Enchanted August (24 page)

“That was really fun,” said Caroline. “Really beautiful, actually. Thanks, Robert.”

“Oh. Yes. Thanks.”

She hesitated for a moment. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Right. See you in the morning.”

Robert went up to the boys' dorm room, where he had been staying since he'd got here. What an idiot not to have offered her a drink or made a fire or done
something
. The lost moment of all time.

He ran the water hard in the bathroom as he brushed his teeth con brio. Who cared if he woke up the place? He climbed unhappily into bed but after two minutes he knew he wouldn't sleep, and not because of the light of the moon. He needed to be in his own space to think about everything that had gone on tonight. This dorm room was not home for him.

Carefully, quietly, he moved the trunk away from the door to the third floor. If he could just look out his own windows onto the sea he could maybe straighten out his head. Were any of his feelings genuine? Or did he just fall in love with every single woman who liked this island, this house?

He crept up the stairs to his own beloved room. No need for the brash overhead light; not with this moon.

There was Caroline, sitting on the old horsehair couch, a lute in her arms.

“That's not how you hold it,” he told her.

“Then show me,” she said.

F
red's heart was pounding from climbing this cliff. At the top were Rose and the kids, and he had to get there before school started. The cliff kept getting higher and garbage trucks were rolling by, which meant they'd all be late for school. He was almost there in time to rescue them when he looked up and saw Caroline Dester pushing Bea's stroller. He shouted and shouted, “Where's Rose?” and then he lost his footing and he started to fall—

He awoke with a jolt, pulse racing. He sat up and oriented himself in the room. Thin gray light was coming in from the window. Rose was asleep beside him. He was at the cottage where Rose was staying for the month of August. And, in the light of day, to his complete horror and distress, he realized that Caroline Dester might be staying here too.

He tried to piece it all together. Rose was sharing the cottage with the other woman from Park Slope, Lottie. Fine. Lottie's husband was here, and their kid. The guy who owned this place was named Robert. And there was an older man with a woman's name.

But Caroline Dester had specifically said she was on Little Lost Island. Was Caroline here too? His mind exploded a little.

He got up as quietly as he could but the bed creaked and the floorboards creaked. Rose turned to him and half-opened her eyes.

“I have to pee,” Fred whispered.

He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his waist. It gave him enough yardage to conceal his jeans, which he swept up on the way out of the room. In his jeans was his phone. And in his phone were the messages from Caroline. He could scroll through them again to see if she'd said the name of the place she was staying. And then delete them all. Permanently. If I have any luck at all, he thought, she will be at some other massive cottage on this island and I will never see her. Just do not be staying here. Please.

His phone was dead. Shit.

He thought it through as he peed. If she's here, I find her, tell her it was all a gigantic mistake, and beg her not to tell Rose. What a pussy. Or I just deny it all. If he told Rose the truth now it would crush the fragile thing they'd just built up again last night. And he wanted to rebuild it. The Caroline thing—which wasn't even a thing—was what a teenager did, not a grown man with a wife he loved. It wasn't worthy of him and it wasn't worthy of Rose.

He would get to Caroline Dester before she got to Rose. He had no idea how. He just hoped the fates were with him.

Rose was out of bed when he got back to the room. Her skin was so pretty in this early light. “Rose, can I tell you something?”

“I know. You love me,” Rose said, and kissed him. “You have made that amply clear. But now I'm starving and I think all that noise from the kitchen means somebody is making us breakfast. Let's go see. And
then
back to bed.”

Fred followed Rose down the hall to the kitchen. The source of the clattering was the older man. What was his name?

“Good morning, Beverly,” said Rose.

“Hello, Rose,” said Beverly. “I'm cleaning up. The kitchen was left a shambles last night but I've still managed to produce some lemon muffins. They're in the oven.”

“I thought I smelled something baking,” she said. “You're the best.” She smiled at Fred. “I make the downstairs coffee,” she told him. “Beverly keeps taking his pot upstairs so he doesn't have to share with anyone.”

“You're lucky I'm going deaf, or I would have heard that,” said Beverly.

Fred laughed, a little too hard.

“Rose, can you set the table?” asked Beverly. “We all had a late night last night and I suspect many of you young people have worked up an appetite.” He looked in the oven, the homey smell of the baking almost putting Fred at ease. Nothing truly bad could happen here. “The muffins will be out of the oven soon. I'm just about to put the bacon on. And perhaps it won't tax you too much to scramble some eggs?”

