He smiled and followed behind her. She stood up on the pedals as they traveled over the cobblestones and down side roads till they reached the main stretch leading to the water, where they could cruise on the smooth blacktop path. It was nice to feel her muscles pumping again, the cool breeze on her face. She felt . . . young. On the right they passed one island home after another, some modest gray capes, others with expansive porches stretching around to swimming pools in the back. Their shingles were still a new tan, not yet the weathered gray of older homes. She wondered if these were year-round or summer getaways. She couldn’t imagine having such a luxurious place as a part-time retreat.
Henry shouted behind her, pointing to a restaurant on the left, advertising dollar beers before five o’clock. “We should stop there on the way back,” he yelled, and she gave him a thumbs-up.
Scarlet beach roses dotted the path all the way to the shore. A red-winged blackbird landed on one bush, calling “Conk-a-ree! Conk-a-ree!” She knew from her mother, an avid birdwatcher, that only the males sported the red flash of color with a streak of yellow underneath. Funny how it was reversed in so many species, the male having to be the pretty one, do all the flirting. Henry would never survive as a blackbird.
At last, they pulled their bikes up to the stands and locked them. Ellen took off her sandals, then said “Ouch, ouch!” as she did a little dance on the hot sand, already sizzling in the late-morning heat. She promptly put her shoes back on.
Henry stood looking out at the blue expanse, waves rolling in, as some kids jumped in with their boogie boards. Blue and yellow umbrellas dotted the white sand, like candles on a birthday cake.
“This place is incredible,” he said, his voice draped in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Stick with me,” she teased and helped him navigate his way over to the umbrella stand, where a young girl, no more than sixteen, gave them two beach chairs and an umbrella for twenty dollars. Thick white zinc oxide coated her nose. Her hair was a shocking blue, and a tiny spider tattoo crawled across her bare shoulder. A young man stood at her side, asking her what she did last night, whether flirting or working, Ellen couldn’t tell.
Their chair straps slung over their shoulders, they wandered down the boardwalk to the sand. Henry lugged the yellow-and-white-striped umbrella, while Ellen carried their bag. She steered them to the right, where there was more open sand, and at last they planted their umbrella pole in a patch with a clear view of the water.
He laughed as she tried to undo her beach chair, the thing all elbows to her. He set his down easily then helped her with hers.
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Know-It-All,” she said, embarrassed that she couldn’t figure it out for herself, she the veteran islander.
They looked out on cool reaches of blue, drawing a line against the sky in the distance. “Mmm . . . it smells like the ocean,” she said, a stupid thing to say, but true. She loved the smell of saltwater, suntan lotion, and sand. This was summer. She smoothed the white lotion, warm to the touch, onto her arms and legs. Her chair sat at the umbrella’s edge, her face still in the shade. Henry, however, sat directly in the sun, his hat still on. She had to laugh. “Do you want some sunblock?”
“I’m good for now, thanks.”
“You don’t need to play macho around me. This is Nantucket. The sun’s a little stronger around here.”
“I know. I just want to enjoy it for a few minutes.”
Her anticipation of rubbing suntan lotion onto his back quickly faded. She pulled out her book instead.
“What’ve you got there?”
She held it up for him to see. “Wuthering Heights. You’re not the only one rereading the classics. Thought maybe I’d get more out of the heather imagery a second time around.”
Henry laughed. “Ah, a romance to break the heart. . . . Maybe Catherine chooses differently on a second reading?”
Ellen looked sharply at him across the top of her book. What was he implying? But before she could parse his meaning (was Henry supposed to be Heathcliff and Max, Edgar?), he continued.
“You know, on second thought, I think I’ll test the water. Looks refreshing.”
He pushed up from his chair and jogged over to the water, pulling his shirt and hat off in one swoop. As a wave came up in perfect synchronicity, he plunged in and for a second his body disappeared in the blue. Ellen held her breath until she spied his head, bobbing like a buoy, in the wake of the wave.
“Henry Moon,” she called from the water’s edge, his hat in her hands and her toes curling at the freezing cold. “I’ll admit, you surprise me sometimes.”
