Nantucket Nights (2 page)

Raoul scooped Kayla up in his arms. She wasn’t a petite woman by anyone’s standards, but that day when Raoul carried her into the house, she felt as light as a size two. “Anybody else home?” Raoul asked.

“Nope.”

He’d carried her upstairs to the bedroom, untying the string of her bikini top with his teeth. He laid her across the bed and slid her shorts and her underwear over her dirty knees. Nantucket was a small place, and there had been rumors during the nineteen years of their marriage that Raoul had had affairs with two women. But Kayla tried not to believe it.

Raoul whistled. “You’re beautiful, Kayla.”

“I’m glad you got the job,” she said. “I know how much you wanted it.”

“We wanted it,” Raoul said. “Didn’t we?”

“We did,” she said. “We all did. When the kids find out, they’re going to flip.”

Raoul unbuttoned his jeans and reached for her. He had a flat, brown stomach that rippled with muscles. He was a gorgeous, lucky man who had landed the job of a lifetime. What a way to start the summer—enough money was headed for their bank account to let them to grow old without a care in the world.

Maybe it was remembering that sweet afternoon hour of making love with her husband, or maybe it was all the talk of illicit affairs, but Kayla decided, after she got off the phone with Val, to drive out to Raoul’s job site. She did this occasionally, because after Raoul started the Ting job, he was rarely at home. He left the house at six in the morning with his metal lunch box (muffins, fruit, egg salad), and then he ordered pizzas for his crew for dinner, or he treated them to Faregrounds or A. K. Diamond’s. He had yet to make it home before their youngest, Luke, went to bed, and now that this had been going on for a couple of months, the kids were starting to show signs of frustration. Their hero, the parental sun they revolved around, was missing.

“Do you love the Tings more than us?” Cassidy B. asked him one Sunday morning.

“What kind of question is that?” Raoul roared, picking up Cassidy B. in a giant bear hug. He looked over Cassidy’s shoulder at Kayla—she was scrambling eggs at the stove. “The Tings are paying for your college education. Not to mention the braces you might need in a few years, not to mention a ten-speed bicycle, not to mention it looks like your doll-house could use a new roof. Do you have any idea how much it costs to reshingle these days?”

Cassidy B. put her hands over Raoul’s mouth. “Daddy!” she protested.

“You can hardly blame the kids,” Kayla said. “They never see you anymore. They miss you.”

“Well,” Raoul said, a dangerous edge to his voice, “we all decided that this was what we wanted.”

What they wanted, yes—but lately Kayla had been listing all the things that a million dollars couldn’t buy. It couldn’t buy happy, well-adjusted children; it couldn’t buy a happy marriage.

Monomoy was a breathtaking part of the island, a fitting place for a ten-million-dollar home. The Ting property had five hundred feet of waterfront with its own beach, its own dock, and sweeping views across Nantucket Harbor toward town; you could see the north and south church spires, the wharves, and the red beacon of Brant Point lighthouse. Buying a vacant lot for six million dollars set a Nantucket real estate record, but it was just a drop in the bucket for Pierre Ting, who was the scaffolding baron of Hong Kong. Most year-round islanders were unhappy about the best pieces of Nantucket being snapped up by ultra-wealthy people who didn’t appreciate Nantucket and would only spend a few weeks a year on-island. Raoul had caught a lot of flak from his fellow builders and the antidevelopment people for agreeing to build the Ting house, or “the cathedral,” as everyone called it. Raoul didn’t back down. “They’re jealous,” he said. “They’d do it themselves in a heartbeat.”

Kayla pulled into the quarter acre of dirt that had been cleared for a driveway, next to five pickup trucks, although Raoul’s truck wasn’t among them. Her spirits sagged until she remembered that Raoul sometimes let his crew borrow his truck to run to Marine Home Center, or to Henry Jr.’s for sandwiches. So she got out of the car. There was a huge yellow Dumpster, and boards, tool belts, and empty soda cans lying around. A boom box blasted her son Theo’s favorite band, The Beastie Boys. Kayla weaved her way toward the house. She was proud of Raoul’s design, although a small, secret part of her agreed with the islanders who found it ostentatious. Raoul had taken her on a tour after the framing was done. The entryway of the house had a wonderfully airy, spacious feel, with enough height to plant a tree, which was what the Tings intended to do—plant a Japanese cherry tree that would weep its fuchsia blossoms all over the marble floor. One moved into the formal living room, the formal dining room with built-in china cabinets, the gourmet kitchen featuring three islands to be topped in pink granite, the walk-in pantry, the den shelved for TV, DVD, and five hundred-CD changer, the atrium where the indoor pool would go. Up a huge, curved staircase were the five guest rooms, the children’s playroom, the master bedroom suite including his and her bathrooms, a study, a sitting room, and four walk-in closets (one just for Elisabeth Ting’s summer shoes). Outside, the house had eleven decks and nine hundred square feet of patio that led to the outdoor pool, the hot tub, and the beach.

