Belonging (20 page)

“I don’t really need to travel to do that,” Pat told Joanna. “We have an amazing artists’ colony right here. Artists move here from all over the world because of the light. Something about the way the moisture in the air diffuses the light. And of course, in the summer we have so many people from all over the world who know good art and can afford to buy it.”

Joanna paused before a painting which was like a whirlwind of blossoms: vivid greens, delphinium blues, intense violets. “Now this, I love. I think this must be what flowers look like to bees. Such passion, yet captured, held still.”

“Ah, there you are, Claude, that should lift you out of your depression,” June said.

Joanna turned.

“Claude did that,” Pat informed Joanna, and she hugged Claude, who looked toward the ceiling in great discomfort.

“You painted that?” Joanna asked. “Do you have others like that? Could I come see your work? Are you exhibited in Pat’s gallery?”

Claude made a choking noise, gasped: “Throat!” and left the room.

“Is he all right?” Joanna glanced around the room. No one was rushing after him.

“Did he swallow something the wrong way?”

“No, no, don’t worry, sit down here with us,” June said, patting the sofa cushion next to her. “Claude is the world’s most clever conversationalist until you talk about his work, then he becomes absolutely tongue-tied.”

“He’s tremendously talented,” Morris said, “but just as tremendously insecure about his work.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass him—” Joanna began, but Pat said, “No, no, you didn’t embarrass him. You probably made his day. His week, his month! And don’t worry. I do exhibit his work, and I’ll show it to you anytime. He’s very much in demand.”

When Claude returned to the room, they were all involved in a discussion of world events, and he slipped back into his place in the group with ease.

When the party broke up, Joanna was pleasantly fatigued, and as she drove back to Squam, she followed the Latherns, who left at the same time she did. She steered her Jeep along behind the red lights of their Isuzu, her thoughts still back in the Hoovers’ house: she’d liked Pat a lot. And Claude. It had been a good evening.

The night was darker, thicker, out in the country. She slowed to a crawl on the rutted Squam Road. The Latherns turned into their driveway, tooting a light staccato farewell. When at the end of her long driveway she saw her house waiting, with the porch lights shining like beacons, she laughed aloud with pleasure. The air when she stepped out into it was damp and chilly and full of reverberant rustlings from the bushes. She hurried inside.

Tucked away in bed that night, her thoughts wandered restlessly from the work the Snows were doing on her house to the dinner party and most often to Madaket. She imagined the young woman lying alone in her bed, dreaming of riding her bike through a howling storm, her braid undone, her hair flying behind her like a stormy cape. Madaket, who said she was never bored. Madaket, whose parents had deserted her. Madaket, whom some people didn’t trust, because she could be alone. Something in Joanna responded deeply, instinctively, to the young woman. She felt both like her and very different. But putting emotions aside, it was simply true that Madaket was the best candidate for housekeeper.

She decided to call Madaket Brown the next morning, to tell her she was hired.

Eleven

On a sunny day during the second week of June, Joanna made an awkward exit from her Jeep while up on the front porch of her Victorian summer house on the bluff in ’Sconset, Tory waited, smiling.

“Tory, come here a moment,” Joanna called out. “I want you to meet someone.”

Tory walked down to the lawn and Madaket stepped out of the car.

Joanna introduced them. “Tory, my best old friend, meet Madaket, my new right hand.”

The two women smiled and shook hands. Together they were like night and day: Tory was tiny and dainty and slender, with the pale blue eyes and white-blond hair of her Icelandic ancestry. She wore brief white jogging shorts, a white T-shirt, and sandals, and she didn’t look old enough to have any children, let alone two adolescents. Standing next to her, Madaket seemed the older. Certainly she was larger. She was as tall as Joanna, and broad through the bosom and hips, and though Joanna had come to suspect the young woman had a small waist, she couldn’t know for sure because of the loose dresses Madaket wore. Tory looked very contemporary, very urban; Madaket could have arrived directly from an isolated village in the last decade of the last century. She had the look of a Victorian mill worker about her with her solid black work boots and her simple dark print cotton dress falling almost to her ankles and her hair pulled back in a braid with tendrils and curls and strands escaping romantically about her pretty face. Tory, as always, had on perfect makeup, so expertly applied it looked natural. Her lips were shell-pink. Beside her, Madaket, who wore no makeup at all, was naturally flamboyant, with eyes so black and intense and almond-shaped and long-lashed they flashed like coals catching fire, and the skin on her full rosy lips had an odd violet tint and around her eyes it was almost blue.

