by Nancy Thayer
The room was silent. Then Justine burst into tears.
Nora said, “Oh, that Rory still has a lot to answer for.” She made a stiff gin and tonic and put it in Justine’s hand. Sitting next to her, she said, “Drink up. Believe me, I know the feeling. Here, take some tissues.”
“Thank you.” Justine blew her nose. “I can’t believe Rory had an affair with her.”
“For four years,” Jenny stated baldly.
Justine’s eyes and nose were red as she looked pitifully up at Jenny. “You must hate me to say such things.”
“I don’t hate you, Mother. I hate deception.” Jenny poured herself more wine. “My entire life seems to have been built on deception. You lied to me about my biological father. You lied to all of us about the lost necklace. I missed all those summers of being with my sisters.”
Justine bent her face into her tissues. “They weren’t nice girls.”
“I was!” Meg retorted.
“You’re sorry for yourself because Dad had a mistress,” Jenny continued. “Can’t you spare a little pity for me? Because of you, I missed years with my real father and with Meg and Arden. I’ll never get those years back.”
“Easy there,” Nora chided gently. “Give your mother a break, Jenny. She did what she thought was right. We’ve all made mistakes.”
Cyndi looked up. “That’s true,” she admitted. “Especially if you’ve ever been alone.”
Justine stifled her sobs at the surprise of Cyndi speaking at last.
“I know you never got on well with Tom,” Cyndi said to Meg. “Don’t think it hasn’t troubled me at times. Tortured me at times. But, Meg, when you’re right in the middle of life, it’s like swimming: You have to keep splashing or you’ll drown.”
Justine sniffed. “I get that, completely.”
Encouraged by Justine’s support, Cyndi’s voice grew stronger. “It was terrifically difficult when I was alone with you after Rory left me. You were a little girl, Meg. I was so lonely. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid, alone in the house at night. I know that’s silly, I was an adult, but I was afraid someone would break into the house to steal things or rape me. I worried that you’d grow up weird, not knowing how to act around a man. That you might be afraid of men because you never saw any. When I married Tom, I believed I was doing a good thing for you, and I still believe that. He might not have been perfect, or loving—”
“You’re right about that,” Meg murmured.
“But he never abused you.”
“Hey, there’s the gold standard for stepfatherhood,” said Arden cynically.
Cyndi went on, ignoring Arden. “He never hit you. He supported us all financially. He kept us safe at night. I could sleep. No one hurt you. You might not care for him, but you know what a man sounds like, talks like, acts like.… And something else.” Her voice grew stronger, determined. “You know that some men can be faithful. You know that some men will take care of their families.”
“Rory took care of all of us,” Justine pointed out. “In his way.”
Arden opened her mouth to object. Instead, she picked up a platter and passed it to Jenny. “Have an egg.”
Surprised, Jenny obeyed. Arden passed the platter around. Every woman took a spicy, creamy deviled egg, ate it, and suddenly they were all starving. They reached for the rest of the food on the table. They practically inhaled the little sandwiches, the cheese and crackers, the olives. They wiped their mouths and their lipstick disappeared, and so did just a bit of their tension. Justine kicked off her jeweled sandals and curled up on the sofa with her bare feet beneath her. The rest of the women kicked off their sandals, too, and an aura of uneasy companionship spirited around the room like an incense. As if they were sitting in front of a campfire, in the dark, centuries ago. Just people trying to figure things out.
“Now,” Arden said, after she’d placed all the bottles on the table in reach of anyone who wanted more to drink, “what to do about Marcia Kirkpatrick?”
“We should see a lawyer,” Nora said sensibly.
“Right.” Arden reached out to snap up the packet of letters. “I’ll keep these with me. Unless anyone else wants them?”
Jenny shuddered.
“Fine. We’ll show them to Dad’s lawyer, Frank Boyd, tomorrow. We can’t decide anything until we know whether or not Marcia has a legal leg to stand on.”
