The Beach Club (44 page)

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he said. “Maribel, I love you.”

“You love me?” she said.

“Yes.” He was sure that hearing this hurt worse than anything else he could have said, but what could he do? It was the truth.

Maribel blinked her blue eyes, more tears fell.

“I want you to stay,” he said. “Please stay.”

She smiled, and for a second Mack saw her as she was when it all began: Maribel standing in the stacks of the Nantucket Atheneum secretly reading a paperback romance. Six years younger and full of hope.

“I want you to stay,” he said.

“You’re lying,” she said. “But thank you.” Then, she turned and ran from him.

A Kleenex fell from her pocket and blew toward Mack. He picked it up—it was wet and stained with black splotches. He put it in his pocket and climbed into his Jeep. If he had a dog in the seat next to him, he might be able to watch the boat pull out of its slip and listen to its lonely moan of a horn. But he couldn’t do it alone, so he drove away.

Back at the hotel, things were quiet. The wind sang a bit, and Mack heard the thock of a gull dropping a hermit crab shell onto the asphalt. This was a taste of what the winter would be like—after Bill and Therese left for Aspen and it was just him, living alone in Lacey’s cottage. He hoped he’d learn to appreciate his solitude. That was what Mack wanted—to hear this quiet and be able to call it peace.

A man jogged into the parking lot. He was in his early fifties, with thick blond hair, wearing a Nantucket sweatshirt and navy nylon shorts. His legs were red with the cold. He looked familiar and Mack ran through the summer’s faces. Beach Club member? Hotel guest?

“You’re Mack,” the man said.

Mack smiled. Concierge to the very end. “That’s right. Can I help you?”

The man trotted up to Mack. Sweat dripped down his temples. He had clear blue eyes. “I’ve been wanting to introduce myself for a long time,” he said. “My name is Stephen Bigelow Tyler.” He said the name in such a way that Mack felt he should recognize it. Stephen Bigelow Tyler? The guy looked familiar, but nothing clicked.

Mack stuck out his hand. “Pleasure.”

Stephen Tyler glanced up at Bill and Therese’s house. “I run down here all the time. Usually at dawn when it’s quiet, but sometimes after dark.”

“It’s a beautiful spot,” Mack said.

“I’ve been trying to buy the hotel from your boss for years,” Tyler said, and he laughed, wiping his forehead against his shoulder. “Stubborn man you work for, he won’t sell. Though I guess I should be glad. I offered him twenty-five million for it.”

“You’re the one who’s been trying to buy the Beach Club?” Mack said.

“Quite unsuccessfully,” Tyler said. “Which is too bad because I wanted to give it to you.”

“Give what to me?”

“The hotel. I wanted to buy the hotel and give it to you.”

“Give me the hotel?” Mack backed up a step. Any crazy person could come down here now that it was off-season. This guy didn’t seem particularly dangerous—what seemed dangerous was that Mack felt he was telling the truth. Tyler wanted to give
him
the Beach Club? Mack thought of How-Baby, David Pringle, Vance pulling a gun on him in the middle of the night. Who was behind this?

“Who are you?” Mack said.

“I’m Maribel’s father,” he said.

A combination of fear and excitement spread through Mack as he stared at the man’s ruddy legs, his neat white socks, his Nike AirMax running shoes, the same brand that Maribel wore. Maribel’s father. Her
father
, for God’s sake. Then Mack’s eyes traveled back to the man’s face. There was no doubt. The hair, the eyes, and something unnameable in his face that Mack had seen in another face every day for the past six years.

“Does she know you’re here?” Mack asked. “Does she even know you exist?”

Tyler shook his head. “I found her years ago, by accident, when I spotted her with her mother at a shopping mall I was developing in upstate New York. I recognized her mother, and when I got a look at Maribel I had someone do a little research. I kept track of her all these years, although I never told her who I was. Because I have other children, and a wife, in Wellesley. I didn’t want to complicate things for myself or for her or for her mother.” He took a deep breath. “I just wanted to give her something wonderful, something huge, so that she would have a happy life.”

“And you’re telling me now because she’s gone.”

Tyler pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, like he was getting ready to fight, but then his shoulders sagged. “I watched you two a few minutes ago, at the boat. I thought of introducing myself then, to give Maribel a reason to stay. But like I said, I didn’t want to complicate her life, I wanted to make it easier. So now she’s gone and she doesn’t know. It’s better that way.”