Madaket was polite but shy, and Tory tried to put her at ease.

“What a beautiful summer dress you’re wearing. It’s just the thing I see in the Tweeds catalogs. My daughter would die for it. Where did you get it?”

“At the thrift shop. It’s a secondhand store in town.”

“Of course, thrift shops are the best places to find marvelous old clothes. Well,
I’m so glad Joanna has you to help her,” Tory said. “She’s hopeless when it comes to running a home.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Joanna protested, laughing. “I’m an expert on homes.”

Tory waggled her eyebrows at Madaket. “Just mark my words.”

“All right,” Madaket replied. Getting back into the car, she said to Joanna, “I’ll be back to pick you up in two or three hours.”

“Don’t hurry,” Joanna told her.

“And drive carefully,” Tory admonished. “The tourists are crabby these days.”

Once Madaket had driven away, Tory turned to embrace Joanna.

“I can’t believe you’re so pregnant!” she said, gently touching Joanna’s belly.

“And you own a complete and entire house! Come in and tell me all about it.”

Wrapping her arm around Joanna’s shoulder, Tory led her friend up the steps and through her spacious house and out to the shady covered porch. As she stood with Tory, gazing at the expanse of dappled-blue Atlantic, Joanna felt happy, both relaxed and excited—it was so good being with Tory again, and she wanted to tell her everything at once.

Joanna settled into a chair. “Where are the kids? How was the trip?”

“Hair-raising. Jeremy’s got his license and insisted on driving most of the way, with Vicki grumbling that she should be allowed to drive, too. Here, I made you a nice nonalcoholic fruit drink.”

Tory had furnished this house wittily, in what she called British Pukka, with lots of airy Indian and Pakistani touches. The porch furniture was bamboo with lime-green cushions. Chinese wind chimes tinkled. Round glass tables supported by fake, highly detailed elephant legs held small painted porcelain rice bowls filled with chocolates and nuts. At the far end of the porch stood the battered old table and chairs where the Randall family had played raucous games of Monopoly or Clue or Trivial Pursuit by the light of the glass hurricane lanterns. It was all comfortably worn and familiar. Joanna leaned back on a chaise and accepted a tall glass adorned with a pleated paper umbrella and a straw.

“Thanks. Wow. I’d forgotten how magnificent your view is. So much more dramatic than mine.”

“Yeah, but there’s no access to the beach here unless you want to throw yourself over the edge of the cliff and free-fall. But I do love it. Joanna, you look absolutely radiant. How do you feel?”

“Wonderful. I’m disgustingly happy and healthy. I’ve never been better in my life. I love my house. I love having a house. I love being pregnant. I love Nantucket.”

“Don’t you miss Carter?”

“Of course.” Joanna paused, reflected, took a deep breath. “But all this”—she put her hands on her belly—“was never part of any plan or promise between the two of us.”

“I know. Still, I worry about you trying to raise two children without a father.”

“I can do it. Lots of women—”

“Oh, I know, I know, but it’s hard. Without someone to help you love and protect them, to love and protect you. I’m afraid you haven’t considered the long lonely nights when both babies will be sick and you’ll be sick and—”

“—and then I’ll call you,” Joanna laughed. “But I’ll have help. Don’t be so gloomy! Remember, Tory, I’m a woman who was sure she’d have neither husband nor children. I’ve already adjusted to a lot of, well, not losses, but absences. Being pregnant is such an unexpected miracle.”

“Yeah,” Tory mused, “I remember. Hormonal heaven. And they’re so sweet as babies and so fascinating and adorable, and so loving.” Her face grew solemn. “It’s really hard now that Jeremy and Vicki are growing up. They’re secretive. They don’t want me to hug them, or even be seen with them. I miss them. The little ones.”

“From what I’ve heard, Tory,” Joanna said consolingly, “all teenagers disown their parents at a certain stage in their lives.”

“I know. Still, I envy you. You’re at the fun stage. Hey, tell me about your house. When can I see it?”

