Beachcombers. Part 31

"Nanny Abbie is very clever." Howell looked up at Abbie. "Can you stay for dinner?"

She shook her head. "Not tonight."

Startled, Howell stood up. "Really? Are you sure?"

She took a step back. "I've got another babysitting job this week. Every night. So ... I'd better be going." She kissed the top of Harry's head. "See you tomorrow, buddy."

"Abbie, wait." Howell put his hand on her shoulder. "Abbie ..." Suddenly aware that his son was watching him, he dropped his hand. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine!" she responded brightly. "Bye, Harry." She hurried out the door.

In fact, she actually had a job lined up every night this week. The children she babysat were older than Harry, and less enchanting. The job was easy enough, though. All she had to do was make popcorn and watch DVDs with them until their parents came home at eleven.

At home, she found Emma standing at the kitchen sink spreading peanut b.u.t.ter on crackers.

"Hey," she said to Emma.

"Hey," Emma said back.

Abbie collapsed in a chair. "You look awful."

"I am awful," Emma mumbled with her mouth full. "Sandra Bracebridge fired me."

"Oh, Emma. That's too bad. Is that why you seemed so wretched last night?"

"Yeah. I was going to tell you, but I didn't want to rain on Lily's parade."

"Because of the lights.h.i.+p baskets?" Abbie asked.

"She didn't explain, but I'm sure that's the reason. She fired me by phone. I can't even go say good-bye to Millicent. That makes me feel really terrible. G.o.d, why can't anything go right?"

"Oh, Em. You'll find lots of other jobs."

"Actually, I'm already working for Marcia, landscaping. She pays well, and it's nice to be outside."

"Well, that's good then, right?"

Emma shrugged. She screwed the lid back on the peanut b.u.t.ter jar, rinsed her hands, and settled into a chair across from Abbie. "You look pretty terrible yourself."

Abbie said, "I'll be okay." But she began to cry. "Oh, Emma, I'm such a f.u.c.kup."

Emma laughed. "You? Please."

"What happened to us?" Abbie asked. "Did we all just go mad this summer? I mean, I've worked with lots of children before, and I never felt as charmed by them as I did by Harry. And I certainly never fell in love with any of the daddies before."

"Hang on, Abbie, you're getting things all out of proportion. Harry fell off his horse and hurt himself and wanted his mommy. That is just not tragic. It's normal."

"If you could see her, Emma. Sydney is such a coldhearted b.i.t.c.h. But she is Harry's mommy." She shook her head savagely. "What was I even thinking?"

"What are you even thinking now?" Emma countered.

"That I was a fool ever to dream I could be with Howell and Harry. I'm stepping back, way back. I'm stepping away."

"Have you told Howell this?"

"No. No, I haven't had the opportunity."

"But Abbie, if he loves you, if you love him--"

"I think he does love me. I know I love him. But honestly, Emma, I love Harry more. And Harry's innocent. He's vulnerable. He's helpless. And he's fragile. When he fell, I realized how frightening it would be for him if his parents divorced."

Emma drummed her fingers on the table. After a moment, she said, "I'm not a big fan of divorce, you know that. But as your sister, Abbie, I've got to say I've never seen you in love the way you were this summer with Howell. I hate to see you throw that away. And you told me that Howell doesn't love his wife. Should Harry live with parents who don't love each other? What does that teach him about families, about life? Don't make this decision so hastily. Lots of kids have divorced parents. It might be great for Harry to have his mother and father and you, as well, to love him."

"I don't want to be a home wrecker," Abbie said.

"But Abbie, you matter, too. Your happiness matters, too."

Abbie rubbed her eyes. "I think I really need to get some sleep." She stood up, then impulsively leaned over and hugged her sister. "But thanks. Thanks for being here."

47.

Emma Now at the end of August there was not as much work to be done in the formal gardens of Nantucket. Most required only simple maintenance--watering, mowing, deadheading. Many of the home owners had already left the island for the city, or were busy packing up. Emma wondered if Marcia had hired her out of sympathy, but when she asked Marcia about that, her friend had snorted.

"Are you nuts? You think I could do this all alone? Oh, please get over yourself."

Being around Marcia was good for Emma. Her friend was honest, no-nonsense, blunt, and cheerful. Marcia was engaged to an island man. They were saving toward building a house, and it would be a long frugal time before they could afford that. But Marcia didn't complain about money, or much of anything, really. She and her brother seemed content with their lives. Emma envied them for that.

