Summer Beach Reads

by Thayer, Nancy

  “How’s your father?”

  His thoughtfulness warmed her. “Better, I think. He’s showered and dressed in clean clothes. I fixed him a big fat breakfast.”

  “Yum. I wish someone would fix me a big fat breakfast.”

  When we’re married, I’ll make you breakfast every day, Clare thought. But she didn’t want to seem eager. She wanted him to be the one to push to set the wedding date. So she kept it light. “How about a big fat dinner tonight?”

  Jesse made a kind of purring noise in his throat. “Sounds good.”

  “And I might have some gossip.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Penny phoned. I’m going over later for coffee. She said she’s got a major scoop.”

  Jesse snorted. “On this island in April? Not likely.”

  “Wait and see.”

  “What’s for dinner?” Jesse asked. “Talk sexy to me, baby.”

  Clare smiled. “What about a nice juicy steak with fried potatoes and onions and a big salad to keep us healthy?”

  “Sounds great. And just the kind of thing to provide me with a little extra energy for … other activities.”

  Clare closed her eyes, soaking in the sexiness of his voice. Through the phone she heard someone yell.

  “Hey, babe, I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight. Sixish.”

  “See you then.”

  “I love you,” Jesse spoke quietly. He’d been ragged on too many times by his friends for being mushy.

  “Love you.” Clare smiled. She tried not to be the one to say “I love you” first. It always lifted her heart, made her feel more secure, when Jesse said “I love you” without any kind of prompting.

  EIGHT

  On an ordinary April day, the blue and white Hy-Line catamaran sped toward Nantucket Island. Lexi leaned on the rail, letting the wind whip her hair against her cheeks, not minding the cold damp lashing. She was returning home.

  Her heart raced as the boat skipped over the waves. Two weeks ago she’d made a quick trip to the island to find a building to rent and also to see how she liked being back on Nantucket again. It had felt absolutely right, and the building was a dream come true. She’d negotiated the rental agreement by mail and e-mail and now here she was, with the keys to her new home on Commercial Wharf in her pocket. She hadn’t called her parents or Clare yet. She wanted them back in her life again, but first, she simply wanted to be on Nantucket.

  In the distance, a gray smudge on the horizon indicated the presence of land. Lexi laughed out loud. How had she managed to live without her island? Only now was she grasping how much she had missed Main Street at Christmas, Daffodil Weekend, and the crowds packing the bleachers at the football games. She remembered loving the island for its sun-drenched beaches and bright surging waters, yes, but more than that, she loved it because it was a small town. She loved that babies were born in the Nantucket Cottage Hospital tucked away near the Old Mill, and that those who died rested in the cemetery on a street aptly named Prospect Hill, with its gentle reminder that those still between birth and death might want to take a moment to consider their afterlife prospects and adjust their actions accordingly. She loved it that the island had no malls or McDonald’s. She loved it that the only movie house open in the nine months of the off-season was the Starlight, and she was sorry the new owners had changed the name from the Gaslight, which had always provided the youngest males something to joke about. She loved it that one of the busiest streets in town curved past a pond where a community of spoiled mallards and a few marauding herring gulls lived, and when more people crowded onto the island with their cars, the town put up a sign: Duck Crossing. Please Drive Carefully. As far as she knew, not one duck had been killed on that busy curve. She loved that women had always been influential on this island—all that history she’d yawned over in school now meant something to her.

  The ferry slowed, gliding into the boat basin on the sheltered side of the island. She saw the white spire of the Congregational church rising above the village sheltering along the shore, and the stubby white Brant Point lighthouse, and the curve of Children’s Beach. She saw, in the distance, the golden blur of Moon Shell Beach.

  The ferry bumped gently against the pilings. Chains sang as they were slung and fastened while ramps were dropped into place, and the passengers filed off the boat, onto shore.

  Lexi stepped onto the island. Her new Range Rover would arrive on the big, slow car ferry at eleven-thirty. She’d pick it up then.

