No Beach Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  As they went from house to house, they started to see a few of the same faces. That was to be expected. Nantucket was desirable real estate, after all, so Holly had known that there would be other shoppers at these open houses. One woman in particular stuck out to her, though. She was probably around Holly’s age, but she had a tight, pinched face, and her lips were pursed tight like she was forever holding back a rude comment. She was dressed in very expensive clothes and carrying a handbag that cost as much as Holly and Pete’s car. She seemed perpetually dissatisfied with everything in each house where they crossed paths, too. But she was perhaps most dissatisfied with Holly herself.

  On more than one occasion, Holly overheard her whispering evilly to the realtor she was with—an older lady with dyed blonde hair who was similarly decked out in wildly expensive attire and positively dripping with pearls. They seemed to be trading acidic barbs about the people around them.

  At the last house before they went to find some lunch, a split-level bungalow done up in classic Nantucket style, Holly was wandering on her own through the sunken den area when she heard the woman mutter to her friend, “They let just about anyone in here these days, don’t they? Ought to filter out the riffraff. Serious buyers only.”

  Holly almost spit out the sip of water she was drinking. She froze in place. But, taking a deep breath, she forced herself to keep walking and pretend to look out the window to the backyard. As she did, she risked a glance back at the two clucking hens.

  She could swear that they were talking about her.

  It was like someone had punctured her good mood with a needle. She hissed through her teeth and told herself to calm down. She mostly just couldn’t believe that anyone would say something so unbelievably rude about a complete and utter stranger. Riffraff? You gotta be kidding! Maybe you are just overreacting, she told herself. Or maybe the woman was talking about someone else. But Holly didn’t think so. She knew in her gut that the comment had been directed at her. And Holly overhearing it must not have been an accident, either.

  Pete came wandering up, hands in his pockets. “Whatcha think about this one?” he asked nonchalantly.

  She didn’t say anything, just seized him by the elbow and steered him into the foyer. When she repeated what she’d heard the rich woman say, he blinked slowly. “You sure she wasn’t just making a joke?”

  “A joke?” Holly asked, flabbergasted. “No, hon, I don’t think so. She’s just a witch.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions, babe,” he counseled. “I’m sure it was taken out of context. Don’t worry about her, though. I’m sure we’ll never see her again.”

  “Maybe …” Holly said, but she barely heard him. She knew with complete conviction that this woman wanted to hurt her feelings. And she had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t the last time they’d cross paths.

  The realtor who was running the open house called from the living room. “Hi, everybody? Can I get your attention for just a moment? I’d love to give you a quick rundown of the house, if you all don’t mind gathering in very briefly. Then I’ll let you get back to devouring the snacks I set out.” The woman had an easy smile, but Holly was too steaming mad to smile back.

  She and Pete crowded into the living room with the dozen or so other people who’d been wandering through the rooms. The realtor started listing off the home’s history and some of its features, but Holly’s attention was locked on the woman who’d insulted her. She had very few wrinkles on her face. Holly’s thoughts jumped immediately to Botox. A woman who dressed like that and carried a purse like the one she had wouldn’t think twice about resorting to a little chemical assistance in the fight against wrinkles.

  Holly knew that she ought to feel bad about having such petty thoughts towards someone else. Didn’t that make her no better than this woman? Perhaps it had just been so long since she’d been so viscerally taken aback that she didn’t have a reaction ready. “Just breathe,” she whispered to herself. “Let it go.”

  Just then, the woman raised her hand and interrupted the realtor mid-speech. “Hi,” she drawled. “I’m Cecilia Payne. My husband and I are moving to the island. I just wanted to clarify that you couldn’t possibly mean the price you just quoted. I must have misheard you.”

  The realtor looked confused, but to her credit, she quickly got her bearings and her smile brightened again. “Yes, ma’am,” she said apologetically, and she repeated the figure.

