Nantucket Sisters (7 page)

Emily quickly pockets one of the foil-wrapped condoms, shiny as a foreign coin, and quickly shuts the box. This doesn’t count as stealing, she thinks. Anyone would understand that this is love, or infatuation, or lust. Sliding it into her pocket, she shivers, thinking of Ben.

CHAPTER SIX

Two evenings later, Maggie pedals steadily along the dirt path toward Altar Rock. Clear golden light from the slowly descending sun burnishes the deserted moorland. Only birdcalls break the silence. It’s nice on the moors at this hour, everyone else is home eating or heading out to the beach for a party. Maggie won’t go to beach parties; she’s not into the whole drunken scene, and Tyler won’t go because he’d be ostracized there like he is in school. Maggie’s tired after her afternoon of babysitting, but she hasn’t seen Tyler all summer, and he was so insistent on the phone— She walks her bike up the steep, rutted, rock-strewn road to the summit of the hill. From here they can see the ocean and the long sweep of moors.

“Hey,” Tyler says. His braces sparkle, his glasses gleam. He’s skinny and gawky and clumsy as a giraffe on roller skates.

“Hey.” Maggie knocks her kickstand down.

“I brought goodies.” Tyler settles in front of the small boulder
called Altar Rock and sets out two Cokes and a bag of his mother’s homemade caramel chip cookies. He’s wearing a tee shirt and shorts. His attenuated arms and legs, covered with brown hair, make him look like a giant spider.

“Great. So, how’s your summer been?” she asks, settling on the grass across from him.

“Okay. Yours?”

“Okay. I’m doing lots of babysitting. Piling up some cash. And the kids are great. Did you have fun at your dad’s?” She knows he has to go off island most of the summer to live with his dad. It was part of the divorce decree. She waits for the same old argument: he hates leaving the island in the summer; Maggie says he’s lucky, at least he’s got a dad who wants to see him.

“Not really,” Tyler says.

Maggie senses something. She narrows her eyes at him.
“What?”

“I’m leaving the island.”

Maggie snorts lightly. “We’re
all
leaving the island. I’m going to Wheaton and you’re going to Stanford.”

“More than that, Maggie. I’m not coming back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna go live with my dad. I’ll go there for holidays and summer vacation.”

“In California?” Maggie gawks at Tyler as if he’s just said he’s moving to the moon.

Tyler shrugs. “My dad thinks I need to be near a hospital so we can really fix this eye thing. My mom’s dating Clarence Able, you probably know that, and I think she’d like a little time with me out of the house. Anyway, Mom and Dad decided, then told me.”

“Didn’t they ask you first?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“This sucks,” Maggie says, discovering she means it. “Life’s going to be so boring without you. Who’s going to make me laugh?”

“Yeah, well.” He looks away from her, finds a pebble, throws it down the hill.

“I meant because you say such funny things,” Maggie clarifies, sorry to have hurt him.

“I know what you mean.” His voice cracks.

She hates him for being pitiful. “For God’s sake, we all get insulted.”

Tyler clutches his backpack and digs around in it. “I want to give you something.” He pulls out his scrapbook:
Official Register of Secrets
.

“Wow, I’d forgotten all about this.” Maggie scoots closer to him, watching as he turns the pages. “You know,” Maggie says, tracing a sketch of a pond with one fingertip, “these drawings are really good.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah, they are. Oh, man.” She sighs, leaning back, looking up at the impartial blue sky. “It was a lot of fun being little, wasn’t it? I loved all those fantasy games.”

“You were the only one I knew who liked to play that kind of stuff,” Tyler admits. “That’s why I want you to have this book.”

“Oh, I can’t have that! Why not take it with you?”

“Because it belongs here on the island.”

“Then leave it with your mom.”

“If she marries Clarence, they’ll move into his house. She’ll pack up my stuff while I’m living off island.”

“But—”

“Look!” Tyler jumps up, pacing angrily away, then turning back. “This doesn’t come with any kind of
obligation
. I won’t
bother
you, Maggie. I won’t be phoning you or writing you or expecting anything from you. It’s just, my whole life is changing, I won’t have any one place to call my own. You’re the only person in the universe who knows about this stupid book, and the only one I can trust not to destroy it.”

