Nantucket Sisters (12 page)

Lifting his head, he turns his face to hers, and his beautiful blue eyes are dark with sorrow. “Emily. Did you hear anything I said? I want to marry you. Have a home with you. Come home every day and make dinner with you, kick off our shoes and watch some stupid video with you, choose furniture, make babies …”

Tears fill her eyes. “I want that, too, Ben. But not yet. I’m only twenty-two. You’re twenty-four. We have all the time in the world.”

“Right. Plus, you want an engagement ring. You want a big wedding. You want to live in the style to which you have become accustomed. Emily, you have always known I’ll never have the kind of money your father has. It sounds to me like we’ve been fooling ourselves. This has been all wrong from the start.”

“That’s not true. And I don’t need the kind of money my father has, but I won’t live with you in a
barn
or with your parents. And I
won’t give up my education and my chance to make a difference in the world just because it might hurt your feelings.”

Ben’s face closes up. He’s gone into himself, pulled down the drawbridge, barred the doors and windows to his soul. He’s done this before and Emily knows her only option is to wait it out.

She says, “It’s good it’s all out in the air, Ben. We need to think about all this.”

“Right. I’ll take you back to the airport.” Ben pulls on his shoes. “You can still catch a flight back to Boston.”

“What? I just got here! Ben—”

“We’ll both
think
better when we’re not together,” Ben mutters. His face is stormy with repressed anger.

Emily understands that he’s hurt. Over the past few years she’s learned to read the signs of his wounded male pride. She makes one more attempt, speaking softly. “Ben, please. Let’s not part like this. We have so much to talk about.”

“I think we’ve said enough already.”

“Come on, Ben, I thought you’d be glad I won that fellowship. I thought you’d be proud of me. I thought you’d see that this would mean so much for our future.”

His face bleak, Ben turns to her. “I am proud of you, Emily. I’m always proud of you. I understand what you mean. Why you want a master’s. Perhaps I’m just being an obstinate male. But somehow … let’s take some time off from each other, okay?”

“Do you mean we’re breaking up?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Emily, I really don’t know. We need to think about it seriously.”

“Well. Wow.” Her heart thuds with emotion—shock, sorrow, anger. Her hands shake as she dresses and organizes her suitcase.

Ben carries it to the Jeep for her. They drive in an anguished silence back to the airport.

As they pull onto the terminal road, Emily looks at him.

“Ben.” Saying his name is her offer, her flag of truce. “Please.”

Ben doesn’t answer. He pulls into the ten-minute loading zone at the airport. He doesn’t offer to carry her suitcase. She steps out of the Jeep, lifts it out herself, and wheels it back into the terminal. She takes the next flight to Boston.

Your brother insane. I’m done with men. xoE

What r men? I’m dried up old spinster, years without sex, must pull hair back in bun. xoM

This summer u/me nuns. xoE

Amen! xoM

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As her own life expands, Maggie discovers a whole new world in herself, drawn out by her college reading list. During her four years at Wheaton College, Maggie majors in English literature. She’s been warned that this will prepare her for absolutely nothing in the job market, but she doesn’t care. She wants to be a writer of
good
novels, and she needs to learn from educated, thoughtful professors how they are written, what makes them good. She wants to live on Nantucket, too, and when she returns to the island, she plans to work at whatever jobs she can find to support her writing during the evenings and weekends.

Maggie’s first week back on the island, Thaddeus’s mother, Clarice, has to have a hysterectomy, which slows even this formidable woman down. It’s only logical for Maggie to stay with Clarice in her elegant Greek Revival on Orange Street. Maggie cooks her meals, brings her books and magazines, and becomes nurse and companion for her step-grandmother. The arrangement suits them both nicely.
As the weeks progress, Maggie moves her summer clothes, laptop, books, and other necessary belongings into Clarice’s house.

Shane Anderson waits until Maggie’s been home for a month before contacting her. While Maggie was in college, he stayed on the island, working with his father’s contracting firm. For four years, he and Maggie struggled with an on-again, off-again romance, sometimes coming close to one another, sometimes moving far away. In her deepest secret heart, Maggie cherishes the hope that now that she is an adult, twenty-two, a college graduate, she’ll open the door to her old boyfriend and the veil will vanish from her eyes and she will see—her heart will
know
—that he is her one true love.