It was Raoul’s most challenging design; already,
Architectural Digest
had called, wanting to feature the house the minute it was complete. But today it was still just plasterboard walls and plywood floors covered with shavings. It smelled wonderful, like fresh lumber, newly planed boards. It was Raoul’s smell, and Kayla loved it better than anything. Looking out the living room window at Nantucket Sound, she breathed in the fragrant wood and decided that maybe the house wasn’t so preposterous after all. Before they knew it, there would be another house on the island dwarfing this one.

Someone touched Kayla’s back.

She whipped around. It was Jacob Anderson, one of Raoul’s workers. Jacob had curly dark hair and green eyes, and he looked absurdly handsome in jeans and work boots. When Kayla saw him, she thought,
Illicit affair,
and her face burned.

“Jacob,” she said. “You startled me.”

“Did I?” he said. Jacob had the alarming quality of speaking to every woman, including her—the boss’s wife—like she was a
woman.

Kayla cleared her throat. “Is, uh... is Raoul here?”

Jacob shook his curly head. He was wearing a baseball hat backwards, and the curls at his forehead, underneath the plastic strap, were damp with sweat.

“He went into town to see about something.”

“Into town?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. He said he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone.”

“Oh,” Kayla said. Her forehead wrinkled, and she knew it wasn’t attractive, so she raised her eyebrows trying to smooth it. There was no reason to be concerned; Raoul probably had twenty reasons to go into town—building department, the post office, the bank. “So he went into town and you don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“That’s right.” Jacob smiled at her—a charming, boyish smile. “Can I show you around the house?”

“Thanks, but I’ve seen it already,” Kayla said. “Raoul gave me the tour a few weeks ago.”

“I’ve been trimming out one of the bedrooms,” Jacob said. “Okay, listen to this—each guest room is plumbed for its own washer and dryer. Rumor has it Mrs. Ting doesn’t want the
linens
to get mixed up.” He shook his head. “It blows my mind what people will spend their money on. A washer and dryer in each room, fancy sheets for each bed, and a dancing troupe of cleaning girls to do the work. I’m lucky if I have time to change my sheets at home once a summer.”

“I know what you mean,” Kayla said. A picture of Jacob’s rumpled bed presented itself in her mind. “Listen, I should go.”

“Let me show you upstairs,” Jacob said. “It’s come a long way since you were here before.”

“Another time,” Kayla said.

“Oh, Kayla, you’re breaking my heart,” Jacob said. Then he did an unbelievable thing. He reached out and touched Kayla’s lip. She thought,
He’s going to kiss me.
And she wondered where the rest of the crew was—it was a big house, the closest person could be a hundred feet away—but then Jacob lifted his finger from her lip and held it up for her to see, “Potato chip,” he said, and sure enough, there was a fleck of Lay’s potato chip on his fingertip.

Kayla exhaled. There was moisture under her arms. “Guilty as charged,” she said, and she carefully moved herself around Jacob. “Well, when you see Raoul, tell him I stopped by.” She was almost to the entry way of the house when she remembered something else. “Oh, and Jacob?”

Jacob was still studying his fingertip. “Yeah?”

“Can you remind him that I have Night Swimmers tonight?”

“Night Swimmers?”

“That’s right. Night Swimmers. He’ll know what it means.”

“But I don’t know what it means. Is it some kind of secret society? Is it something that involves you taking your clothes off?” He licked the potato chip off his finger in an incredibly suggestive way, and Kayla was out of there with a wave because he was right on both accounts, although she surely couldn’t let him know that.

