by Nancy Thayer
Faye patted Polly’s shoulder. “Polly loved that old dog so much. Plus, he was sort of the last tie she had with Tucker.”
“And to add insult to injury,” Marilyn added, “Hugh came over to be with Polly when the dog died, but then Carol phoned him and he went off to help her deal with a rat or a bat or something.”
The waiter brought their drinks, tall, frosty glasses filled with frothy pink liquid, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a strawberry. Shirley’s cranberry juice was adorned with an orange slice. They toasted and, instead of taking dainty sips, pretty much slammed back their drinks.
Polly played with her straw, stirring it in the pink drink. “Well, he did come back…”
Faye shook her head angrily. “Yeah, three hours later. Polly had phoned me, and I drove over to be with her. We wrapped Roy’s body in one of Polly’s homemade quilts.”
“And I phoned my son.” Polly sniffed. “David drove over to see him. He was sad, too. He put Roy’s body in his truck and told me he’d bury him on his farm. I didn’t especially want Roy out there, since my daughter-in-law makes me feel about as welcome as the chicken pox, but David had always loved Roy so much. I guess Roy’s spirit would be as happy to be there as anywhere.”
“You’ve had to deal with so much death in the past few years,” Shirley said sympathetically. “Your husband. Your mother-in-law. Now your beloved dog.”
Polly nodded, letting the tears spill down her face. “That’s true. But you know, it’s all part of the cycle of life. I understand that. I accept that. It wouldn’t be so bad if I felt like I was somehow part of the future. I mean, it’s nice to know I have a grandson, but Amy keeps him sequestered out there on the farm. I’m not really part of the little boy’s life. I’m not part of my son’s life, either. You’re so lucky, Alice, and you are too, Marilyn, because you’ve got grandchildren who live close to you, whom you get to see whenever you want.”
“But my grandchildren live in San Francisco,” Faye reminded her.
“And I don’t have children or grandchildren,” Shirley said.
“Well, you have a boyfriend,” Polly told Faye. “And Shirley, you do, too.”
Shirley made a face. “I don’t think I’d call Stan a boyfriend.” She snorted. “Believe, me, he’s certainly no antidote to the thought of death.”
“Stan’s honest, reliable, and trustworthy,” Alice told Shirley.
“So was Roy Orbison,” Shirley shot back.
“Maybe you should get a new dog,” Faye suggested to Polly.
“Maybe I should,” Polly agreed.
“Maybe,” Shirley joked, “I should!”
The waiter came, took their orders, and went off.
“Because,” Polly continued, “I’m going to end it with Hugh.”
“Oh, Polly,” Shirley cried. “Are you sure?”
Polly nodded. “It’s just too insulting, the way he leaves whenever his ex-wife calls. I’ll never be part of his complete life. I can’t share a future with him. I haven’t even met his grandchildren, and he dotes on them, goes to their recitals and games. I’m treated like a mistress, even though he’s no longer married.”
“Well, now, hang on.” Faye folded her arms on the table. “Think about it, Polly. What’s so wrong with being a mistress? What’s so wrong with just having fun with him? Because you do have a wonderful time with him.”
“True,” Polly conceded.
“We’re all older now, and we should be able to define our relationships differently from how we did when we were young and wanted to have homes and children and all those complications. Perhaps you could just have fun with each other.”
“Yeah!” Shirley liked that idea. “Stay in a kind of perpetual state of romance! Like you’re always dating. So you don’t have to argue about utility bills or who should put gas in the car.”
Polly shook her head. “That seems so incomplete. I want the whole thing, the ‘for better or worse’ bit.”
“Think about that seriously,” Faye warned. “I can tell you, I’m not so sure I like the ‘in sickness and in health’ part at our age.”
Alice turned to Faye. “How is Aubrey?”
“Driving me out of my mind.” Faye tossed back the rest of her drink. “He loves being an invalid. I swear, I sometimes think he is truly regressing mentally. They say people become childish when they grow older, but Aubrey’s only in his early seventies. He wants to be waited on hand and foot, and he needs constant coddling, and the part of being with him that I loved has just vanished into thin air! He’s not charming, he’s not interesting, he doesn’t care how I feel. It’s completely about taking care of him. And it’s not like he’s got a terminal illness! He’s just got a wonky shoulder!”
