Nantucket Sisters (19 page)

Inside the giant empty house, she turns on all the lights and turns up the heat, then sets about making a fire with the cherrywood stacked next to the fireplace. She flips some of the dust covers off the chairs and sofa and unceremoniously dumps them on the rug. Ben won’t notice the décor. Probably he won’t stay very long. She imagines that when she tells him she’s breaking off with him for
good, he’ll slam out the door. It will be hard—it breaks her heart—but she has to do it. It’s good to start the new year clean.

In the kitchen she digs out the coffee, sweetener, and container of creamer. After two mugs, she stops, realizing the caffeine is only making her jumpier and more nervous.

At six o’clock, the doorbell rings.

On the front porch, Ben stands very straight, shoulders back, looking handsome and serious and vaguely military—
at attention
.

“Ben.” Usually Emily would kiss him hello, but something in his expression makes her hesitate. She holds open the door. “Come in.”

She leads him to the long living room where the fire is nicely blazing, warming the room. She sits in an armchair facing the sofa. Ben lowers himself to the sofa. For a long moment, they say nothing, both afraid.

Ben is clean shaven and smells freshly bathed, like pine-scented soap. His black curls gleam, but dark circles shadow his eyes.

“That sweater looks good on you,” she observes.

It was her Christmas present to him last year, a navy blue cashmere crewneck that sets off his vivid coloring. He and Maggie have always looked more
distinct
than other people. Emily always felt wan and anemic next to them.

“Thank you,” Ben says simply. “It’s a great sweater.”

She thinks her heart will split open with love and sadness. He is so
brave
to wear this sweater, to try to please her, to remind her of their profound connection, especially after all their discontent lately.

“Look, Emily, I have something to tell you.” Ben leans forward, clasping his hands together, elbows on his knees.

“All right,” she responds warily.

“I know you’re worried about me and money. About my ability to support you.”

Emily cringes. “I’m so sorry—”

He holds up his hand to stop her. “I haven’t come here to criticize you. I love you, Emily, I’ve loved you all my life. I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

Emily’s heart is breaking as she looks at this lovely man with his clear, honest eyes, his open, trusting face. She does love him, too, but clearly they aren’t good for each other. She clasps her hands. “Oh, Ben—”

“Emily, I think we should end it.”

She feels as if a bolt of lightning has struck her, shearing her in half.
He
wants to end it? Confused, she touches her forehead, trying to make sense of what he just said. “Ben, I’m not sure …”

“I am. We’re making each other miserable, and it’s getting us nowhere.” Rising, he paces the room, running his hand through his black hair. “We’ve talked ourselves crazy. We haven’t found a solution.”

“If you weren’t so stubborn—” Emily starts to protest.

Ben turns and honors Emily with such an affectionate smile he takes her breath away.

“Yes,” she admits quietly. “I’m stubborn, too.”

Ben nods. “We’ve worked ourselves up into a truly unpleasant snarl of disagreement. We need to end it and move on with our lives. You should finish your master’s degree. I’ll focus on my work here.”

“Other people?” Emily’s eyes fill with tears. The thought of Ben with another woman makes her feel first wild with jealousy, then weak with sadness.

Ben sits down next to her on the sofa. “Other people.”

“Oh, Ben.” Emily’s crying, and if she had to say why, she wouldn’t be able to sort through all the reasons.

He puts his hand on her shoulder. “You know I’m right.”

Does she? Does she know anything for sure? Almost frantically, she embraces him. “Oh, Ben, I do love you.”

“I know you do.” He kisses her forehead.

“Ben—” She has never loved him more. She has never wanted him more. “Please, Ben.” She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.

Ben whispers, “Hush. It’s all right.”

His mouth finds hers. Their kiss is passionate, knowledgeable, dense with memories and sorrow. She pushes him away long enough to strip off her sweater, jeans, and underwear. He pulls his sweater off over his head, his black curls crackling with electricity in the dry air. He stands to unzip his pants and step out of them, then perches on the edge of the sofa for a moment to bend down and take off his shoes. He pulls her naked body against his. He is strong and powerful, his chest and thighs and forearms are meaty with muscle. He is no angel, no spirit, he is as real as the earth they walk on. He lifts Emily onto the sofa and rises above her, telling her with his mouth and eyes and his body that he loves her. He steals her soul, he forcefully melds spirit and body, making her whole. He cannot be breaking off with her, he
can’t
. Emily clutches Ben against her as tightly as she can.

He shudders and subsides against her. When he tries to push himself up, she doesn’t release him. “No. I won’t let you go.”

Ben lies with her while their breath evens out. She can feel the wrinkles of the dust sheet against her back, the whisper of his hair against her neck, the bulk of his body against hers.

He pushes up again, this time with enough effort to break her grasp. He jumps off the sofa and goes into the bathroom. She pulls on her clothes, runs her hands through her hair, attempts to corral her thoughts into some order, but when he comes back, she can tell his mind is set. He’s ready to leave her.

“Ben, can we at least talk on the phone? Email?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Better to make a clean break. It’s a new year. Time for both of us to start over.”

She can’t prevent the tears swelling her chest and throat and spilling down her face. “Ben, I
love
you,” she pleads.

“I love you,” he replies evenly. Then he delivers the blow: “And I wish you well.”

He goes out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. A moment later Emily hears the engine of his Jeep roar, and headlights flash across the front of the house.

Ben’s gone.