• • • •
Around noon, when the sun was straight overhead, the others arrived. They’d ridden their bikes, with Benjamin trailing shotgun in the tent-like attachment that reminded Ellen of a motorcycle pod. She laughed when Lanie pulled him out; his face and tummy, arms and legs, were all streaked in white sunblock. He looked like a little alien.
“Hey, big guy. Nice hat!” Rob set their station up next to Henry—beach towels, chairs, a mini-cooler, an umbrella, and a rope bag teeming with beach pails and shovels.
Ever since Lanie had shared her suspicions, Ellen had been trying to read Rob’s tone and expression to detect any insincerity or subterfuge. But she couldn’t deny it—Rob still struck her as one of the most sincere, nicest guys she knew. No amount of imagining could get him into another woman’s bed in her mind.
“That sun feels wonderful.” Lanie stretched out on a bright orange beach blanket, her body framed in a slimming black one-piece. Mommy tummy or not, Ellen’s sister was still a knockout. The new bathing suit accentuated her breasts (which, Ellen noted, a few weeks of breast-feeding had done nothing to diminish), and her long legs, shining in oil, shimmered with suggestion.
Ellen suddenly felt fusty in her diamond-print bathing suit with its skirt. Her legs, which she’d thought were all right for a late-fortyish woman, now looked lumpy and spider-veined compared to her sister’s. What could Henry possibly see in her? She felt another hot flash coming on, coupled with a wave of nausea.
Rob opened the cooler and pulled out two beers hidden in Styrofoam holders, handing one to Henry.
“Now this is what I call living.”
“Doesn’t get much better,” Henry agreed. He didn’t know anything about what Lanie had confided to Ellen, only that she and Rob were in desperate need of a vacation. Ellen had said it would be fun to have Benjamin and another couple along—and that it would be a nice thing for them to do. Henry had happily obliged.
She watched while Benjamin busily dropped sand into a bucket. Every so often he’d look up at his mom for approval, who clapped enthusiastically.
“Remember when life was this easy? Just a little sand in a bucket could make your day?” Lanie asked.
“Don’t I.” Ellen thought back to her pre-Max days. She hadn’t heard from or talked to him since his surprise visit.
“Hey, isn’t there anything in there for the ladies?” Lanie turned toward her husband.
“I almost forgot.” Rob pulled out a juice box from the cooler.
“Very funny,” she said. “How about some punch with a kick?”
She poked the straw through the juice box and handed it to the baby, then grabbed a strawberry wine cooler from Rob. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
“My wife continues to live in the eighties,” Rob explained to Henry. “And I love her all the more for it.” He winked at Lanie, who beamed. “No one else in the world drinks wine coolers. I couldn’t believe they still make them!”
They all had a good laugh. Then Ellen asked for a cooler herself, which sparked another round of laughter.
Later, the boys took Benjamin out to the water’s edge to search for shells. Lanie shielded her eyes with an upheld palm. “Henry’s got a pretty hot bod for a gardener.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Ellen grinned. “It must be all that heavy lifting of pots and plants.”
“Yeah, right. So, it looks like the summer of romance between Ellen and Henry is official, yes?”
“We’ll see.” Ellen didn’t want to give too much away just yet. She fanned herself, sweat pooling at her brow. “Is it just me or is it really hot today?”
“Um, hello? It’s summertime? On Nantucket?”
“I swear I’m having hot flashes. Look at me!” A patch of sweat had bloomed on Ellen’s stomach.
“Menopause, no question,” Lanie joked. “By the way, I’m glad you made us come.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly make you come, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too. We’ve been here only a few hours, but somehow everything just seems better on Nantucket. Simpler, you know?”
“I know what you mean.” She wanted to ask if the affair business was resolved, but the boys were heading back to their towels. They unpacked sandwiches and chips from the cooler and shared a picnic, while Henry shared the story of the teenage romance that had played out beside them earlier on the beach.
“You should have seen this girl. She couldn’t have acted less interested in the guy, and he was practically drooling on her.”
