Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  THREE

  1997

  It took about five hours to get from Nantucket to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, depending on the weather. If it was too windy, the ferries didn’t run and the planes didn’t fly, and if the state was hit with one of its extreme blizzards, driving was impossible. Perhaps that was why Clare had felt such panic, every single day her first year of college. She’d enjoyed her courses, she loved meeting the other girls in her dorm, and she was only slightly intimidated by living and studying on a campus that had a larger population than Nantucket. All that she could take in her stride. It helped to have Lexi on the same campus; it was like having a security blanket clutched in her hand.

  The distance from Nantucket troubled Clare because of Jesse. Because she could see Jesse so seldom. Because some weekends she traveled home to see him and some weekends he traveled to Amherst to see her … but most weekends, and all week, she was here and Jesse was on the island, careless and sensual and ranging free.

  Somehow, in spite of the distance, rumors made their way to Clare that fall. Jesse was seen at the Muse Friday night, flirting with Eleanor Hoston. Jesse danced at the Chicken Box with Sandy Jones, who was practically climbing all over him. Jesse was seen at Fast Forward, sipping a cup of coffee and flirting with Alice Coffin. But those were only rumors. When Clare came home for Christmas, Jesse confessed that he’d slept with Donna Tyler a couple of times. That was fact, and all of that Christmas was eclipsed for Clare by a whirlwind of misery. She and Jesse fought, and Lexi consoled Clare, and then Clare and Jesse made up, but when she went back to college, she knew in her heart that Jesse would weaken again.

  In an odd way, Clare became closer to Lexi during this year than she had been since they were children. When Clare wept, hating herself, feeling ugly and worthless, Lexi championed Clare. She sat up for hours with Clare, late into the night, reassuring her that she was the same spectacular, fascinating creature she’d always been, that Jesse’s infidelities had everything to do with Jesse’s wiring and nothing to do with how Clare looked or acted or thought. Lexi encouraged Clare to go out with other guys, even if she didn’t find them attractive. “It’s part of your college education, Clare,” Lexi had teased. Lexi was dating one of the varsity quarterbacks; she was feeling fine.

  Clare envied Lexi’s emotional freedom. Lexi liked her classes and was discovering a passion for art, while Clare’s grades suffered as she worried and obsessed about Jesse. It seemed that Lexi was diving into her off-island life like a seal in surf while Clare could only paddle at the edge of the waves, tempted by the water but afraid to leave the glistening safety of the sandy shore. She knew so many people who had left Nantucket only to come back, because they couldn’t make it somehow in the real world, and she didn’t want to be like them. She knew she wanted to live all her life on Nantucket, but she wanted to at least be capable of surviving elsewhere.

  She was nearly weak with relief when summer came. She took a job at a gourmet shop, and worked as many hours as they would give her, but most of her days and all of her nights were about being with Jesse. Jesse was repentant about his sleeping around, and swore it wouldn’t happen ever again, and that summer, when they were together every single night, Clare began, cautiously, to trust him. They talked about a future together, agreeing that they had to save up a pile of money before they could make any serious plans. Jesse wanted to build his own house, and Clare was thrilled with that idea. But land on the island was expensive. Clare told Jesse she’d put all her summer money in a special bank account earmarked for their future house. Her parents paid her tuition and other expenses, but for new clothes, movie tickets, an occasional latte, she’d taken a part-time job at the university.

  At first, it was a golden summer. She lived at home, and since her parents were so self-absorbed, they hardly noticed when Jesse slept over. The days were hot, humid, and bright with light, and Clare loved wearing the pretty little sundresses she wore to work. She loved the sun on her skin, the breeze in her hair. Most nights she and Jesse went to one of the parties on the beaches undiscovered by the tourists. They would drink beer or wine, catch up on the day’s gossip, perhaps walk hand in hand along the water’s edge, and sometimes, on the hottest nights, swim in their clothes, coming out of the water with the cloth slicked against their bodies. “I’ve got goose bumps,” Clare would tell Jesse, and Jesse would wrap his arms around her and hold her against him all up and down, warming her, grinning down at her as she became aware, through the material, of his erection.