  To Holly’s horror, Cecilia laughed out loud. It was a mean-spirited laugh if she’d ever heard one. Holly’s heart went out to the realtor. She had such a happy, easygoing smile, but at the sound of this Cecilia woman’s laughter, it vanished altogether. She suddenly looked uncomfortable to be up in front of everyone.

  “Let’s go,” Cecilia muttered to the woman she was with. “I wouldn’t pay half that amount for this dump.” The two of them whisked around the corner and were gone.

  Holly gritted her teeth. She had a new enemy, and her name was Cecilia Payne.

  20

  Eliza

  Morning of the next Friday.

  The day had finally come. The bags had been packed, the goodbyes had been said, and now there was only the ride to the airport remaining before they took off on their new adventure. To be honest, Eliza still couldn’t believe this was happening. Of all the unexpected twists her life had taken over the last year, this was perhaps the most unexpected of all.

  She wondered what her dad would have had to say about the whole thing. He’d probably joke, and say something like, Trying to be a rock star by proxy, eh? He’d be supportive, though. She knew that much. He had always wanted her to be happy, first and foremost. And the truth was that she really was happy. It was like she’d finally let go of something that she’d spent her whole life squeezing onto with all her might, and only now were the rest of her muscles finally relaxing.

  She had a beautiful daughter. She hadn’t heard from her jerk of an ex-fiancé in nearly a year. She was in love with a handsome artist who loved her in return. And they were about to spend eight months chasing Oliver’s dream.

  This was exciting.

  She looked up at Oliver as he hefted their multitude of suitcases into the van service they’d arranged to take them to the airport. He caught her looking and smiled back. “What’re ya staring at, Benson?” he asked with a grin.

  “Just you,” she answered simply.

  “Do I have something on my face?”

  “Hmm,” she said, pretending to think. “Let me see.” She reached up, grabbed his chin, and turned his face left and right as if she were studying his skin for smudges. Then, suddenly, she swooped in and planted a kiss on his forehead. She’d just applied some ChapStick, so it left a faint smear where her lips had been. She laughed. “You do now.”

  Oliver laughed, too. “You got me there.” He looked down at Winter, who was contently snuggled in a wrap that secured her to Eliza’s torso. “She sleeping?”

  “Out like a light,” Eliza confirmed. “Let’s hope it stays that way for the flight.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Oliver said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to jettison her over the Atlantic.”

  Eliza smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Kidding, kidding!” He laughed easily.

  “You better be,” she fired back at him, brow wrinkled in mock-anger.

  “Besides,” he continued cautiously, pretending not to look at her. “We both know I’d jettison you first.”

  She hit him again, harder this time, but both of them were laughing.

  The flight went quickly. It was just a short jump over to Boston. They’d hardly reached altitude before the pilot was already relighting the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign and prepping them for landing. Winter slept the whole way through, and jettisoning wasn’t necessary.

  Once they disembarked, they gathered their carry-ons and followed the crowd down the bridge and into the airport. “There he is!” called a short, stocky bald man with a goatee after they’d almost fi
nished winding their way through the security corridors. He was standing on the other side of the glass TSA partition, next to a suited man holding up a sign that bore Oliver’s name in big block letters. “Our burgeoning star.”

  “Hey, Warren,” Oliver said coolly. The men met at the end of the partition and clasped hands. “This is my girlfriend, Eliza. Eliza, Warren is the rep from the record company. He’ll be stopping in on the tour from time to time to make sure everything is going okay.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Eliza said, taking Warren’s outstretched hand and shaking. He was extremely personable by aura alone. One of those people who seemed instantly trustworthy, everybody’s best friend.

  “Likewise,” he said, returning her smile. “And who’s this little bundle of joy?” He peeked into the wrap that held Eliza’s little girl.

  “This is Winter,” Oliver said.

  “I didn’t know you had a daughter!” exclaimed Warren.

