Beachcombers (34 page)

54

Emma

E
mma changed from her shorts and tee shirt into a pretty sundress before she walked over to the Bracebridge house. It was a funny thing to do, she supposed, since Millicent Bracebridge could scarcely see, but Emma wanted to look her best for this conversation. The older woman wanted to have a talk with her, that was all she'd said, but Emma was pretty sure Millicent wanted to hear for herself about the lightship baskets. Perhaps Millicent would ask Emma to continue working for her. She hoped so.

When she reached the Bracebridge mansion, she paused, admiring the high white building with its symmetry and elegance. It was one of the most historically important houses on the island, Emma knew, and she was fortunate to have been able to work there, even for the summer.

She went up the brick sidewalk, raised the silver door knocker, then opened the door and stepped inside, calling, as she had so many times, "Mrs. Bracebridge? It's Emma."

She found Millicent Bracebridge in her usual place, seated in her wheelchair by the fireplace. The older woman wore a long-sleeved dress in pale blue linen and pearls around her neck.

"Thank you for coming," Millicent said formally. She gestured toward the table near her right hand. "Would you pour us some sherry, please?"

Emma poured the sherry into the platinum-rimmed etched glasses and handed one to Millicent, taking care that the older woman had a good grip on it before removing her own hand and settling onto the sofa across from Millicent.

"It seems we have had a little drama," Millicent began, "that concluded with you quitting your job. I can understand your decision, but I'm disappointed that you didn't bother to discuss it with me first."

"But Mrs. Bracebridge!" Emma objected. "I didn't quit! Your daughter-in-law
fired
me. She phoned me, she told me never to come to the house again." She realized she was almost yelling and moderated her voice. "I told her I wanted to say good-bye to you, but she said if I tried, she'd call the police and have me forcibly removed."

Millicent's face fell. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then spoke with fierce dignity. "This house has been in my family for twelve generations. A Bracebridge has lived here continually for over two hundred years. I had hoped one of my children would live here to take over the stewardship of this house, but unfortunately, my son died and none of the others wishes to make this island her home. It is isolated, I understand that. My daughter-in-law finds it boring. I understand that. History is not for everyone." She paused to sip her sherry, then continued. "It is a difficult thing for someone as entrenched in traditions as I to realize that someone outside the family values my possessions, and me, more than my own daughter-in-law."

"Oh," Emma murmured. "I don't think--"

Millicent gave a demure little snort. "You don't need to think that. I know that. I may be blind, but I'm not blind." She laughed briefly at herself. "I'm aware of many things, Emma, some of which you obviously aren't aware even with your excellent sight."

"I'm sure you are--"

"For example, I'm aware that my grandson is in love with you."

Emma was speechless.

"Do you imagine he used to rush over to have lunch with me almost every day before you were around?" Millicent smiled. "I wish I could see your expression now." Then she continued briskly, as if she hadn't just given Emma the surprise of her life, "It took a bit of courage, not to mention a rather unusual imagination, for you to sneak those baskets out of the house like that. I understand that you didn't want to tell me, but I am surprised that you didn't confide in Spencer. Of course, you were probably trying to protect his pride. He would have known immediately that his mother was taking them. She's taken things from this house before. In a way, she sees them as her possessions to do with what she wants."

"I apologize for the way I handled it," Emma said softly. "I should have told Spencer. But I wanted to be certain before I mentioned it ..."

"The question for me is, were your actions an indication of respect and affection for me, or for the objects themselves?" Millicent took another sip of sherry. "I'd like to think the answer is both." The older woman suddenly leaned forward, her black gaze aimed at Emma, and it gave Emma the eerie sense that she was seeing directly into her soul. "You do not give yourself enough credit, my dear. I might be blind, but you're the one who doesn't see. It would make an enormous difference to me if I knew that someone who cared about the history of this house and this family were carrying on the traditions."