Kayla pulled out of the site, thinking about the fleck of potato chip and Jacob’s impossibly light touch and Raoul gone into town, saying he didn’t know when he’d be back. Panic rose in her as she recalled the rumors of years ago: Raoul with Pamela Ely—a leggy woman with long brown hair and an upturned nose—and then the luscious nineteen-year-old Missy Tsoulakis. The rumors were unsubstantiated, but also hard to disregard when the whole town was talking about it, and when Pamela Ely positively
would not
make eye contact when Kayla saw her at the Stop & Shop. For Raoul, having an affair would be as easy as telling his crew,
“I’m going into town. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Kayla’s thighs ached.

You’re being stupid and predictable,
she told herself. The combination of that damn potato chip and Jacob in those paint-splattered jeans (which looked as good on him as jeans could look on a man) and Valerie cheating on her husband, John, and Antoinette, who was cheating on no one because she belonged to no one, but who hinted she’d been having crazy sex herself lately, led Kayla down this path of suspicion. There had been times in the last five years when she’d watched Raoul sleep, when she’d reached over and touched his penis, hot and erect, and she’d wondered,
Is he dreaming about me?
How could she ever be sure? Raoul always assured Kayla that he thought she was beautiful, but she had gained weight after four children, and she waged a constant war with herself to stay in shape. She looked okay for forty-two, but not great—certainly there were women on the island who were ten times as attractive, thanks to gyms and plastic surgery and plain, old-fashioned good genes. Kayla closed her eyes for a split second. Maybe she was too sensitive; maybe she did need one of Val’s goofy books—
You’re Okay But I’m Better, Ten Steps to Your Own Uniqueness; Stop Biting Your Nails, Start Building Your Future.
When Kayla opened her eyes she relaxed, because she saw Raoul’s red truck coming down Monomoy Road toward her.

They stopped in the middle of the road, Kayla in the Trooper, Raoul in his big red truck, and he turned down the radio and smiled and said, “Hi, baby.”

Kayla unfastened her seat belt and slid her body out her open window far enough to kiss him. He tasted like himself.

“Where’d you go?” she asked.

“Town Building. I had to check on some easements. I bumped into Valerie, and she reminded me about your séance tonight.”

Kayla slithered back into her car. “It’s not a séance, Raoul.”

He checked his side mirror, but no one was coming. Even in summer, two people could sit in the middle of the road and have a conversation without interruption. “I’d just love to know what you ladies do out there in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sure you would,” Kayla said. “But it’s none of your business.”

“I know, I know. It’s a woman thing. Estrogen required for inclusion,” Raoul said. “Now tell me, how did Theo seem this morning?”

“The same. I asked him if he was excited about school next week, and he didn’t answer. I asked him to pick Luke up from camp at four o’clock, and he sort of grunted.”

Raoul tapped his head against the headrest. “Tell you what. This weekend I won’t work Sunday or Monday. I’ll take Theo fishing and have a heart-to-heart with him.”

“Let’s hope that works,” she said.

“What time are you leaving tonight?” Raoul asked.

“Eleven-fifteen,” she said. “I’ll be back in the morning before you go to work.”

“Good,” he said. He kissed his fingers by way of good-bye and drove off.

It was half past three, which gave Kayla enough time to dash into the Stop & Shop for two pints of raspberries; then it was down to Fahey & Fromagerie on Pleasant Street, where she bought a hunk of pale, creamy Saint Andre cheese and two slender baguettes dusted with flour. There was a selection of olives and red peppers, marinated mushrooms and salami—the kind of special, wonderful things her kids wouldn’t eat. They also had chicken salad without too many unidentifiable chunks, and a cucumber-dill-sour cream thing and she got two pounds of each for dinner. By the time Kayla left the cheese shop, it was two minutes to four, and she had to head over to the school to spy on her sons.

Kayla wished she didn’t have to do this, but Theo’s odd behavior of the last month or so left her no choice. She meandered through the back streets so that she cruised by the school at ten past four, and sure enough, there was Luke in his green Nantucket Day Camp T-shirt, holding two cupcakes on a paper plate and a purple balloon, squinting against the sun. Her fifty-year-old son trapped in an eight-year-old body. Luke had been an old man since he was born. He liked order, he liked adhering to rules, he liked promptness. Kayla had him on a schedule when he was only three weeks old, and later, he refused to eat unless he was wearing a bib. Kayla had read somewhere that the youngest child in the family was the most likely to be footloose and fancy-free, but not this one. Kayla and Raoul had dubbed Luke the child most likely to develop an ulcer. The inefficiency of the world around him was always letting him down.