Beachcombers. Part 12

Cinnamon lay on Lily's bed, stretched out full length, stoned by suns.h.i.+ne. The sight made Lily so drowsy she couldn't keep her eyes open. She slipped off her clothes and collapsed on the bed. As she curled up and closed her eyes, she conjured up all those mind-blowing pieces of jewelry. Although Eartha talked incessantly, she hadn't disclosed much about herself, and Lily had promised she would use nothing Eartha told her in her arts and entertainment column. But a girl could dream, and Lily let her thoughts drift. Eartha had no children of her own. She'd had several husbands, but was unattached now and it seemed her closest companion was G.o.dzy. As Lily relaxed and drifted toward sleep, she allowed herself a little fantasy. What if Eartha came to really care for Lily? It was not impossible. What if Eartha kind of adopted Lily? What if she said, in her careless way, "Oh, Lily, I have so much jewelry. Whenever I see you at various parties, you're never wearing anything real. Why don't you choose a couple of nice pieces of mine to keep for yourself? I don't need them, and you have such a pretty, smooth neck. They'd look ravis.h.i.+ng on you, don't you think?"

Lily fell asleep with a smile on her face.

She was wakened from a deep sleep by a loud thud as the door to her room was slammed open so hard it hit the wall. Emma stormed into the room, her face like thunder. Abbie was right behind, her mouth tense.

"Lily, it is not going to start all over again." Emma was practically snarling.

Lily sat up. "What? What's going on?"

Emma echoed, in a little girl's voice, "What's going on?"

"Emma, calm down," Abbie said softly.

"I'll tell you what's going on." Emma's voice was shaking. "Abbie and I have been working all day long and we've got jobs tonight, but she cleaned the kitchen before she left this morning and I cleaned the bathrooms and washed and dried and folded all the towels and we left the Old Clunker for you. All we asked you was to stop by the grocery store, and you couldn't even be bothered to do that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lily protested.

"I'm talking about the list I left on the kitchen table!" Emma retorted. "With your name printed at the top in bright red letters. Don't tell me you didn't see it."

"But I didn't see it," Lily insisted.

"Oh, come on, Lily, how could you miss it?" Even Abbie seemed cranky.

Lily thought. "I guess I didn't go into the kitchen today. I just got dressed and drove out to Eartha's, and grabbed some coffee on the way."

Emma threw her hands up. "Of course you did. Of course you just took care of yourself and didn't bother to think of any of the rest of us who might have plans, or need the car, or that we're out of toilet paper--"

Abbie added, "You can't just live here like it's your hotel and we're your maids. You're not a baby any longer, even if you want to be."

Lily stared at her older sister in dismay. Abbie had always been so loving to Lily, so protective, so kind. Lily had been Abbie's little darling. She couldn't believe what Abbie was saying.

"It's not my fault," Lily argued sullenly. "I just didn't go into the kitchen."

"Lily." Abbie's tone was more reasonable now. She took Emma's hand and pulled her over to sit on Lily's bed next to her. "I think you all just a.s.sumed that when I returned, I'd take care of the house like I always did."

"I didn't think that," Lily retorted. Her thoughts were whirling. Of course she'd a.s.sumed that. That was what Abbie did. Abbie took care of the house and Abbie took care of Lily. Lily wanted the old Abbie back.

"But I'm working now," Abbie continued.

"And I am, too." Emma was calmer now. "We both have morning jobs and afternoon jobs and usually evening jobs, too. It's not fair to expect Abbie and me to do all the house stuff, too."

Lily stared at the wall and didn't respond.

Abbie said, "I have a suggestion. Let's get together, the three of us, and work out a schedule of duties. I'm sure Lily wants to pull her own weight, do her share. Right, Lily?"

Lily nodded, but inside a fierce little devil was throwing a tantrum. No, she didn't really want to do any of the housework. Who would?

Emma said, "That means you're going to have to schedule your ch.o.r.es into your days. You're going to have to set your alarm clock and get up before noon and not spend so much time lying on the beach or visiting your friends."

Lily hated it, how Emma was making her sound so irresponsible! Then she remembered her news. "Oh! I wanted to tell you! Eartha Yardley has asked me to help her organize and take care of her clothes. She wants me to work every morning. So I won't be sleeping until noon anymore!" She looked triumphantly at Emma.

"Eartha Yardley. Wow. How did you meet her?" Abbie asked.

"At a c.o.c.ktail party. She asked me to get her a drink, and I did, and we talked. She phoned me this morning, and I went over to see her. She said I'm pretty." Pleasure bubbled through Lily as she remembered the compliment.

"Okay, so you have two jobs now," Emma said. "So do we--"

Lily interrupted Emma, rus.h.i.+ng to tell the rest. "I told her that my sisters and I have a company called Nantucket Mermaids. I thought it would be a real coup if her name was added to the list of clients."

"That's true, Lily," Abbie agreed. "It would upscale our image and impress prospective employers. Thanks for thinking of us."

