Beachcombers. Part 18

She didn't try to act coy. "Howell, you're married."

"Let me tell you about my marriage," he said.

"I don't think--"

"I'm not going to disparage Sydney. You've met her. She's an amazing woman."

Of course, Abbie knew that, but still the word pierced her with jealousy.

"She's brilliant," Howell continued. "She's ambitious. She works tirelessly. She might have a future in politics. It's what she wants. I admire Sydney tremendously, even though, as you might have gathered, she can be abrasive."

Abbie's heart was leaping about in her chest. He admired her! Now each word he spoke seemed to build a bridge between Abbie and Howell.

"She's your wife," she said, trying to cut through this connection with the knife of Sydney's image.

"By accident. We met just a few days before we graduated from grad school. We each had landed the jobs we wanted in New York. We were giddy and we were stupid. We went out a few times, we slept together a few times, and then we got too busy to even think of dating. I hadn't even seen Sydney for a month when she came to tell me she was pregnant."

"Howell--"

"She'd thought she'd missed her period because she was working so hard at her new job at the law firm. She was three months' pregnant. G.o.d knows she didn't want a baby." He made a scoffing noise. "She wasn't thrilled about marrying me, either. She didn't love me. I didn't love her. She considered giving the baby up for adoption." Pain flashed over his face. "Imagine giving up Harry." He shook his head. "So we married. We are fairly good friends. We've worked out a manageable life. But I don't love her, Abbie. And I've never felt about Sydney the way I feel about you."

It was everything she wanted to hear. Softly, she said, "I know. I feel that way about you."

"Then come over here."

"Howell--" She hesitated.

"Abbie."

As if she were riding a tide tumbling toward the sh.o.r.e, Abbie allowed herself to be pulled by the irresistible magnetism of their mutual desire. Howell made room for her on the sofa, and she perched on the edge next to him, and he put his arms around her and gently drew her to him and kissed her mouth. Pleasure shot through her. His hands found her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pushed up her shirt and struggled with her bra and touched her skin. She kept her mouth on his as she unb.u.t.toned her shirt, unsnapped her bra, and tossed them to the floor. While she stood to tug off her shorts and panties, Howell shifted on the sofa so that she could straddle him. He fought to tug his shorts off.

"d.a.m.n!" he whispered when his clothing caught on his ankle cast. "The h.e.l.l with it. Come here, Abbie."

She settled herself over him, leaning down to kiss him, and he ran his hands over her body, everywhere. She raised herself and he pressed himself inside her.

Here, her body told her. Here. This is right. This is perfect. This is everything.

This is home.

27.

Emma Emma, you are a wonder," Spencer whispered.

She grinned. "I'm pretty pleased with myself, I have to say."

They were standing at the back of the small auditorium in the Whaling Museum. Spencer had just given a lecture about Nantucket shipwrecks and lightships, and Emma had accomplished the brilliant coup of persuading Mrs. Bracebridge to attend.

Really, it hadn't been so difficult. Toots Carlyle was young and strong and his vehicle was equipped for wheelchairs. He easily lifted Mrs. Bracebridge out of her wheelchair and into the van, then lifted her wheelchair into the back of the van and out again at the Whaling Museum. He helped the older woman descend from his van on its little electric lift, and he carefully attended her as she sank back into her wheelchair.

Emma took over then, pushing her charge in front of her through the electric doors and around the visitor's stand to the meeting room at the back. The docents at the door did not ask Mrs. Bracebridge if she was a member. It was obvious from her regal bearing that she belonged anywhere she chose to be.

Emma heard the murmuring as she wheeled Mrs. Bracebridge into the room. After the lecture, half the audience swarmed toward Millicent Bracebridge. People leaned close to Millicent, announcing their names, patting her hand, exclaiming how very happy they were to see her.

Emma stepped back, preparing to wait patiently, but to her surprise three women in their fifties approached her.

"Emma Fox? Is that really you?"