“Okay, geez, take a chill pill,” she snaps. “I’ll keep it. You can come take it whenever you want.”

“I won’t be back next summer. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back.”

“Oh, Tyler.” Maggie clutches his book against her chest. In a way she’s hugging him, and in a way she’s using the book as a shield. “This is terrible.”

Tyler starts to say something, then changes his mind.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Oh. Okay.” Standing, she brushes sand off her jeans.

“Can you bike home, holding that?” he asks.

“I think I’m probably just about that coordinated.”

Tyler approaches her. “Good-bye, then.” He holds out his hand.

Maggie feels absolutely freaking weird. She wants to kiss him, and at the same time, she knows if he tries to kiss her, she’ll hurl. She loves him, or maybe she finds him repulsive, she doesn’t want him to leave, she’ll die if he kisses her. “I’ll take good care of your book.”

“Thanks.” Turning, he picks up his dirt bike, jumps on it, and pedals away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Emily’s parents are at some yacht club dance. Maggie’s babysitting. Emily’s so bored she’s actually considering walking all the way home to ’Sconset. It’s not even seven o’clock on an early August evening.

She’s dawdling along Orange Street, headed out of town, when a Jeep slides up next to her.

“Want a ride?”

Emily rolls her eyes as she turns to say something dismissive—but it’s Ben. Her breath catches in her throat.

“Where are you going?” she manages to say.

Ben shrugs. “Where do you
want
to go?” He’s wearing a navy blazer that sets off his glossy black hair and flashing blue eyes.

He’s looking at her as if she’s a girl, not his little sister’s friend.

“I don’t know,” Emily says casually. “I’m kind of bored.”

“Climb in,” Ben tells her. “We’ll go to Surfside.”

Her heart thumps. “I’d like that.”

He steers the Jeep away from the lights of town, past the high
school and the Muse, and down the long road to the south beach. Here they can hear the island’s sounds: the breeze through the wildflowers bordering the road, and then the long exhalation of the ocean against the shore.

They park in the lot, half-filled with cars. The concession stand is closed until tomorrow morning but all along the beach four-wheelers are parked. Far out in the ocean, a fishing boat’s lights wink.

Ben steps out of the Jeep, removes his blazer, yanks his tie off, unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt. Bending down, he removes his loafers and tosses them into the back of the Jeep. He rolls up his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants.

“Cocktail party,” he explains.

Cocktail party
, Emily thinks. He’s so grown-up. Following his lead, Emily slips out of her shoes. The gritty sand against her bare soles is rough,
real
. She is alone with Ben, at night. She wants to pinch herself.

Side by side they walk down the long path of the sloping dune to the long, golden expanse of shoreline. In the distance, a cluster of four-wheel-drive vehicles circle a bonfire. They catch drifts of music. The people dancing and drinking are black shadows against the silver air.

“Let’s go this way.” Ben takes her hand, steering her in the opposite direction from the party.

His hand is firm and warm as they walk at the edge of the waves, their feet sinking in the wet sand.

Ben is holding her hand. She can’t believe it’s happening.

He stops walking and turns to her. The way he’s looking at her now—right at her, his face studying hers, his eyes so serious, shining in the moonlight—she has never felt so grown-up. She has never been so afraid.

“Do you know I had a crush on you when I was younger?” He grins, but in spite of that, he looks almost sad.

“You did?” Something lights within her as if a match has been struck.

“You bet. I used to keep a photo of you under my pillow.”

“You didn’t.” Heat rises within her.

“I did. I still have it.”

She can’t keep the smile off her face. She tries to be teasing. “Under your pillow?”

“Not anymore. It’s in a drawer somewhere.” He turns away, scuffing his foot in the sand.

“Where did you get a photo of me?” They walk again and her heart slows to normal.

“Oh, Mom took one of you and Maggie when you were on your bikes. You wore braces on your teeth. And the goofiest smile.”

Emily groans. “I remember that photo. I can’t believe you had a crush on me.” She wants to hear more. When he doesn’t elaborate, she says, “I was a little dink. I was a
kid
. I was afraid of you.”

