Winter Storms (12 page)

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Ava…”

The bell rings. It's her lunch period. Tuesday means tuna salad on wheat and clam chowder. The culinary class up at the high school makes the chowder from scratch, and it's some of the best on the island.

“I have to go,” she says.

“Just give me five minutes,” he says. “There are some things I want to say.”

Ava doesn't want to hear the things Scott Skyler has to say, but his brown eyes are searching hers in such an earnest way that she doesn't have the heart to walk away.

“Speak,” she says.

“Ava, I love you,” he says.

She scoffs. “Last Christmas Stroll, you took Roxanne to the hospital on a Good Samaritan mission and you never returned to me. Not really. You skipped the Festival of Trees; you missed Genevieve's baptism. And then you started dating Roxanne.”

“You were with Nathaniel,” Scott says.

“You never should have gone with Roxanne to the hospital,” Ava says. “If you had stayed with me on Nantucket, we would be engaged by now.”

“Yes,” he whispers.

“But we're not.”

“Roxanne needed me,” Scott says.

“No,” Ava says. “Roxanne wanted you. Despite the fact that you were
my
boyfriend. She set her sights on you and you were hers. Women who look like Roxanne Oliveria always get what they want.”

“It wasn't how she looked…” Scott says.

“Scott,” Ava says. “Come on.”

“Okay,” Scott says and he raises his palms. Ava has always been a sucker for Scott's hands—broad, strong, capable. She looks down at her desk, where the sheet music for “Annie's Song” rests. Next week, the fourth-graders receive their recorders and they will begin practicing for graduation. It's a never-ending cycle of
You fill up my senses.
“I thought Roxanne was beautiful, yes, I did. I thought, quite frankly, that she was out of my league. Most women are.”

“But, apparently, not me,” Ava says. She gives a dry, disgusted laugh. “Thanks.”

“Roxanne is beautiful only on the outside,” Scott says. “Inside, she's needy and narcissistic, flaky and irritating.”

“I can't believe you're saying those things about the almost mother of your child.”

Scott winces. “She hasn't been the same since the miscarriage.”

“My understanding is that few women are the same,” Ava says.

“She's really messed up,” Scott says. “She goes to a therapist every day. I went the first few times but then I had to stop.”

“Are you two still seeing each other? At all?” Ava hates asking, but she has to know.

“Not really,” he says.

What a wimpy answer! Ava stands up. Her chowder is calling.

“Ava,” he says, “I was just as shocked as you were when Roxanne got pregnant. I was… well, my first response wasn't joy, I can tell you that.”

“But you've always wanted to be a father,” Ava says. She feels herself reaching an emotional edge. Roxanne had given Scott his dream.

He takes both of Ava's hands. This is
not okay
, but his grip is so firm, she can't pull away.

“I wanted to be the father of
your
children,” he says. “I love
you
. I never loved Roxanne. I got caught in her web somehow. And then you were with Nathaniel, and a part of me believed you had always wanted to be with Nathaniel…”

“Don't make this my fault,” Ava says. “I didn't let Nathaniel get me pregnant.”

“He proposed,” Scott says. “You accepted.”

“You were in Tuscany with Roxanne!” Ava says.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Scott says.

They are both on their feet now, glaring at each other over Ava's desk. It's a standoff.

Scott capitulates. “I love you, Ava. I want to be with you now. I want to be with you forever.”

These are words that Ava would have relished at another time, but at the moment, they feel a day late and a dollar short. She loves Scott too; that isn't the problem. The problem is that he was going to have a baby with Roxanne Oli
veria. He was going to be connected with her in an everlasting,
irrevocable way, and that had been okay with him. He had bidden Ava good-bye. He had used the term
cold turkey.

“I haven't told anyone this,” Ava says.

Scott's brown eyes open a little wider. Ava tries to ignore the thick brown hair that she used to grab in moments of passion.

“This is my last year at Nantucket Elementary,” Ava says.

“What?” Scott says.

“Yep,” Ava says. “I'm moving to New York. Next September, I'm teaching there.”

Scott seems to be at a loss. “What?”

“I'm done living at the inn,” Ava says. “I want to grow up. I want to be a person. My own person.”

“Ava…” Scott says.

“Consider this my notice,” Ava says.

 

K
evin Quinn is the king of the world. At the selectmen's meeting on Wednesday, November 9, Kevin is granted a three-year liquor license for his venue, Quinns' on the Beach, at 200 Surfside Road. The total cost, with all of the permitting fees and insurance, is just under a hundred and twenty grand. Kevin figures he will easily make this money back in the first year. Kevin did note that his most vocal champion among the selectmen was none other than Chester Silva, Haven's uncle, who said he liked to see “local kids” running successful island businesses. Kevin smiles at the word
kid
. He's thirty-eight years old. But Chester is in his seventies, so he supposes it's all relative.

That accomplished, Kevin finds a small, year-round rental on the edge of town. It's just a cottage, two bedrooms, two baths—but it's charming and warm. There is a cozy downstairs bedroom for Genevieve, and an airy, spacious loft-type master suite for Kevin and Isabelle. There are granite countertops in the kitchen and a breakfast nook, a claw-foot tub in Genevieve's bathroom, and a postage-stamp-size yard where, come spring, Genevieve can toddle around.

Once Kevin and Isabelle have moved in—man, does it feel good to have their own space!—Kevin focuses all his energy on the wedding. He has purchased plane tickets for Arnaud and Helene, Isabelle's parents, who will arrive on December 23 and stay for four nights in room 10 at the inn—George's old room. The ceremony will be held at the Siasconset Union Chapel at three o'clock in the afternoon. Kevin can't begin to explain the hoops he had to jump through to make this happen in the off-season—even with space heaters, the chapel will be chilly—but St. Mary's is busy with Christmas Eve services, and Isabelle is adamant about a church wedding. Kevin has asked Father Paul, the priest the Quinn family grew up with, to return to Nantucket from the mainland to perform the ceremony. The “reception” will be the annual Winter Street Inn Christmas party, only this year the party will be catered because Isabelle isn't to lift a finger.

