Beachcombers. Part 20

"Sheila Lester took me," Marina began.

Lily interrupted. "How do you know Sheila?"

Marina waited a beat or two before responding, indicating--she hoped--that she found Lily's tone a little rude. Something childish within her wanted to say snarkily, Through your father. She bit back her annoyance. "I met Sheila when I volunteered to help with the library book sale. She's giving me private lessons in making a lightship basket."

"Sheila's the best," Emma said. "She knows everything about the island."

Abbie asked, "Would you mind if I climbed the ladder and peeked at the loft? It's just that I haven't seen it in years."

"Go ahead," Marina told her.

Abbie went up the ladder. Emma followed. Lily followed her sisters. Marina relaxed, sipping her drink, listening to the girls as they walked around the loft. Because the loft had no closets, Marina had bought plastic crates in a variety of colors and used them as she had in college like an open chest of drawers, her pastel tees and shorts folded neatly and stacked inside. She'd hung her skirts and dresses on hangers on the hooks nailed into the walls, and all the patterns swirled like abstract art.

"Oh, wow, this wasn't here the last time I came up," Lily said, and Marina knew she'd found the mirror.

Emma said, "Such careful workmanship. It must have cost a fortune."

Abbie stuck her head over the edge of the loft. "Where did you get that seash.e.l.l mirror?"

Marina smiled. "I made it."

"You made it?"

"It's not difficult. You just have to be patient. I gathered the sh.e.l.ls whenever I walked on the beach, and soaked them in soapy water and dried them in the sun and arranged them the way I wanted them, then super-glued them on the frame."

"Well, I'm impressed." Emma carefully backed down the loft ladder. "I love what you've done up there."

"It's very summery, isn't it?"

"Doesn't it get awfully hot at night?" Emma asked.

"That's why I bought that fan." As she chatted with Emma, Marina strained to hear Abbie and Lily, still up in the loft. Abbie hissed at Lily, "Stop that, Lily. That's private." She suspected that Lily was opening the drawer of the bedside table, and she didn't know if that was a good thing or bad--she'd bought a box of condoms at the pharmacy recently, just in case. If Lily saw them, tough luck. Marina had the right to have s.e.x with whomever she wanted.

"Come on, Lily." Abbie's voice was louder. "We've seen everything there is to see."

Abbie came down the steps, and Lily sulkily followed. They chatted about the island arts and crafts while Marina served dinner, and because the little table was too small for four, they sat on the sofa and chairs, holding their plates on their laps as they ate. Marina asked the girls about their day and refilled their Bellinis. Gradually, as twilight fell, the girls relaxed their guard. Emma seemed the most responsive to Marina's conversation, but Lily answered in abrupt monosyllables. Marina focused her attention on Abbie.

"So you've been traveling for a while, I hear. Where did you go?"

Abbie lit up. "I lived with a family in London."

"Oh, I love London. It's such a great city for walking."

"Exactly! Sometimes on my time off, I'd just wander around the city, ogling the shopwindows, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Trafalgar Square--"

Lily broke in. "Well, I love being on the island. It's good enough to last a lifetime, for most people."

"Oh, come on, Lily," Emma scoffed. "You're always talking about wanting to live in New York."

"Could I ever just say something without you correcting me?" Lily snapped.

Emma began, "I wasn't--"

Lily glared at Marina. "How long are you renting our Playhouse for?"

Marina blinked, startled by Lily's abrupt change of subject.

"I mean," Lily continued, almost snarling, "since you love cities so much, you're probably bored here."

Marina couldn't stop herself. "Oh, Nantucket's got lots of other ... pleasures." Her tone was gloating, and she was immediately ashamed of herself. Rattled, she rose. "Let me get dessert. Would any of you like coffee?"

Conversation was easy as they ate their meringues, centering on how Marina had baked them, and which island cookbooks were the best. Lily excused herself the moment she'd finished her dessert, explaining that she had work to do for her magazine article. Abbie took her leave shortly after, but to Marina's surprise, Emma remained.

Emma perched on the sofa, holding her dessert plate. She'd hardly eaten all evening. Marina leaned against the kitchen counter and waited.

"How do you do it?" Emma asked quietly. "How do you recover so quickly?"

Marina answered honestly. "I haven't recovered, Emma. I still cry myself to sleep some nights. It helps that I've left the place where Gerry and Dara live, where all our friends live, where every day I have to pa.s.s the stores where we shopped together, the restaurants where we ate. And where we worked ... I think I miss my work as much as my husband. Ex-husband."