Now Marcia removed her gardening gloves and stretched to release her back muscles. "Okay. We're done here. Emma, I'm meeting Brian and some friends at Miacomet. Want to come along?"

With the summer rush over, their work hours were shortened. It was only a little after four, but Emma was hot, sweaty, tired, and sad. "I wouldn't be very good company."

"Hey," Marcia said, "all you have to do is sit back and drink a cold beer."

Emma considered this as they carried the tools to the truck. She suspected that Marcia was trying to get a romance going between her brother and Emma, and perhaps at some other time in her life she'd be interested. He was a hunk and a really good guy, but Emma's heart was somewhere else--foolish heart. Still, she didn't want a lopsided attraction to cause misunderstandings between herself and her friend.

"I'm really beat," she told Marcia. "Another time, maybe."

Marcia dropped her off at her father's house, but instead of going inside, Emma left her backpack on the porch and grabbed her bike. She pedaled away from her house, through narrow lanes and along tree-lined streets until she came to Surfside Road. The bike path was good, and it was easy sailing past the high school, the elementary school, and the outlying wooded neighborhoods.

She was going against the tide of traffic. Everyone else was headed back into town after a day at the beach, and when she arrived at the southern sh.o.r.e, she was surprised at how empty it was. A few people sprawled on beach towels, and in the distance a group of four-wheel drive vehicles cl.u.s.tered together, but it was the end of summer and the end of the day. She was glad. She wanted to be alone.

She locked her bike to the bike rack, kicked off her sandals, and padded barefoot down the dune toward the sh.o.r.e. She ambled along at the edge of the water, letting the cool waves break over her feet, and it felt so good that she surrendered to temptation and walked right out into the ocean, gasping as the water slapped her thighs, stomach, chest. She dove under a wave and swam for a while. The waves were rough and churning from a recent storm. The struggle was engrossing, but she knew how wicked the undertow could be here, so she bodysurfed up to the beach and thrashed her way free of the water and back onto the safety of the sand.

After taking a moment to catch her breath, she walked east along the sh.o.r.e. Her shorts and tee s.h.i.+rt clung to her, and the teasing breeze chilled her. Clouds surged over the sun, making the light glare and dim in an erratic dance. Gulls shrieked as they rode the wind, skimming low, searching for food left by picnickers.

On this side of the island, the ocean rolled free and un.o.bstructed all the way from Portugal, gathering a force and density seldom seen on the calmer Sound side. This was the wild side, deep, forbidding, mysterious. Anything could be hidden in its depths. Whales could be looming nearby--a forty-six-foot-long sperm whale had been stranded in Sconset only a decade ago. Even the air was different here, more electric with ions, charged and fickle and exhilarating.

Over the years, Emma had heard many stories about tourists who came to the island and found their lives changed forever. They were healed of sorrows, or they fell in love. They came here to marry, because the island was romantic and magical for those who didn't live here.

But what about those who lived here, who had grown up here? Was there any magic for them?

Emma thought that returning to Nantucket had been good for her. The small-town atmosphere charmed her. The pace of life was more comfortable here. It was good to be back with her sisters, even with that tattletale Lily. It was good to be around her father, too, and it was nothing short of a miracle, the way Marina had made her father brighten up. Okay, she told herself, there was an example of an island resident finding magic. Her father had found love with Marina, and love was magic.

Perhaps Marina was magic. Emma treasured their late-night swims, and the enchanted atmosphere Marina spun around herself with music and wind chimes and sky-blue walls. Marina had recovered from a painful divorce; she provided a role model for Emma. Perhaps Marina could help Abbie figure out what to do with her love for Howell Parker.

Perhaps Marina could help Emma survive the disaster with Spencer Bracebridge. Ironic, really. Finally, Emma was over Duncan--because she'd met Spencer. What an idiot she was!

Suddenly tired, Emma turned back. The waves had already washed away her footprints.

But the tide had left something: a small creamy rock shaped like a heart, polished into a dull gleam by sand and water. Emma picked it up and held it in her hand. Her mother would say: The sea has given you a sign.

But actually, it was only a rock.

Emma swung her arm, to toss it back into the ocean. Then she hesitated, and tucked it into the pocket of her shorts. As she strode up the beach and back to her bike, she felt the little solid b.u.mp against her hip, a kind of message in a language she could interpret any way she wanted.