“I can scramble eggs,” said Fred. It would give him something to do. But first he had to find out if Caroline Dester was here. He went to the base of the stairs and looked up.

“They're in the refrigerator,” Beverly said. “But did you want a tour first?”

“Nope, no,” said Fred. Better not act too jumpy. “Just getting my bearings.” Take the plunge. “Where does everyone sleep in this place?”

Rose started the coffee and got out a couple of mugs. “This can be yours,” she said, holding one out to him. “The jokey lobster pot one. And here are the eggs.” She handed him the container. “They're from the market boat.”

“Great. So, how did you divide up the rooms?”

“Oh, right,” Rose said. “Lottie and Jon sleep down here on this floor. Ethan, too. Beverly chose one of the turret rooms, didn't you, Beverly?”

“And a lovely room it is, too,” he said.

“Robert's in the dorm room.”

“We think,” said Beverly. “I suspect there were some shenanigans last night.”

“Shenanigans! What a hip word for you, Beverly.”

“It's a very old word, and appropriate in this case.”

“Ooh,” said Rose, “what does that mean? Did I miss something?”

Still no mention of Caroline Dester. Maybe, Fred, maybe you will have a narrow escape.

“Good morning, Beverly,” said Lottie as she came into the kitchen. “Hello, Rose and husband Fred. I didn't think you two would be up for ages.”

“Fred got up at dawn with a bad dream and I couldn't get back to sleep. So here we are.”

“The bacon smells so good, Beverly,” said Jon. “Should I make another pot of coffee?”

“I think so,” said Lottie. “Then there'll be enough for all of us.”

“Rose, you missed the play last night,” Lottie said. “Robert played piano! I think he was completely smitten with our Captain Hook.”

“You can drain the bacon on paper bags,” said Beverly. “Lottie, I can't open the oven with you there.”

“Robert and Captain Hook! Were those the shenanigans, Beverly?” said Rose.

“I wouldn't know,” said Beverly. “Although it seems to me this cottage has been enlivened. How are those eggs coming, Fred? I don't think you've cracked a single one.”

“I'll get on it,” said Fred. “Sorry.”

Someone was clattering down the stairs. Either it was Robert or it was Captain Hook or it was Caroline Dester. He smashed an egg onto the rim of the bowl.

“Hello, all!”

It was Robert, their host. Solo.

“Good morning, Robert,” said Lottie. “Good night?”

“Very good night,” he said. He was blushing furiously. Even Fred in his distress noticed that.

“We're just about ready,” said Beverly.

“I put out the willow plates in your honor,” said Rose. “Let's sit down.”

Jon finished cooking the bacon, Lottie made the toast, Fred scorched the eggs, and they sat down at the table.

“Here's to Hopewell,” said Jon, raising his coffee mug to Robert.

They all did the same. “To Hopewell,” said Rose.

“Am I missing something?”

The voice of a goddess struck Fred's skull like a baseball bat. His mug fell out of his hand and spilled half its contents all over the table.

“Oh, God. Sorry, sorry,” said Fred. He stood up and shook his head violently in Caroline's direction. “What a mistake. Sorry. I'm Fred. Fred Arbuthnot.”

“It's okay, Fred,” Rose said. “Not a big deal. You caught it fast. This is my husband, Caroline. Fred.”

“Fred?” asked Caroline. Her brow wrinkled just the tiniest bit.

Why did I send her that picture? Vanity, vanity! “I'm Fred. Fred Arbuthnot.” Don't call me Mike McGowan. Please do not call me Mike McGowan. “Rose's husband.” His eyes implored her. Truly. Please.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment.

“
Enchantée
,” said Caroline.

And then she didn't give him a second glance.

“Pass the bacon, Lottie,” she said. “I'm starving.”

 • • • 

Thursday morning's breakfast lasted for hours. Robert finally had what he had spent so many years imagining at this place: actual friends around the table who liked each other. A woman he could barely keep his hands off. A future that would not be alone.

He and Caroline spent practically all day Thursday and Friday in bed. He didn't know there were so many things you could do with a lute. Friday night they were all ravenous, and Beverly had prepared a feast of bouillabaisse, green salad, crisp French bread, and a lemon tart for dessert. On Saturday Caroline said she wanted to know all the secrets of the island, so he took her to the tiny museum in the back of the tearoom, which entranced her. By the time she started in on her third scrapbook (Island Tennis, 1922–1927), even he was antsy.

“Let me stay here a minute, Robert. I know you've seen it all before but I can't get enough of these photos.”