“Everything’s in chaos, but come over anytime, as soon as you can. I can’t wait for you to see it. I’ve got a father-son carpenter team knocking out a wall between two upstairs bedrooms so I can have a larger study. They’ve got to patch the walls, repair the woodwork, and paint the room. While they’re fixing up my study, I’m working on the screened-in porch. Sorting stuff, organizing materials for two books. Justin Karnes at DBP’s given me an advance. He wants them as soon as possible.”

“Does he know where you are?”

“Nope. I told him my agent will send chapters along to him as I finish them. He can always leave messages for me at Sheila’s office.”

“Such subterfuge! Such drama!” Tory teased.

“You know how everyone talks in New York. Or Carter could go charm Justin’s
secretary into digging up my home address. I just didn’t want to take the chance. I want Carter to feel that all roads are blocked off. No access. Dead end.”

“Do you have a secretary here?”

“No. But, thank God, I’ve got Madaket. She’s only worked for me for three days now, and I don’t know how I lived without her. She’s energetic and polite and wonderfully self-starting. I don’t have to make a detailed list of things for her to do. I just said, you’re the housekeeper. She cooked dinner for me last night—grilled monkfish, rice, fresh asparagus. And strawberry shortcake. It was a feast.”

“You’re going to get fat.”

“Are you kidding? I’m already fat! But Madaket watches my diet more carefully than I would. She’s big on fresh fish and fruits and veggies.”

“I’m glad she knows what she’s doing.”

“Me, too.” Joanna hesitated, then confessed, “I’ve had a checkup with the obstetrician here. He says I need to be careful about salt and so on. It looks like my blood pressure’s getting high.”

“Oh, Joanna, how worrisome. That can cause real problems.”

“I know. Especially with twins.”

“You just have to force yourself to rest a lot,” Tory insisted. “You can’t run around like a madwoman the way you usually do, working night and day.”

“That’s why I’ve moved here, where it’s peaceful and quiet. I’m trying hard, Tory. I’ve read all the books. I’m doing all I can.” To her chagrin, tears flooded her eyes.

Tory leaned forward and stroked Joanna’s hand. “Honey, you’ll be all right. I’m sure you will be.”

For another hour they lay back in their bamboo chairs, sipped their drinks, talked about pregnancy and babies. Joanna was at the stage where she wanted to know everything, in graphic detail, about the way babies grew in utero, and were born, and were nursed and cared for, and Tory was glad to oblige, confessing that such memories were balm to her soul.

A horn sounded outside: Madaket returning with the Jeep full of groceries. Together Tory and Joanna made their way through the cool, shadowy rooms of the old Victorian house and out to the front porch.

“I’ll be right down,” Joanna called to Madaket. Turning to Tory, she embraced her, saying, “I’m so glad you’re here.” Then, halfway down the steps, Joanna turned and
looked back up at her friend. “By the way, I didn’t get a chance to ask—have you seen anyone from the network? Jake or Dhon or—anyone?”

Tory laughed. “Now, where would I see them?”

“Oh, at a party, perhaps …”

Tory shook her head. “Shame on you. No, Joanna, I have not seen anyone from the network, and especially I haven’t seen Carter. He hasn’t called me to ask where you are. He hasn’t called John; John would tell me if he had. I haven’t seen Jake, either. He’s the only one I’d run into at parties, you know. Now come on. Remember what the doctors have said. Forget about them all. You’ve got to relax.”

“I know, I know,” Joanna grumbled. Turning away from Tory, she made her way down the rest of the front steps.

“Take care of yourself,” Tory called cheerfully. “Everyone in New York is doing just fine without you!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Joanna said to herself, and she was in a quiet and thoughtful mood as Madaket drove her home.

That evening, after the Snowmen rode off in their red pickup, after Madaket biked away, Joanna went for a solitary walk—or rather, she thought, a waddle—along the beach. The day had been full and busy, and she was cheered by Madaket’s presence and by Tory’s arrival on the island, yet tonight she was melancholy.

She missed Carter. Terribly. She thought of him on first awakening and on lying down to sleep. Because of her hormones, her appreciation of the world was intense, and every moment of the day she encountered tastes or sights she longed to share with him.

She missed his voice, his warmth, his elegance, the sparks of their collaboration. She missed his body. Even though she’d done everything she knew to keep her life here secret, whenever she heard the phone ring, her heart leapt with the hope that it would be Carter calling. Every afternoon as she strolled down her driveway to take the day’s mail from the box at the road, she hoped she’d find a letter from him.