Mitzi and Kelley have been very supportive of these plans. The only hiccup came when Kevin brought up the topic of groomsmen. He had initially thought he would be attended by Patrick as best man and Pierre, his boss from the Bar, as the other groomsman, while Isabelle would have Ava and Jennifer.

“But what about Bart?” Mitzi had asked.

Kevin had stared at her, not quite understanding the question.

She said, “He'll be hurt if you don't make him a groomsman.”

Kevin nodded slowly. Bart would most definitely want to be a groomsman—if he weren't being held prisoner in Afghanistan. But Kevin quickly realized that Mitzi's hopes ran high and if Kevin wanted her full cooperation, he would have to get with the program and proceed as if Bart would be back on Nantucket by December 24.

“Bart will be my groomsman,” Kevin said. “I'll just have Pierre as backup.”

“You won't need a backup,” Mitzi said. “Why don't you ask Pierre to be a reader?”

“Okay,” Kevin said. “That's what I'll do.”

 

J
ennifer throws Isabelle's bridal shower the weekend before Thanksgiving. Her primary stumbling block is that Isabelle has few friends on the island so there aren't enough attendees for a full-blown party. She decides to reserve the elegant red dining room upstairs at Le Languedoc. Isabelle will feel comfortable and cozy. There will be French champagne and French bistro food. Jennifer invites Margaret, Mitzi, Ava, Ava's best friend, Shelby, and then, truly desperate for warm bodies, she asks Mary Rose Garth, George's girlfriend. Everyone accepts; both Margaret and Mitzi are thrilled, Kevin is grateful, and Jennifer feels more like herself than she has since the day Patrick was indicted. She is helping out, getting things done. Isabelle will have a proper bridal shower in an elegant French restaurant.

Patrick and Jennifer arrive on Nantucket for the shower on Saturday afternoon. The streets of town feel deserted because many locals are on Martha's Vineyard for the annual high school football game known as the Island Cup. Jennifer bought Isabelle a set of plush white towels monogrammed with her and Kevin's initials, but once Jennifer's on the island, she goes to Ladybird Lingerie on Centre Street because she wants to get Isabelle something pretty to wear on her honeymoon.

As Jennifer is heading back to the inn with the gift, she sees a black truck rumbling down the cobblestones of Main Street. Jennifer's heart seizes.

It's Norah's truck.

The truck stops abruptly, the driver's window goes down, and Norah sticks her head out. “Hey, you.”

She sounds normal, friendly, and she looks wonderful. She has gotten her hair colored and styled by someone who knows what he or she is doing, and Norah looks at once younger and more sophisticated.

Drugs,
Jennifer thinks.
Oxy, Ativan.
A familiar longing stirs in her.

“Hey,” Jennifer says. She isn't sure whether to stop and chat or hurry along up the sidewalk. To stop might make for an uncomfortable situation, but to speed up might seem rude. Jennifer compromises by slowing down somewhat.

Norah nods at Jennifer's shopping bag from Ladybird. “Get a little something to surprise Paddy?”

“Oh,” Jennifer says. “This is for Isabelle.”

“Kev's girl?” Norah asks.

Jennifer presses her lips together. She finds herself unable to lie to Norah—but why not?

“Are they getting married?” Norah asks. “Finally?”

Jennifer smiles and keeps walking.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Norah says. “Good for Kev. He deserves to be happy.”

“Yes,” Jennifer says, perhaps more forcefully than she intends. “He does.”

“When is the wedding?” Norah asks.

Jennifer will not tell her. She waves and picks up her pace.

“Okay, then,” Norah says. She drives away.

The shower is sheer perfection, if Jennifer does say so herself. The seven women gather in the vestibule of the restaurant, and everyone is in high spirits, especially Isabelle. She is smiling more brightly than Jennifer has ever seen her smile. Isabelle isn't a woman who is used to being celebrated, a fact that breaks Jennifer's heart a little but also makes her happy that Isabelle is marrying Kevin.

Jimmy, the bartender at Le Languedoc and a friend of the Quinn family for many years, leads the women upstairs. The stairs are narrow and steep in a way that promises an
arrival
—and the room does not disappoint. It is hushed and elegant, the table exquisitely set with white linen, silver, china, crystal, and a low, wide bouquet of fall flowers, a gift from Kevin. There is a magnum of Veuve Clicquot chilling in an ice bucket. At everyone's place sit two gifts: a wrapped copy of Elin Hilderbrand's wedding-on-Nantucket novel,
Beautiful Day
(Isabelle's copy is in French, and obtaining it took a bit of logistical gymnastics on Jennifer's part), and a small blue box from Tiffany, tied up with white satin ribbon.

Mary Rose gushes as she takes her seat, marked by a calligraphed place card. “I've never been to a shower where
I
got a present,” she says.

Margaret squeezes Jennifer's arm. “You did a beautiful job, sweetie,” she says. “You went above and beyond.”

That was by design: Jennifer had badly wanted to impress Margaret and restore herself in her mother-in-law's good graces. Plus, staging moments like this was Jennifer's job. She had built a career on making her clients' homes gracious and comfortable, practical yet inspiring. Essentially, she created set decorations to encourage happy, productive, peaceful lives. But what actually happened in the rooms Jennifer curated was, of course, beyond her control.

Inside each Tiffany box was a heart-shaped silver bookmark engraved with the guest's initials.