Writing is a mystery, and when it works well, a delight. When it doesn’t work well, it goes into the shredder.
RHRC: Reading your novels always makes me want to visit Nantucket. Does the beauty and nature of Nantucket inspire your creativity while writing?
NT: I usually take a walk every day when I’m writing, often an adventure in the winter, but I love the ocean in the winter. It’s so dramatic! The white surf pounds. The air sparkles. On Great Point, I walk near harbor seals wallowing in the sand, oinking like pigs from eating so many fish. Once my husband and I saw a group of enormous grey seals with their gorilla bodies and black horse heads hanging out next to the shore like a bunch of adolescent gangsters. They were fascinated by us. We studied them. They studied us. They kind of flirted with us. I’m pretty sure they thought we were funny looking. Or maybe delicious looking. It was thrilling. And terrifying. We didn’t go any closer. Even the sweet little harbor seals bite. So much of such incomprehensible difference so near to us every day—that shakes the doldrums out of me and stirs me up.
Also, the town of Nantucket is exquisitely beautiful, the houses mostly old and shingled, with small gardens hidden behind hedges or picket fences. Many of the houses are named, with signs called quarter boards above the door. On Fair Street sits Fairy Tale, Fair Isle, and Fair Thee Well. Door knockers are mermaids, or whale tails, or scallop shells. Many houses have “widows’ walks” where women whose husbands were off at sea watched for approaching ships. Window boxes spill with flowers in most seasons. Walking around Main Street and over to India Street where our magnificent Greek Revival library stands and over to the Episcopal church with its Tiffany stained-glass window is always inspiring. And if I stop in at Even Keel for a mocha latte and one of their chocolate cakes, then I’m exhilarated.
I believe that sometimes you just have to go somewhere else. Perhaps you’ve had a tremendous loss and you’re sad. Or you’ve worked very hard and you’re exhausted. Or everything is great, but still, something’s missing and you can’t figure it out. Nantucket is thirty miles out at sea. You have to fly or take a boat to get here. Here, you’re surrounded by water. Here, no chains stores, no Dunkin Donuts or ToysЯUs, and if you rent a car, you can’t go faster than 25 mph on the narrow roads. History is everywhere; you walk on the cobblestones brought over from England hundreds of years ago. Nature is everywhere. And it isn’t only sweet. If you don’t watch out, a gull will swoop down and steal your sandwich right off your picnic blanket.
I’ve seen people come here for a week and leave changed. I’ve met groups of women who reunite here from all over the country in the autumn to rent a cottage, walk in the sand or on the moors, eat lobster dripping with butter or fresh sweet scallops, and talk all day and much of the night. They go home recharged for the year. I know the nature and beauty of the island changes people. I’ve heard them talk about it.
RHRC: Why do you think the relationships between sisters are so complex and complicated?
NT: I think relationships between any two human beings are complex and complicated. But with sisters, you’ve got emotional memories of the intense past to color everything that happens in the present. Children get labeled, even unintentionally, not just by their parents, but by the children themselves. “The Smart One,” “The Baby,” “The Favorite,” “The Shy One.” When we grow up, those roles lurk in our unconscious, shadowing our present behavior.
For example, my sister, Martha, is now my best friend. She is nine years younger than I, so she is the baby of the family. I have brown hair and hazel eyes, while Martha is a blond with gorgeous blue eyes. She was always adored by everyone, no matter what she did. Once, for example, she ruined my lipsticks. I yelled at her. She cried. My mother always just went gooey over Martha. “Oh, when you cry, your eyes turn turquoise! Nancy how can you be mean to her?” Martha looked like my father, so of course she was the favorite. She didn’t have to do chores. She had a canopy bed. Of course, I’m not saying she was spoiled.… Wait! Am I getting off track?
RHRC: I love the scene where Marina and Sheila go to Madaket Mall to find treasures. Have you ever found any surprising treasures in an unlikely place like Madaket Mall?
NT: Oh, yes. At the end of the summer, and this is true, many of the exceptionally wealthy women who vacation here for a month or two weeks have their maids bring their clothes to the dump because they wouldn’t dream of wearing them next summer, which will be a different season. Many of the clothes still have price tags on them.
I haven’t gotten clothing there, but I have friends who have. What I do get, although I hesitate to share this information, is British mysteries and British novels. There’s a book section in the Madaket Mall, and someone comes here in the summer and leaves brand-new British fiction behind. Bless them.
The thing to remember is that this is an island. The ferries and planes bring supplies over, but on this small island, it makes sense to recycle, and people did it here at the Madaket Mall before it became politically correct. Need a new door? New window frame? New dress? A mirror? Some pretty mismatched china for your rented summer cottage? It’s there. It may not fit perfectly, but it’s free.