  She tugged her cashmere cap down over her blond hair and wrapped her scarf around her face, nestling her chin and mouth down inside for warmth. Instead of going right to her building, she took a detour along Water Street, up past the library and post office, and down Main Street. Even after all her years away, she could make this walk blindfolded. On an April Monday, many businesses were closed, but the lights were on in the post office. An old man limped down the sidewalk, accompanied by an extremely fat bulldog that was almost dancing in its attempt to keep its paws off the cold bricks. Could that be Marvin Merriweather? Could he have aged so much? The dog did look like Moses. The pair disappeared inside the Hub before Lexi could make up her mind.

  Across the street, a woman with a baby in a Bjorn and a three-year-old child clutching her hand struggled up the path to the children’s library. South Water Street was a row of dark, silent buildings. The Dreamland Theater was boarded up for the winter. The various T-shirt shops and art galleries were closed but Fog Island, a restaurant new to Lexi, had a light on far in the back and a sign stating they would be open at eleven-thirty, for lunch.

  She hurried on through the Grand Union parking lot, past Old South Wharf where a few private fishing boats berthed along the pier rocked and bounced in the sloshing seas, and finally she walked out on Commercial Wharf and stood in front of the building for which she had just signed a three-year lease.

  A two-story wooden structure, it was shingled and gray and as square and forthright as a Puritan with its white trim and granite stoop. It was a duplex, with fifteen hundred feet of open space on ground level, and another fifteen hundred feet on the second floor, where she would make her new home.

  It was ironic—and perhaps some kind of omen?—that Clare Hart’s chocolate shop occupied the space next to Lexi’s.

  She would call Clare soon. She would.

  But for now she just turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, entering her new space. Her new space. The floors were hardwood, sanded and stained golden, and polyurethaned against damage. The walls were a white plasterboard, pitted with holes because the last occupant had been an antiques dealer who’d had mirrors, oil paintings, and several display cabinets nailed to the walls. Lexi walked the length of the room, envisioning changes. Dressing rooms at the back, with full-length mirrors, little benches, and doors or curtains for privacy. Racks for the clothing would hang along the two side walls, and she’d display the jewelry in two glass cases along the middle aisle, where she’d keep the cash register and shopping bags.

  She had very little money left—she’d had to sell the good stuff in order to start her new life. When she divorced Ed, she discovered that before their marriage, she’d witlessly signed a prenuptial agreement Ed’s lawyers had drawn up, an ironclad document that left her with no alimony, no assets whatsoever, except for the clothes and some of the jewelry.

  But that was all right, that was fine. She felt rejuvenated, ready to roll. The depression she had muddled in like a gluey swamp had dissolved the moment she told Ed she wanted a divorce. With the divorce she changed her last name back to Laney. Every day since then, she had felt stronger, braver, and more complete. She knew what she loved, and she knew what she was good at, and she knew what she wanted to do. She was free of Ed and that bizarre mistake of a life. She was clear, large, and in charge. She wanted to run a fabulous little boutique that would make every woman who walked in the door feel special.

  So, she needed to find a carpenter right away. Not a contractor
—this wasn’t a big job. But someone good at designing and envisioning space as well as sawing and pounding nails.

  She needed to get her new apartment at least minimally furnished so she could eat and sleep. Unwinding her scarf as she went, Lexi climbed up the stairs at the back of the building. She paused on the landing to unlock the door, then stepped inside her new home. This was an amazing, spectacular place. Oh, it was tiny and bland compared to the homes she’d lived in for the past decade, but this place was hers, hers alone, and that made it a palace.

  It was one long room with golden floors, white walls, and the best view in the universe, windows looking out over the dancing blue waters of the harbor, the town pier, and the low rise of buildings along the opposite shore. No one lived here in the winter—the cost of heat would be prohibitive—but she knew she’d survive the cold spring and luxuriate in the summer.

  The bathroom and kitchenette were at the back of the building. She opened the cupboards, which were bare. She had to go to the grocery store—no problem, with the Grand Union just a short walk away. The moving van was scheduled to come tomorrow.