  Oliver just smiled enigmatically and said, “Something like that.” Eliza’s heart melted, just a little bit. They’d been very wary of this subject over the last year. Winter wasn’t Oliver’s by blood, of course, but he loved her like she was, and Eliza loved him all the more for it.

  “Well, it’s great to finally get you all here. I have big hopes for this tour. It’s gonna be a lot of fun, and it being a family affair just makes it that much better.” He turned and pointed out the man in the suit who was holding the sign. “This is our driver, Avery. He’s gonna take us all to the hotel to get settled in and meet the band. Don’t worry about your luggage—we have guys for that. Come this way!”

  The rest of the evening went by in a flash. Pretty much as soon as they arrived at their hotel room for the evening, it was already time for Oliver to go do soundcheck at the venue for the band’s performance that night. So he’d turned right around and left, leaving Eliza with a kiss on the cheek and a nervous fluttering in her stomach.

  She knew he was going to do great. After all, how many times over the last year had she stopped by one of the bars or restaurants around Nantucket where Oliver played, just to listen to him at the piano? He was a beautiful player and a beautiful singer. Even when he was just messing around on the electric keyboard at home, he was like an angel. One of Eliza’s favorite activities was peeking around a corner and listening to him work on his own material. When he didn’t know she was watching him, he’d get this cute intensity to him. Furrowed brow, stopping and starting constantly to scribble notes to himself in the margins of his sheet music, muttering under his breath, “Yes, yes! Wait, no, dang it,” and on and on.

  He wasn’t nervous at all. Eliza didn’t think he was really capable of feeling nerves. Still, she felt like someone ought to be nervous on his behalf, so if he wasn’t going to do it, then it seemed like the responsibility fell to her.

  She had a nice dinner of room service, fed Winter, who was taking all the new scenery in stride, and then got dressed. The show that night would be at a smallish bar-slash-concert venue that often hosted acts like the Fever Dreams—up-and-comers, basically. After getting them settled in, Warren had filled Eliza in on the details. They’d have a car service come scoop her and Winter up when it was time to go to the show. The car was due at 8:15. That was three minutes away. Eliza left Winter to play with some little toys for a few seconds of tummy time so she could duck into the bathroom and finish doing her makeup.

  “Be right back, love,” she said to her daughter. Turning into the bathroom, she looked into the mirror. She hardly recognized the woman who was looking back at her. Long, curly, flowing hair, verging on messy but artfully so. She had on ripped black jeans and a high-collared black velvet top. The sleeves were cut off at the shoulder, revealing just enough of a Nantucket tan. She applied a few strokes of eyeliner, mascara, and a dark lip color. When she was mostly satisfied with the job she’d done, she stepped back. She looked like what she was—the girlfriend of a soulful pianist headed out on a national tour—plus some dates in Canada. More to the point, she looked nothing like what she had once been: a work-obsessed Wall Street finance professional who took life way too seriously.

  That was a good thing.

  Then, it was time to go. She grabbed Winter, who was dressed for the night in a onesie with a printed slogan on the front that read “Mom says ‘Please don’t buy me a drum set.’” Oliver had thought it was the funniest thing in the world. They made their way out of the hotel room and out to the front of the hotel, where a black car was waiting for them.

  Fifteen minutes of traffic later, they were walking through the band entrance and into the backstage area. Oliver was seated at a keyboard with his back to them. He had earphones in, too, so he didn’t hear Eliza walk up. Biting back a smile, she kissed his cheek from behind and put Winter on his shoulder in one fell swoop. He jerked up for a second, surprised, but when he realized who it was, his face split into a huge smile.

  “Look who decided to show up!” he teased.

  Eliza poked him in the chest. “Rock stars are never on time.”

  He just smiled and pulled her into an embrace, gently sandwiching Winter between them. “Glad you’re here, babe. It’s gonna be fun.”

  “You nervous?” she asked, looking up at him. His eyes were so alive and dancing in the overhead fluorescents. His excitement was contagious, too. She felt her heartbeat pick up a little bit. This was such a huge night for him. She was glad to be a part of it.

