No Beach Like Nantucket

by Grace Palmer

  “It will,” he said without hesitation. “I know it will.”

  It shouldn’t have felt that good to hear it. Sara should just believe in herself, right? Wasn’t that what everyone always said to do? Believe in yourself! Manifest your own reality! God helps those who help themselves! True, true, true.

  But it didn’t hurt to have Brent’s faith in her, too.

  “Thanks, bro,” she said with a smile. “Now, if you’ll be so kind, we’ve got a lot to do.”

  Brent grinned broadly. “Lead the way, captain.”

  29

  Brent

  Over the last month and a half, Brent had been getting run ragged. He was working charter trips with Marshall by day, building Sara’s restaurant with her by night, and trying to find time to hang out with Ally in between.

  Being busy was good—he definitely had a little bit of his momma’s spirit in him—but he was dead-freaking tired.

  What worried him more than any of the things going on in his world was the fear that he was headed for a repeat of last year. Hadn’t this all unfolded in exactly the same way before? Hadn’t it landed him in a heap of trouble? Sure enough, last summer, he’d been working hard, exploring a fragile new relationship, and seemingly gearing up to turn a big corner in his life.

  But that had all come crashing down in brutal, ugly fashion.

  Was this destined to do the same thing?

  He really, really hoped not. He didn’t think he could survive another heartbreak and downward spiral like the one that had crippled him last fall. Between the alcoholism, the depression, and the hunger to get his face kicked in, he’d barely made it through the new year. What was worse was that, at times, he hadn’t even wanted to make it.

  It had been a while now since he’d felt that way. Those dark nights seemed like little more than a distant memory. He might be exhausted twenty-four-seven, but at least he was getting worn down while doing things he loved.

  He loved doing the charter trips. The threat posed by the ocean grew a little less intimidating with each new day on the water. And, as it turned out, he was really good at his job. He knew the Nantucket waters like the back of his hand, and he had a little bit of a natural flair for entertaining guests. Most folks just wanted to be listened to. Brent had a knack for that. He understood where they were coming from.

  Plus, he liked to hear their stories. Never before had Nantucket felt so small to him as it did when people came to them from all around the world and told him about their own hometowns. Florida, California, Brazil, South Africa—they’d had clients from every neck of the woods, each one more interesting than the last. When they talked about the food and the landscapes of their homes, Brent could practically close his eyes and taste the seasonings, smell the fresh air, so utterly different than everything he knew. He’d never had what you’d call a travel bug, but out of nowhere he’d found himself daydreaming about getting on a plane and heading for sights unseen with little more than the clothes on his back.

  That was where his mind went when he was hammering away in Sara’s soon-to-be restaurant. His hands would be busy cutting, measuring, lifting, building, painting, but his mind would be in Thailand, France, Chile.

  “Earth to Brent,” Sara said, breaking his spell of concentration.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, can you hand me that wrench?”

  “Oh. Yeah, no prob. Here.” He handed it over.

  “Whatcha thinking about?” she asked a moment later as she tightened a fixture. They were in the kitchen today, installing the industrial equipment she’d ordered from a restaurant supply company with the meager help of a how-to manual and some YouTube videos. Burners, walk-in freezer, sinks, ovens—the works, basically.

  “Nothing,” he mumbled.

  “Liar. You’re thinking about your new girly, aren’t ya?”

  Brent blushed. Thankfully, his newfound tan kept it from showing on his face. Then again, Sara didn’t have to see the color in his cheeks to know that she had him squarely pegged. “Nah,” he demurred, but she knew he was lying.

  The truth was that he was thinking about Ally. Because, every time he thought about some exotic locale, he pictured her there alongside him. It was her fault. She was the other piece of the puzzle that was fueling these daydreams. She’d started talking to him about taking a big trip once her family vacation was over in July. “We could go anywhere!” she’d say.

  “We?” was always his reply.