  Lexi was never at the townie parties because she was working at a posh restaurant, and in a way, Clare was glad. In spite of Lexi’s kindness and support their freshman year, it was awkward when the three of them were around one another. Lexi had a way of standing back from Jesse, as if he were riddled with some contagious disease, and Jesse, who threw his arm around all his friends, male or female, got clumsy around Lexi. The most he would give Lexi was a curt nod. The truth was, Clare was secretly relieved to see so little of Lexi.

  FOUR

  Lexi had always loved summers, especially the beginning, when the sky was full of light and the season stretched ahead like the sea, glittering with promise.

  After one year of college, Lexi was flying high. She’d just finished her first year at UMass/Amherst, her grades were stellar, and she’d found her vocation—she wanted to major in art. Painting, sculpting, graphic arts, photography, design—she wanted to study everything. Still, she was nineteen, and it was summer—she wanted to have fun. She planned to work in her parents’ store, catch the beach when she had time off, and party every night.

  But just a few days into June, Lexi realized with a terrible plummet of her heart that Laney’s Dry Goods Emporium was failing, losing business to the chic boutiques that had crowded into the small town. Days would pass with only a handful of people drifting into her parents’ store, and then all they wanted was a pair of cotton socks or a sun hat. Adam was off in Boston, in veterinary college at Tufts, which was taking all his money and a lot of their parents’ savings. One night, Lexi overheard her parents talking in strained whispers, trying to figure out how they could pay their mortgage and still help Adam with his tuition.

  The next day, as she worked in the store, dusting shelves and straightening merchandise that no one ever looked at, she studied her parents’ faces. Fred and Myrna both looked tired, and Fred’s shoulders slumped—although he straightened if a customer entered. Myrna’s hair was growing white.

  That night, Lexi opened her bedroom door and strained to hear her parents’ conversation.

  “We’ll have to close the store at the end of the summer.” Her father’s voice was grim.

  Her mother began to cry. “The business your grandfather started …”

  Her father’s voice got defensive, and choked with emotion, “Well, tell me, Myrna, what else can we do? Already, we’ve got to tell Adam he has to deal with his tuition himself.”

  After a few moments, her mother heaved a great sigh. “At least when Adam gets out of vet school he’ll make enough money to support himself. I can’t imagine how Lexi can support herself with an art degree.”

  Perhaps that was the moment Lexi grew up. Certainly it was the moment she understood that she was responsible for her life. Her parents had all they could handle. But what could she do? She was frightened. She longed to talk it over with Clare, but Clare was all about Jesse these days—she scarcely had time to talk to Lexi on the phone. Anyway, Lexi wasn’t sure she should talk about her family’s finances even with Clare. To the island community, money was as popular and crucial a subject as the weather. Zillionaire summer people who lived in sprawling trophy houses for one month a year drove housing costs out of reach of the normal family. Town newspapers headlined articles every week about the jump in real estate prices. But Clare didn’t have to worry. Clare’s father taught at the high school and Clare’s mother was an artist, and the financial pressure of their lives was immeasurably softened fo
r them because Clare’s father had inherited their house from his mother. They had no mortgage. That gave them a freedom most people could only imagine.

  And if she did talk with Clare, what help could Clare provide? Sympathy, of course, but lots of islanders were aware of the fading fortunes of the Laneys, and their sympathy was almost like pity, and being pitied was a very hard thing to bear.

  She decided that there was one way she could help her parents.

  So one evening, at home, as they were eating their Crock-Pot dinner, Lexi casually announced, “I don’t think I’ll go back to college this year.”

  “Oh, honey!” Lexi’s mother leaned over the kitchen table toward her. “Sweetie, you’ve got to stay in college.”

  But the look of relief that passed over Fred Laney’s face told Lexi all she needed to know. Her determination doubled. “It’s no big deal. I can always go back. Lots of kids I know take a year off. I’ll stay here and work and pile up some money.”

  Her father’s voice was somber. “You won’t pile up money working at the store.”

  “That’s all right, Dad.” At that moment she simply wanted to erase the worry from his face. “I want to take a job waitressing. I can make a ton that way.”

