She walked next to Henry now as she pointed out The Juice Bar on the corner that served out-of-this-island smoothies, the whaling museum, and the bike store where they would rent bikes for the weekend. A sign, WHEELS AND DEALS, was posted in the window. They zigzagged between the other travelers just off the ferry, a sea of brightly colored polo shirts and shorts. Young children with packs strapped to their tiny backs wandered around, their eyes wide.
She loved being back. She’d forgotten how charming it was, the feel of being on the island, somehow a part of it, yet removed, an outsider come to visit.
She inhaled deeply. “Can you smell it?”
“Smell what?” Henry asked. He sniffed the air.
“The ocean . . . saltwater . . . roses . . . vacation.” She turned to him and smiled.
“Mmm . . .” He breathed in deeply. “Amazing.”
She wasn’t sure if he was humoring her, but she didn’t really care. She finally felt as if she was back in her element, a place where she could unwind but also pretend she was as refined and elegant as the vacationing women around her. She’d gotten a manicure and a pedicure in hot pink before leaving Wisconsin. Now all she needed was a tan and a few Nantucket mudslides.
They followed South Beach Street all the way down to a side street, where a charming, gray-shingled colonial with arms of deep red roses stretching around it awaited them. The Inn at Forty-One-Seventy, it was called on its web site, where she’d booked their room. Ellen liked the geographical coordinates of the inn’s name; she thought it lent it an appealing authenticity.
Henry squeezed her hand.
“Looks like this is it.” He held the screen door open for her. “You are as fair as a rose in May, my love.”
“Bernard Shaw?” she guessed.
“Chaucer.” Henry winked at her as she stepped inside.
A spry man with a dash of gray hair jumped up from his chair to greet them. He was nicely tanned, wearing navy shorts and a short-sleeved pink oxford shirt.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, extending his hand with a smile. “You must be . . .” he paused.
“Ellen McClarety and Henry Moon,” she filled in for him.
“Oh, right! You’re the couple from Wisconsin.” He beamed with what seemed genuine enthusiasm. “There’s some great country out there. I used to go to summer camp up by Manitowish Lake when I was a kid.”
“You’re kidding.” Now it was Ellen’s turn to be genuinely enthusiastic. “That’s where my dad went to summer camp. Camp Manitowish. Now that’s what I call a coincidence.”
He looked at her as if they were long lost friends, and then at Henry, as if trying to ascertain their relationship to each other. Did she and Henry appear married? she wondered. Maybe recently single? Or maybe never married but in love?
“Sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Wes Crowley, your innkeeper. Very pleased to meet you.” He gave a little bow. “Let me take you to your room.” He grabbed a key off a hook and took Ellen’s bag from her. “You’ll be staying in the Nautilus Room, my favorite. It has spectacular views of the island.”
They followed him up a winding staircase to a blue wooden door, where he ushered them into a room framed by windows looking out onto a blue sliver of water. The wallpaper danced with whimsical silver sailboats. Nautical maps of Nantucket and the Cape dotted the walls. So charming! Her heart sunk a bit, though, when she saw the two single beds with their matching compass quilts; she’d assumed when she checked the “double occupancy” box online that they’d get a queen-size bed. But to say anything now would be inappropriate.
“Wow! This is fantastic!” Henry said. “Look at that view.” He walked over to the window.
“It really is. Thank you,” Ellen chimed in. Henry reached for his wallet to give Wes a tip, but Wes held up his hand.
“No, that isn’t necessary. Keep your money for the restaurants and the shops.”
“All right then. Thanks.” Henry slipped his wallet back into his pocket.
“Oh, and look, Henry, there are chocolate-covered cranberries.” Ellen was holding up a basket stuffed with candies and brochures.
“An island treasure,” Wes said. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your vacation.” He handed Henry the room key, hanging from a sailor’s knot. “Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything we can do for you. You’ll find maps of the island in the basket. Breakfast is served downstairs from eight to ten in the morning. Join us anytime.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning to him with a smile. “This is lovely.”
“Enjoy.”
When he shut the door behind him, she flung herself onto the bed like a child. Henry did the same on the other bed. “I love vacation!”
“And you haven’t even seen the stores yet,” she added.
“We’re not here to shop, remember?”
“Whatever you say.” She plopped a chocolate into her mouth, enjoying the sweetness melting on her tongue. “You really should try one of these.”
She threw one in his general direction and Henry lunged to the side of his bed, hopelessly missing and nearly falling to the floor. They looked at each other and burst out laughing, as if already high on the champagne they’d drink later that night.
• • • •
The long weekend unfolded at a languid pace. She checked in with Larry twice a day, but each time he chastised her for worrying.
“We’re fine here. Don’t worry. Have fun. Enjoy Nantucket. Enjoy Henry.” She could almost hear the wink in his voice.
“And how’s Erin?” She winked back.
“Erin’s fine, too. Don’t you worry about her.” Before she left, Ellen had caught the two of them in an embrace in the back room. They were embarrassed, trying to hide their budding romance from her all summer, but she already knew. She had caught the sideways glances and smiles, the cup of coffee that Larry poured for Erin each morning, how they made a special point of leaving the store separately, as if Ellen were a bloodhound who had to be thrown off their scent.