  She’d inevitably fix him with that head-tilted-to-the-side glare. “Yes, dummy, we. You know that you’re allowed to leave this isolated little rock from time to time, right?”

  He usually laughed and changed the subject, but the thought stuck with him. It had honestly never really crossed his mind to leave Nantucket, as embarrassing as that might seem. This was home, right? Why leave? It seemed like an obvious conclusion. Now, though, everything was up in the air. He could leave. He could go anywhere.

  So why not do it?

  That was the thing about Ally—she made everything feel possible. There were no rules around her, or at least none that she really paid any mind to. She was fun, spontaneous, exciting, beautiful. She drew him kicking and screaming into the present moment. He had no choice but to be fully with her at any given second. Take your eye off the girl for just a blink and she’d be off to something new. He liked that about her. No thinking. No fear. Just go.

  All of which begged the question: if he liked Ally so much, why did he keep finding himself thinking about Rose?

  He hadn’t seen her since their run-in at Frank’s house over six weeks ago. Frank had left the island on business of some sort, meaning that Brent’s phone had stopped ringing off the hook every day. Without Frank in town, he had no reason to go over to that side of the island, though he was just itching to do so. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

  Maybe it was just how unresolved the whole thing was. Rose had cut things off so suddenly that Brent didn’t know if he was ever going to fully recover. Best thing to do was forget about her and move on. That was the only way to heal.

  He just didn’t really feel like doing that.

  “You like her, huh?” Sara prodded.

  “She’s fun.”

  “But you like her. It’s okay to say yes, you know. We aren’t in high school anymore. You don’t have to keep these things secret.”

  “I just told you I think she’s fun.”

  “But that’s a non-answer,” she pointed out. “Do you like her or don’t you?”

  “Can you just leave me alone?” he snapped.

  Sara raised her hands, eyes wide. “Whoa. Sensitive much?”

  “I answered your question, you kept pushing, I asked you to stop. How am I in the wrong here?”

  “There was nothing wrong with the question. I don’t see why you’re acting so weird about it.”

  “I’m not acting weird; you’re being annoying. There’s a difference.”

  Sara started to say something, then fell silent.

  “Nothing else to say? No? Then let’s get back to work. I’m exhausted. It’s late. I want to go to sleep.”

  “We still have to finish getting the freezer hooked up tonight.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that tonight.”

  “I want it done tonight,” she said firmly.

  “And I just told you no. You’re really not listening right now, are you?”

  “It has to happen tonight.”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  “I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”

  “No, you’re telling me what you want to happen. Big difference there, too.”

  “Brent, we’re installing the freezer!”

  “That’s it.” He stripped off his work gloves and threw them to the ground in disgust. He ripped off his work belt and tossed that down as well. “I’m leaving. I’ve got better things to do than sit here and get disrespected like this all the time. When you want
to treat me like a human being instead of a slave, give me a ring.”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer, though he knew she was almost certainly cueing up something nasty to say back to him.

  He couldn’t stand the way she’d been treating him since they started working on the restaurant together. They’d made incredible progress, given the constraints they’d been dealing with. Brent thought she should be grateful for his help and proud of how fast they were moving along.

  But it was never good enough for Sara. It always had to be faster, sooner, cheaper, better, now now now. He knew she was being driven by dirty fuel—bad emotions, so to speak. She was mad at the men who’d done her wrong and she wanted to do something for herself. Brent was well aware of how his sister operated. Still, that didn’t mean he had to put up with the uglier sides of her personality. Family was family. He wanted Sara to succeed.

  He simply had no intention of sacrificing his self-respect to make that happen. He’d come way too far to give that up so easily.

  Brent marched out of the restaurant and into the night. He didn’t have his watch on, but it was maybe eleven or eleven-thirty, judging by the height of the moon overhead. It was a cool, clear night. The moon was bathing everything in milky light. He walked down the road a little ways, still steaming mad. He found a big rock on the side of the road and plopped down.

  He thought about Ally. He thought about Nantucket. He thought about Sara. He thought about Rose.