Emma frowned. Was Millicent getting senile? Suddenly nothing she said made sense. "Mrs. Bracebridge--"

"Hello, Grams!" The front door slammed and Spencer came into the room. Seeing Emma, his face brightened. "Hello, Emma. I didn't know you were going to be here."

Emma stared at Spencer and for the first time she
got it
--how happy he was to see her.

"I've been off-island," he told Emma. He sat on the couch next to her. "I brought back a figurehead from one of the whaling boats that a Falmouth family had in their barn."

"Your mother fired Emma," Millicent said.

Spencer looked dismayed. "Oh God, Emma, I'm sorry." He glanced at his grandmother, then back at Emma. "I know she's embarrassed by the whole lightship basket thing. She's taken things before when she's wanted a little money, and we've let it slide ..."

"But taking the baskets was too much," Millicent said sternly. "And firing Emma without talking to you or to me--no. This can't go on." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "The two of you really need to settle things so that I can enjoy the rest of my days in tranquillity." She rang the small brass hand bell next to the sherry bottle.

Almost immediately Patty LaFleur appeared in the doorway. "Are you ready for me, Mrs. Bracebridge?"

"I am," Millicent said. As the nurse wheeled her out of the living room, she said, "Shut the door behind me, if you please."

For a moment, there was only silence in the living room. Emma felt herself growing warm, her senses tingling, her throat dry. Could it be true, what Millicent said, that Spencer was in love with her? She felt slightly drunk, and it couldn't be the sherry.

"Your grandmother--" she began.

"Emma, I want to talk--" Spencer said at the same moment.

They both laughed, and Emma gave a little shiver as Spencer reached for her hand. He was so handsome with his pale skin and black hair and eyes. He was dashing, really,
vivid
, and her heart double-timed in her chest.

"Actually, I don't want to talk," Spencer said quietly. "I want to kiss you."

She was turned toward him as they sat on the couch. He moved closer to her, and touched her cheek and the side of her neck, and sensation sparkled all through her body. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. Lightly first, and then insistently. She kissed him back and accidentally made a little whimpering sound as her body woke up and strained toward him. He pulled her close to him, he ran his hands over her shoulders, down her back, and pressed her hard against him. She reclined against the arm of the couch, and he was half-lying on top of her, kissing her neck, her chin, her ears, then, again, her mouth. She put her hands in his glossy raven black hair and moaned at the silk of it against her palms.

He kissed her breasts through the cotton of her dress.

"Wait," she said, pushing him away. "We can't do this on your grandmother's couch! Not with her so nearby!"

Spencer gasped. "I'd bet Grams knows exactly what we're doing and heartily approves." He stood up, tucking his rumpled shirt into his pants. "But you're right, we can't do it here. Let's go to my house." He held out his hand.

Emma took it.

55

Abbie

A
nervous wind swept over the island all through the night, and when morning came, the blue sky was hidden by flying clouds that let in brief, bright flashes of sun. It was hurricane season now, and storms in the south spun the wind and waves up north into a blustery turbulence. Often the summer season ended like this, with an abrupt temperature drop and a cool snap of fall in the air. It was the season of change.

Abbie heard the wind during the night--she hardly slept. She was so amazed at what Howell had promised her, at what she had promised Howell. She lay on her bed in a kind of happy stupor, revisiting each word he said, each gesture he made. Could she trust this happiness? What if he changed his mind? So many people fell madly in love on the island in the summer, only to find when they returned to their real lives that the love had been only a summer fantasy. She didn't think this was what would happen with Howell. He'd had the opportunity to let her go; she had offered. But he wanted her to stay. He wanted her to marry him. He wanted to have babies with her. And Harry would be her stepson. She hugged her pillow, silently squealing with joy.