"So I'm a Nantucket Mermaid now?" Lily asked.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lily," Emma said grumpily. "It's just a name."

But Abbie pretended she had a sword in her hand and touched Lily on both shoulders as if she were being knighted. "I hereby dub you a Nantucket Mermaid."

"But you still have to help with the household ch.o.r.es," Emma said.

21.

Marina Wednesday morning, Marina helped Sheila Lester and two strong male volunteers carry the boxes of discarded books out to Sheila's truck. Some books were in such bad shape, stained with food or water or worse, that they couldn't be read. Others were out-of-date reference books, and some were old paperback novels and antiquated scientific tomes that had been put out for sale at only pennies and never chosen.

"It's kind of sad," Marina said as she climbed up into the cab of Sheila's truck. "Throwing books away."

"I know what you mean," Sheila agreed, yanking down on the gears.h.i.+ft and steering away from the curb. "But the old has to make way for the new. Besides, a lot of the books are still available, just in a different format." She looked over at Marina. "So, have you been out to the Madaket Mall before?"

"The Madaket Mall? No."

Sheila laughed. "That's what we call the recycling shed. That's where we'll drop off the books. That's where everyone finds treasures. I'm not kidding you. Just follow me. I dive right in. Everyone does. You'll see."

Sheila was right, Marina discovered. At the end of the landfill parking lot was a large wooden shed. Inside the shed were tables piled with discarded but perfectly good items: clothing, books, housewares, toys. Various people pawed through the garments or studied the pots and pans, and some of the people appeared poor and some of the people appeared privileged.

"Aha!" Sheila held up a man's short-sleeved polo s.h.i.+rt. "L.L. Bean. Spotless, not a tear. Perfect for my husband." She dove back into the pile.

A swirl of blue and turquoise caught Marina's eye. She pulled it out from under the mountain of clothing and held it up. It was a batik bedspread. If she folded it just right, it would make a dynamite sarong. She draped it over her arm and set off to search the rest of the shed.

At the back of the building, next to some battered pots and chipped fine china, was an old portable record player. She smiled and reached out to stroke it, as if it were a friendly old beast. Her mother had one like this when she was a child. Did it still work? She'd brought her iPod, but this was kind of tantalizing. On the floor sat a cardboard box of records. She knelt. Patti Page: "Old Cape Cod," "Tennessee Waltz." Rosemary Clooney: "Sway." Jo Stafford: "You Belong to Me." The Mills Brothers: "Up a Lazy River." Lilting melodies drifted through Marina's mind.

"Take it home." Sheila stood next to her, her arms filled with clothing. "If it doesn't work, we can bring it back."

"You know, I think I will," Marina said.

Loaded with loot, they drove back to town.

"How's your summer going?" Sheila asked.

Marina considered her answer. "It's odd. Sometimes it seems to go fast, and sometimes it seems to be absolutely stopped still. When I have something planned, if I'm at a play or a lecture, time speeds along. But if I have a few empty hours, and especially when I come home to an empty cottage at night, then an hour lasts forever. I suppose part of it is that I always used to have someone to talk to about the little things. Insignificant things, like I stubbed my toe on the sidewalk and tripped and felt like everyone was laughing at me. Or I saw a cute dress I'd like to buy. Back home, I always had Gerry, my husband, my ex-husband, to talk to, or one of my friends. Here, I have no one. I'm not complaining. I love being here, and I chose to be here. I guess sometimes I'm just lonely."

"Sometimes you can be lonely right in the middle of a marriage," Sheila told her.

"Yes. I guess that's true. But since I've been here, I've come to realize that my nature is gregarious. I like people. I like working with people. Gerry and I had a really first-cla.s.s office and a staff of twelve and dozens of clients, and maybe, for sure in the last few years, I let myself get too busy, too pressured. But I liked it all, and I miss it."

"What made you decide to spend so much time here alone?"

Marina took a deep breath. "My husband and my best friend fell in love. They're going to have a baby in September. I sold him my part of the business and my half of our condo. And I came here. To get away, I guess. To get away from all the people who know about them, to get away from my anger. To start over."

"A lot of people come here for just that reason," Sheila said.

"That's good to know."

At the Foxes' house, Sheila pulled into the driveway and parked near the garage. Jumping out, she helped Marina carry her plunder inside.

"Wow," Sheila said, noticing the walls. "What a luscious blue!"

"Can you stay for some tea?" Marina asked.

"Sure."

"I chose the color and painted the walls myself." She took a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator as she talked, filled two gla.s.ses with ice and tea, and garnished them with mint from a little pot in her window. She set a plate of shortbread on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa, facing Sheila. "It's probably an odd thing to do, to paint a place I'll be in for only a few months, but you know, I found it very satisfying."

"I can imagine that. Making my lights.h.i.+p baskets does the same for me."

"How long have you lived on the island?" Marina asked.

