Nell

by Nancy Thayer

  Nell slipped into her elephant robe—since he wasn’t around—and had her breakfast, then wandered through the O’Learys’ bright cottage sipping her morning coffee. She felt wonderfully fit and optimistic. Andy had greeted her with flowers and champagne when she drove off the ferry. He had carried her luggage into the house for her, then carried her right up to the bedroom and made love to her. He had then taken her out to a marvelous restaurant for dinner. He had awakened her in the night to make sweet love to her. He had left her this note; she would see him later. Every time Nell passed a mirror on one of the walls, she caught a glimpse of herself—and she was always smiling, a true goony smile. I wonder what he meant by writing “love” on that note, she thought.

  She stared out the window at the summer day and thought, with a thrill passing through her, that this was only the first day—all the days of June and July stretched out in front of her, all those days when she would be free of the responsibility of running a house and caring for children. She was free to work and play in the sun and be loved by a wonderful lover. It was an incredible luxury.

  Something about living in the O’Learys’ house and being without children made Nell feel both more adult and more childlike. She felt eminently capable and responsible, full of energy and bright ideas, and at the same time she had a delicious feeling of playing house, playing shop. She was dressed and ready to go early, so she walked to work and had to keep from skipping, for the day was brilliant. Everyone she passed looked happy. A woman in running clothes jogged by her, accompanied by a happy black dog carrying a yellow ball in his mouth. A father pedaled by on a bike, pulling a black two-wheeled carriage holding a grinning toddler. Nell walked down Main Street to buy a newspaper at the Hub. She walked on down the street, passing a store with a window full of solar-powered toys. A brass stick figure pedaled furiously on a bike, airplanes dipped and lifted, Ferris wheels spun. She felt like that, felt that she was now effortlessly moving, powered by the sun. She walked farther down the street to the wharf, where the Hy-Line ferries docked, past the great red Nantucket lightship, past the little wooden shops selling frozen yogurt, oil paintings of the sea, and shell jewelry. She stood for a while watching large and small boats slip in and out of the harbor.

  Next to her, a child yelled, “Mommy, Mommy! Look at the seagull!” Nell looked where the child was pointing: A gull was soaring on the wind. “I wish I could do that,” the child said.

  I am doing that, Nell thought, and smiled to herself.

  She walked back up the street and opened the boutique and set to work. She had never been more efficient, more helpful to the customers. Mindy, the salesgirl who had run the store in May and who would be Nell’s assistant for the summer, came in at one to work until nine that night. Mindy had graduated from college the year before. She was a pretty girl, and bright, but talkative. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her life, and she wasn’t sure which boyfriend she was in love with, but that didn’t stop her from discussing her life and loves in great detail. Sometimes her chatter annoyed Nell, but today she just took it in her stride.

  “Look, Mindy,” Nell said. “I’m going to take my lunch hour at three instead of one today. My—uh, friend Clary is arriving on the three o’clock Hy-Line. I want to meet her and get her settled in my house. She’ll be living with me this summer. So I’ll be gone for an hour, from three till four.”

  “Fine,” Mindy said, snapping her gum.

  At three Nell walked back down Main Street and past the five-and-dime and the gift stores and restaurants to the Hy-Line dock. The small blue and white ferry approached, its decks so loaded with people in bright clothing that from the distance it looked like a boat full of balloons. Nell felt a shiver of excitement go through the crowd of people waiting at the dock. She would not have been surprised if everyone had cheered when the ferry slipped so perfectly into place and the ramps were let down to connect with shore. It was a real occasion, this ferry-arriving business, Nell thought. She watched lovers and friends and relatives greet and hug one another and it seemed to her she had never dreamed that the regular old world could be so full of daily joy.

  Clary came down the ramp. The sight of her filled Nell now, as always, with a medley of emotions. She loved her, as one loves a child she has watched turn into an adult; she loved her as a friend. But she was also struck by her vivid beauty and, unavoidably, by her youth. Clary was so stunning, so firm and flawless. She was slim and taut and both sophisticated and nubile at the same time. Just the sight of Clary made Nell feel old, and though she had been feeling almost beautiful, she now felt merely well preserved. Clary’s presence made Nell aware of all her wrinkles and sags, all the marks of time. She could not help the momentary twinge of alarm and the thought that perhaps Andy, on seeing Clary, would fall in love with her instead of Nell.