  Now was the moment she’d been both longing for and dreading. Lexi opened her cell phone. She’d already programmed in the number. She hit the button. Her heart raced as she heard the phone ring.

  “Hello?”

  It took a moment for her to recognize her brother’s voice. “Adam! What are you doing there?”

  NINE

  Penny and her husband lived in a small cottage on a rutted dirt road out in Tom Nevers Head near the eastern tip of the island. Clare arrived to find Penny curled up on the sofa, nursing her gigantic baby. In high school, copper-haired, muscular, sensible Penny had been field hockey captain, star of the swim team, working summers as a lifeguard, so it was no surprise that her square-headed baby looked like a miniature quarterback.

  Clare unloaded the chowder and salad, then made them both mugs of hot chocolate—chocolate was, Penny informed her, okay for nursing mothers. Clare allowed herself a moment of yearning pleasure as she gazed down at the baby, with his sweet bald head, then she kicked off her clogs, settled in a chair, and tucked her feet under her.

  “Okay”—she blew on her hot chocolate to cool it—“spill.”

  Penny paused dramatically, enjoying her moment of power, before announcing, “Lexi’s come back.”

  “Get out!” Clare almost slopped her cocoa out of its mug.

  “It’s true. Mom heard it from Rhoda Rollins, the receptionist at Paul’s real estate agency. And there’s more. Big more. Lexi’s opening a boutique, and guess where it’s going to be.”

  Clare’s eyes widened. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Clare looked stunned. “I knew that space was for rent. But I never saw anyone looking at it.”

  “She was here the weekend you went shopping in Boston.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “I know.” With practiced ease, Penny brought Mikey to a sitting position on her knees and patted his back gently. “You haven’t been in touch with Lexi?”

  Clare ran her finger over the plaid pattern in the chair cover. “Oh, after she left, I got a few letters. I never wrote her back. Which, I hasten to add, was not my fault. Her letters were always postmarked from some exotic spot in Europe.” Sipping her hot chocolate, she reflected a moment, then admitted, “To be honest, I didn’t want to get back in touch. She made me feel like what she’d called me, a provincial peasant with no ambitions.”

  “I’d say starting your own chocolate business is pretty ambitious,” Penny argued loyally.

  “Yeah, but Lexi was long gone by the time I opened the shop. First, I had to slave away for years, saving money. While I was up to my elbows in loans and hard work, Lexi was swanning around like a princess, showing up in newspapers and magazines, remember? ‘Ed Hardin’s wife in Oscar de la Renta at the opening of the Met.’”

  “I wonder what happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why is she moving back here?”

  “Well, you know they got divorced.”

  Penny shifted her heavy sleeping baby to her other arm. “I didn’t know that, actually. I haven’t exactly been tracking her career.”

  Clare blushed. “I haven’t, either! I just read about it when I was in line at the Stop and Shop. It was in one of the tabloids. Must have been a slow news day, no real celebrity divorces.”

  Penny thought for a moment. A registered nurse, she’d worked at the hospital before marrying Mike Stockwell, a contractor so square-shouldered and bulky he looked like Penny’s brother. She’d left the hospital to be a stay-at-home mom. Penny liked to do things slowly and thoroughly. “She must have missed the island. Since she’s coming back here. She must have missed you. You were her best friend. And gosh, you must have missed her.”

  “Truthfully? I really don’t know, Penny. I guess I miss who she used to be when we were kids.”

  Penny grinned. “I’ll bet she’ll have some tales to tell. All the traveling she’s done. The people she’s met.”

  “You’re assuming she’ll want to spend time with us. The island peasants.”

  “Come on, give her a chance.”

  “If she wants to be friends again, why didn’t she tell me she was moving back here?”

  Calmly Penny suggested, “Maybe she was afraid of the reception she’d get.”

  “Look,” Clare snapped, “I’m not the one who started it all. I’m not the one who called me names and left.”

  “No, you were the one who called her names and stayed.”

  Clare snorted. “Motherhood has made you disgustingly rational.”