Sentimental Shirley asked, “But what if he were Jack?”
“If he were Jack,” Faye said, “we would have already gone through scores of years of give and take. Jack would have taken care of me, and I would have taken care of him. Besides, Jack would never have been such a baby.”
“But we’re all older now,” Alice pointed out sensibly. “We’re sliding out of our ‘Golden Years’ into our ‘Rusty Years.’ Maybe in another year, Aubrey will be taking care of you.”
“Yeah,” Shirley agreed, nodding her head. “Remember, Aubrey was pretty sweet to you when you were down with your ankle and neck over Christmas.”
“Not this sweet,” Faye argued. “He came over a lot, brought me flowers and food, but I’m fixing all his meals, running all his errands, adjusting his pillows, I’m his constant nursemaid. And I know I thanked Aubrey when I was down. He’s gotten so petulant and cranky, he never thanks me. He just gets irritated if I don’t read his mind and bring him his ice pack the moment he wants it.”
“Women are more nurturing by nature.” Shirley looked uncomfortable. “I know that’s not a feminist position to take, but I think it’s true.”
“Fine,” Faye said. “But believe me, I’ve done more than my share of nurturing this guy.”
Alice looked thoughtful. “It’s not like he’s going to be down with his shoulder forever, Faye.”
“No,” Faye agreed. “Only over this summer, when I want to be here, landscape painting.” She looked around the table. “Come on, if I were a man, no one would expect me to give up a chance to start painting seriously again in order to stay home taking care of Aubrey. I mean, he’s not even really sick. If he were, then I do care about him enough to nurture him. But he’s not seriously ill. And I’m seriously excited about getting back into my work! And I am getting older, I don’t have that much time left.”
The waiter brought their lunches. They all tucked in with delight. After a few bites, Faye’s mood lightened.
“So Alice, tell me, how was your week here?”
Alice shot a triumphant look at Shirley. “It’s been great! Shirley has kept me on an exercise plan, and I haven’t weighed myself, but my pants are just a tad bit looser.”
“And we’ve gone to some fun plays and concerts,” Shirley chimed in.
“And I’ve done a bit of shopping for my granddaughter,” Alice added. “I can’t wait to see her. And Gideon, too.”
Faye looked at Shirley. “What about Stan? Are you looking forward to seeing him again?”
Shirley yawned.
“Now, Shirley,” Alice interrupted. “Stan’s a good man.”
“Yeah, but life with him would be like one long dental appointment,” Shirley shot back. “Might be good for me, but it sure wouldn’t be fun.”
“Maybe you’ll meet a man on Nantucket!” Polly suggested.
A waitress passing by overheard. “You know what they say about meeting a man on this island? The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”
The Hot Flash Club laughed. Shirley laughed the loudest. She couldn’t stop thinking of Harry, but she wasn’t ready to tell her friends about him yet. And really, there wasn’t much to tell.
Alice looked mischievous. “Nantucket women have a history of being
satisfied without a man. They had to be inventive—so many of their husbands were away for years, off at sea hunting whales. So they created a little, um, device, out of baked clay, as a substitute. Shaped like a phallus and called a ‘he’s-at-home.’”
Shirley giggled.
Faye was astonished. “Good grief, Alice, where do you find information like this?”
Alice smiled. “I read an article by Tom Congdon in Forbes FYI, entitled ‘Mrs. Coffin’s Consolation.’”
“What’s Forbes FYI?” Polly asked.
Alice looked slightly abashed. “A supplement to the business magazine. I glance at it occasionally.”
“I’m sure women have invented sexual substitutes since the beginning of time,” Marilyn said.
“Well, you don’t need one,” Shirley pointed out. “You’ve found a good guy!”
“True.” Marilyn smiled, looking smug. “Ian is wonderful. I do love him. And I want to marry him. But at the same time, Polly, I can see how having only a good-time relationship might not be a bad idea.”
“Is his son a problem?” Alice asked.