  But he didn’t get very far on any of those topics before a truck trundled down the street and pulled to a stop in front of him.

  “Well, well, well, Triple B! What’re you doing out here all by your lonesome?” Marshall seemed to be a little subdued compared to his usual.

  “Some folks just don’t know when to quit,” Brent grumbled.

  “Uh oh,” Marshall replied. He pulled the truck over to the shoulder, threw it in park, and clambered out. “Come take a seat on Santa’s lap and talk to me about it.”

  Brent chuckled despite himself as Marshall popped down the bed of the truck and hopped up onto it. He patted the spot next to him. “Upsie daisy, here we go.” Sighing, Brent got up and sat next to his best friend.

  “Visiting your mom?” Brent asked.

  “Yeah,” Marshall replied. “She was having a bad night.” Marshall’s mom suffered from Alzheimer’s. She had recently moved into an assisted living facility so she could have more regular around-the-clock care, but she was really balking at the change. Brent knew that his mom’s unhappiness weighted heavily on his normally happy-go-lucky friend.

  “Sorry to hear that, brother,” Brent replied.

  “I appreciate that, amigo. What’s up in your neck of the woods?”

  “Sister being a pain, as usual. Power trippin’ like a son-of-a-gun.”

  Marshall laughed a little. “She’s just nervous, I’ll bet. Ol’ Dinosara.”

  “I know. Still a pain, though.”

  “You ain’t always such a good-times-guy yourself, Triple B. You Bensons get awfully morose when the mood strikes.”

  Brent punched him in the shoulder half-heartedly. “Yeah, well, runs in the family, I guess.” That certainly seemed to be a fair assessment. Mom had seemed downfallen ever since Dominic had left, though she wouldn’t really tell any of the kids why. At least Holly was chipper these days. Or at least she was the last time Brent had talked to her.

  Marshall asked, “How’s your lady friend?”

  “Let’s not.”

  “Fair enough. Radio silence, then.”

  “Much obliged.”

  “Any time.”

  “You know, you can let someone else get the last word in every now and then.”

  Marshall grinned wide. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Brent sighed in fake exasperation, shaking his head. It didn’t take much to get Marshall perked back up again whenever he was feeling down. He ought to learn from his friend’s example. Bad moods always took Brent ages to come up out of. Even now, he was still simmering from his little spat with Sara. He would just have to sleep it off. By morning, he’d be calmed down a little bit, and the two of them would make up and get back to work. For right now, though, he just needed a little time to cool off.

  “Mind giving me a ride home?” Brent asked. Sara had picked him up from his apartment, so it was convenient timing for Marshall to show up.

  “You got it, partner,” his friend replied. “But let’s just take a second and look at these stars, first. Nantucket is putting on a show for us tonight.”

  That seemed reasonable. No sense in shutting himself inside to brood.

  Life, after all, was meant to be enjoyed.

  30

  Eliza

  After their dust-up in Boston, Eliza and Oliver had been good. Great, in fact. They’d followed the tour around and done shows all over the northeast. Boston, Providence, Poughkeepsie—the list went on and on. Three or four shows a week at a minimum meant that Eliza got to listen to her man play his music for adoring crowds night in and night out.

  A tiny part of her was jealous of the people who got to hear him for the first time. It was like being sad when you finish an amazing book because you’ll never again get to read it with fresh eyes. Every night, she saw new fans fall in love with Oliver. But, to be fair, she fell in love with him all over again every single night, too.

  The next stop of the tour was in New York City. They’d be here for a couple of weeks, playing dates at different venues in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Tonight started the way most of their nights did. She, Winter, and Oliver ate dinner together backstage with the band—which, it turned out, was comprised of the funniest collection of goofballs and weirdos that she’d ever encountered in her life. Shane, Nikolai, Greggy the Eggy, and Meatstick—“don’t ask,” was what she was told, and that seemed like good advice—were hilarious and completely down-to-earth. It seemed that rock-star stereotypes were mostly overblown. The menu for this evening was takeout from a vegan Thai place in Brooklyn. It was actually incredibly delicious. Guay teow, som tam, and a spicy salad with mushrooms in it.