Sheila took a piece of shortbread. "All my life, really. I was born here. Went to school here. Went off to college, met my husband. He's a pharmacist, so he could work pretty much anywhere. We moved around for a while but when I got pregnant, we decided to move here for good."

"How many children do you have?"

"Two. Kirsten's twenty-two and Roger's twenty-six. They both live in California now, but I wouldn't be surprised if they moved back here eventually. I hope they do. I love having them around." She paused. "Do you have children?"

"No. I tried. I couldn't get pregnant."

"That's so sad. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. And it is sad. I've spent a lot of time being sad, and angry at fate, and resentful. Now my husband of fifteen years is having a baby with my best friend and I'm driving myself nuts with jealousy. I've got to stop wasting time on regrets and self-pity. I want to move on. I want to enjoy life."

"Well, Nantucket's the right place to come if you want to enjoy life."

"I think you're right. So far, I'm having a great time. And"--she couldn't help smiling--"I'm having Jim Fox here for dinner Friday night."

"Well, well." Sheila's face brightened. "First the Downy Flake and now an intimate dinner here."

"He took me to Tuckernuck a couple of days ago. We spent the afternoon together. He seems like a nice man."

"He is. He did a swell job of raising his three daughters after his wife died."

"How did she die?" Marina asked.

"I think I'll let Jim tell you about that." Sheila stood up. "Let's see if this record player works."

Marina set the little machine on the kitchen counter and plugged the cord into the socket. A small light came on and the turntable began to revolve. Sliding a round black vinyl record out of its jacket, she laid it carefully on the turntable and set the needle gently into the groove.

A honeyed male voice began to sing "Blue Moon." The silken tones swirled up into the air, slow, mellow, golden.

"Gosh, this record isn't even scratched," Sheila said. "You're going to have fun with this." She set her gla.s.s in the sink. "I've got to get home. Thanks for the tea."

"Thanks for the ride out to the mall."

"We'll do it again sometime. Have fun Friday. And be good, Marina. Everyone loves Jim Fox."

Friday evening, the air was soft and warm. Marina stepped out of the shower and dressed in a pale blue tee s.h.i.+rt and the blue and turquoise batik swoop of cotton she'd found Wednesday at the recycling shed. She'd washed it, cut and hemmed it, and it fell smoothly around her hips. She creamed her skin, which was nicely tanned and glowing from a day in the sun, flicked on a coat of mascara and a pale gloss of lipstick. She pulled her blond hair back in a low ponytail and slipped some silver bangles over her wrist.

She didn't use perfume. The cottage smelled tantalizingly of the beef bourguignonne simmering on the back burner. She'd decided Jim might like beef for a change--she knew he had the opportunity to eat plenty of fish. A crisp salad waited to be dressed, and she'd made a chocolate cake this morning as she listened to all her new old records. When had she last made a cake? She couldn't remember an occasion. She'd always taken Gerry out to some posh restaurant for his birthday.

She padded barefoot around the small cottage, not really double-checking everything as much as simply enjoying it. She'd bought new winegla.s.ses and some nice red wines for this evening. She'd taken her computer, newspapers, letters, and other paraphernalia off the little table and set it with the plain white plates and inexpensive utensils that had come with the cottage, then she'd turned off the electric lights and put lighted candles all around. The gentle glow made everything appear antique and l.u.s.trous.

It surprised her, how her heart leapt when she heard his knock at the door.

He came in, presenting her with a bottle of red wine. They talked easily as she poured them each a gla.s.s and settled on the sofa. She'd put out a plate of cheese and crackers and relaxed as he regaled her with a humorous account of his day's latest crisis: helping an octogenarian get her cat from its terrified perch in the top of a tree.

"My gosh," she said, "your life is a Norman Rockwell painting."

Jim laughed. He wore khakis and a green rugby s.h.i.+rt. "Sometimes it seems like that, I know. One of the good things about living on an isolated island." He took a sip of wine. "Tell me about Kansas City."

"Well, I don't know any octogenarians," she told him. "Actually, now that I think about it, I didn't know any of our neighbors in the condo. We--my ex-husband, Gerry, and I--really used the place as a kind of crash pad, we were so busy working. And I never spent any time near cats or trees, although there's an excellent park in Kansas City, Swope Park. It's got a first-cla.s.s zoo, and lots of great places to walk or hike. And the Starlight Theater is there. And the Nelson Museum of Art, which has a sensational collection."

They kept to safe, light topics as they ate. Jim had two helpings of her beef bourguignonne, which pleased Marina. He seemed completely at ease. She was relaxed, too, but that was because of the wine. She still couldn't figure out what kind of relations.h.i.+p they were headed for.

When she brought out the cake, he lit up.

"Chocolate cake. I don't know when I've had a homemade cake."

She set it before him. "Do your daughters cook?"

"They're all busy working." He ate the cake as if he were starving, as if he hadn't just had a full meal.

"I've only met one. Lily."

"The youngest." He licked his fork. "G.o.d, that was good."

"Would you like another piece?"