Somehow this was not what she meant to happen.

“Hi, Maggie.”

“Cameron!” She almost leaps off her chair with joy. “How was your trip home?”

“The trip was easy, but I arrived here to find a shit storm, excuse my language, of work waiting for me. Sorry I didn’t phone last night like I said I would, but I had to go to the office. I was up half the night with John Endicott working on some tax problems for a client.”

“Oh, dear.” Maggie sighs theatrically. “How terribly unbohemian.”

“Right. Dull as dirt and wickedly complicated. In fact, I’ve got to rush back to the office. I wanted to say hello and I’d like to talk longer. I don’t know when I’ll find a chance to call again. This is like trying to wrestle Medusa.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Maggie tells him confidently. “I’ll be right here on the island whenever you have time to call.”

“That’s good to know, Maggie, it really is.” Cameron’s quiet for a moment, then says, “All right. Good-bye for now.”

“Good-bye,” Maggie says, but she’s not sure he’s still on the line to hear her.

Part Five

Treasure Island

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Frances holds Maggie’s head while she vomits into the toilet.

“Thanks,” Maggie says weakly. Slumping against the cool tile wall, she catches her breath.

Frances hauls Maggie up and walks her to her childhood room in Thaddeus’s house. “I’m glad you came home to be sick. I wouldn’t want Clarice to catch this flu, and she’s hardly up to taking care of you, anyway. Want some more 7Up?”

Maggie collapses on the bed. “No, thanks, Mom. I want to lie here and be miserable.” She moans as she looks around the bedroom with its cheerful yellow walls, pristine white trim, and daisy-sprigged curtains. Such a sweet, optimistic place.

Frances pulls the daisy-spotted covers up over Maggie, then bends to kiss her forehead. “Don’t be miserable. Dream.”

Maggie obeys, curling beneath the covers. She hasn’t seen Cameron since their romantic liaison in the Jared Coffin House. It’s been six weeks since he phoned her from Manhattan. Since then, she’s
had only one brief, rather impersonal text from him: First of year crazy busy. I’ll call soon. But he hasn’t called or texted since.

Next to her, the February wind rattles the bedroom windows. A blizzard heads over the island like a relentless unstoppable fate.

Emily returns to Amherst to work on her master’s. She forces herself to concentrate on her research. She tells herself it doesn’t matter if her phone doesn’t buzz.

But by the middle of February, everything has changed.

Emily sits alone in her apartment. Her two roommates are in class. She told them she had the flu, but she’s sure that’s not what’s making her nauseous. The past week she’s kept saltines under her bed and munched a couple before sitting up.

She can’t be pregnant, absolutely
won’t
be.

New Year’s night with Ben …

That December night with Cameron.

She picks up the phone and punches in Maggie’s number. “Maggie? Can you talk? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Oh … I’ve got the flu.” Maggie’s voice is weak.

“I know exactly how you feel. I really do. I’ve got the flu, too.”

Maggie chuckles. “Poor us. It’s the season.”

“Listen, Maggie … not that I don’t want to talk about
you
. I do. But I need to know about Ben. It’s been a month now. He won’t answer my phone calls. He won’t answer my emails or texts. I don’t know what to do.”

“Emily, a month isn’t very long. Give him more time.”

“Is he seeing someone else?” Emily asks. Her heart stops when, for a long time, Maggie doesn’t respond. “Maggie? Maggie, answer me. Please. Oh, God, Maggie, Ben
is
seeing someone else!”

“Let’s say he’s seeing quite a few someone elses,” Maggie admits.

“Oh, Maggie, no.”

“Emily, it’s better than if he were seeing one special woman. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t understand him, Maggie.” Emily stands up when she speaks, and a wave of nausea nearly knocks her to the ground. “How could he start seeing other women so fast?”

“I think he really meant it when he said it was over between you two.”

“It can’t be—”

“I know, Emily, I hate it, too. I’ve tried to talk to him, I really have. I’ve spent hours trying to make him change his mind, but he won’t talk to me. He feels deeply, I know, but he shoves the emotion inside and it fuels him like a race car.” It sounds like Maggie’s crying. “Emily, you know I’ve hoped for years you two would get married. But now …”

Emily’s weeping, too. “Do you truly believe Ben is through with me?”

Maggie’s quiet again before she says, “Emily, I don’t know what to say. Except, maybe, couldn’t you allow him some time to sort this all out in his dim male mind? Give him a year or two?”

Emily almost laughs through her tears. Her call-waiting light blinks; the number comes up on her phone. Cameron Chadwick is calling her.

“No, Maggie,” Emily says sadly. “I don’t think I can wait that long. If Ben’s made up his mind, well …”

Maggie interrupts in an urgent voice. “Emily, I’m going to barf. I’ll call you back.”

Emily puts down the phone and sits staring into space, lost in her thoughts, lost in her life.

Then she listens to her voicemail message. Cameron’s going skiing at his boss’s ski house this weekend. Would Emily like to come?

Well, okay. Yes. She would.

At the end of February, Maggie’s curled in a ball when she hears her mother come into the room.

“Good morning, sweetheart. How do you feel?”

“Awful.”

“Would you like to see the doctor?”

“No, Mom.” Maggie sounds more brusque than she means to.

“Maggie.” Her mother very carefully sits on the side of Maggie’s bed. Lightly, she puts her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. The warmth feels nice. “Maggie. Do you think it could be something else?”