Nora suddenly stretched and yawned. “I’ve eaten too much too fast and I’ve got too many words in my poor little brain. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“You’re leaving?” Arden’s jaw dropped.
Nora aimed a sardonic snort at her daughter. “Yes. I’m leaving. Honey, I’m only going for a walk into town. It’s a summer night, and I want to see the lights and move my ancient legs before the blood pools and I die of a blood clot.”
“You’re not that old, Mother,” Arden said.
Justine stood up. “I’ll go with you.”
Cyndi said, “Me, too.”
Arden said, “All right. We’ll all go. My head could use some airing.”
The six women put their sandals back on. They left the drinks and empty platters on the table, used the bathroom and fixed their makeup, swept up their purses, and went out into the Nantucket night.
It was dark. Stars speckled the sky and a salty breeze drifted past. They headed down Centre Street toward the lights of town. They strolled along, not talking, gazing in the windows at the four-inch heels with ribbon straps, the eight-hundred-dollar purses with opals on the clasp, the silk dresses, the cashmere sweaters. They wandered into Bookworks and spent a long time browsing. They headed to The Juice Bar and stood in the long line to buy cups and cones of decadently rich ice cream. They crossed South Water Street to avoid the crowd of people spilling out of the Dreamland Theater. They sauntered past the stately white Greek Revival library, past the brick post office, past The Hub, with its magazines and seashells for sale. On Main Street, several musicians performed, their instrument cases in front of them to catch coins. They perched on benches and leaned against trees and lampposts, listening to a Paul Simon wannabe sing and play guitar. They tossed him money and walked on.
All around them, others were doing the same, performing the much-loved ritual of rambling around a small town on a summer evening, enjoying the warm air, the laughter of strangers, the sight of honeymooners holding hands, or a baby asleep in a pack on his father’s back. For this while, they were lifted out of their daily worries. They felt the satin air, the firm, enduring earth beneath their feet; they saw the luxuries offered up to them by merchants who had chosen the very best and arranged it for their pleasure. A pair of young boys on skateboards whizzed past, brushing their shoulders. A small woman with a large dog tugged on his leash, trying to prevent him from blocking the sidewalk. They skirted the dog and smiled at the woman. The cobblestones of the street had once been ballast in the hold of whaling ships, and thousands of feet had trod over the stones just as theirs did now. This was the past, and the present, and the windows gleamed with promises for tomorrow of dresses to wear, perfume to dab, books to read, and jewels to drape around their necks.
Finally they walked down to the dock to watch the last steamship of the day glide around Brant Point and, shuddering and swirling up foam, slide into its berth in the harbor. They sighed wearily with pleasure, and turned to walk back to the house.
TWENTY-FIVE
“I’m still hungry,” Nora said as they all entered the house.
“Me, too,” Justine agreed.
“We could order in,” Arden suggested.
The three younger women exchanged glances. They’d thought the finger foods they’d set out would be sufficient. They’d assumed that someone, or perhaps all of them, would be too upset to eat. Hunger seemed like a good sign.
“Let me look in your refrigerator,” Cyndi suggested.
Cyndi walked into the kitchen with the other five women following. She opened the refrigerator, scanned it, nodded, and smiled.
“BLTs,” she said, and reached for the skillet hanging from the rack near the stove.
“We usually microwave the bacon,” Arden said.
Cyndi slanted her eyes at Arden. “Would you like to make the sandwiches?”
Arden waved her hands. “No, thanks. Sorry. As you were.” Nora carried in the bottles from the living room. Jenny followed with the ice bucket. The five women gathered at the kitchen table, watching Cyndi work with efficient, agile movements. Soon the seductive aroma of bacon filled the room. She found the cutting board and the large Bartlett’s tomatoes and deftly sliced them.
“You cook like a pro,” Justine noted.
“I cook for boys,” Cyndi explained, adding, “although I suppose now they’re old enough I should say I cook for men.”
Jenny poured herself a glass of water and drank it down. “It must be strange having so many males about. It’s funny how our dad always seemed to be surrounded by females.”