  Clary came on down the ramp, unaware of her ex-stepmother’s jealousy. She was wearing loose white jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a backpack, and carrying an enormous bulging suitcase.

  “Clary!” Nell called. She rushed up to her and gave her a hug. “You’re here!”

  “Don’t look behind me,” Clary said, kissing Nell on the cheek. “Whatever you do, don’t look behind me. Where’s your car? Hurry up. Let’s go.”

  Nell drew back. “What on earth?” she said.

  “Ssssh!” Clary said. “I’ll explain as soon as we get in the car. Where’s your damn car?”

  Clary was walking away even as Nell tried to take her bag from her.

  “Clary,” Nell said, “what’s going on? Here, let me help you with your bag.”

  “I can carry my bag,” Clary said through clenched teeth. “I can carry my bag. Can we just go to your car?”

  “Clary, I didn’t drive here,” Nell said. “My car’s at the house. It’s only a short distance. A nice walk. What’s wrong?”

  Clary stopped short, so quickly that Nell, who had been scurrying along next to her, trying to keep up with her, ran right into her arms. “Jesus, Clary,” she said. “Would you please tell me what’s the matter with you?”

  “Oh, this is hopeless,” Clary said. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Clary!” Nell said.

  “You must be Mrs. St. John,” someone said.

  Nell turned. Throngs of people were passing by, some just off the Hy-Line, some looking at the shops, and out of this crowd came a handsome young man with blond hair and the most beautiful blue eyes in the world. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that said I GOT SCROD LAST NIGHT.

  “May I call you Nell?” he said. “I’m Bob Walker.”

  Nell was stunned. She looked at Bob; she looked at Clary. Clary’s face had gone into its mask of deep inscrutability that always indicated strong emotion on her part. “Clary?” Nell asked, touching her arm.

  “You really are crazy, you know,” Clary said. She turned in a flash and was glaring at Bob. The two of them were the same height, and with their blond hair, T-shirts, and jeans, they could have been twins. “You really are crazy,” she repeated.

  “I know,” Bob said. “I’m crazy about you.”

  “If Nell were my father, you wouldn’t be here,” Clary said. “If Nell were my mother, you wouldn’t dare be here.”

  “Clary,” Nell said. “What is going on?” People were beginning to glance at the three of them as they stood there, blocking the flow of walkers. “Do you suppose this could be discussed in private?” Nell asked. “Whatever it is?”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Clary said.

  “I’m Clary’s boyfriend—” Bob said to Nell.

  “Was,” Clary said.

  “—and we’re having a little disagreement,” Bob continued.

  “Well, look,” Nell said. “Why don’t we all walk to the cottage. I’ve only got about thirty minutes left in my lunch hour. Then I’ve got to get back to the boutique. Let me show you where the cottage is, and then you two can finish this—disagreement—in private.”

  “Thanks a lot, Nell,” Cl
ary said, glaring. But she picked up her bag. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Nell led the way. Clary followed. Bob followed Clary. Clary walked stiffly, not talking, taking elaborate and extravagant pains not to be touched or bumped by Bob as she walked. After a few minutes of silence, Nell found herself doing what she often did in stressful situations: she babbled. “And this is Robinson’s, the five-and-dime,” she said. “It’s got everything. If you keep going straight up this street, this is Main Street, and go left at the corner, you’ll come to the boutique. But we’ll go this way to the cottage …”

  Clary didn’t respond.

  “What a beautiful place,” Bob said at one point, and Nell agreed. She talked about the beaches, the houses, the stores. She talked about Jeremy and Hannah and Charlotte and Marlow. Clary just stomped along, her face set. The walk took forever. Finally, they reached the cottage.

  “This is your room for the summer,” Nell said, showing Clary to the back upstairs bedroom.

  “It’s really nice,” Clary muttered. She stood at the window, her back toward Nell and Bob, unapproachable.