Reluctantly, he left her. He kissed her good-bye and thought, I should really just drape myself around her shoulders like a cat. Instead, he walked back to the cottage. The wind was really gusting now. The sky was looking grim. The rain was going to start soon.

When he got to the cottage, Rose was collecting her bag and looking a little harried. “Robert, I'm almost beginning to think you need Wi-Fi here,” she said. “Or at least a landline that calls long distance. I feel like I haven't talked to the kids in ages. And now Fred's here too, so we need to know they're okay. I think I can make the two thirty ferry if I hurry.”

“The wind is really bad out there,” said Robert.

“I know. I can't do FaceTime here and I promised. Do you think the ferry is even running?”

“The ferry always runs.”

Robert hated to see Rose head across to the other side with the weather being so bad. But he also hated to invite her up to his third floor—his and Caroline's third floor.

“It'll be choppy. I hope I don't throw up. See you in a couple of hours. Fred's writing at the library, but he should be back soon.”

Robert's better nature took over. “You can skip the two thirty ferry,” he said. “There's a hot spot in the cottage.”

“You're kidding. There is?” She put her bag down. “We tried everywhere the first week we got here. Where is it?”

“It's on the third floor. Come on, I'll show you.” Caroline will forgive me. I hope.

“Oh, that is so great, Robert,” said Rose. “Lottie wanted me to take Jon's phone and hers into the Harbor if I went so I could pick up their messages. We can kill three birds with one stone. Four, if I recharge Fred's phone. Let me get it.”

Robert instantly regretted telling Rose about the hot spot. We'll be invaded by technology and our peace will be destroyed. Or maybe she'll just call home.

“I haven't even been up to the third floor,” she said. “How do you get up there? Is it the attic?”

“The stairs are hidden,” he said. “They're in the boys' dorm. And the door is usually locked. Caroline, however, found a way.”

“Very Caroline,” said Rose. She grabbed Fred's phone from their room while Robert waited to take her upstairs.

“Oh, Robert. No wonder you like it up here,” she said when she got upstairs. “So cozy. Are these all your guitars?”

“Yes, and the lutes.” He was so very glad he had not played his lute for Rose. Only for Caroline. He shivered at the thought of her. He wanted to get back to her fast. But he didn't want to leave Rose alone here. This was his place with Caroline, now. “If you stand right here and face the window, you can get a signal. See if it works.”

It worked.

“Oh, great!” said Rose. “This makes life so much easier. Robert, could you plug in Fred's phone somewhere?” she handed it to him. “I'll use his if this one cuts out. He's Verizon; I'm AT&T.” She started dialing.

Robert dutifully went over to one of the two outlets on this floor and plugged in Fred's phone. Rose was soon talking to her sister. His precious third floor had now been invaded, but he knew Caroline would have done the same.

“Isobel, we want to bring them up here,” Rose said into the phone. My God, was she talking about the twins? She hadn't even asked! Though of course it was still
her
rental at this point. The lines have blurred, Robert thought.

There followed a long and pretty nonsensical FaceTime conversation between Rose and the children about Maine, superpowers, and Labradoodles. When they had finally said their good-byes, Robert ushered her downstairs. They were back in the boys' dorm when he remembered Fred's phone. “Let me just get it for you,” he said. He ran back upstairs and unplugged it. The phone lit up.

“Oh, thanks, Robert,” said Rose. “I know he's dying to hear from his editor. I'll take it over to him. I may even take a peek so I can prepare him.” She grabbed a slicker, gave him a wave, and was gone.

Robert was deliberating over whether to take a bottle of wine to the museum to see what that might lead to when he heard Lottie and Jon and Ethan clatter back to the cottage.

“Hello, Robert!” said Lottie. “We are having the great debate. Let me get Ethan in the bath. See what Robert thinks, Jon.”

“What I think of what?” asked Robert.

“I'm thinking,” said Jon, “that I should quit my job.”

“Quitting is usually a good idea,” said Robert. He had quit a lot of things. “Why would you quit your job, though?”

“First, I hate it,” Jon said. “And second, I think I could make a living working for Beverly Fisher. He asked me about it again, on the way back from the play. Lottie loves the guy and now I do too.”

“He seems to need a lot of help. Musicians get screwed if no one's looking out for them.”

“His partner Gorsch left everything in great shape but Beverly's just let it go downhill since the poor guy died,” Jon said. “And he doesn't like the new management team. I guess his old advisers hung on till Gorsch wasn't around anymore.”