Shane is admirable in so many ways. Maggie misses his companionship, the warmth of his touch, his ardent kisses. It was a very sweet experience, having someone love her. She felt less lonely.

So on the early June evening when she opens the door of Clarice’s house to see him, Maggie gives him the biggest smile she’s got. “Shane!”

He’s come right from work. He’s wearing canvas trousers with pockets for hammers and other tools, an old tee shirt, and an unbuttoned blue-checked flannel shirt as a sweater, because the June evening is cool. His brown eyes gleam with hope. His brown hair has been brushed into a shine. His eyes adore her.

“Hey,” he says, huge and masculine, loving and shy.

All she has to do is step into his arms. Throw herself against him, hug him, kiss him, and her future is set. She could be married to him and still write. He’s always known she wants to be a writer.

It’s possible he’s the nicest man in the world. Certainly he’s in the top ten.

But her spirit doesn’t leap at the sight of the man, her heart doesn’t lift to the heavens with sheer happiness because he exists. Instead, her heart sinks. She won’t lie.

“Come in,” Maggie invites, stepping back, holding the door open, and they both know exactly what this implies. She leads him to the front room, once the parlor, now the living room.

“Nice place,” Shane says, looking around the high-ceilinged rooms with their antique molding.

Maggie waves him to one of the old-fashioned wing chairs by the fireplace. “It is. A little stodgy, perhaps.”

Shane’s like a breath of fresh air in the stuffy room. He seems a bit nervous. He clears his throat. “How’s Clarice? I heard she had an operation.”

Sitting on the wing chair across from him, Maggie has to admit to herself that Shane wins extra points for his thoughtfulness. “It’s nice of you to ask about her. She’s getting better every day. It was a hysterectomy. There’s no cancer or anything, but she’s older, and any operation makes a person tired.” The formality of the living room makes her sit up straight. “I’ve been home for a month, but I haven’t seen anyone or gone anywhere. I’ve really been her nursemaid.”

“How’s that been?” He crosses his legs and uncrosses them, shifting on the uncomfortable chair.

“Really? Kind of cool. She’s a bit of an old bat but she’s also a massive reader. The first couple of weeks I sat by her bed and read Daphne de Maurier’s
Rebecca
. Just this week I finished reading some of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, and then we watched a couple of the new TV series,
Elementary
, where Holmes is in AA and Watson’s played by Lucy Liu. Clarice loves it.” Maggie knows she’s babbling, trying to postpone the inevitable discussion with Shane.

“That’s cool.” He leans toward her, elbows on his knees. “So you’re here for a while.”

“I am.”

He asks, almost desperately, “Won’t you have to get a job eventually? If you want to stay here on the island, I mean?”

She tries to be casual about her intention to live on the island, to live alone, or with friends or relatives, but not, ever, with Shane. “Oh, sure, I’ve got some jobs lined up already. You know I’ve always helped Greta and Artie White with their catering, but most of that isn’t until July and August. Next week I’m going to start helping Domestic Goddess open up houses for the arrival of their summer clients.”

“Good.” Shane looks heartened. “That’s a great group.”

“Yeah. And I’ll babysit, of course, especially in the evenings.
Nantucket Glossy
hired someone else, but we’re sharing the work. I’m glad about that, because babysitting money’s better, especially for the tourists, who tip big.” She pauses for a breath. “Shane. How are you?”

Ignoring her question, Shane asks, “So do you have any time to go out, Maggie? For a bite to eat sometime? Dinner, even lunch?”

Maggie swallows the rock in her throat. “Not yet. I’ve got to stick around the house for a few more weeks. I’d hate to be out if Clarice needed something.”

He’s quiet, as if waiting for her to say something else. Slowly, he understands what she means. “So, um, you probably don’t want me coming here often, either.”

Maggie bites her lip. “Clarice does come downstairs more and more often these evenings. I mean, you could come, but you’d probably be bored, playing cards or watching television …”

Shane stands. He’s tall, massive, handsome, and he looks so sad. “It’s over, isn’t it, Maggie?”