Cyndi paused, a head of romaine in her hand, and contemplated the question. “That’s right, the rest of you don’t have sons or brothers.” She washed the lettuce leaves, dried them gently with paper towels, and laid them on the bread. “Boys are slobs. I think it’s kind of a missing-gene thing. They don’t mean to be, they just are. They don’t even think of doing their own laundry until they’re down to the raggedest, holeiest pair of boxers. They love me and I know it, but they have no compunction about letting me do all the laundry, all the grocery shopping, all the cooking and cleaning.” Turning, she looked at the others. “You know, I think there’s an analogy here for the way men are in relationships.”
“They let the woman do all the work,” Nora supplied.
“Right,” four others chimed in.
“Rory wasn’t that way,” Justine protested.
“Oh, come on,” Nora snorted. “When did Rory Randall ever do a load of laundry?”
“Okay,” Justine agreed. “But he did do a lot of the work in our relationship. He was always thoughtful. He remembered my birthday, our anniversary, he gave me great presents, he complimented me all the time. And when he came to sensual pleasures, he didn’t just dive right in, he—”
“Stop.” Meg waved her hands. “No talking about our father and sex.”
Justine blushed. “I just mean that Rory was sensitive.”
Nora clarified, “Rory was a salesman. He was a natural-born charmer. He was a prince among men, and that meant he never soiled his handsome hands with menial labor.”
Cyndi drained the fat from the bacon and laid the meat on bread slathered with mayo. Arden jumped up to help her put the sandwiches on plates and bring them to the table. For a few moments, conversation stalled while everyone ate.
“To change the subject for just a sec,” Nora said, wiping a bit of tomato seed from the side of her mouth, “I want the listing for this house.”
Cyndi tilted her head sideways. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I want to handle the sale of this house. I’m a real estate agent, after all. I know how to show a house and how to read the contracts.”
“So you want the commission,” Justine said flatly.
“I do,” Nora replied evenly. “I’m good at what I do. I can get the best price for this house. So the three girls will get the most money.”
Cyndi shrugged. “I don’t have any problem with that.”
“Fine,” Justine conceded. “It’s okay with me, then, too. But, really, it’s the girls who should be consulted.”
Nora looked around the table. “Jenny? Any thoughts?”
Jenny made a little movement with her shoulders. “Only that I wish we didn’t have to sell it. I have so many wonderful memories here.”
Nora didn’t allow a detour into the past. “It’s a large house for just one person. It made sense for Jenny to live here when Rory and Justine came down for the summer and holidays. But Rory left it to all three daughters. Arden and Meg won’t be living here full time. I think they’d rather have the money than a place to visit.”
“Absolutely,” Arden said.
“Me, too,” Meg added.
“We can’t forget that Marcia person,” Jenny reminded them. “She says Dad promised he’d leave her a house.”
Meg added, “And that Dad loved her. That she has letters from him attesting to that. Attesting is the wrong word in this case, though. I guess I mean—”
Arden cut her off. “Enough with the diction lesson, English major. The point is, I believe Dad told her he loved her and told her he’d leave her a house, but he didn’t actually leave her a house.”
“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Nora said. “If she’d had a binding legal document, she would have shown it to us today. We’ll speak with a lawyer tomorrow, but I know something about the difference between legal wills and earnest promises. Any real estate agent knows.”
“But if Dad promised her …,” Meg began, unsure of exactly what she meant.
“Do you want to give her something?” Nora asked.
“No!” Jenny cried. Then she looked confused. “But maybe we should?”
Justine said, “Why? You don’t owe her anything. I certainly don’t owe her anything.”
“I think it’s up to the girls,” Nora decided.
Jenny, Arden, and Meg spent a few moments calculating their thoughts.
Meg spoke first. “If Dad really loved her, I think he would have given her something if he’d known he was going to die.”
“He’d had a heart attack,” Justine argued. “He was lying in the hospital, he asked his lawyer to come in, he made sure his will was in order.”