48.

Lily Wednesday morning, Lily wheeled her bike up to Eartha's house, let herself in the front door, scratched G.o.dzy's rump, and hurried to Eartha's bedroom. To her surprise, Eartha was up and dressed and wading through piles of clothing.

"G.o.d, darling," she greeted Lily. "I don't know what to take back and what to leave here." Suddenly she collapsed on the side of her bed. "It's all too much."

Eartha's blond hair, as always on awakening, was skewed to one side and up. From one perspective she looked almost Marie Antoinette-ish, with the pouf of yellow cotton-candy hair, but from the other side, she looked absolutely old. Without the glitz of jewelry and makeup, her brave gaudiness was not there to distract the eye. An arrow of sympathy pierced Lily's heart.

Lily bent to pick up some of the garments. "When are you leaving?"

"Within the week, I suppose. If I can get sorted out. It's just too complicated. I agreed to go to Paris almost immediately. I have some friends there who are opening a new restaurant."

"Oh, that sounds like fun!"

"Sure, kid. But still ... to tell the truth, sometimes I wonder if I have the energy for it all." Her body sagged. "Everything was more fun when my husband was alive. Julius and I used to have more fun than a Judy Holliday movie. And when we got home, he'd whip up a plate of scrambled eggs and we'd sit up and dish till the sun rose, then we'd go to bed. And dance? Julius could have made Fred Astaire jealous. And he was so gorgeous in a tux." She wiped her eyes. "Without him, it's just not the same."

Lily stood quietly, not sure what to say or do.

"Oh, Jeez," Eartha said. "What's worse than a maudlin old broad? Give me a cigarette, Lily. The pack's over there." She blew her nose and immediately went into a fit of coughing.

Lily thought: Why not? The worst she could do was fire her, and summer was almost over. "Eartha. I think you should stop smoking."

Eartha snorted in surprise. "You do, do you? Well, thanks for that health alert, but give me my cigarettes."

Lily hesitated. "Couldn't you just cut down?"

"Give me a smoke and I'll think about it."

Lily accepted defeat. She crossed the room, grabbed up the pack of Sobranies, and handed them to Eartha. "I'll get your calendar and we can sort out just when you're going to Paris, and how long you're staying. That will help you decide what to take."

Eartha sucked in a big drag of tobacco. As she exhaled, she squinted at Lily through the swirling smoke.

"I should take you."

Lily blinked. "What?"

"I should take you. h.e.l.l, yes, what an idea! Why didn't I think of this before! Lily! I should take you with me."

"To Paris?" Lily thought her heart had stopped beating.

"Yeah, to Paris. New York, first, to help me get organized there. Then Paris for oh, about six months should do it. Christmas in Paris is a gas."

"Would I be, like, your maid?" Lily asked.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Eartha snapped. "When have I ever treated you like a maid? No, you'd be my, oh, s.h.i.+t, let's just say my social secretary. My a.s.sistant. Something like that." She c.o.c.ked her head. "You want to know how much you'd get paid, right?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so. This is all new to me ..."

"It's all new to me, too, kid. But I can improvise. You know I'll have to buy you some new clothes and a few more pieces of jewelry. And you're young, you won't want to hang around me every minute of the day, and I like my solitude now and then as well. I don't know how to figure it by the hour. But in general, oh, I don't know, room and board and clothes and air fare and stuff plus about five thousand a month salary? Does that sound reasonable?"

Lily's legs buckled. She sat down hard on the floor. All around her mountains of clothing rose in satin heaps. "That sounds reasonable." Her voice wouldn't work.

Eartha scrutinized Lily for a long, breathless moment. "What's that on your finger?"

Lily blinked. "Oh! Oh, this is an engagement ring." As she held out her hand for Eartha to see, she hated herself for feeling embarra.s.sed that the diamond was so small.

"So who's the guy?"

"Jason Clark."

"Tell me about him." Eartha scooted on the bed and lay back on her pillows.

"Well, he grew up on the island. Just got out of the army. He was in Iraq, but he doesn't talk about it. He's a carpenter. Got his contractor's license this summer, and he's building up his business. He's really handsome. And really nice."

"Do you love him?"

"Oh, yes, I do. And he loves me."

"Will he mind if you take off for six months?"

Lily hesitated. "I don't know, actually."