Mack disliked the thought of someone watching his last minutes with Maribel. “Maybe,” he said angrily. “Though I don’t see how it could be. I know far too much about absent parents. If she ever calls me or comes back here, I’m going to tell her.”

Tyler frowned. “I hate to say it, son, but I don’t think she’s coming back.” He kicked at some gravel. “We both lost her. But hey, maybe I’m wrong. In any case, let me give you my card. I think I can help you sell your farm.”

“My farm? You know about my farm? What are you, some kind of spy?”

Tyler shrugged. “I’m her father is all,” he said. “I’ve been watching out for her.” He took a business card from his shorts pocket, handed it to Mack, and before Mack could even read the scripted print:
S.B.T. Enterprises
,
Boston
,
Nevis
,
Nantucket
, Tyler jogged away.

Mack stood in the wind until Tyler disappeared down North Beach Road, taking Mack’s dream with him. Owning the Beach Club, running it with Maribel. Now it was nothing more than a great story to tell.

But to whom?

Mack walked into the office. A mistake, he realized, because out the window, he saw the ferry disappearing on the horizon.

The phone rang and it startled him, although it comforted him, too, the familiar sound, the reminder that summer’s end was temporary, and not a true end. Someone always wanted to book for
next
July or August.

Mack picked it up. “Nantucket Beach Club and Hotel,” he said.

“Mack?”

A female voice, distant-sounding, like someone calling from the other side of a long tunnel. Mack glanced back out the window, and fingered the Kleenex in his pocket. Maribel, calling from the ferry? It didn’t sound like Maribel; it sounded more like a woman who expected him to be excited to hear from her. Andrea, in Baltimore?

“Yes,” Mack said.

“Mack, it’s me,” the voice said. “Come on, I haven’t been gone
that
long.”

“Cecily?” Mack said. He plugged his other ear. “Cecily, where are you?”

“In Rio,” she said. “At the airport.”

“Are you coming home, kid? God, your parents are sick with worry.”

“I’m coming home.”

“What happened?” Mack asked. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s over between Gabriel and me,” Cecily said. “I feel like every bone in my body is broken, it hurts so bad.”

“I know what you mean,” Mack said.

“I’ll tell you about it when I get home. In fact, I really need to talk to Maribel.”

Mack could tell her about Maribel, and about Lacey, but they were subjects that required face time. Cecily thought she hurt now, and she was in for more.

“Listen, do you want me to put you through to your house? I know your parents are anxious to hear your voice.”

“I’m leaving in a few hours,” she said. “I should be back on the island tomorrow morning. I want to surprise them, Mack, okay? So don’t tell.”

“Okay,” Mack said. “I won’t tell.” He remembered Bill’s weak heart, but a heart wouldn’t fail from too much good news, or relief.

“I missed you, Mack,” Cecily said.

“I missed you too, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” she said.

“Come home and prove it.”

“Okay, fine, I will!” Mack heard her old spunk and he knew just how she was standing, with her hip thrown out like an attitude. The slouchy, bright-haired princess of the Beach Club kingdom was coming home.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” she said.

What was home, really, but the place where a space just your shape and just your size waited for you. Here, on this island, at this Beach Club, a space for Mack, a space for Cecily.

“I’ll be here,” he said.

My warmest and most sincere thanks to the following people:

Michael Carlisle, my agent and fellow Nantucketer, for making this dream come true.

My entire family.

My “Nantucket family,” whose essence is in this book: Rob, Nickie, Eric, Margie, Ginny, John, Jeff, Richard and Amanda, Jeffrey and Sue, Suki, Justin and Forest, the “G” and the “D”, Vanessa, Keith, Misha, Sally, Brooks and Parker, John and Kelly, Martha, Glenn, J.L.N., and the great Mary Baker.

For their enormous kindnesses and friendship, thanks to John and Nancy, Paul, Rita and Palmer, Tal, Jonnie, Pat and Doris, Fred, Irene, Jim, Barbie and the rest of the “porch night” crew, and Tim and Mary.

Thanks to Richard and Teena for giving me the best part-time job on the island.

Special thanks to Heather, whose insight and criticism were invaluable.

My love for Nantucket Island is powerful and unlimited, but in the end, there is only one reason why I stayed. His name is Chip Cunningham, he is my husband and my hero, and this book is for him.