"But you seem to enjoy life," Emma said, and as she spoke, her false cheer disappeared and her eyes were full of pain. "I can't believe I'll ever enjoy life again."

Marina took a deep breath. "It's still early for you," she said. "And I'm older than you." She glanced out at the night, so soft and full of stars. "You know what? Let's go for a swim."

Emma shrugged. "My bathing suit--"

"Use one of mine." She climbed the loft stairs, dug out her Speedo and tossed it down to Emma. She pulled on her bikini and tugged a tee shirt on over it.

It was only a few blocks from the Fox house to the Jetties beach, and as they ambled along, Marina found herself telling Emma about finding out about Gerry's affair with Dara, about Dara telling Marina she was pregnant with Gerry's child.

"That's so terrible," Emma said. "How does anybody get over something like that?"

"I guess you just do everything you can," Marina told her. "I saw a therapist, but I have to say she wasn't much help. My friends were all divided between Gerry and me, so they were uncomfortable if I let loose with my anger and misery. A change of scene helps. Being here helps."

They had reached the beach. It was after ten, fully dark. All the families were gone, but here and there couples strolled along the water's edge, holding hands and laughing as the gentle tide rinsed over their feet. From the distance, the Sankaty lighthouse winked at them.

Marina waded into the water. The night air was hot, the shallow waves cool.

"It does seem magical here," she told Emma, who had waded in next to her. "Perhaps that's because I'm here as a tourist, and my ex-husband and all that horrible stuff is far away."

"Perhaps." Emma was slowly moving deeper into the water, letting the waves lap at her fingertips, her wrists, her elbows. "As much as I love the island, being here makes me consider myself a failure. Because I failed at work and I failed at love and I have to come home."

Marina gasped a bit as the water lapped against her rib cage. They were far from the sh.o.r.e now. Beneath her feet, the sand was cool and firm.

"Maybe there's another way to think about it," she suggested. "Perhaps you were meant to come home. Perhaps this is where you should be."

"I want to be married," Emma confessed, more to herself than to Marina. "I want to have children. And I want to have enough money to help my father. Perhaps I want too much."

The waters of Nantucket Sound billowed against Marina, lifting her and dropping her with each gentle wave. Far above, the night sky glittered with stars, and in the distance, lights gleamed from boats and laughter drifted from the boats moored in the harbor. All around her the water, so blue in the day, shimmered indigo, only slightly darker than the air around them, and full of glitter.

"Tonight," Marina told Emma, "we have all this." She held her arms out. The last Steamship ferry was approaching, slowly gliding toward the pier, like an enormous swan.

The beach here was wide and gentle. Marina knew she could swim for a long way without coming to any danger. Next to her, Emma flipped on her back and lazily stroked along, her feet making little splashes as she kicked. She felt brave and slightly adventurous, swimming at night, and safe because Emma was next to her. For a while, Marina was a creature of the sea, she could swim forever and never drown. All her sorrows were as far away as the moon, her limbs were strong and willing, and her heart swelled and sang with the pleasure of this unfamiliar act.

She glanced over at Emma. Emma's eyes shone as she turned onto her stomach and did a lazy crawl beside Marina.

"It's like swimming in honey," Marina said. "But we're awfully far out. Let's turn around and go back before we get too tired."

"I don't think I'll ever tire out here," Emma told her, but she ducked under the water and reversed direction.

They swam side by side back to the beach, and the lifting and falling waves carried them gently toward sh.o.r.e.

30.

Abbie When Abbie arrived at the Parker house, she found Harry in the living room, on his father's lap, while Howell read to him.

"Abbie!" Howell's eyes held a warm smile especially for her. "I'm going mad with this cast thing. Can't drive anywhere. I've got to get out. Will you drive me and Harry somewhere?"

She laughed at his desperation. "Of course. Where would you like to go?"

Howell said softly, "Anywhere you'll take me."

She felt herself blushing. "I was going to take Harry out to r-i-d-e today. You could come watch. Or we could hit one of the beaches."

"I'd love to watch Harry ride," Howell said.

Harry began to dance up and down with excitement. "Horses! Horses!"

"Let's get your sneakers and socks, buddy," Abbie told the little boy. "You can't ride barefoot."

Abbie had already checked with her friend Sh.e.l.ley to be sure it was a good day for a visit. She helped Harry into his booster car seat. Howell leaned on her as she helped him negotiate his ankle into the backseat next to Harry. Her spirits were flying. As she drove out to Hummock Pond Road, she sang silly songs that made Harry giggle, and in the rearview mirror, she saw Howell's eyes resting affectionately on her face.

