Nantucket Sisters (33 page)

Warrior Princess

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Emily heard somewhere that during such tragedies, time blurs. For her, time progresses with a hyper-vivid jerkiness, like a clock with faulty batteries. Like scenes from 1950s Kodachrome home movies with lines through the middle and sudden blank patches. Telling her parents. Calling Cameron’s parents, who have been informed. Speaking with John Endicott. Thanking him for sending a company plane, but advising him (with a completely regrettable lapse of manners as she began to laugh, slightly hysterically, at the situation) that she’d made reservations with her parents on the Cape Air Flight that was leaving for LaGuardia at three and she’d rather take that plane than a company plane. Allowing her father to take the phone from her so he could speak with Mr. Endicott to give the conversation the solemnity it deserved.

The flight back is bouncy. Serena talks incessantly. Emily hasn’t told her yet. She doesn’t want to tell her until they are away from the island. Nantucket was never Cameron’s place. His death should not be allowed to dim the luster of the island’s magic for Serena.
Plus, she doesn’t want to tell Serena until after they’re out of the plane.

Emily wishes time
would
blur. Instead, it becomes staccato, it drags, it seems to reverse itself, she checks her watch and it’s 5:05 and when she checks it again minutes later, it’s still 5:05. Eons pass as they wait for their luggage. Civilizations rise and fall as she sits in the car driving them into the city. Her head aches hideously. Serena sings a maddeningly high-pitched silly ditty. Her parents discuss their coming week, both of them fastening their eyes to their iPhones, comparing calendars, clearing calendars, making calls, using euphemisms so Serena will not be alarmed.

Her parents ask her to stay with them for a few days, and Emily is glad.

Finally they arrive at the Porter apartment. The doorman greets them cheerfully. Emily returns a rubber smile. As they walk into the apartment, Emily switches off her cell.

Now
, Emily thinks. She has to do it now. A force is rising up within her, violently pushing its way out. She has nowhere else to go. It has to be done. She has to tell Serena the sad news about her daddy.

“Mom? I’m going to take Serena into the guest bedroom for a little while.”

“That’s fine, dear. I’ll make some drinks,” Cara offers.

“Serena? I need to talk to you,” Emily says, amazed that it was only this morning she and her daughter played on the beach. With her arm around Serena’s shoulders, she leads her into the room and closes the door. They’re alone, just the two of them, together.

Five days later, Emily’s in her own kitchen, making another pot of coffee for the people in her living room—her parents, Cameron’s
parents, a couple of lawyers—when her cell phone rings. The number is one she knows by heart.

“Emily?” After all these years, Maggie’s voice is as familiar to Emily as her own.

“Oh, Maggie.”

“I just read it in the paper. About your husband. I’m so sorry.” The honest warmth in Maggie’s voice breaks open Emily’s heart.

Voices rise in conflict in the living room. Emily opens the door to the broom closet, slips inside, shuts the door, and sinks to the floor. “Maggie, it doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe it.”

“Are you okay? Do you want me to come?”

“No, no, don’t come. It’s crazy here. Cameron’s parents. My parents. His colleagues, their wives. No room to breathe.”

“Come to Nantucket. Bring Serena.”

“Oh, God, how much would I love to do that.” Emily’s silent. “Maggie, I have such a lot of
stuff
to do. You know. Wills, legal crap, phone calls. Right now it seems endless.”

“How’s Serena?”

“Okay. She’s okay. I mean, she loved her daddy, but she didn’t see him all that much, it’s possible she hasn’t grasped the—the
finality
of it yet. And people are being kind, Maggie. Preschool moms are having Serena over for sleepovers and taking her on little jaunts. We have enough food for a millennium, and flowers, you’ve never seen so many flowers, although I said in the paper no flowers, all donations to charity.”

“Are you having a funeral?”

“Memorial service tomorrow. Honestly? I don’t know whether to take Serena or not. She’s such a wiggle worm, she can’t sit still for a minute, and she talks all the time. The three heads of Cameron’s firm all want to speak, you know they’ll drone on and on, I mean
I
don’t want to go, isn’t that awful? Then we’ll all go to the club and
they’ll get drunk and maudlin, and how does that help? How does that possibly help?” Emily can hear a mild hysteria in her voice.

“They say it brings closure,” Maggie says.

“Cameron’s closure came the moment that plane crashed,” Emily declares.