“And the board? You’re keeping up on the drips and tips?”
“Absolutely. We’ve had some real doozies from the glass bowl.” Ellen smiled to think of it. “Today it’s the difference between forgo and forego with a ‘e,’ ” he added.
“A good one!” She couldn’t help herself. It was a common error, using forego to indicate abstaining from something, when really a person meant they’d forgo. She knew the store was in good hands.
For the rest of the day, she and Henry people-watched, taking in the sights and sounds of those who “summered” on the island. He raised an eyebrow at the rudeness of one man who complained that the sandwich line was taking too long, asking, “Who the hell is in charge of this place?”
“Guess someone’s not accustomed to waiting,” Ellen said under her breath. “Some people pack a sense of entitlement in their suitcases along with their sunblock.”
“What an ass,” Henry said, surprising her with his vehemence.
She thought to herself then and there that she could like this man—a lot. Even if they hadn’t slept together yet. Even if she was beginning to wonder if he and Charlotte had made a deathbed pact that Henry would never have sex again. How else to explain his passionate kisses sans anything else? Max had been at her house for three hours and had bedded her; Ellen figured she’d logged more than a hundred hours with Henry so far and nary a move. Nantucket would be the linchpin. If sandy beaches and the scent of suntan lotion couldn’t inspire romance, what would?
The first night, however, had been a complete bust. Back at their room, Henry made a fuss about how tired he was. “The jet lag, the champagne,” he’d explained. In the bathroom, Ellen debated whether to leave her makeup on or take it off. She didn’t want Henry to think she slept with the stuff on; then again, she wasn’t sure if she was prepared to show him her “natural” face. If the circumstances had been different, if he had, for instance, immediately thrown her down on his bed and started kissing h
er, she wouldn’t have cared. She would have fallen asleep in his arms, makeup kissed off by his gentle lips. Instead, she knew for a fact that as she stood in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Henry was in his very single bed, reading glasses on.
She decided to wash her face. The man would have to love her the way God made her or it wasn’t worth pursuing this relationship. With one last swoosh of mouthwash, she opened the bathroom door, hoping beyond hope that maybe he had dimmed the lights, pulled back his comforter for her.
But no.
“This is an incredible book. Have you read him?” he asked, without looking up, a Patrick O’Brian novel in his hands.
“No, I’ve always meant to though.”
“Great seafaring drama when you’re all cozy in your bed on an island.”
“Hmm,” Ellen said as she slipped underneath her own covers.
“I always like to have a few good books with me on vacation,” he added.
Ellen put her head on the pillow, looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, it’s a good idea.” She waited.
At last, she heard Henry turn in his bed, set his glasses down. She braced herself for the warmth of his body against hers and felt a shiver of anticipation travel down her spine.
“Well, g’night, my holly tree. Thank you for a wonderful first day of vacation.” He flipped off the light. She heard him blow a kiss across the yawning chasm between their beds.
Really? She’d traveled hundreds of miles for a blown kiss? She couldn’t believe her bad luck. What had happened to all the lovey-dovey sayings back home, entwined arms and legs that promised more to come on vacation? Had Max turned her into a sex-crazed ninny? Was Henry truly tired? A noble bunkmate? Was he waiting for her to make a move? When she heard him snoring after a few minutes, she knew the latter was not the case. She said a silent prayer for help. Apparently it was going to take some kind of divine intervention for things to go any further.
• • • •
On the second day, they toured Nantucket by bus, taking in sea captains’ homes, Sankaty Head golf course and lighthouse, and the so-called Serengeti of Nantucket. Around noon they hopped off to get a bite to eat in ’Sconset. At a restaurant perched by the ocean, they sat and held hands across the table. Ellen had decided to let last night slide. Better just to enjoy today. Henry ordered buttery, mouth-watering lobster while she savored every bite of a grilled salmon salad.
“Heaven on earth,” Henry pronounced as they traded bites. “We’ve found it.”
“I think you’re right.”
Afterwards, they walked along a stretch of beach below. The crisp waves whipped up to the shore as the tide moved in. Every so often Henry would try to pull Ellen into the ice-cold water, tickling her, ducking around her, grabbing her, and finally throwing her down on the sand for a kiss. It was romantic and wonderful in a way that last night had decidedly not been. She could feel the sand in her hair, a rock poking in her back. She didn’t care.
When they continued walking, she stopped at the water’s edge to retrieve a black rock with a faint white mark running through it.
“See this?”
“A rock?” Henry looked at her quizzically.
“It’s not just a rock; it’s a friendship rock, Henry.”
He stared at her blankly.
“You’ve never heard of a friendship rock?”
“Should I have? Is that one of those things in the trashy magazines you were reading on the ferry?”
She ignored the jab. “When you find a black rock with a white stripe running all the way around, it’s a friendship rock. It’s supposed to bring you good luck—and friends, of course.”
He threw his head back and laughed, a good-natured, relaxed laugh. “You believe that? If so, I have a boat with a hole in it to sell you.”