“Poor dude,” Rob said. “I feel his pain. Lanie didn’t give me the time of day when we first met. She thought I was some poor grad student . . . which I was.”
Lanie leaned in to give him a kiss. “Good thing you proved yourself worthy later on.”
Ellen played patty-cake with the baby when a young woman in a yellow thong bikini paraded by them. The conversation stalled.
“You know, I like Nantucket,” Henry said.
“I’ll see you that ‘like’ and raise you one,” Rob joked.
“Boys, don’t be fresh,” Lanie cautioned. “Thank your lucky stars for what you have.”
“Oh, I thank my lucky star every day.” Henry gave Ellen a quick kiss.
“Very funny.” Ellen could tell her sister was impressed though.
Soon they packed their bags, ready to bike back to the inn for showers and an early dinner of lobster and wine on the terrace. In the natural light, Ellen got a better look at Henry. “I hate to say it, Henry, but you look like our dinner tonight.”
He held out his arms, which seemed to be turning pinker by the minute. “Does that mean I’m cooked?”
Rob whistled. “Dude, you’re going to be in a world of hurt later.” Henry looked chagrined.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get some aloe gel on the way back,” Lanie offered.
“I thought my skin was feeling a little tight.” He tucked his towel into the basket and eased himself gingerly onto his bicycle seat.
Ellen started to laugh, then Lanie, then Rob. “I’m sorry, Henry, but we can’t help it.” She was bent over now, hugging her sides. “If you’re not the spitting image of a lobster riding a bicycle, I don’t know what is!”
“There is something else a home needs to make it a real home and a good place for growing boys and girls. It needs pleasant surroundings and a cheerful outlook.”
—Talks to Mothers
Even the air felt different on the island, crisp, inviting, fresh. Lanie woke up early and tiptoed around in the dark until she found the running gear she’d laid out last night. Vacation, she figured, was as good a time as any to jumpstart her running again. She shut the door softly behind her, leaving behind her dozing boys. She probably had a good hour before either one stirred.
It was brisk outside, the sun beginning to pink the horizon. She zipped up her running jacket before starting down the cobblestone street, which led out to the main thru-road. She loved going for jogs in new places, unlocking a whole new world each time she set out, her feet rhythmically hitting the pavement. Last night, after a decadent dinner of lobster (and a few jokes at Henry’s expense), she looked at the map Wes had given them and highlighted a running loop that was about two miles long. Two miles would be plenty after not having run for months.
Slowly, she felt her blood start to pump again, her breathing grow more labored. She passed the mansions that lined the road, seemingly tucked into every available plot of land on the way out to sea. Except for a few early-morning delivery trucks, the island was quiet. Sprays of roses were slowly opening up along the weathered fences guarding the homes behind, and she watched as a calico cat slipped across the road ahead of her, then ducked behind the shrubs of a day-care center.
Her lungs began to ache, the cold air burning. But it was a good kind of hurt, she told herself, a chill that reminded her of crisp fall cross-country runs back in college. On their late afternoon practices through the Blue Hills, she could always sense when fall was around the corner. Not just from the vibrant crimsons and golds that magically appeared overhead one day but because the air turned so precisely; it was sharp, as if she could cut through the scent of fallen leaves, ripening apples.
It felt good to leave the stress of work behind, the humdrum of their lives. It had been too long. And it felt especially good to be rid of the tension that had been tormenting their marriage over the past few weeks. Oddly enough, it hadn’t been Rob who ultimately convinced Lanie of his innocence. It was Samantha.
• • • •
She took Benjamin into the office one sunny summer afternoon, a rare day off from work, to say hello to his daddy. She figured the least she could do was make sure that her son stayed on “speaking” terms with him. And perhaps she was beginning to feel a smidgen of doubt. What if she was wrong about Rob and Samantha? She thought if she could just catch a glimpse of them working together, unawares, she’d know in an instant if there were anything between them. Maybe that’s what she was secretly hoping for when she arrived at his office.