“But what about you?” Maggie asks, sounding sensible, almost brisk. “I mean, what are you going to do after the service and the reading of the will and all that?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. These days I consider it an incredible accomplishment if I don’t walk into the walls.” Emily wants to cry, but she’s exhausted, and she’s sick of crying, so sick her stomach cramps, so sick her eyes and throat burn as if she has a terrible flu. Will she ever have anything in her life but weeping again?

Is she a horrible person, a wicked, unloving wife, to think that thought?

“When is the will and all that?”

“The day after tomorrow. I know what it says, of course, but I should be there.” Emily is caught in a small dark room, a room full of grief and obligation to Cameron’s relatives, his co-workers, his friends … she giggles at her thoughts. She really
is
in a small dark room, she’s in the broom closet.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“The doctor gave me some pills. Yes, I’ve had some sleep.”

“And eating?”

“Not much. The thought makes me gag.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Surely you jest.”

“I don’t see what’s funny about that. You are married. Were.”

“Our sex life hasn’t been the most … active … recently. No, I’m definitely not pregnant, Maggie.” An abrupt storm of tears sweeps through Emily. “But I wish I were, Maggie. Oh, I wish I were. I wanted another baby.”

“You’ll have another one someday,” Maggie prophesies. “For now, you have Serena. Now listen to me. When I hang up, I’m making a plane reservation for you two on the noon flight from LaGuardia to Nantucket next Monday. Are you paying attention? I’ll meet your plane.”

“Oh, Maggie—”

“You and Serena can stay with us, or you can stay at your ’Sconset house, wherever you feel more comfortable. You know I’m married now—”

“What?” Maggie’s casual announcement shocks Emily out of her tears. “Who?”

“Tyler Madison. Remember him?”

“Tyler Madison? That boy with the glasses? Jesus, Maggie.”

Maggie breaks out into a full-bodied joyous laugh. “He’s changed, Emily. Wait till you see him. He’s dreamy.”

“Tyler Madison is
dreamy
?” Emily realizes she’s standing up now, with her hand on the doorknob, ready to move.

“You have no idea,” Maggie is saying. “I’ll text you with the flight information. That will be easier than trying to reach you by phone. Okay?”

“I’ll give you my credit card number.”

“Emily, I’ll pay for the flight. You have enough to deal with.”

“You’ll pay for the flight?” Emily’s head is swimming.

Maggie laughs again. “Emily. It’s been five years. We have a lot to catch up on. See you Monday.”

“Yes. Maggie, thank you. I can’t imagine why you’re doing this.”

“It’s the least a sister can do,” Maggie says.

Because she’s six months pregnant, Maggie’s had her hair cut short again, into the pixie cap she wore when she was eleven. She remembers all too vividly how Heather as a baby would grab strands of
Maggie’s long hair and tug. How strong the little girl was, and how red-faced and howling she became when Maggie struggled to open her fat little fingers and release the hank of hair.

She’s sure Emily will recognize her anyway. She hasn’t changed that much in five years, except that she’s happier than she’s ever been in her life.

For this first meeting, with all of the possible emotional scenes—for how can she and Emily not cry, seeing each other again on such a sad occasion?—Maggie sends Heather to a friend’s house to play. Maggie will have enough to cope with, keeping her own tears in check. Poor Emily, and her poor little girl.

Maggie’s not all sweetness and generosity, though. She’s nervous, anxious about how she’ll appear to Emily, who has been married to such a compelling, seductive, successful man, who has lived the life of a wealthy New Yorker for the past five years. Maggie isn’t sure how to dress. Everyone on the island is casual, jeans or khakis, cotton tops, sneakers, and Maggie needs sneakers these days when she’s becoming off balance as her belly grows. She settles on an old, loose navy blue cashmere pullover that sets off her bright coloring, and applies only mascara for makeup. No lipstick. She’s always kissing Heather, who hates to get “that red stuff” on her face.

So here she is. Plain and simple. She parks her beloved Bronco, which seems determined to live forever, in the airport parking lot and heads for the terminal. Her heart pounds.

She waits by the luggage rack at the arrivals door and watches a small blue and white aircraft angle down from the clear blue sky. It bounces as it lands, turns, slows, and sputters up to the gate. The crew unlatch the door, which becomes the steps, and passengers slowly file off.

Emily is last. She’s thinner than Maggie remembers ever seeing her, dressed in a black tunic, low-heeled black shoes, her blond hair
tied back with a black ribbon. She’s holding a little girl’s hand, guiding her down the steps.