“Well…” Marilyn leaned back in her chair, ignoring the french fries that had come with her sandwich. “I guess Angus is no more a problem than my mother. Life is just so messy. Especially now that Angus has a puppy whom he keeps forgetting to house-train.”
“Oh boy.” Alice pinched her nose.
“You got it,” Marilyn told her.
“Oh, Polly,” Shirley said. “I just can’t stop thinking about you breaking it off with Hugh. I think you should give that careful thought.”
“I will, this week,” Polly said.
The waiter came up. “Coffee? Dessert?”
Everyone ordered coffee.
Marilyn looked at her watch. “Our ferry should be here any moment.”
“Anything we should know about the house?” Faye asked Alice and Shirley.
“We’ve left a lot of food and toilet paper,” Alice told her.
Shirley leaned forward. “You might want to be very careful with any precious jewelry. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think the house has a pack rat. I’ve now lost two different earrings.”
“I’ve lost an earring there, too,” Faye said, then shrugged. “But they’re so easy to lose. They get caught when we take off our shirts, they fall out when we walk—the cobblestones here are so uneven.”
“I’m just saying,” Shirley insisted. “Be careful with good jewelry.”
“Do you think there’s a ghost in the house?” Marilyn asked, looking amused.
Everyone turned expectantly to Shirley.
Shirley looked apologetic. “It was probably just noises on the street. You know the Orange Street house is so close to other houses and to the road, and I’m used to sleeping out at The Haven, which is so quiet….”
“Go on,” Faye insisted.
“Two nights ago something woke me up. Sounds. Some kind of—thumps. And some, I don’t know, some sort of shuffling noises, as if someone were walking around downstairs.”
“What time was it?” Polly asked, eyes wide.
“About three in the morning.”
“Did you hear the noises?” Marilyn asked Alice.
Alice shook her head.
“Please. Alice snores too loudly to hear King Kong fart in her ear,” Shirley joked. “So anyway, I decided to go downstairs to investigate.”
“Brave of you!” Polly declared.
“Well, I feel a responsibility to Nora,” Shirley said. “I’d like to find out who’s taking things.”
“Did you see anyone?” Marilyn asked.
“No.” Shirley leaned forward, a new urgency in her voice. “But we think a little Fabergé box disappeared from the front parlor table.”
Alice added, “You know those photos I took? I compared them with what’s there now—not an easy task, let me add. And I didn’t get as close up as I should have. I’m going to take more photographs with more detail. But anyway, there is a little box missing.”
“I wonder whether anyone on the island buys antiques,” Polly said. “Maybe I’ll check around, see if I can spot any of her pieces.”
“Good idea,” Alice told Polly.
“Here comes our ferry!” Marilyn cried.
They paid their bills and hurried out to the dock where they all hugged once again. Marilyn, Alice, and Shirley headed up the ramp and onto the boat. Polly and Faye stayed on shore, waving until the boat left the dock, and with three blasts of its horn, sped out into the harbor and around Brant Point, out of sight.
25
When Faye and Polly arrived at the Orange Street house, they saw Kezia’s silver SUV parked in the driveway. They discovered Kezia herself at the back of the house. Her baby Joe was stashed in a backpack, a teething ring in one hand and his mother’s thick black braid in the other.
“Hi, guys!” Kezia greeted them with a big smile. She glowed with a healthy tan and energy. “Sorry to barge in on you, but I thought it might be a good time to come take your trash. You’ve all done such a good job sorting it!”
“Thanks.” Faye found herself both amused and vaguely insulted by the younger woman’s compliment. They’d read the instructions Kezia’d left for them in the kitchen, and they weren’t quite so senile they couldn’t differentiate among the bins set on the back porch stating in clear large print: Glass. Misc. paper. Garbage. Plastics. Aluminum cans.
Perhaps Kezia felt Faye’s coolness. “I’m sorry if I came at a bad time. I just don’t know when you guys are here. Want to set up a pickup schedule for me? Or you can phone me.”
Polly suggested, “Could we schedule it for some afternoon? I want to be able to wander around in my nighty with a cup of coffee in the mornings.”
“Good idea,” Faye agreed.
