry,” I said, a little breathless. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “No worries,” said the man, and kept walking.

  The man didn’t look anything like Zack. He was at least thirty or forty. My wish to see Zack was so strong I’d erased an entire baby. But now the desire to touch Zack, to hold him and kiss him and tell him that I loved him was out of its cage. It was alive and
wild, set free by a man with a baby. A strong breeze pushed against my back. I caught my reflection in a store window and stared at the girl looking back at me, breathing deeply, with her hands on her hips. Her ponytail was half undone and I could see she wanted something, and wanted it bad. Why, exactly, was I going to stop her?

  I was afraid to go to Fitzy’s. I was afraid of what other people thought. I was afraid of what other people would say and do. I wanted to preserve some idea of me. I was practically taking a page from the book of Boaty Carmichael, caring more about my public self than my private one. Was that who I was?

  The only opinion that should matter to me was that of the girl in the mirror. Edwina MacIntosh had been saying this for years in the Rosewood School for Girls annual anti-clique speeches. For the first time, it felt true. It didn’t matter what other people thought of me; it mattered what I thought of me. I’m not sure why it was at that moment that it finally sank in, except that maybe this is how wisdom works sometimes. You hear it, and some extra-smart part of your brain that you don’t even realize you have grabs it. It stays there, hidden away, until it’s needed. I looked at my self in the window again. I bet this was what I looked like when I played lacrosse. Strong. Determined. Self-assured. I felt glad I’d gone to an all-girls’ school my whole life.

  I turned up Centre Street and walked toward Fitzy’s house. I wasn’t going to lie low. Jenna Garbetti’s method wouldn’t work for me. I wasn’t Jenna Garbetti. I was Cricket Thompson.

  Forty-seven

  AT FIRST NO ONE SAW ME when I walked into Fitzy’s backyard. I stood by the rose trellis and scanned for Zack, but I didn’t see him. Fitzy, Oliver, and a few other guys were jamming on their guitars. Jay was standing nearby, alone, pumping a keg of beer. I took a deep breath and approached him.

  “Hi, Jay,” I said. He looked up. I’d caught him off guard.

  “Hey,” he said. I braced myself for him to call me a name, but he didn’t. The moment hung in the air until finally he spoke. “You know, if you didn’t want to go out with me, you should’ve just said so.”