RHRC: Why did you choose that specific line from e. e. cummings’s “Maggie and Milly and Molly and May”?
NT: This book begins with loss of all kinds. Sometimes we do lose ourselves right in the midst of a busy life. I think nature is a miraculous restorative. We can walk by the ocean, or hike up a mountain, or swim in a lake. We can weed our backyard garden. When we’re out in nature, our minds drift away from the little gerbil-wheel revolving endlessly in our mind. We take deep breaths—of new air, fresh air, different air. We watch the sun sparkle on water. Nature gives us back to ourselves, refreshed. It is ourselves we find in the sea.
RHRC: Do you agree with Danielle’s beliefs that the universe is always speaking to us?
NT: Yes. But it’s not like a two-way conversation on a cell phone. The universe is not going to solve our problems. I think the universe sends us hints to pay attention, be alive, look around.
Here’s an example: Yesterday my daughter, Sam, phoned in tears. She has three little children, she’s breastfeeding her baby, and she had two blocked milk ducts. She was in terrible pain and developing a fever. Her husband works and couldn’t come home to help. After her call, I was so worried, I went for a walk up and down the wharves, looking at the water, trying to decide what to do. Should I pack, take a ferry, drive three hours, and help her? Should I stay home and work? I was frantic. I kept thinking: two ducts! Two ducts! I turned the corner and there in the water were two ducks. It made me laugh out loud. I realized the problem was not terrible. When I got home, she phoned to say her husband had brought home antibiotics and she felt better. I think the universe sends us hints, clues, puns, and always amazing beauty to remind us where we are. Interpretation is up to us.
RHRC: Where did you get the idea for the Beachcombers Club?
NT: Perhaps deep in all our hearts lies a primitive soul who loves the idea of finding “treasure.” Certainly in twenty-seven years, everyone I’ve ever walked with on the beach has suddenly bent down and picked up a rock or a shell, studied it, and tucked it into his/her pocket. If you go into Nantucket houses, you’ll see shells on shelves, under glass, on windowsills, on the sides of the bathtubs. Out of zillions of pebbles and shells on the beach, everyone seems to discover something. “Now here is an interesting rock,” they say. Everyone becomes a beachcomber on Nantucket. The idea of a club came from walking with my children on the beach when they were smaller and I needed to find a way to discard some of our finds. (Although I wasn’t as peculiar a mother as Danielle was.)
RHRC: What are you working on at the moment?
NT: Heat Wave, which comes out in hardcover in summer, is about a young woman, Carley Winsted, who has two daughters and a wonderful life when suddenly she is widowed. In addition, the lives of her two best friends become inextricably tangled, and Carley must choose between them. She
discovers she doesn’t, and perhaps can’t, always do the “right” thing. It’s the sort of lesson that’s hard for some of us to learn, especially good-hearted Carley. I hope readers will enjoy Carley’s company as much as I have.
Discussion Questions
1. Do brothers and sisters fight less and have more easygoing relationships than sisters? Why are the relationships between sisters so complicated?
2. Which of the four women did you most identify with?
3. Given Lily’s desire to visit glamorous places and have fancy things, why is she the only sister who comes back home to Nantucket after college?
4. Was Marina running away from her problems by going to Nantucket, or did she need time by herself to heal?
5. Danielle battles her depression in front of her girls, while Sydney is very strict with Harry and is often away from her family. Are either of them intrinsically bad mothers, or are they trying the best they can with the situations they have?
6. If Emma and Marina did not get caught red-handed, would Emma’s decision to remain discrete regarding her suspicions about the stolen light baskets seem more admirable, or should Emma have just gone straight to Spencer with her concerns?
7. Were Abbie, Emma, and Jim wrong to shelter and spoil Lily after Danielle’s death?
8. If you were in Emma’s shoes, would you encourage Abbie to continue her relationship with Howell, given what you know of Howell and Sydney’s relationship?
9. Should a couple who is not in love with each other stay together for the sake of their child?
10. Jim says that mothers are the centers of their kid’s lives; do you think this is true? Where does that leave fathers, especially single fathers like Jim?
11. As a twenty-two-year-old who has yet to experience the world, is Lily wrong to want as much as she can get?
12. Do you think that being a grandmother figure to Emma’s child will be enough to satisfy Marina’s longing for a baby?
Heat Wave is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Nancy Thayer
Random House reading group guide copyright © 2012 by Random House, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Random House Reader’s Circle & Design is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.
Epigraph by Edith H. West. Used by permission.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Thayer, Nancy.