Benjamin ran up and down the long hallways, chirping “Hi!” in his high-pitched voice to all the office assistants. As they found their way to Rob’s office at the end of the hall, the baby made a beeline for a closed door. Recently her boy had learned how to turn doorknobs, and the shiny metal of the door handle was too tempting to resist. Lanie rushed to grab him as soon as she saw what he was up to, but he beat her to it. The door opened as the words, “Benjamin, stop it!” left her mouth. She gasped at what she saw behind it: Samantha, behind her desk, in a kiss. With another woman.
Samantha quickly pulled away. She looked completely flustered. The other woman was petite, probably younger than Samantha, with a pageboy haircut.
“Lanie, hi. Benjamin, hi. What a surprise.”
Lanie watched as Samantha searched for words. Which was fine because she had no idea what to say either. She was sure she was blushing as deeply as Samantha. She held Benjamin’s hand as he pulled in another direction.
“God, Samantha, I’m so, so sorry. Benjamin just broke loose and he opened the door before I could stop him.”
“No worries.” She smoothed her jacket and looked out the door to see if anyone else was in the hallway. “This is my friend, Veronica. Veronica, Lanie. Lanie is Rob’s wife and a lawyer in her own right.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” She stepped forward to shake Lanie’s hand. She had perfect little white teeth.
“We were just going to get some lunch.” Samantha tried now for normalcy.
“Oh, right. Good. Don’t let us get in your way.” Lanie cringed at the false cheerfulness in her voice. What was she supposed to say? She picked up Benjamin and backed out of the doorway. She felt all her anger, pointed at this woman and her husband for days, suddenly melting away. What she wanted to say was: Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. If it even was a secret. But Rob didn’t know that Samantha was a lesbian, did he?
As she walked with Benjamin (holding his hand this time!), she couldn’t help but smile. Rob’s fling was all a figment of her imagination, just as he’d said. The woman all the men in the office were lusting after didn’t even like men! Samantha wasn’t out to steal her husband or break up her marriage. Samantha was fighting her own battles. Even in the liberated capital of Madison, Lanie knew it was no cakewalk to come out at a
firm like Hobbs & Greenough, where many of the older partners were still stuck in another century. And she had no intention of ushering Samantha through that door. It was her choice to make, hers alone.
Lanie felt a momentary stab of guilt, but not so much for wrongly accusing her husband as for assuming the worst about Samantha. Instead of a quick hello, she treated Rob and Benjamin to a pizza lunch. And it was then that she brought up the idea of vacation on Nantucket. Rob had jumped at the chance. He was smart enough not to question his wife’s change of heart.
• • • •
Now, her muscles working, her breathing even, she couldn’t believe how insane she’d been over the whole idea of Rob’s infidelity. With the distance of Nantucket, she could see clearly that her husband was still the same man she’d married five years ago. That she had him off and running around with some Madison floozy was comical.
After a crazy summer, she was anticipating the fall even more than one short week ago. Because after calculating the numbers again and again and floating the idea past Rob, she had decided she was really going to do it: slow down. Her new mantra. Rob had come home one night to find her raving about a new product she’d discovered in the drugstore, a powder to sprinkle in her hair that would miraculously absorb the oil and grease on days when she didn’t have time to shower. She thought it ingenious. Forty bucks a bottle. It should last her a few months. Why hadn’t she invented it herself? But Rob saw it as the tipping point, the big finger pointing the way to change. “My wife should not have to pay to stay dirty,” he’d said, after Lanie told him about it, sprinkling some into his hand. “This is insane.”
And so they’d had a heart-to-heart. They could trim a few expenses, boost their trips to Costco, cut back on some luxury items, and, after multiple calculations, they agreed they could probably swing it if Lanie worked part-time. On a Tuesday morning, nervous and excited, unable to eat breakfast, she went into her boss’s office and told her she wanted to cut back her hours. Her boss had almost rubberstamped the decision with, Lanie thought, an audible sigh of relief. They’d been looking to cut an attorney altogether; now Lanie and one other mom who’d made a similar request would render it possible for everyone to stay onboard. The perfect solution.
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