  “Well.” After a moment, her father nodded. “That’s a good idea, Lexi.”

  “A very good idea,” her mother echoed.

  Lexi was proud of herself, and deeply sad. She felt as if her future had been floating above her like a brilliantly colored hot-air balloon, tethered to the ground, waiting to lift her away … and she had just cut the line and could only watch helplessly as her hopes drifted up and out of sight while she remained stranded on the earth.

  Later that evening, Lexi shut the door to her bedroom and hid away, phoning Clare.

  But Clare wasn’t home.

  Clare was with Jesse.

  Lexi couldn’t blame Clare for being infatuated with Jesse. It wasn’t just his blond hair, blue eyes, and easy smile, it was his entire Jesse-ness that made him irresistible. Still, when Clare and Jesse had hooked up in their senior year of high school, Lexi had quietly assumed they wouldn’t last. Jesse never stayed with anyone for more than a few weeks. So she had listened patiently while Clare sang Jesse’s praises and confided that they were making love—she’d said “making love,” not “having sex,” and confessed that she was madly in love with him. Lexi thought Clare was deluded, and would be hurt when Jesse dumped her for someone else, but she humored Clare and vowed to herself she would be there for Clare when things fell apart.

  But that didn’t happen. As their senior year wore on, Jesse stuck with Clare, and stopped sleeping around. They became a real couple, the couple in the school. Lexi found herself relegated to the background. Clare never had time to be with Lexi; she was always with Jesse. Clare stopped confiding in Lexi; she didn’t want to betray Jesse’s confidences, although she did tell Lexi that Jesse secretly wanted to be a folk singer, but everyone knew that, he was getting a band together. Lexi felt rejected by Clare, even betrayed, which made her feel inferior to Clare, and, in truth, wasn’t she inferior? Popular Jesse had plucked Clare out of the crowd. No one had chosen Lexi. Oh, she had dates, and plenty of guys tried to get in her pants, but no one was in love with her.

  While Clare and Lexi were at UMass together, Jesse stayed on the island, working as a carpenter. Clare had more time for Lexi, and their friendship had grown strong again. Then, what Lexi had half feared, half hoped would happen came about. Clare got news that Jesse was sleeping around. She came to Lexi with her tears and anger and grief, and Lexi felt a mixture of sorrow and relief. She told Clare what she truly believed—that Jesse wasn’t right for her, that he wasn’t good enough for her, that she would find real love, true love, with someone else.

  And now Clare and Lexi were home from college. Jesse had snapped his fingers, and Clare had gone to him as quickly as if he were a hypnotist and she his subject. Clare got a job working for a gourmet shop, and what free time Clare had, she spent with Jesse.

  This summer Lexi was determined not to be so lame. After all, this past year she’d gained enough confidence to have her first love affair, with a hunky UMass quarterback, and she’d been the one to break up with him. So she was experienced, less dependent on Clare. She had other friends on the island, after all. She stopped phoning Clare and sought them out, and when she wasn’t working, or collapsing after work, she met friends at the beach or at a bar for a drink.

  She also quit working at her parents’ store and got a job cleaning houses during the day. At night, she waitressed at a posh restaurant, La Maison. She stopped buying celebrity magazines and nail polish, and slowly her small bank account began to grow. She was determined to be optimistic.

  But in her new jobs she recognized, more than ever before, that the distance between her life and the lives of the really rich was immense—an almost unbridgeable chasm.

  The houses she cleaned were stunning, with paintings and sculptures that took her breath away. Each room was a work of art all by itself, the colors so perfectly coordinated, even the island landscape was framed by windows to appear as another masterpiece money could buy. She didn’t mind cleaning the houses—they were so flawlessly decorated, it was like playing house.

  She thought she’d enjoy working at the posh French restaurant, too, but the other waitstaff and the chef at La Maison were a chummy, tight little club who spoke French with one another and snubbed Lexi. And the customers were from another galaxy. Some were older couples, the women with coiffed hair and a Queen Elizabeth kind of style, but lots of diners were in their twenties or early thirties, and these women, just a bit older than Lexi, took her breath away with their expensive clothing and casual elegance. She envied their looks, their laughter—she envied the way they smelled. But most of all, she envied them their experiences.