Kezia pulled a tiny electronic toy from her back pocket. “Wednesday afternoons are free for me and Joe.”
“That works for us,” Faye said.
“Great!” With surprising ease, Kezia hefted four sagging trash bags out of their bins, bounded out the back door and down the back porch steps, and disappeared around the corner of the house. Faye and Polly heard her singing, “Giddy-up horsie!” to her little boy.
A few seconds later, Kezia bounded back up into the kitchen. “That’s that!” She went to the sink and vigorously scrubbed her hands. “Now!” Turning to face them, she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Actually,” Faye said, “if you have time, could you drive us out to the airport? We’ve rented a Jeep for the summer and we want to pick it up today.”
“Cool! Let’s go!”
Polly sat in back so she could play with baby Joe. Faye took the passenger seat in front. “Were you born on Nantucket?” she asked Kezia.
Kezia tossed back her head and laughed. “I wish! No, I was born in New Jersey, came here during college to make some money waiting tables one summer, met B.J., and fell madly in love. With him and with the island. Joe and his family are natives, and so is little Joe.”
“But Kezia’s an island name, isn’t it?” Faye inquired.
Kezia gave Faye an admiring glance. “You’ve been boning up on island history! Yes, Kezia’s an island name. My given name was Kathy, and I just felt it was so boring, and Kezia’s so unusual, I legally changed it. I’ve never met another Kezia! Plus, it makes me feel more linked to the island. I’m just dotty about the place.”
“Do you own a house here?” Faye asked cautiously. “I mean, I know how expensive they are.”
“We do own a house!” Kezia nodded so enthusiastically her braid bounced. “It’s just a tiny little thing, not at all like Nora’s grand old heap, but we own it. Out in Tom Never’s Head. My clever ol’ husband built it with his own hands. Our mortgage is humongous, but we’ve got about a thousand years to pay it off, so that’s all right. Once we build another room on to it, we’re going to have another baby!”
Braking exuberantly, Kezia pulled up in front of the airport’s d
oors. “Car rental agency’s right in there.”
“Thanks, Kezia.” Faye was very aware of her own size and speed next to Kezia. She couldn’t jump out like Kezia. She felt like a lumbering old mastodon as she eased her bulk down from the high SUV seat. When Polly extracted herself from the back and joined her on the sidewalk, Faye was grateful for her company. She felt less of a circus fat lady with Polly there.
The two of them waved as Kezia sped away.
“I need a nap,” Polly said, only half-joking, to Faye. “Did we ever have that kind of energy?”
“Did we ever have that kind of body?” Faye wondered in return. “I don’t think I did. She’s so slim!”
“She’s young.” Polly and Faye were quiet for a moment, as if paying their respects to their own lost youth.
Then Faye cheered up. “Come on. Let’s get our car!”
At the rental counter, they handed over their driver’s licenses, signed papers, and were duly given the keys to a four-wheel-drive Jeep. They whooped when they saw it—it was as red as a hot flash! Faye played chauffeur on the trip back to town, driving slowly as Polly navigated. There was no garage attached to the Orange Street house. They were fortunate, they’d been told, even to have a shoebox-size brick parking spot squeezed between their house and the one on the left.
“Good grief!” Polly shrieked as Faye carefully inched the Jeep into place. “One millimeter wrong and you gouge the house with the side mirror!”
“This will teach us patience,” Faye muttered. When she’d parked the Jeep successfully, she unfastened her seatbelt. “What next?”
“Let’s go everywhere!” Polly suggested.
“Excellent idea!” Faye fastened her seatbelt again.
All afternoon they toured the island, rattling over cobblestones, making paper-clip turns from one narrow lane to another, shrieking with laughter when the side mirrors almost touched the walls of houses built right next to the street. They exclaimed with pleasure as the landscape opened out on the long road to Madaket on the far western tip of the island. They sighed with admiration for the romantic mansions along the Cliff with its stunning view of the harbor and Nantucket Sound. And they were stunned into silence by the old-fashioned beauty of the little village of ’Sconset at the eastern edge of the island, with its wide, elegant, tree-shaded avenue.