“When you were home showering, Mom,” Jenny interjected, “Dad added the stipulation about Meg, Arden, me, and the house. Why didn’t he make a provision for Marcia then?”
“I don’t think he truly believed he was going to die,” Justine responded. “None of us did. It was a serious heart attack, sure, but he was recovering. He was sitting up in the hospital bed, talking, laughing, joking. His color was good. He was only sixty.” She was tearing up as she spoke. “How could he have mentioned Marcia, anyway? You were always with him in the room, or I was. He never had a moment alone with Frank Boyd.”
“So,” Nora summed up, “we really can’t be sure what Rory would have done for Marcia, legally, if he’d known he was going to die.”
Very quietly, Arden said, “But we do know, because of the letters he sent her, that he loved her.”
The others stared, confused.
“I read them,” she confessed.
“What?” Meg asked. “When?”
“Just a few moments ago. I took them with me into the bathroom. I scanned them. I know his handwriting. Dad was wild for her. He—”
Jenny held out her hands. “Stop! I don’t want the details!”
“Why wasn’t I enough for him?” Justine wailed. “For God’s sake, he wasn’t a young man anymore! Couldn’t he slow down?” Justine’s cry sent a wave of laughter around the room. “It’s not funny!” Justine protested.
Nora kept on track, even though she was grinning. “Anything about a house?” she asked her daughter.
“Nothing. It was all romantic stuff,” Arden told her.
“Oh, ick.” Jenny covered her face with her hands.
Coolly, Nora recalled, “Marcia worked in Rory’s real estate office, right?”
“For fifteen years,” Arden said.
“Okay, then. Give me the letters, Arden. I’ll talk to the lawyer, and I’ll handle Marcia. I’ll work with her on the sale of the house, and she can take the seller’s commission. That won’t buy her a house, but it should give her a nice bunch of cash. I think Rory would like that.”
“I think he would, too,” Cyndi added.
“Fine,” Justine acquiesced.
“Jenny, I’ll help you find a house of your own on the island, and I won’t charge you a commission when you buy it.”
Justine raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Sounds like a good deal, Jenny
.”
Jenny nodded. “Okay.”
Meg and Arden nodded their agreement.
“Good. Now,” Nora continued, crossing her arms on the table, “I think you three should get the house ready to be shown.”
“What?” Jenny almost shrieked. “Not yet! We’re still living in it. The summer isn’t over.”
“It’s August. People with money are here. They’ll be ripe to purchase a place on pleasure island. Plus, consider this, Jenny. Meg has to leave in September. She’s got to get back to work. She’s got a freshman English program to run. Arden will leave early in September, too, for Houston. Do you want to do all the work of getting the house ready to show by yourself?”
Jenny shrugged. “How much work can there be? The house is in great shape.”
Justine said quietly, “All of Rory’s Nantucket clothing is still in our bedroom closet here. I suppose I should box it up for The Seconds Shop.”
“Brilliant,” Nora said. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking we need right now. Justine, you should box up your stuff, too, and ship it to your house in Belmont. Also, any of your artwork or vases, whatever is personally important to you. Go through the bathrooms, toss all the old prescriptions, Rory’s shaving stuff, sunblock, and so on. First rule is to get rid of clutter.”
“It’s so sad,” Jenny said. “What you call clutter is my life.”
Nora smiled at Jenny. “Honey, you’re young. You’ve been living free off your father for too long. It’s time to move on.”
Jenny glanced at her mother, slightly hoping for some objection.
Justine smiled, too, gently. “Nora’s right.”
Nora continued, “We’ve all got to move on, really. The six of us. Here we are, the Rory Randall fan club—”
“—with the exception of Marcia Kirkpatrick,” Arden reminded her.
Meg quipped, “The We Love Rory Randall Even Though He Was a Sneaky Shit Club. Very exclusive.”
“No entrance fee,” Arden joked.
“Because we’ve already paid it,” Cyndi said.
Startled by Cyndi’s addition to the conversation, everyone laughed, and the atmosphere lightened.