  “I’ve got to go back to the boutique,” Nell said. “Clary, I’ll draw you a map. When you’re ready, come down and I’ll talk with you about summer jobs. Everyone wants salespeople, waitresses, and so on. You’ll be able to find something good, I’m sure. Or you can wait till tonight. I’ll be back home a little after six. Uh, Bob, it’s been nice meeting you … I guess …” She laughed, trying to ease the situation. “Will you be staying … for a while?”

  “Yes,” Bob said.

  “No,” Clary said.

  “Oh,” Nell said. She waited. Neither Clary nor Bob elaborated.

  “Well,” Nell said, “I’ll see you at least, Clary, later.” She left them and walked back to work. It was the only thing she could do.

  The store was busy enough to keep Nell from having much time to wonder about just what was going on with Clary and Bob. She was worried, though, for in the past few years Clary had seemed to develop a sense of humor and reasonableness that had been eclipsed this afternoon. Nell was afraid that in spite of Bob’s winning smiles there was some serious trouble between the two of them.

  When Andy came into the store, Nell said reluctantly, “I’m sorry, Andy, I don’t think I can see you tonight. Clary’s arrived, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to her about anything at all. Her boyfriend followed her over on the ferry and when I left, they were in the middle of a fight over something. I don’t know if he’s going to stay or not. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I think I’d better see how Clary is before I plan anything tonight. I’d better have dinner with her, since it’s her first night here. Can I call you?”

  “Sure,” Andy said, and smiled, but he slouched a bit in disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” Nell said. “I’m really sorry.” And she was, she was especially sorry for herself.

  Mindy took her dinner hour, then came back to run the store until it closed at nine. Nell worked till six, then left and walked back to the cottage. She found Clary there alone, crying.

  “Clary,” she said. “Oh, Clary.”

  For Clary was clearly miserable. Her face was puffy and her nose was red. It was obvious that she had been crying for some time. “Come on in the living room and sit down and tell me what’s happened,” Nell said. “What’s been going on? No—wait a minute.” She went into the kitchen and got a beer for herself and one for Clary. “Now.”

  “It’s all over,” Clary said. “It really is all over now. And I love him so much.” She sobbed. She sat on the sofa with her knees drawn up and her arms crossed on her knees and her head buried in her arms. “Goddamnit,” she said.

  “Well, Clary, surely it’s not all over,” Nell said. “He must love you, too. I mean, he followed you here. So he must at least care.…”

  “Oh, he cares,” Clary said. “He cares. But not enough. Not enough to make a commitment.”

  “Well, Clary, isn’t this the guy you wrote me about last year? Isn’t he the one you’ve been going with for about a year now?”

  “Sixteen months,” Clary said. “And yes. I’ve been ‘going with’ him. What a goddamn stupid adolescent phrase. Going with. I’ve been going with him, but we haven’t been getting anywhere.”

  Clary tossed her head and shook out her hair. She blew her nose. She took a sip of beer. Then she inhaled deeply, pulling herself together, and her breath came out in a little shudder, like Jeremy’s and Hannah’s did when they were heartbroken. Clary and Hannah had the same blond hair and dark eyes; Nell could still easily see the little girl in Clary’s lovely face.

  “Look, Nell,” she said. “I’ve been going with Bob for sixteen months now. We haven’t dated anyone else. We’ve both been working at the same place, the lab at Rutgers. We’re both biologists. He’s ahead of me; he’s just finished his PhD. I’m just a lab assistant. But the point is, we have all these interests in common. So it’s not just sex or anything, it’s everything. Everything is there. We have been so happy together. It has been so wonderful. Now he’s just gotten his PhD, and last month he got an offer of a full-time job at a lab out in Michigan. He wants me to come with him.”

  “Why, Clary, that’s wonderful. What’s wrong with that?” Nell asked.

