No Beach Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  “Before I do this last song,” he began, “I want to do something I’ve never done before.”

  The crowd hooted and hollered. “Do it!” one man shouted.

  “Where are my girls?” Oliver asked with a wicked grin on his face. “Where are Eliza and Winter?”

  Everyone in the crowd was looking from side to side, a little confused. The spotlight was sweeping around in search of them. Oliver, too, was scanning his gaze from left to right, trying to figure out where the two of them were standing. His fingers kept stroking soft notes as the hunt went on.

  Eliza could’ve killed him then and there. Her heart had leaped right up into her throat. Winter, of course, had no idea what was happening. But Eliza felt an awful surge of anxiety and panic. She’d spoken in public plenty of times, but this was different. In her previous life, when she was giving a training to Goldman Sachs employees or presenting to an executive board of potential clients, she had a mask on. A confident, assertive mask, but a mask nonetheless. She didn’t have a mask ready for this moment, though. The whole night already felt so raw and vulnerable. If she walked out onto that stage, everyone would see her for who she was, not who she wanted to portray herself as. There was no hiding from the spotlight.

  But there was also no turning back.

  The spotlight operator and Oliver found her at the exact same moment.

  “There she is,” Oliver murmured into the microphone. The crowd followed his gaze, saw her standing behind the railing off to the side of the stage, and roared in approval. “Think we could encourage her down to the stage with me, ladies and gents?”

  Another booming wave of applause and cheering erupted into the rafters.

  A roadie came and found her. “This way, miss,” he said, urging her down. Eliza thought about just making a break for the exit, but as she dutifully followed the man through the guts of the backstage area, she could still hear the crowd making noise, bantering back and forth with Oliver, who was still playing gentle single notes.

  The roadie held open a curtain for her. Beyond that veil was the stage, the spotlight, Oliver. Behind her was the exit. No one was going to stop her if she left. She wasn’t a prisoner, after all.

  But her future lay forward.

  So, taking a deep breath and swallowing back the fear that threatened to take her over, Eliza—with her baby cooing in her arms—strode into the light.

  When they saw her, the crowd reached a new level. It was almost deafening, but it wasn’t threatening. Like she’d sensed from above, it was a warm, friendly energy that wrapped her up like a blanket.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Oliver asked. Everyone answered thunderously in the affirmative. “Glad you agree,” he replied, and they all laughed. “So for my last song, I wanted to do something a little more special, a little more intimate. If you folks could dim the lights for me just a touch more …” The lights went down per his request. It felt like everyone was huddling inwards together, getting close, more personal.

  The single notes Oliver was playing turned into chords, which turned into the opening salvo of a song Eliza had never heard from him before. “I wrote this one just a few nights ago. Haven’t shared it with anyone yet. I hope you all like it. Eliza, Winter … this is for you.”

  Eliza was frozen in place. The song was hauntingly beautiful. But as it went from introduction to verse to chorus, it warmed up. By the time Oliver launched into the bridge—a high, soaring melody that sent shivers down her spine—she knew that the spell he’d been trying to weave was successful. It was a love song in the truest form, because it was telling her—not just in the lyrics, but in the music itself—that it was written for her and about her.

  Eventually, it ended. The last note faded away, there was a beat of silence, and then the crowd exploded. Oliver stood up from the piano, came around to Eliza and Winter, and kissed them both.

  Yes, Eliza thought to herself. This could work.

  21

  Brent

  Late afternoon, Monday.

  Brent hefted his tool bag in one hand and wiped some sweat off his forehead with the other. He was a sleep-deprived zombie at this point. He thought about turning back and going home to sleep until Friday. But he’d made a promise and shaken hands on it. A Benson man never went back on a promise.

  So he raised his fist and rapped his knuckles on the door.

  He heard some shuffling and a muffled “Coming!” from within. Then the door of the house swung open. The man on the other side of it, Frank O’Leary, was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark, curly hair and five o’clock shadow. “Brent! Good to see you, brother. Come on in.”

  Brent nodded hello and followed him in. The house was half completed at best. Patches of drywall were unfinished, half the appliances were still strewn underfoot, and much of the flooring was still yet to be installed.

  “It’s a mess in here, I know,” Frank said apologetically. He was a nice guy. Talkative, for sure, and demonstrative while he spoke, with hands flying everywhere to make his point. He and some old college buddies of his had booked Marshall and Brent for a charter fishing trip the weekend before. While they were out on the water, Frank had mentioned that he was building his own house on some land he’d bought on the island. Apparently, he had run into a snafu that required some delicate handyman’s work.

  “Boy, have I got the guy for you!” Marshall had crowed triumphantly. “Triple B, come make our guest’s acquaintance.”

  Brent and Frank had got to talking. When he finally got around to the actual details of what needed doing, Brent had known right away that he could help the guy out. And when Marshall mentioned offhand that their charter boat, the Tripidation II, needed about a week out of the water for some annual repairs in dry dock, it had seemed like a good opportunity to keep making cash while charter tips were held up.

  “Yeah, no problem,” he’d told Frank with a shrug. “I can do that for you.”