At six, she gave up the pretense that she would ever fall asleep. She tiptoed down to the kitchen and made coffee, moving quietly because she knew others were sleeping. She hadn't gotten home from babysitting until midnight, when everyone else was in bed. She wondered how the Marina-Gerry situation had resolved itself. She hoped, for her father's sake, that Marina had decided to stay on Nantucket, but as she slipped outside to drink her coffee on the patio, a light came on in the Playhouse. She saw a man's profile. Gerry, perhaps warming a bottle for his darling baby? So he had spent the night in the cottage. Where had Marina slept?

And where would Abbie sleep tonight? She had no other jobs today, and if someone called, needing a babysitter, Emma could take it, or even Lily.

She wanted to be with Howell.

Setting her coffee cup on the kitchen counter, she went quietly up the stairs and dressed for the day. She wrote a note on the kitchen chalkboard telling her sisters where she would be, and let herself out into the windy morning.

Honeysuckle fell in great white fragrant heaps over fences and walls as she walked through the streets and rose of Sharon bushes tossed their white and magenta flowers in the wind. The air was bracing, full of salt and movement. For a moment, Abbie worried that yesterday had been a dream.

When she arrived at the Parker house, she saw that a light was on in the kitchen. So Howell was awake. She knew he was an early riser. She knocked on the door, her heart fluttering in her chest.

Howell opened the door. "Abbie." He pulled her inside as if she were life itself. "Abbie." He held her to him, and she could feel the racing of his pulse. "Abbie," he said again. "I asked Sydney for a divorce."

Her knees buckled.
So it was real.
"My God, Howell. How did she react?"

He led her into the living room. "I did it over the phone, which seems cowardly, I know, but I wanted to get it
done.
Of course she was furious. She called me a lot of names, and threatened a lot of things--"

"Oh," Abbie said, suddenly afraid.

"It's all right. It's understandable. She needed to vent and attack; she was like a trapped animal. It was more about her wounded pride than any love she has for me." He smiled ruefully. "Believe me, she made her low opinion of me crystal clear."

It was happening so fast, Abbie thought. Her head was spinning.

"We didn't talk about the future much--and that makes sense. She needs time to calm down and think." Howell paced away from Abbie, across the room, then back to her, as he organized his own thoughts. "Chances are she'll throw me out of our New York apartment, and believe me, I'll be glad to go, except for Harry. Harry starts school next week. I'll have to spend some time in the city, for work, of course, but I'm thinking I can come back here, and Harry can come here on weekends. It will be a familiar place for him, rather than a nondescript apartment. And you'll be here for him, too."

"How long do you think the divorce will take?"

Howell frowned. "Honestly, Abbie, I don't know. New York State doesn't have no-fault divorces. They're usually protracted and expensive. Sydney might be mad enough to make it a hellish process."

"Oh, Howell," Abbie said. "I wish it didn't have to be that way."

Howell took her hand. "I can deal with it."

"Daddy?" Harry called from the stairs, and suddenly he entered the room, small and endearing in his rumpled dinosaur-print pajamas, rubbing his eyes.

Then he saw Abbie. "Nanny Abbie!" He ran to sit in her lap.

Abbie hugged him tightly. "Good morning, Harry. What about some pancakes for breakfast?" She felt so euphoric, she thought she could conjure breakfast out of the air.

"Yay!"

They went into the kitchen. Abbie set out the butter and the mixing bowl. Harry crawled under the table, playing with his horses.

"We have to leave this weekend, you know," Howell told Abbie.

Abbie's heart thudded. "Will you close up the house?"

"Absolutely not."

"Harry, your breakfast is ready," Abbie told him. "Let's put Thunder on the table. He can watch you eat. See, I made a smiley face with blueberries." She set his food in front of him.

Howell's cell phone rang. He checked the number, flashed a glance at Abbie, and answered.

"Right. Okay. See you."

He clicked off the phone, and said in a careful voice, "Harry, that was Mommy. She finished her work early." With a wry smile at Abbie, Howell added, "The woman she represented in the divorce case has reconciled with her husband, leaving Sydney's schedule suddenly free. She's in a cab, she'll be here any minute."