They had been friends of her mother and were still friends of her father. She'd played with their children, had overnights in their homes, and now she caught up on all the news. When they asked why she was on the island, and why she was with Millicent Bracebridge, she bit the bullet and explained that she'd lost her job at a Boston investment firm. They commiserated, telling her about their children, all Emma's age, many of whom had also lost their jobs or their savings in the past year.

Across the room, Spencer was also surrounded by people. After awhile, the lecture room emptied. Spencer came to his grandmother and bent down close to her.

"Grams. Thank you for coming. I'm honored."

Millicent Bracebridge's face bloomed with pleasure. "Oh, don't be silly."

"I'll phone Toots," Emma said, and slipped away, allowing her employer some private time with her grandson.

When she'd finished her call, she dropped her cell phone into her bag and returned to the lecture room. Spencer wheeled his grandmother out of the building and stayed with her until the van arrived, then kissed her wrinkled cheek.

"Love you, Grams," he said.

To Emma's surprise, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, too. "Thanks for bringing her. I really appreciate it. See you tomorrow?"

"Yes. See you tomorrow."

Back at the Bracebridge home, a black SUV sat in the driveway. As the driver helped Mrs. Bracebridge out of the van and into her wheelchair, the front door flew open and Sandra Bracebridge exploded out of the house, her face dark with fury.

She stomped down the walk and planted herself right in Emma's face. "What do you think you're doing!"

Emma began to explain. "I took Mrs. Bracebridge to hear her grandson--"

"Did I not make it clear that my mother-in-law is in a fragile state?"

"Sandra." Millicent Bracebridge's voice was strained. "Could we please go into the house for this conversation?"

Sandra stormed ahead. Emma pushed the wheelchair up the ramp and into the house. She parked Millicent Bracebridge in her favorite spot in the living room.

"Would you like a gla.s.s of water?" Emma asked the older woman.

"Oh, you're not weaseling out of this!" Sandra snapped. "I want an explanation and an apology."

Sandra's mother-in-law lifted an imperious hand. "Sandra, leave the girl alone. She was only obeying orders. I wanted to go hear Spencer speak."

"You know you don't have the stamina for this sort of excursion."

"Obviously, I'm capable of an occasional outing." Millicent's voice came out in a labored whisper.

"Listen to you, you don't even have the energy to speak!" Sandra scolded.

"I'll get some water." Emma left the room.

When she returned, Sandra was pacing in tight little circles around Millicent's wheelchair.

"--'course they act delighted to see you! You own the greatest collection of Nantucketiana in the world! They want something from you."

"Here's your water, Mrs. Bracebridge." Emma knelt next to the wheelchair and carefully guided the gla.s.s into Millicent's hands, waiting until she was certain the older woman had a fast hold on the gla.s.s before taking her own hands away.

Millicent Bracebridge sipped the water. "Thank you," she said, turning in Emma's direction. "I'm tired now. I'd like to rest."

"I just hope you haven't made yourself sick, Millicent," Sandra huffed.

"Would you like me to stay?" Emma asked.

"Please. I'll probably only nap for a while and I'd like you to read to me later."

Millicent held the gla.s.s out. Emma took it and set it on the table. Millicent closed her eyes.

"Very well, then, I'm going." Sandra glowered at Emma. "I'm not through discussing this with you! As far as I'm concerned, you've seriously overstepped your duties."

Emma said nothing. Sandra sniffed mightily and strode away.

Millicent awoke after a thirty-minute snooze. Emma made her a cup of tea and read to her from Agatha Christie. They didn't discuss Sandra's anger or whether or not Emma's job was in jeopardy, but they did discuss, in great detail, the brilliance of Spencer's speech, his remarkable stage presence, and how pleased he had been to see his grandmother in the audience.

"It's time for me to go, Mrs. Bracebridge," Emma said reluctantly.

"Please call me Millicent," the older woman said. "And thank you again, Emma, for providing me with such a pleasant day."

"I enjoyed it, too," Emma told her truthfully.