  “Sticking to milk—wise move,” Shane said, gesturing towards Winter with a head nod and a wicked smile.

  “She’s smarter than you, that’s for sure,” Oliver chimed in. “Since when is this a vegan operation?”

  “It’s good for the soul, my friend,” replied Nikolai sagely. “Besides, no one wants to come see a fat rock star.”

  After the dishes were cleaned, it was time to get ready to go out. As the opener, Oliver was on first, so he took a few minutes to finish getting dressed, practice his vocal scales again, and do one final run-through on the electric keyboard they kept backstage for that purpose.

  Then—showtime.

  Seconds before he went out on stage, Eliza brought Winter over to Oliver where he was standing behind the curtains. He did the same thing he did every single night—tickled her thighs until she laughed, poked her chubby little belly until she laughed harder, then gave her a kiss on the forehead.

  “Good luck, babe,” Eliza said, just like she did every night.

  And just like he did every night, Oliver gave her a wink and say, “Let’s hope I don’t need it.”

  It made her heart sing to see how tender he was with her daughter. She was glad they’d come on this tour. It was a good thing for their—well, maybe she shouldn’t quite call it a family just yet. But it felt like they were in the process of becoming one, if that was a thing. Whatever they were, they were glued together by love. That seemed like the most important detail.

  As the show manager counted down the seconds until the curtains pulled back, Eliza followed another roadie to tonight’s private mezzanine area for friends and family of the performers. She got herself a glass of water from the craft table and settled into a perch on the railing, off to one side, where she had a good view of everything. Winter was being especially well-behaved tonight. In fact, she’d been doing pretty well ever since Oliver and Eliza
had their fight. Maybe she’d turned a corner. Or maybe she just reflected the state of her mom’s heart. Either way, Eliza certainly wasn’t going to complain.

  The curtains pulled back, the crowd erupted, and it took no time at all before Oliver had won them over. Eliza sang along, helping Winter to dance, or rather, to wiggle her biscuit-dough-like limbs in the air, which was what passed for dancing for a five-month-old. She saw Oliver searching for them. When he found where they were standing, he smiled. That was enough for Eliza. Just being seen. It felt indescribably good.

  But the height of that warm buzz didn’t last long.

  “Hello, Eliza,” said a voice that she had long ago stopped worrying about.

  She turned around, heart thudding in her chest.

  “What are you doing here, Clay?”

  Her ex-fiancé looked exactly as he did a year ago, like he’d been preserved in a cryogenic chamber. Not a hair out of place, perfectly dressed in gray checkered suit slacks and a white button-down shirt, pressed and laundered. His eyes were just the same as she remembered them—flat, emotionless, predatory.

  “I came to see the show,” he said with a shrug.

  “You came to find me.”

  “This, that, yeah. We’re splitting hairs now.”

  “You stalked me here,” she continued.

  “You aren’t that difficult to find, babe,” he replied, like none of this was a big deal and she was the weird one for freaking out. Her heart was so loud right now, it was unbelievable. As if someone was beating a drum inside her skull. Could it have been one of her social media posts? She was usually careful when she posted for this exact reason. Had she made a mistake somewhere along the line…?

  She winced when he called her “babe.” “Do not call me that.”

  He ignored her comment. His gaze flicked down to Winter, held close in her mother’s arms. “My daughter,” was all he said. That was the most frightening thing that had happened yet. Eliza looked around. There were only a handful of other people here. They were all engrossed in the show and not paying a lick of attention to the nightmare unfolding on this dark little mezzanine. She thought about screaming. Calling for help. Surely Clay didn’t belong here. He must’ve bribed his way up here. That would be very much in line with his character. He’d never been afraid of spreading money around to grease his way into wherever he wanted to go.