Beachcombers. Part 5

"I know, I know, I hate it, too, but it might come to that. Now, it might rea.s.sure you to know that I do have some savings in an IRA. Not a lot, but with social security, I should be able to live pretty comfortably for the rest of my life. The thing is, I can't take out the money until after I turn fifty-nine and a half or I'd have to pay some fees and penalties. So I've got a few more years to go before I can touch those IRAs. I think I can make it, if I watch my pennies, but ..." He held his hands out in a what-can-I-do gesture.

"Oh, Dad, this is terrible," Abbie said.

"Well, I'm not putting it on the market right away. I just want you to know it's got to be an option in my life." He shrugged. "And come on, it's way too big for me. If Lily weren't home, I'd rattle around here like a marble in a bathtub."

Lily watched her sisters for some kind of wisdom. But Abbie and Emma just sat there stupefied.

"You know," their father said, "it might not be such a terrible thing for me to sell the house. I mean, I don't think any one of you wants to live the rest of her life on the island, and if I sold the place, I'd make a nice fat sum of money and I'd have something to give each of you." He studied his daughters' faces. "Abbie? You look like I've just hit you over the head with a board."

Lily could tell her sister's smile was forced. "Sorry, Dad," Abbie said. "I think jet lag is clogging my mind. I can't seem to think right."

"Well, don't worry about it," her father told her. "I don't want you girls to worry about anything. I mean, if any of you were to get married, have some children to come here for summer and holidays, then I can see this big old house might be worth struggling to keep. But as it is ..."

Emma made a choking noise and burst into tears. Shoving her chair back, she rose. "Sorry." She ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.

"She's really taken it hard, Duncan breaking off with her," Abbie observed quietly.

"Duncan was an a.s.shole," their father said, surprising Lily. He seldom swore.

Lily smiled. "You're right. She's better off without him."

He pushed back his chair and stood. "Well, I think I'll catch some of the ball game before I go to bed. Let you two catch up on some girl talk."

"Night, Dad," Abbie said.

He pecked a kiss on their heads. To Abbie, he said, "It's great to have you home. And thanks for cooking dinner." He left the room.

"I was at Carrie's," Lily blurted out. "She's got a baby now, a little girl only seven months old, and Carrie's exhausted. I went over to help--"

Abbie interrupted Lily by leaning back in her chair and yawning enormously. "Oh, man, it's. .h.i.tting me now." She stood up. "I've got to go to bed or I'll fall over on the floor. Good night."

"Um ... good night," Lily replied. She stood alone in the silent kitchen, with all the dirty dishes for a meal she hadn't eaten.

9.

Emma Rain streaked down the windows like teardrops. Perfect for Emma's mood. She checked the clock: 6 a.m. She groaned and rolled on her side, trying to fall back asleep. Instead, her thoughts flashed a slide show in her mind, a private DVD of images of Duncan and Alicia, happy, together. Perhaps she dozed.

Someone tapped gently on the door. "Emma? Honey?" It was her father.

She didn't answer. She didn't want to see him.

The door opened. Her father came in and sat down at the end of her bed. He smelled of Old Spice and his own particular scent of soap and wood dust.

"How're you doing?" he asked softly.

She muttered, "I'm fine, Dad. Don't worry."

"It's raining," he told her. "It's down in the lower sixties, if you can believe it. Be sure to wear a sweater when you go out. It's supposed to be cool and rainy all day."

If she could remember how to smile, she would have smiled. That was so Dad, presenting the daily weather--the hourly weather--in detail. He always had been a devotee of the Weather Channel. She supposed it was his way of taking care of his daughters now that they were grown.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll wear a sweater." If I get out of bed, which I won't.

"Well, then, I'm off." Her father leaned over to kiss her forehead. "See you tonight."

"Right."

Her father closed her bedroom door behind him. Emma remained pinned to her bed by the needles and knives of her misery.

Where was Duncan at this very moment? He had never lingered in bed. When their alarm went off at six a.m., Duncan would be awake instantly, and he'd roll on top of her, whispering, "Hey, baby, let me give you one," which now that she thought about it was ironic, because their morning s.e.x was always over so fast it didn't give her anything at all. She knew, for Duncan, it was a kind of start-up point, a way of checking his first item of the day off his list. He'd jump up from bed, rush into the bathroom, and shower. She'd shower while he shaved, they both dressed, and he drove them to work while she put her makeup on in the car. As they rushed into the building, they'd grab a double java jolt coffee from Starbucks.

She thought that with Alicia, Duncan probably could slow down enough to enjoy making love. With Alicia, who was already rich, and safely rich, Duncan didn't have to move so fast because he didn't have so far to go to get to what he wanted. Would Alicia sleep at Duncan's apartment, or would he sleep at hers? What would her apartment be like? Emma had Googled the address. It was on Commonwealth Avenue, in the pricey, elegant part of the city, not far from the building where they worked. So probably Duncan would sleep at Alicia's, rather than at his place, which was in a nice but not posh apartment in Watertown. This would give them even more time to lounge around in bed.