  Penny gazed down on her sleeping baby. “Rational, no. Some days I’m so sleep-deprived I nearly walk into the walls. But mellow, yes. Really really happy and just, oh, creamy with love, and I want everyone else in the world to be happy, too. Besides, you’re a big girl now, Clare. You’ve got your own great business, and you’re engaged to Jesse. Lexi can’t hurt you ever again as much as she did before.”

  “Right. Because she’s not going to get the chance.”

  TEN

  The house Lexi had grown up in was tucked away down a winding dirt lane off Polpis Road, behind a thick stand of evergreen trees. Lexi parked her Range Rover on the white shell driveway and sat for a moment, collecting her thoughts. The old ranch house looked great, tidy and welcoming, and dozens of crocuses dotted the flower beds on either side of the blue door.

  Deep breath. Lexi got out, crunched up the shell walkway, and knocked on the door. How odd it felt, to have to knock at her own front door. A younger Lexi wavered ghostily around her like a hologram, barreling up the steps, throwing open the door, stomping snow off her boots as she yelled, “Hi, guys!”

  An explosion of barks, yips, yaps, and an odd baritone honk detonated within the house, storming toward the door. Lexi’s family had always had a dog, but this sounded like a kennel. The door opened, and there stood her mother, clad in jeans and a brightly striped sweater, her legs circled by four highly excited canines.

  Lexi felt tears rush to her eyes. Myrna was almost sixty, Lexi knew that, but even though it had been years since she’d seen her mother, she hadn’t expected Myrna to have aged quite so noticeably. Her blond hair was thinner, her face lined, her shoulders rounded.

  Myrna’s face flushed and her voice was clogged when she said, “Alexandra. Well, well.”

  Of course her parents suspected that Lexi was still the arrogant little snot she’d been ten years ago. She had to win their trust back. She sucked in a deep breath.

  “Oh, Mom, it’s so good to see you.” Leaning forward over the wriggling mass of canines, Lexi grabbed her mother and hugged her tightly. The dogs sniffed Lexi’s ankles, their tails wagging like metronomes.

  Myrna scrabbled around in her sweater pocket for one of the endless tissues she kept handy, and blew her nose. “Let’s go into the living room.”

  “Lexi!” Her huge handsome brother ros
e to crush Lexi in a bear hug, then held her at arm’s length to study her. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too.” Adam had gotten bulkier, and his thick blond hair was brown now, streaked with a bit of gray, but he was still her older brother, good-humored, affectionate, strong, the guy who had taught her how to ride a bike and told their parents he was the one smoking the cigarettes in the basement.

  Lexi’s father was the last to greet her. He was bald and jowly, and he looked wary.

  “Hi, Dad.” She closed the space between them and hugged him. He stood stonily, not returning the embrace.

  Lexi spoke earnestly. “I’m really glad to be back on the island. It’s so beautiful here. It’s really home.”

  Her parents exchanged a look, but didn’t reply. The uncomfortable silence stretched in the room until Adam asked, “Drink?”

  Both her parents had highball glasses filled with ice and scotch. “White wine?” Lexi asked.

  “Coming right up.” Adam went off into the kitchen.

  The living room was exactly the same. Moss green wall-to-wall carpet, growing thin near her father’s recliner. A brick fireplace with an antique brass bucket holding logs and kindling. Photos of Adam and Lexi as children lined up on the mantel. The latest picture had been taken when Lexi graduated from high school. Gad, what a bean pole she had been!

  Her mother sank down onto the ancient brown corduroy sofa. Immediately the Jack Russells scrambled to get in her lap, nipping and shoving each other for dominance.

  Lexi sat at the other end of the sofa. “Who are these handsome fellows?”

  “Fellows?” Myrna stroked their little pointed heads. “These are my girls, can’t you tell? Buddha and Pest.” She adjusted them so they lay belly up in her arms. Fondly she gazed down on them, making little kissey faces.

  “Mother wants a grandchild,” Adam informed her drily as he handed her a glass of white wine.

  “Well, it’s a good thing she’s got two children, isn’t it!” Lexi shot back. Wow, she thought, it came back fast, this family thing.