She grabbed his hand and started walking with him along the shoreline. “But the line has to go all the way around, uninterrupted. Otherwise it doesn’t count. That’s what makes them so rare.” She gave the stone to him so he could rub his thumb over it.
He wandered off to comb the beach by himself. About five minutes later, he called out: “Hey, look! I think I found another one.”
She made her way over and grabbed both stones from his hands for inspection, incredulous at their good fortune.
“Henry.” He grinned at her sheepishly. “You big cheat! You’ve scratched a white line around this rock with another. That doesn’t count.”
He laughed, then kissed the top of her head.
“That’s my Ellen. Can’t get anything past her.”
She felt a pang of familiarity. That’s what Max had called her: “my Ellen.” Except here, on Nantucket with Henry, it felt right.
“It was clever, I’ll give you that. I’ve never known anyone to make his own friendship rock.”
“Well, sometimes, you have to make your own luck, you know?”
“Don’t I know it,” she said under her breath. As far as she was concerned, she’d been trying to make her own luck her entire life. She’d come to think of it as selective serendipity.
She handed the true friendship rock back and Henry slipped it into his shirt pocket.
“We better head back to catch the next bus if we want dinner in town.”
Henry reached over and held her hand as they walked up the beach. Lanie, Rob, and Benjamin would arrive tomorrow (Lanie had insisted that Ellen and Henry have at least two days to themselves on the island), and Ellen could hardly wait.
• • • •
The next day they met her sister and her family at the ferry. Ellen was high from the night before; Henry had finally shed his island shyness, if that’s what she could call it. While he hadn’t pushed their beds together, he had climbed into hers, where she had discovered the freckles running along his ribs, the funny little bruise above his right ankle, the small, rosy birthmark hiding behind his ear. If fireworks hadn’t exactly gone off, a sense of well-being had swept over her, like a cool wave. To think that she might actually be falling in love with a man other than Max, well, it made her feel slightly unmoored—in a good way.
Ellen was replaying the night in her mind when she saw Lanie waving to her from the boat deck. She wore a bright floral sundress, her bob still styled even after the long flight and ferry ride, with Benjamin bouncing on her hip. Rob, dressed in a Green Bay Packers shirt and tan shorts, waved to them like a crazy man.
“Ahoy there, sailor!” Henry shouted out.
As they walked down the ramp, Ellen overheard her sister saying, “Boat. That’s a boat.” She scooped the baby out of Lanie’s arms.
“Lovebug. You made it!” She threw Benjamin up in the air, who squealed with delight, his sun hat tipping slightly to the side. She gave Lanie and Rob hugs. “Hi, hi, hi. So great to have you all here! How was the flight out?”
Henry offered to take one of Rob’s bags.
“Not bad.” Rob gave her a kiss on the cheek. “The stewardess kept bringing Benjamin all sorts of treats, so he was a happy man for most of the flight.”
“Except for the landing.” Lanie rolled her eyes. “Ouch.”
“Did your ears pop?” She asked Benjamin who was now on her hip, his arm around her neck, poking her nose.
“He’s into noses being horns now,” Lanie explained apologetically.
“Honk, honk!” Ellen shouted. “I missed you buddy. Kisses, lots of kisses for you.” She kissed him all over his fat cheeks.
“Henry, hello. Good to see you again.” Lanie smiled.
“Good to see you. Glad you made it here all right.”
“Me too. This place looks great.”
“Can’t wait for my first Nantucket lager,” Rob added.
“Henry can help you there. He sampled quite a few at dinner last night.”
“Rob, my man, I’m at your service,” he said with a grin. “Anything I can do to help, you just let me know.” He slapped him on the back.
“Good to see you again.” Rob shook Henry’s hand. They’d
all met briefly at Benjamin’s birthday party back in June. “Just getting out of these clothes and into my flip-flops will be a good start.” Lanie strapped Benjamin into his stroller.
“This place is so cute!”
“I told you you’d love it here,” Ellen said as they left the dock and followed the cobblestones into town. Ellen couldn’t help but notice that her sister looked relaxed, happy, as if the cloud of suspicion hovering over Rob had lifted. She prayed that was the case. Otherwise how to explain the change from a few weeks ago? Unless, of course, Lanie was secretly plotting her revenge, a murder on the island, a husband gone mysteriously missing like in those television specials. She would have to ask for details later.
“We’ll get you guys settled at the inn, and then you can join us at the beach once you’ve had a chance to change.”
“Sounds like a plan. I already feel more relaxed.” Lanie nodded at a passerby in pink whale shorts. “How can I not feel more relaxed around men who wear shorts with whales on them?”
• • • •
After they’d left the others with directions to Surfside Beach, Ellen and Henry walked to the bike shop and paid for two three-speeds for the weekend. Hers was seashell white with a wicker basket tied to the front. She stuffed their beach towels, suntan lotion, water bottles, and books into it.
“Is this a long ride?” Henry asked. “I’m not so young anymore, you know.”
“No more than an hour’s ride,” she said spritely.
Henry looked alarmed.
“Kidding,” she called over her shoulder, as she angled the bike out the store’s door and around the corner. “Where’s your sense of humor?”
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