If she went to him now, and touched him, kissed him, asked him to be patient just a little longer …

She bows her head. “I’m sorry. You deserve more, Shane, you deserve
better—” Looking up, Maggie holds out her hands. “We could be such good friends.”

“Don’t, Maggie. That doesn’t help.” Shane stalks from the room. Maggie hears the front door slam.

The terrible thing is that to her the slam sounds like freedom.

Emily and Maggie decide to celebrate the return of summer at Lola 41. In this chic upscale restaurant near Children’s Beach, they order margaritas with salt and sit at the bar, swinging their long legs and allowing themselves to become a tad bit tipsy.

“Your brother is a pigheaded, shortsighted, intractable ass,” Emily informs Maggie.

“That conjures up quite the image.” Maggie grins.

“He deserves it. I’ve won a fellowship and he wants me to blow it off and come play Little Wifey. He should be glad I’m going to spend two more years studying.”

Maggie lifts her glass. “Hear, hear.”

“What
is
it with men?” Emily demands. “Shane didn’t care about your writing. Ben doesn’t care about my research.”

“You can’t equate the two men,” Maggie tells Emily. “You know that, Emily. For one thing, you and Ben absolutely, truly, do share common interests, a common love for the island—”

“Then why isn’t he glad about my master’s?”

“I don’t think it’s about that.” Maggie licks salt from the rim of her glass, gathering her thoughts. “It’s more about money.”

“Please.”

“Please nothing. Be honest. You two could get married now and you could go to Amherst and study and come home on long weekends and holidays, and if so, where would you two go for a good long screaming, wall-thumping lovefest?”

Emily sags in her seat. “You have no idea how right you are. Maggie,
I honestly don’t understand why Ben won’t live in my parents’ house. They never come to the island anymore.”

“Because he’s proud, Emily. He doesn’t want to seem to be leeching off your parents. He absolutely doesn’t want to appear like he’s latched on to you so you can support him.”

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows I love Ben, I’ve loved him forever. The money thing doesn’t matter.”

Maggie levels her gaze at her. “You can only say that if you have money.”

Summer hits. Clarice can make her way around the house. She’s healing well, gaining strength, entertaining her many friends who come to visit, bringing gossip and casseroles. Maggie housecleans, babysits, and writes articles for
Nantucket Glossy
.

Once a week, Maggie and Emily meet for drinks, dinner, and a head-clearing, heart-to-heart talk. If it rains, they eat in a restaurant, but usually they make picnic dinners and head out to the beach and talk about everything under the sun until it sets.

Summer storms have breached the sandy barrier between the ocean and Sesachacha Pond. Erosion continues along the eastern coast of the island, causing much of the cliff to plunge into the water, putting ocean-view houses in danger. Fortunately the Porters’ house is to the south, away from the devastation. Out at Great Point, more and more seals are congregating around the island, eating up all the fish the fishermen want to catch—another point of contention. Farther away, between here and the mainland, a company wants to erect a cluster of windmills in Nantucket Sound. The residents of the island are divided about this, which is a green solution for energy but could harm wildlife and cause more problems for the fishermen.

Maggie tells Emily of the people she writes about and photographs
at parties for
Nantucket Glossy
. “Some of them are unbelievably gross and stuck-up, acting like I should kiss their rings. But most of them are nice.”

“Maybe you’ll meet some fabulously wealthy man,” Emily suggests. “He’ll sweep you off your feet, carry you away to his castle, and you can write book after book while your staff cleans house.”

“Only if his castle is on Nantucket,” Maggie replies. “So how are you and Ben?”

“To quote your brother, we are ‘seriously thinking.’ ” Emily sighs. “At least we talk on the phone. Once or twice we’ve met in town for coffee. I’ve invited him to dinner at my house—my parents aren’t here yet—but he won’t come. So I’ve refused to go out to dinner with him. I know, I know. It’s so high school.”

Maggie asks, “Can’t you make up with him for just a week? Go out with him, seduce him, sleep with him? I’d appreciate it. It’s like having the Headless Horseman at the table when he comes for Sunday dinner.”

Emily laughs. “Sorry. I’m relinquishing physical urges this summer. When I’m not working I’m reading environmental management books, trying to prepare for next semester.”