Alicia's hair was a sleek brown pageboy. It never frizzed--she'd been born with sophisticated hair. While Emma's stupid hair would coil into curls at the slightest whisper of humidity. She had to blow her hair dry, then iron it to get it to lie down and look groomed; she could never hope for sophisticated, not with freckles. It was one of the things that drove Duncan mad about her; he hated how long she took to dry her hair. He was always afraid they'd be late for work, which they never could have been because they always got into the building an hour before everyone else, so they had time to scan the news streamers and Asian stock reports.

Now, with Alicia with the perfect hair, Duncan would have even more reason to relax. And at night, they wouldn't have to argue about what to have for dinner or who would fix it. With Alicia's money, they could just go out every night, to whatever restaurant they wanted. Everyone would admire them when they walked in--just like they'd admired Duncan and Emma. Duncan was so handsome, so tall, with sleek brown hair and a patrician profile. His clothes were expensive, and he wore them well, his body shaped by the hour's exercise he did every day instead of eating lunch.

What a glam couple they'd be, both thin and reeking of power and s.e.xual conquest ... while she lay here on her childhood bed, on stupid sheets with idiotic violets on them! While her hair curled like a Scottish sheep's and her bank account gaped emptily and no hope waited anywhere. Duncan and Alicia could zip over to Paris for the weekend. Emma couldn't get out of bed.

"You should keep your engagement ring," Duncan had told her the day he broke off with her. "It might help you get back--"

"I don't want your charity!" she'd screamed. "This ring is a sign of your love! This ring is a sign of our hopes for the future!" She'd thrown the ring at him. The two carat, square-cut diamond ring.

Idiot.

She couldn't stand it that he pitied her. But of course he did. She was a loser. She'd lost her job. She'd lost her savings. She'd lost all hope for the future.

10.

Marina All morning long, rain fell in s.h.i.+ning, stinging needles. Marina whistled to herself as she buzzed around cleaning her little nest. She emailed Christie, played a few games of computer solitaire, then made a fresh cup of coffee and curled up with a book she'd bought at the airport, reminding herself what a luxury it was to lie around reading on a rainy day. But the book didn't hold her attention.

Her mind sidetracked back to its endless loop of self-pity and memories, replaying the moment in the kitchen with Gerry and Dara. Dara's contrite, triumphant announcement that she was pregnant with Gerry's baby.

Replaying the moment she walked into their ad agency to clean out her office, down the corridor past the receptionist and the desks of copywriters and all of them beaming at her with such charitable smiles.

Replaying the pain, and the hopelessness, and the crus.h.i.+ng sense of defeat.

"Okay, that's enough!" She tossed her book on the coffee table and began to pace around the little cottage. She wiped down the already clean kitchen counter, adjusted the candlesticks on the little wooden table, and now she craved something to do. It was not her style to sit alone in a room with a book and the rain clicking away on the roof like someone nervously tapping her fingers.

She would go out for lunch, and to the library for a new book.

She pulled on white jeans and a pink s.h.i.+rt and slid her feet into espadrilles. She took her time putting on just a touch of makeup and selecting earrings, because why shouldn't she take her time? She had all the time in the world. Time was all she had.

She belted on her khaki trench coat and stepped out into the rain. Umbrella, she thought. She'd packed so few things when she flew out here. Her first stop would be at Nantucket Pharmacy to buy an umbrella. The wind batted at her, whipping rain in her face. She walked down the drive, taking care to avoid the deepest puddles.

Just as she reached the street, a red pickup truck turned into the drive with Jim Fox at the wheel.

He slid his window down. "Where are you off to?"

"Oh, just into town. I have to buy an umbrella."

He laughed at that. "If you stayed home, you wouldn't need an umbrella."

"If I stayed home, I'd go stir crazy." Quickly, she continued, "Not that it isn't a nice little cottage."

"Little being the crucial word. Listen, let me take you out to lunch."

"Oh," she said, surprised, and her vision did a kind of wriggle, so that the man in the pickup truck suddenly came in clearer. He was handsome, and he was definitely hitting on her. She was astonished to feel something deep inside her raise its little hopeful head, like a flower sensing rain. "Well. Okay!" She opened the pa.s.senger door and stepped up inside.

"I'm going out to the Downy Flake," he told her as they headed along the street.

"When I used to come to the island, the Downy Flake was in town," she said.

"Right. They moved more than fifteen years ago. Good thing, actually. In the summer, all the restaurants right in town get plenty of foot traffic from tourists, but the places out of town still have room for us locals." He glanced over at her. "So you used to come here?"

"For three summers, with my friend Christie. To work--and play." She idly reminisced as Jim drove along the narrow lanes. When other cars inched out of side streets, he braked and waved them ahead.

"No one would do that in the city," she told him.