  “Well, would you get a load at the confidence on this guy!” Frank had said to his friends, laughing and slapping his knee. “I like it a lot.”

  That made Brent smile inwardly, out of surprise if nothing else. He hadn’t had what one would call “confidence” in a long time now. Not since Dad.

  He knew what was causing it, though.

  Ally.

  They’d spent just about every night together since their first. Sitting on the beach, taking bike rides everywhere and nowhere. She was a wildfire. As it turned out, Brent might have been catching a little bit of her swagger without ever realizing it. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  All of that had brought him here, stepping carefully through the chaos of Frank’s half-finished homebuilding project. He was tired from staying up late with Ally the night before. They’d started off shucking oysters down at Brent’s favorite raw bar and ended up kissing on the couch at his apartment until sometime around dawn, so he hadn’t got much in the way of sleep. But a promise was a promise, so here he was, tools at the ready.

  Frank gave him the details of the project—some wiring and plumbing that needed to be routed, and a tricky problem with how a certain load-bearing wall had been blueprinted that turned out to need a little bit more finesse than was originally called for. Brent sized up the situation and saw instantly how he was going to fix it. He smiled. His dad would’ve loved to see a moment like this.

  “Yessir, I’ve got a plan. Shouldn’t take me more than a few hours, I don’t think.”

  “A few hours! Man, I love it. I had a good feeling about you.”

  He chuckled. “Appreciate that. Feel free to keep doing whatever you gotta be doing. I’ll be out of your hair by sundown.”

  “Will do. Want a beer or anything like that?”

  “Just a water would be swell, thanks.”

  “You got it,” Frank said. “Coming right up.”

  Brent set his bag down on the floor and got to work. He let his mind drift to Ally as his hands stayed busy. She was like a comet that had come strea
king out of nowhere and lit up his world. It felt like he was learning so much about life from her, although that was just about the cheesiest thought he’d ever had. He squelched it as soon as it came unannounced into his head.

  But it was true either way. She did stuff head-on. No fear, no hesitation. She reminded him of Sara in that regard, although even Sara had more foresight in her little finger than Ally had in her whole body. Again, he wondered, was that such a bad thing? He was tired of being cautious, of being afraid, but he hadn’t known quite how to let those things go. Perhaps Ally was just the right person at just the right time for him.

  “What’s that song?” Frank asked as he strode back into the room with a bottle of water in his outstretched hand.

  “Huh?”

  “The one you were whistling.”

  “Oh,” Brent said, blushing. “Didn’t even realize I was doing that, to be honest. My dad taught me that one. He used to whistle while he worked. I don’t think it even has a name. If it does, I sure don’t know it.”

  “Sounds like something my grandpa woulda whistled in his woodshop back in the day.”

  “Might be one and the same. My dad was an old soul in his own way.”

  “You’ve got a little bit of that in you, too. I can tell.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I know ’em when I see ’em, my friend. You’ve got more years in your head than you do on your body, if that makes sense.”

  Brent had a vague idea what he was talking about. Once upon a time, he might’ve agreed. But now, with Ally in his life, he felt the blaze of youth lighting him up. So he just nodded to Frank and got back to work.

  The hours wound their way past. Brent was just about finished by the time the last of the sun’s rays were disappearing behind the horizon. He stood up, dusted off his hands, and examined his handiwork one last time.

  “Done already?” Frank said. He’d been in and out of the room over the last couple hours, taking care of this and that, checking up on Brent all the while.

  “Yessir,” Brent responded. “That oughta hold you up nicely.”

  “I’ll be darned,” Frank laughed, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. “Mr. Cook really steered me right. You were worth every penny, young fella.” He handed a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills over to Brent. “Everything we agreed upon and a little extra, just for being a pleasure to work alongside.”

  “Thank you very much,” replied Brent. He’d gotten a little more comfortable with accepting tips, but it still rankled him somewhat. Still, a job done well deserved recognition. He felt proud of what he’d done here. “If you have any problems—with this or with anything else—you just give me a call and I’ll be down here to get it all straightened out for you.”

  “Believe me, I will,” Frank said at once. “And I’ll be singing your praises to anyone who’ll listen. Thanks again, brother.”

  The two men shook hands once more. Then Brent grabbed his tool bag. Whistling the same tune his father had taught him a long time ago, he headed out.

  His good mood lasted about three steps past the front door.

  That was when he looked to his left and saw Rose.

  22

  Holly

  This was it. They’d found it. The perfect house.

  Holly knew it before they even stepped foot inside. It was like getting zapped by lightning as soon as they crossed the property line. She squeezed Pete’s hand a little tighter. It had been a long two days of touring dozens of houses, but the excitement she felt right now was going to make all that worth it.

  The home was situated on a vibrant green lawn. Nothing huge, but enough space for Grady to chase a soccer ball back and forth when the weather was nice. There was a young tree that had been planted square in the center of the backyard, too. Holly could already close her eyes and picturing it growing alongside her family.

  The house itself was done up in gray shiplap siding, with plenty of windows to let in natural light. As they walked up the driveway into the home, Holly felt herself getting giddier.