“You certainly weren’t afraid of Mr. Pendergast.”

“Oh,
right
. I’d forgotten all about him.”

“I haven’t. I never will. You were like Joan of Arc or something, a real little warrior princess. You backed him right down.”

She’s amazed. He thought she was a
warrior princess
.

He leads her up the beach, away from the water. They sit against a dune, legs stuck out in front of them toward the white surf rolling up to shore.

“Why did you guys do it? Vandalize stuff, and steal?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She shrugs.

“Emily. I was poor in a place where everyone else had money. I was angry. I was trying to get some revenge.”

“Are you still—angry?”

Ben scoops up a handful of sand and lets it trickle through his fingers, making a sound like whispers. “Somewhere deep inside, I suppose I am. But Thaddeus changed my life. He’s taught me so much about the island, and my place on it. He taught me how amazing this island is, how fragile. He’s taught me it doesn’t matter where I started from. I can matter. I can really make a difference in the world. Now I know what I want to do with my life.”

Never has a guy spoken like this to Emily. She’s covered in goose bumps, from being so near him, from the sight of his large, flexible hands lifting and sifting the sand, his watch catching the moonlight, his hairy ankles, his enormous, bony feet.

“What do you want to do?” she asks quietly.

“I want to learn everything about this island. I’m majoring in American history, and eventually I want to work for a historical society, even run it someday. I want to be part of the future of the island, and I want to make a strong stand for conservation. This is where I want to make my life matter.”

“You’re so lucky,” Emily tells him. “I mean, knowing what you want to do with your life.”

“Well, you’re only eighteen, right? I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself then, except get drunk and get laid.”

Those words—she shivers.

“On the other hand,” he continues, “Maggie knows what she wants to do.”

Emily doesn’t want to talk about Maggie, she wants to keep talking about Ben. But she laughs. “Maggie
would
.”

“She wants to be a writer.”

“How perfect for Maggie. She always loved reading so much.”

“You write, too.”

Her little blue dress was short to begin with. Now that they’re sitting like this in the sand, the hem of the skirt has slipped up her
thighs almost to her panty line. She’s glad her legs are tanned, not that you can tell in the moonlight. She wriggles around, adjusting her skirt. “Not really. I’m more into science, actually. I think I’ll major in environmental biology in college.”

“Excellent, Emily. Then you could come work on the island.”

“Oh.” She’s stunned that he would think of her, that he would envision her working on this island he loves so much. With a kind of timid hope, she looks into his eyes. She can only barely speak. “Ben?”

He pulls her against him, and with his other hand he tilts her chin up so he can kiss her. Her head falls back against his arm. His hand is on her cheek. His kiss is soft, his breath smells like wine. She doesn’t feel desire as much as astonishment, so she’s surprised when he holds her tighter, and his lips press more urgently, and a groan sounds in his chest.

He releases her. “I’ve wanted to do that all my life.”

“You have?” She’s trembling.

“And this,” he says, putting the flat of his palm over her belly. “I’ve wanted to do this.”

Through the thin blue cloth of her dress, her slightly rounded belly feels small beneath his large hand, and the side of his hand is almost touching the top of her thighs. If he slid his hand down—Abruptly he pulls away. He stands, brushing sand off his slacks. “It’s late. I’ve got to work tomorrow.” He extends a hand and helps her up.

He’s silent as they climb up the dune to the parking lot. He’s gone into himself.

They step up into the old Jeep. He starts the engine. The headlights flare across the darkness, over the concession stand, the beach grass, the bike racks, the other four-wheel-drive vehicles in the lot. Ben turns on the radio. He hums to an old Beatles tune, but he still seems tense.

“Did I do something to make you mad?” Emily asks.

“No.
I
did.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.” He looks over at her, and his face softens. “I’m sorry, Emily. I’m just tired. I’ve been up since five, and I’ll have to be up at five tomorrow.”

Emily crinkles her forehead, she looks at him so hard. He stares at the road, his profile proud. For a long time they ride in silence down the straight, seemingly endless Milestone Road.

“Ben,” she begins, not sure what to say. “Ben … I liked that. Being with you like that.”