Heat wave : a novel / Nancy Thayer.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-345-51833-0
1. Nantucket Island (Mass.)—Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3570.H3475H43 2011
813’.54—dc22 010053759
www.ballantinebooks.com
Cover design: Misa Erder
Cover images: Mike Kemp © Getty Images (sky), Siegfried Marque © Gallerystock (girl)
v3.1
The house is good
The beams are strong
The sun streams in
The whole day long
A hundred years
Or more it’s stood
Swept by sea winds
The house is good
—Edith H. West
Contents
Master - Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Reader’s Guide
1
• • • • •
Some days recently, Carley Winsted had experienced moments of actual happiness, when her heart gave her a break. She’d forget Gus’s death and focus on the sight of her daughters or the sparkle of sunlight on the ocean—and lightning-fast, guilt zapped her. How could she be happy even for a moment?
She had to be happy, because she needed to be a role model for her daughters. She wanted to show them how to get through the dark times, to relish the good in each and every day.
Today she just needed not to be a coward.
It was the end of December, the end of the year. The end of the worst year in Carley’s life. High on a cliff overlooking the deep blue waters of Nantucket Sound, Carley stood in her bedroom, her heart racing with anxiety.
Thank heavens her girls were with friends this morning. She couldn’t let them see her like this. They had enough to deal with. Their beloved father, Carley’s dear Gus, had died a month ago. His death had been unexpected, unpredictable, wrong, caused by an un-diagnosed heart defect that had been lying stealthily in wait for years. Gus had been only thirty-seven. Carley was only thirty-two.
Cisco was twelve.
Margaret was five.
It was unbearable. Yet it had to be borne.
She’d been doing pretty well, she thought, but this morning her grief was overridden by a gripping panic, which was ridiculous, really.
After all, it wasn’t as if she were a peasant being thrown into the lion’s den. She was only going to her father-in-law’s office to discuss finances with him. Okay, fine, finances had never been her strong suit. She’d gotten married at twenty, she’d never had a real job, Gus had handled the money, she had taken care of the house, the children, food and clothing, their lives. But she was not a financial idiot, and Gus knew that. Gus had left this house entirely to her. It had no mortgage. It was completely, legally, hers.
So why had Russell asked her to come to the law office to meet with him? Such a cold, businesslike place—why hadn’t he come to her house to talk with her in the living room as he always had? True, Carley had not always been on the same page as Annabel and Russell. They were different in so many ways, and the truth was, her in-laws were difficult to please. But they shared a mutual love for their son, her husband, Gus, and for his and Carley’s daughters, Cisco and Margaret.
Carley gave herself a careful, critical once-over in the mirror. Her tailored gray suit was loose on her, but that was to be expected. She’d lost weight since Gus’s death. So had Russell and Annabel, even Gus’s best friend, Wyatt. Carley was tall and lanky, and now whip thin. In this suit, she looked elegant, even haughty, although anyone who knew Carley knew elegant and haughty were so not her. Russell had to know that after being around her for thirteen years.
But since Gus’s death, both Russell and Annabel had been … different. More openly judgmental. Carley’s
only defense was to be prepared. She slipped her feet into her highest heeled boots.
Her appointment with Russell was set for eleven o’clock. Her appointment! Gus wouldn’t have put up with this formal crap. “Come on, Dad, just tell us what you have to say, and we’ll work it out.” That’s what Gus would have said.
2
• • • • •
Carley met Gus on Nantucket one summer night when she was nineteen. The air was hot and muggy and she was whipped from waiting tables.
She’d just finished her second year at Syracuse with less than sterling grades. She wasn’t upset about the grades. No one was upset about the grades—her parents were engrossed with their work and all her life Carley had been advised not to compare herself to her older sister, Sarah, who was brilliant at science and a jock as well, so no one was pressuring Carley to perform.
It was just that now, approaching her junior year, Carley felt a little lost. Sarah had always yearned to be a nurse when she grew up, an emergency room nurse. Her father was a much-respected and eternally busy dentist. Her mother and her best friend ran a day care center.
Carley had no idea what she wanted to be.
She thought she should want to be something. Rosie, her best childhood friend, wanted to go into the Peace Corps and become an immigration lawyer. Another friend wanted to teach in elementary school. Carley had believed she’d be inspired by some teacher or subject once she got to college, but that hadn’t yet happened. She was listlessly declaring education her major.
One thing was crystal clear to her: she loved being on Nantucket. It was her third summer working here, and it seemed she was always happy here, no matter what her job was. Of course, it was always summer, when the days were drenched with sunshine and the air smelled of salt and roses and she was surrounded by friends. She kind of even liked her wait job. Some of the customers were jerks, but most of them were on vacation, tanned, relaxed, happy, and ready to give a big fat tip.
Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze Page 37