"What, let someone go ahead? Not everybody does that here. People from the city bring their hurry with them." As he spoke, a black Jag shot away from the curb, making Jim, who wasn't going fast to start with, slam on the brakes. "Like that fellow." He laughed. "Bringing a Jag to the island! He might as well have a b.u.mper sticker saying, I need a flashy vehicle to compensate for my little"--he shot Marina a cautious glance--"um, b.a.l.l.s."

Marina laughed. "My ex-husband drove a Jag."

"Really. Good thing he's your ex, then."

Surprised at his response and the complete absence of anything like pity in his voice, Marina said, "You know, I think you're right."

"So how's your summer going?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just getting settled, really. I've been to the library, and I want to visit all the museums, all of the island. It's so different, perceiving it as an adult. I realize there are huge chunks of the island I've never seen, not to mention all the historical spots that I couldn't appreciate when I was younger." She glanced over at him. "How is your summer so far? I don't think I know what you do."

Jim blushed when she turned to him, and her own pulse quickened in return. What was going on? She thought he was probably ten years older than she was, and really not her type. Gerry was six-two, lean as a whippet, with sleek blond hair. Jim was tall and burly, with unruly brown hair. Plus, she'd gone off men in general. She didn't think she'd ever be able to stand being in bed with a man again in all her life.

Jim was talking. "I build houses. Summer's always busy for me, but this year things are slowing down, with the economy and all. I'm trying to take advantage of it, trying to enjoy the summer."

She laughed. "Isn't it funny, how we have to work to make ourselves have fun!"

"We're fortunate if we can carve out some fun for ourselves," Jim told her. "I mean, people are struggling now. My crew all have families to support. My three daughters are grown, so I don't have as much to worry about financially."

He'd left an opening as big as a conversational Grand Canyon. Marina cleared her throat. "I wasn't fortunate enough to have children. And I just got divorced. So I've only got myself to worry about." She didn't want to seem maudlin, so she continued, "I just sold my half of an ad agency, so I'm comfortable for a while. I want to sort out my next step. But first of all, I want to just be, and this is just about the most spectacular place on the earth to be in."

"I envy you, having the opportunity to see parts of the island for the first time. Have you ever been to the moors?"

"Never. I just noticed them on a map I was studying."

"You like maps? I've got some great Nantucket maps. Maps of the shoals and s.h.i.+pwrecks. Geological maps ..."

Actually, Marina thought, she didn't know whether she liked maps or not. She'd never considered them. But Jim's enthusiasm was contagious and she was a bit sorry when their arrival at the restaurant interrupted his train of thought.

As they entered the Downy Flake, all the waitstaff and most of the customers nodded or waved a greeting to Jim. They were given a table and were quickly brought their lunch: cheeseburgers and salty fries. Their attempts at conversation were sketchy because so many people stopped by to chat. Jim introduced her to everyone. "This is Marina Warren. She's from Kansas City. She's renting our cottage for the summer and she wants to learn all about the island." By the time she'd finished her lunch, Marina had been invited to two churches with coffee hours after the service, and one woman suggested she help them sort books for the local library book sale.

She wasn't surprised at Jim's popularity. He had a confidence about him, and a kind of contentment in his voice, a deep resonance that seemed to spring from a profound comfort with himself. And he was handsome, with his tanned skin and curly brown hair and large hazel eyes. He had told her when he first showed her the cottage that he was widowed. She wondered whether he had a girlfriend, and what she would think of him taking Marina out for lunch. Probably, given Jim's gregariousness, it was not unusual at all.

As they got back into the truck, the rain diminished and suddenly the clouds parted and the sun shone down.

"Do you still want to go into town and get an umbrella?" Jim asked her.

"Absolutely," Marina told him. "I remember how much it rains on this island."

She settled back in the seat, rolled down the window, and took a deep breath of the clean rinsed air. "I hope you don't mind my asking this, but could I have your permission to paint the walls of the cottage?"

"Well, of course, but you shouldn't have to do that. I know those walls need some brightening. I can do it or have my crew come over while you're out."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind at all. In fact, I'd enjoy the painting. I like painting walls, seeing the new color rise, and I like the actual work. It's kind of like a Zen activity."

He laughed. "If you really want to, then please do. But let me reimburse you for the cost of the paint."

"It's a deal," she told him.

"Have you ever been out on the west part of the island?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Mostly we went to Cisco or Dionis, to the beach."

Jim pulled into a parking spot on Main Street. "Here you are. I've got to go back to work."

"Well, thanks so much for lunch!" She turned to face him, and something zinged between them. Startled, she blurted out, "The food was delicious and I loved meeting all your friends and maybe I will volunteer in the library. I hadn't really thought of volunteering, but maybe I will--" She shut her eyes tight, took a deep breath, and opened them. "I'm babbling."

"And you do it very well," Jim told her with a grin. "I'm going over to Tuckernuck someday soon. Want to go? We could have a little picnic."

"Oh. Do you have a boat?"

"I do. A little runabout out in the Madaket Harbor. Nothing elegant. Smells like fish, probably."

"I'd love to go out with you," Marina told him.

"Then we'll do it," he promised. "Soon."