  As she attended to their every need, offering them menus, pouring more water or wine, setting plates before them, brushing crumbs away, she couldn’t help but hear them talk about their trips to Paris, or the opening of the Impressionist show at the Met, or their little jaunt over to Tuscany. They weren’t all empty-headed bimbos, either, although Lexi wished they were. Some of the most dazzling women were archaeologists, or lawyers, or art historians. Art historian! Lexi thought. It seemed the most splendid thing she’d ever heard of.

  The men who squired these glittering women were handsome, too, some of them, and all of them accustomed to being in command. Lexi was aware of the way the men’s eyes slid over her, taking in her long legs and sleek figure, and occasionally a guy winked at her or smiled as he met her eyes, and Lexi’s hopes would waken. But the men always returned their gaze to the women they were with, and Lexi knew—it was an old, old story on this island—that the most she could ever be to one of these men was, at best, a summer’s dalliance; at worst, an easy lay.

  She resigned herself. At least she made great tips. Yet every evening after serving people with good educations and wealthy backgrounds, she went home to a house that was becoming shabby with neglect, and she would hear her parents in the kitchen, going over the books, trying to cope with the failure of the store that had supported them all their lives.

  She didn’t want to become bitter like some of her high school friends, who made up nasty names for the women whose homes they cleaned, whose parties they catered, whose children they tended. Once or twice she managed to wrench Clare away from Jesse, and that helped. Clare wasn’t bitter. Clare was so in love with Jesse, she didn’t want any life but her own.

  But Clare also loved the island more than Lexi did, or loved it in a different way; that was becoming more and more clear to Lexi. Clare wanted to live on Nantucket after college, but Lexi wanted to travel, she wanted to see the Louvre and the Coliseum, she wanted to hear symphonies and attend theater. At least she wanted the chance to see other places and live a little before settling down to spend her life serving the wealthy.

  One Saturday night early in June, when they weren
’t full, Lexi was surprised to see Lauren, the hostess, whip away from the front door and meet in a buzz with the other waiters and the owner/chef.

  “What’s going on?” Lexi asked Peter, a waiter who would at least speak to her in English.

  “It’s Ed Hardin,” Peter said. “Lauren doesn’t want to seat him.”

  “Ed Hardin?” Lexi peered around the corner at the group of men standing by the door. “Wow.”

  That summer the Nantucket community hated Ed Hardin. A real estate mogul, he was cunning, ruthless, and powerful. During the winter, Hardin had bought up luxuriant, unspoiled acreage between the moors and the ocean and developed it into a mini-suburb of enormous, expensive trophy mansions that drove the wildlife out of their shelter and towered arrogantly above the landscape, blocking the views of longtime residents, providing nothing good for the island and lots of money for Ed Hardin.

  “We can refuse service to anyone!” Lauren was hissing.

  “Get a grip,” Phil, the chef/owner, snapped. “If you want to be moralistic, go to divinity school. We’re here to make money, and Ed Hardin has more money than Midas, so shut up and smile.”

  Angrily, Lauren glared around at the waitstaff. “Lexi,” she said, “you’re getting him.”

  Ed Hardin was handsome for a man nearing forty. He was almost bald, but his eyebrows were black and bushy over a raptor’s piercing dark eyes. When he looked at Lexi, his gaze was like a judgment. Then he smiled at her.

  “Well, hello,” he said.

  Over the summer, he dined at La Maison at least once a week, sometimes with men, sometimes with lovely young women. He always flirted with Lexi, who beamed back appreciatively—he left fabulous tips. He requested Lexi’s table every time he came, and when he was with a man, he leaned back in his chair and asked Lexi about herself. It would have been rude not to respond, and she secretly enjoyed having the attention of this powerful man. She knew she looked good—finally she accepted how her long legs and slim torso, which had earned her the name of “Stork” in school, had become assets. She wore a white button-down shirt and a short black skirt to work. Her blond hair was almost white from the sun. She wore it simply tied back with a black ribbon, a long tail hanging down her back, swinging as she walked.