Emma walked home feeling quite pleased with herself. When she turned onto her street, she stopped for just a moment. Really, it was such a pretty street. The houses weren't as imposing as the Bracebridges', but they each had a special charm--a window box spilling with petunias, a mermaid door knocker, a trellis smothered with pale pink climbing roses. A pigtailed girl zipped past Emma on her bike. In one yard some mothers sat talking while their little children ran screaming through the water sprinkler. Emma smiled, remembering being young in the summer.

Her mother had been so very beautiful, and she'd laughed so often. She'd invented great games for her daughters to play. She'd decorated each room so prettily, and she loved doing her daughters' hair in fabulous braids. And when they'd been little girls, her mother had been so loving, always hugging, kissing, holding them--Emma still remembered the scent of her mother's perfume as she rocked Emma in her arms. Emma had wanted a lot of babies to love just the way her mother loved her.

And perhaps, someday, she would have them. Today, for no reason at all, she felt hopeful. Boston and Duncan and all that seemed insignificant and far away. She thought of how pleased Spencer had been when she arrived with his grandmother for his talk. She thought of how he smiled at her, and suddenly, beneath the expansive island sunshine, the day was just too glorious for regrets.

28.

Lily Lily was just settling the white wicker bed tray over Eartha's lap when G.o.dzy began his frantic yipping.

"That will be UPS," Eartha said, waving her hand toward the front of the house. "Go get the packages, that's a dear."

"Stop, it, G.o.dzy," Lily told the little dog, who wound himself around her ankles as she walked to the door.

"Want me to carry these in for you?" the UPS man asked. "They're heavy."

"Um ... let me ask Mrs. Yardley."

Before she could reach the bedroom, Eartha Yardley yelled, "Tell him to come on in. It won't be the first time I've had a strange man in my bedroom." She laughed heartily.

G.o.dzy bounced and yapped and ran in frenzied circles around the deliveryman's ankles as he made his way into the bedroom.

"Good morning, Mrs. Yardley," he said. "Where would you like these?"

"Hi, Liam. Over there on the chaise, don'tcha think?"

He set them down. "I've got another batch." He went out and returned with five more boxes.

When the chaise was piled high and G.o.dzy curled next to his mistress, longing for a piece of bacon, Eartha said to Lily, "Open them up for me, darling. I love being entertained while I eat."

Lily found the scissors in the sewing basket and began carefully undoing the boxes. She lifted out dresses and caftans and shawls in vivid jewel tones, in silk and linen and cotton. "So many exquisite things," she breathed.

"Hold up that turquoise one," Eartha ordered. "Yeah, that's gorgeous, all right. And it looks like I'll be able to squeeze into it. I'll try those things on after I eat." She sighed. "Trying on clothes is such hard work."

Lily took padded hangers out of the closet and hung up the clothes as she took them from the box. She couldn't imagine why Eartha needed so many more things. Her closets were already crammed full.

"I know what you're thinking," Eartha said through a mouth of bacon. "You're thinking why does such an old bat even bother trying?"

"Oh, no!" Lily protested. "I wasn't thinking that at all. I think it's fun to look fabulous at any age." She smiled at her employer. "And you always look fabulous."

"You should have seen me when I was young. I was a knockout."

"I know. You look like a movie star in that oil portrait in your living room."

"G.o.d. Those were the days. People were more fun then. Now everyone is so earnest. It's enough to make me gag." Eartha cut off a piece of bacon and held it out for G.o.dzy, who snapped it up. "All right," she said, "I've just got to bite the bullet. Come take this tray off my legs."

Lily carried the tray into the kitchen and slowly cleaned it off, giving Eartha plenty of time to struggle out of her nightgown and into her bra, panties, and slip.

When she returned to the bedroom, Eartha was scrutinizing the hem of an apricot silk dress. "Help me into this," she told Lily.

Lily slid it over the older woman's head and gently tugged it down.

Eartha examined her reflection in the mirror. "Drat. Too small. The color's gorgeous, but it makes my skin turn sallow."

"Let's send it back," Lily suggested. "Exchange it for a larger size."

Eartha flashed a look at Lily, standing behind her. "Check out the color with your hair. Wow. Hey. You take it. With that color, it's absolutely calling your name."