They arrived at Sh.e.l.ley's farm, parking behind the house in a wide dusty yard opening to a barn and a corral. Sh.e.l.ley came out of the barn to greet them, wearing faded blue jeans and an even more faded tee shirt. She led a white horse spotted with black and brown toward them.

"Hi, guys! Harry, meet Slappy."

Harry was frightened now that he was faced with a real-life, head-tossing horse. He clutched his father's hand and huddled next to him.

"It's okay, buddy," Howell said, bending down to rea.s.sure his son. "You can do it."

"He's big, but he's an easy rider," Sh.e.l.ley promised. She fished a bit of carrot out of her pocket and gave it to Harry. "Hold this flat on your hand. Slappy loves treats."

Abbie knelt behind Harry, wrapping her arms around him and enclosing his hand in hers as he held out the carrot. The horse craned his humongous head, pulled back his lips, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the carrot with his humorous long teeth. He snorted in grat.i.tude and tossed his head around. Harry's eyes were wide.

Sh.e.l.ley laughed. "Come on, Harry. Let's get you up on Slappy's back. I use a western saddle for the kids so they can hold on to the pommel. I'll keep hold of the reins."

Abbie lifted Harry and settled him in the saddle. Harry clutched the pommel.

"Give him a pat on the neck," Sh.e.l.ley instructed Harry. "Tell him he's a good boy. He's just like the rest of us, happy to be complimented."

"You're a good boy, Slappy." Harry's voice was flute-like and tremulous. Abbie was proud of him for not being paralyzed with fear.

"Okay, here we go." Sh.e.l.ley led the horse into the corral and began to walk him around the ring.

Howell and Abbie leaned against the fence, watching.

"Look at his face," Howell said. "He's shining." For a moment he rested his hand on Abbie's back. "Thank you for this, Abbie."

Abbie had brought her digital camera. She snapped a dozen photos. "I'll print these off on my computer and make a couple into posters for his room."

"G.o.d, what a good idea. You're wonderful, Abbie." Howell's smile was tender. "In so many ways."

Abbie gazed back at him, and for a moment their look was a kind of embrace.

Sh.e.l.ley always had patience for her horses and anyone who loved horses, and she led Slappy in circles around the ring for a good fifteen minutes. Then she helped the little boy dismount and took him into the barn to introduce him to the other two horses. She gave Harry a curry comb and showed him how to groom Slappy. Harry brushed the horse--he had to reach up to get to the animal's side--his face tight with concentration.

Finally, Sh.e.l.ley said, "Okay, Harry, I've got some boring old paperwork waiting for me in the house."

Abbie thanked her friend and hugged her. As they drove away from Sh.e.l.ley's, Harry chattered away, reliving his moments of glory.

"Slappy liked me! He really did! He was so big! I didn't fall off! Did you see how I went all around the circle, Dad?"

"I did. You were brave, Harry. I'm proud of you."

"Howell," Abbie suggested, "show Harry the pictures I snapped." She reached into her bag and handed the camera over the seat back to Howell.

At Howell's suggestion, Abbie drove them back into town so they could stop at the library and get horse books for Harry. Howell limped along into the adult section and checked out a few for himself. Then he settled on a bench in the Atheneum garden while Abbie took Harry to the Nantucket Pharmacy for strawberry ice cream cones. She returned to the garden, gave Howell a cone, and sat on the bench with him while Harry devoured his ice cream. Then he changed into a horse, galloping in circles over the gra.s.s.

Abbie sat next to Howell, watching, content in the shade of the crabapple tree.

"This is a perfect day," Howell told Abbie. "Well, almost perfect. I wish I could hold your hand. I wish I could put my arm around you. It's all I want to do--touch you."

Abbie smiled. "I know. Me, too."

Howell leaned back against the bench and stretched his arm out so that it was behind Abbie, just barely touching her. She almost whimpered with l.u.s.t.

An older woman carrying a book bag and walking with a cane toddled past them toward another bench set under a tree. Harry galloped up to Abbie and Howell and whinnied. Abbie held out the last bit of her cone on the flat of her hand, and Harry the Horse nibbled it up, shook his head, and galloped away.

The old lady smiled at Abbie and Howell. "You have an adorable little boy."

Abbie's face went hot.

Howell said simply, "Thank you."