  “He wants me to come with him as his live-in,” Clary said. “He doesn’t want to get married. Oh, goddamnit! It’s so embarrassing. I hate it, I hate this situation, I hate myself. I hate it that I had to bring up the idea of marriage. I had to be the one to say: do you mean you want to get married? And goddamn him, he said no. He says he’s not ready for a commitment like that yet. He says he just got through with the pressure of getting his PhD and he’s going to be under a lot of stress trying to get situated in a new job. He doesn’t think he could take the additional stress of being married yet. He says he loves me, he wants to be with me, he doesn’t want to be with anyone else, and yet he doesn’t want to marry me. Jesus Christ, Nell. Don’t you think I feel like some kind of dumbbell? Some kind of nincompoop? Can you imagine how humiliating it is to be the person to suggest marriage—and get refused?”

  “Oh, Clary,” Nell said. “Oh God.” She was thinking: I thought it had changed for your generation. I thought it would be easier. “How old is Bob?” she asked.

  “He’s thirty,” Clary said. “He was thirty this November. Boy, that was something. Talk about a crisis. We nearly broke up for good then. In fact we’re still having trouble over that. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, what do you think?” Clary said, tossing her head again. “What would you expect to happen? Here’s this good-looking man, working like a maniac to finish his PhD. and hold down a full-time lab job, and he turns thirty and decides he’s suddenly old, like really old, that he’s been wasting his whole life working, he’s in a rut, all his life is just a rat race, he never has any fun … he went out and balled every teenager he could find.”

  “Oh God, Clary,” Nell said. “How awful.”

  “Yeah, it was awful,” Clary went on, not crying now, but very sober. “I had planned this big surprise dinner for him. Six of his best friends. I made a wonderful birthday cake. I made a fucking birthday cake. I might as well be my mother, making a cake. Nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven. Jesus Christ, what a sap I am sometimes. So I made this cake, bought these steaks, had presents, champagne, and his friends came over and we were all ready for a big marvelous party.… He never showed up at my apartment. It was … it was just shit. Finally Rod, he’s Bob’s best friend, went down to this bar where they hang out a lot. He came back after a while and said some other people had seen Bob in there. He’d left with a girl, a teenager. God, can you imagine how embarrassed I was in front of his friends? One was his fucking boss at the lab! Everyone went home except Roni, she’s a good friend of mine, we just sat and drank the champagne all night. When she left, I drove over to Bob’s apartment. It was about
four in the morning. I took that gorgeous birthday cake—it really was a gorgeous cake, Nell, you should have seen the mother, three layers, I’ll never be able to make anything like it again!—I took it and smashed it all over the inside of his car. On the steering wheel, the seats, the windows. I left a note saying, ‘Happy Birthday, you rotten creep.’ ”

  Clary stopped talking then. She drank some beer. She sat for a while. Nell didn’t rush her.

  “Well, he called the next afternoon and said he was sorry and could we talk. But I said no, I didn’t want to see him again. So he said all right. That killed me, Nell. That was even worse than knowing he’d gone out and screwed a teenager, his just saying all right like that. Giving up, as if I weren’t worth some kind of struggle. I didn’t hear from him for about two weeks. Ten days exactly. His friends told me he was going to the bars and taking home some teenybopper every night.

  “I wanted to die. I went out with a guy, and then I met another guy at a bar and went home to bed with him, but you know, I never did like doing that too much. I keep thinking of Looking for Mr. Goodbar. It always scares me a little. So mostly I just stayed home and cried and was miserable.

  “Then all of a sudden one day I came home from work and there was a big box. Inside was a teddy bear, with a note taped to the bow. The note said, ‘I am the world’s biggest asshole. Please forgive me. I really want to see you. I really need to see you. Love, Bob.’ ”

  Clary stopped awhile and smiled a bit. “Well, I thought about it, but of course I’m so much in love with him, I knew immediately what I would do. But I didn’t call him that night. I waited. I was cool. Finally he called me. He came over, and we talked and talked. I didn’t go to bed with him again right away. I wanted to, I always want to go to bed with him. But I didn’t. I guess I was still confused. Scared. But he really did come after me then. I mean he sent me flowers and called me on the phone and wrote me letters and said all this nice stuff about how he loved me and needed me and he’d never do that again and he had just needed to be crazy and young for once in his life …”