  The front door swung in and revealed the interior. The crown molding was just a touch fancier than she would’ve preferred, and she might like to change a few coats of paint here and there. But otherwise, it was pure gorgeous. The floors were the kind of hardwood that got its beauty from years of Nantucket summer and winter. She could already picture what she would do with the space of the living room as they wandered through it. She’d always been fond of classic Nantucket interior style, so she wouldn’t stray too far from that. A natural jute rug would add some nice beige elements to the room and look fabulous in the sunlight streaming through the windows above the reading nook. A white linen slipcover couch here, a wicker end table there, and some clean-looking lantern lighting to go overhead. She loved the exposed wooden beams that ran the length of the living room and into the kitchen, as well as the cubbies and bookshelves built into the left-hand wall. Blue and white accents could be strewn about liberally—throw pillows, artwork to hang up, perhaps even an accent wall.

  They looped through the kitchen, which was gleaming with white cabinetry, and back to the staircase. They moved to the second floor and stuck their heads in each of the bedrooms. The master was awash in April sunlight, and the two bedrooms for the kids shared a Jack and Jill bathroom setup, which would be perfect.

  Best of all, Cecilia Payne was nowhere to be seen.

  Holly felt like doing a little two-step, maybe jumping up and clicking her heels together. This was the home for her family. She knew it.

  She looked at Pete. “This is it.”

  He smiled and nodded. “This is it.”

  As soon as they stepped back outside, Holly picked up her phone and dialed the realtor she’d already exchanged a few preemptive emails with. She filled her in on everything and told her they wanted to put an offer in immediately.

  “Fingers crossed!” Judy chirped. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one for you two.”

  “So do I,” Holly said. “I hope we get it.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  They said their goodbyes and hung up. Holly immediately called her mom and told her all about it. She, too, was excited for them. “Why don’t you and Pete come by the inn and have a little treat to celebrate?”

  “Wanna go by Mom’s?” Holly asked Pete, cupping the speaker of the phone.

  “Sure thing,” he said. “It’s not too far from here.” Picking up their bikes, they wheeled over that way. Mom greeted them at the door with a hug, a kiss, and a brownie for each.

  “Oh wow, Mrs. Benson. These are better than ever. Did you change something?” Pete gushed.

  Holly rolled her eyes. She knew he wasn’t actually sucking up; he was just being Pete. Fortunately for him, Mom ate that kind of thing up.

  “I’ll never tell,” Mom joked with a wink and a friendly poke in Pete’s side. “Come, come. I got a little something special out for you two.” She led them onto the back porch, where a bottle of champagne and three glasses were waiting.

  “Mom, you’re ridiculous,” Holly groaned, laughing. “We haven’t even heard back from the sellers yet!”

  “I have a mother’s intuition about this one,” said Mae simply as she handed the bottle to Pete to uncork.

  “What’s being a mom have to do with real estate?” Holly sassed.

  “Sometimes you just know.”

  Mom was in rare form today. She seemed to be practically glowing, actually. “Did you do something with your hair, Mom?”

  “Nope.”

  “New makeup?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Dress? Glasses? Earrings? Perfume?”

  “Nothing is different, dear,” Mom insisted.

  Holly didn’t believe her. “Something is different,” she said. “I’m gonna figure out what.” Before she had the chance to go hunting for the source of her mother’s radiance, her phone buzzed. It was the realtor, Judy.

  “That’s strange,” Holly remarked,
frowning. “I didn’t expect to hear back from Judy for a few days at least.”

  Pete looked up at her through a mouth full of brownie. “Could be good?”

  “Let’s not get our hopes up,” warned Holly, though her hopes already couldn’t be any higher. She held her breath as she picked up the call and said, “Hello?”

  “You’re not going to believe this!” Judy exclaimed.

  “Go on?”

  “The sellers accepted your offer!”

  Holly squealed. Mom and Pete looked up at her in alarm. “Already? That’s insane!”

  “You’re telling me!” Judy laughed. “In thirty-five years of doing this, I’ve never had an offer accepted so fast. Good timing, I suppose!”

  Holly sure wasn’t going to complain. She thanked Judy and said she’d get to the paperwork as soon as they were back home in Plymouth.

  This didn’t feel real. But if it was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. “Pour me a big glass, babe,” she said teasingly to Pete, who had begun distributing the champagne into the three glasses that Mom had brought out. “It’s time to celebrate. We’re coming home!”

  23

  Brent

  Rose hadn’t seen him yet. She was unloading groceries from the trunk of her car. He recognized that beat-up old VW Beetle, painted the most hideous yellow he’d ever seen in his life. He’d teased her about it on the night of their first date, over eight months ago.

  “It’s cute,” she had said defensively back then. She stuck out her bottom lip like she was offended.

  “It looks like it’s warning people away from a nuclear disaster,” was his response. She had laughed and punched him playfully in the shoulder. Right now, standing transfixed in the doorway of Frank’s house, he reached up and rubbed the spot where she’d hit him. He swore he could still feel the faintest ghost of an ache there.