  He chuckled. “Not really. It’s just like any other night, you know?”

  “You’re crazy. I think your brain is broken. I’d be a puddle of nerves.”

  Oliver tweaked her earlobe. “Nah. You’ve got the harder job tonight, after all.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Listening to me criticize myself after the show.”

  “Oh, jeez,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Can’t wait for that part of the evening.”

  “Only kidding, babe.” He laughed, then bent down and kissed her softly once more. “All right, I wanna go through everything one more time. I’m on in fifteen, so I gotta be ready. See you out there?”

  She smiled. “We’ll be watching. Right, Winter?” She took her baby back from Oliver’s arms, but not before he pressed a final kiss to her head. Winter waved a hand erratically.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Oliver joked. “Have fun, you two!” He turned back to the piano and wiggled his earbuds back into his ears as Eliza and Winter walked off to the side and found an unoccupied couch. She fished out the pair of baby-sized noise-canceling headphones she’d bought for the tour—didn’t want Winter to get spooked by the loud music once the concert began.

  It didn’t take long before it was showtime. Eliza stayed in her seat out of the way as roadies and musicians buzzed around everywhere carrying instruments, wires, sound equipment, clipboards. There was an exciting thrum of energy in the air, strong enough that she felt like she might get zapped if she stuck out a hand. Her heartbeat picked up a little faster when she saw the show manager come fetch Oliver and take him to the wings of the stage. He flashed her a thumbs-up and mouthed “I love you,” which she returned, before following the arrows taped on the ground that led her to the VIP viewing area along the side.

  She settled Winter on the rail in front of her, keeping a hand on each of her daughter’s chubby little thighs. The stage was dark, as was the crowd, though the latter was swaying and tossing like the Nantucket ocean at night. She couldn’t say exactly how she sensed this, but the vibes emanating from the attendees felt so positive, so warm. Buzzy and crackling, like heat lightning on a beautiful summer’s evening. She realized suddenly that she was holding her breath in anticipation.

  She didn’t have to wait long, though, because just then, a spotlight switched to life. The curtains parted, revealing Oliver seated at a massive grand piano. He had a microphone stationed in front of his face.

  “I’m Oliver Patterson,” he said in a soft, alluring crooner’s voice. “Let’s
have some fun.” The crowd roared, and Oliver hit the first few chords. They came crashing through the mountainous loudspeakers stacked up on either side of the cage, striking Eliza in the chest like a tidal wave. Winter cooed delightedly. She couldn’t help but grin.

  She knew he had won the crowd over as soon as the first note left his lips. It was just obvious—everyone here was on the same team. Her team, Oliver’s team, the Fever Dreams’ team. They were in it together, making not just music, but rather a moment, a night frozen in time where it was so easy to just let go, wave your hands in the air, sing along even if you didn’t quite know the words. It was special, it was beautiful, it was perfect, it was theirs.

  The first few songs flowed one into the next. The energy in the room built higher and higher. Eliza found herself shimmying her hips from side to side and bobbing her head. Never in her entire life had she been much of a dancer. But Oliver had danced with her that first night they’d met, hadn’t he? It was like he saw the dancer in her and was determined to bring her out. Well, mission accomplished, because he was a dozen yards away from her and yet the tug of his personality was still enough to get her moving and shaking and laughing at everything and nothing at all. It felt more like a dream than real life.

  Winter, too, seemed to be loving it. She saw the people in the crowd clapping their hands and started mimicking them, which she’d never done before. Eliza laughed, delighted.

  The songs got faster and more energetic. Oliver had intentionally started slow, but the pace picked up and so did the energy. Finally, after one rousing track that had the whole crowd wailing along to the final chorus, he stopped. He’d been singing for almost twenty-five minutes straight without stopping to do much talking or bantering with the people in the venue at all. Now, though, the lights dimmed to a soft blue and narrowed in on his face.