Maggie’s heart stops.

Almost exactly Heather’s height, the child has curly, glossy black hair and dark blue eyes with thick black lashes.

This little girl is Ben’s child. Has to be.

She swallows, as if absorbing this knowledge: her daughter is Cameron’s child; Cameron’s daughter is Ben’s child. Are the little girls half-sisters? Cousins? Maggie’s mind reels.

“Maggie!” Emily and her daughter come through the electronic doors and walk straight toward Maggie.

The two women look at each other for a long moment, taking it all in, what has changed, and what has stayed the same.

“Maggie.” Tears spring into Emily’s eyes. “Dear Lord in heaven, it is completely fucking great to see you again.”

Maggie’s heart breaks. She takes Emily in her arms. “Emily. Oh, honey, I’m glad to see you, too.”

Emily hugs Maggie so hard she can scarcely breathe.

Serena tugs on her mother’s dress. Emily picks Serena up. “Serena, this is my oldest best friend, Mrs.— What is it, Maggie? Sorry, I only remember Tyler’s first name.”

“Madison. I’m Maggie Madison now, isn’t that cool?” Maggie takes Serena’s little hand. “Serena, you can call me Maggie.” She starts to pick up a suitcase.

“Wait, I can do that,” Emily says. “I mean, you probably shouldn’t …”

“Pick up heavy objects because I’m pregnant?” Maggie laughs.

“How far along?”

“Six months.”

“Lucky you. Where’s Heather?”

“She has a playdate today. Come on, let’s go.” Maggie leads the
way out of the building. “Have you decided where you want to stay?” She tosses the question over her shoulder.

“In ’Sconset,” Emily tells her. “You’re awfully kind to offer to let us stay with you, but Serena and I love the house and the beach. It will be exactly what we need, won’t it, Serena?” She buckles her daughter into Heather’s car seat.

“How long will you be able to stay?” Maggie asks.

“I don’t know. Haven’t decided yet. I’m going day by day.” Emily looks over at Maggie as she pulls out of the parking lot. “You look fabulous. Beautiful, healthy, happy. Marriage becomes you.”

“It does,” Maggie purrs.

“Are you writing?”

“When I have time. But of course I’m busy decorating our house, and taking care of Heather, and hanging out with my mother and Clarice, oh, yes”—she smiles—“and being with Tyler every night. Life flies by.” Maggie remembers why Emily’s here. “Serena? Do you see that bag next to you? The one with the butterflies on it?”

In the rearview mirror, she watches Emily’s daughter shyly nod her head.

“Open it, sweetheart. Everything inside is for you. Presents from me and Heather.”

“Maggie. That’s really sweet.” Emily turns in her seat to help Serena unpack books, a jigsaw puzzle, and a wooden cut-out game of dress-the-princess.

“Thank you,” Serena says politely.

While Serena studies her little books, Emily says to Maggie, “You know we’ve come here now and then. In the summers, usually with my parents. Cameron didn’t like Nantucket,” she finds herself over-explaining, “so I had to find a time to sneak off with Serena.”

“And you never called?”

Emily lowers her voice. “Part of it was that I didn’t want to run into Ben.”

Maggie jerks her head toward the backseat where dark-haired Serena sits. “Yeah, I can understand why.”

Emily ignores her. “But it wasn’t only Ben. The longer I didn’t call you, the more I was afraid to call you.”

“
Afraid
to—”

Emily’s words rush over Maggie’s. “Listen to me. Maggie, I love this island. I’ve always loved it here. Until I met Cameron, the only place I wanted to be was on Nantucket. I thought I would live my life here. I love you, and I did love Ben. I suppose I still do. But the island, with or without you and Ben, is a wonderfully special place for me.” Observing the change in Maggie’s posture, the challenge in the lift of her old friend’s chin, she leans closer. “Listen, Maggie. This is not
your
island. It’s
my
island, too.”

When Maggie turns her head to meet Emily’s gaze, her own eyes are full of tears. “Of course it is, Emily. I know that. I
want
that. Why do you think I called you and told you to come here?”

Emily laughs and cries at the same time. “Oh, Maggie, sometimes I think I lost my way. All my hopes and dreams of saving the world. And when I came here to the island, sometimes I had to be by myself, to be free from other people’s needs tugging and pulling on me. I needed to walk on the beach and breathe.”