Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (67 page)

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“That’s true. I’m enjoying it. That doesn’t mean I don’t think of Daddy all the time. That doesn’t mean that I don’t miss Daddy every minute. I do.”

Cisco’s chin wobbled. She pulled her knees up and buried her face between them, her black hair hanging down all around like a curtain. “I hate it here, Mom. Everything is way different. Everything is
wrong.
”

“Cisco, I get how you feel. I understand. And it’s true, I do enjoy running the B&B. But I’m doing it because our family needs money.” She shifted position on the bed, a bit away from her daughter, to give her space. “Grieving is confusing. And you’ve got teenage hormones starting to flood into your body. You’ve got a lot to handle.”

“Eeuw.” Cisco winced.

Carley sighed. “Oh, Cisco, I wish I could help.”

Cisco didn’t respond but kept her face hidden.

“Well,” Carley capitulated, too tired to continue. “Remember how much I love you.” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head gently and left the room.

She put a load of beach towels into the washer and bath towels into the dryer. She swept and mopped the kitchen floor. Upstairs, she folded her own laundry and tidied her room. Margaret was in her room, playing with her dollhouse. She looked melancholy, and on the spur of the moment, Carley announced, “Come on, Margaret. Let’s go to town and get an ice cream cone!”

She held her daughter’s hand as they walked, and after their long wait in line and the excitement of choosing an exotic flavor—which for Margaret was peppermint stick—they sat in the Atheneum garden. People-watching was always fun on the island in the summer. Carley enjoyed seeing all the gorgeous clothes. Margaret loved the dogs being walked and the babies pushed in strollers. When they finished their cones, they strolled down Main Street, stopping to listen to the boy playing a classical piece on the violin. He had curly black hair and a dramatic way of tossing his head, and he was only about ten years old. Carley thought Margaret was developing a crush on him; she could hardly tear Margaret away, and she was glad for this little thrill for her daughter.

Carley swung Margaret’s hand. “How are you doing these days, my little flutterby?”

“I’m good. But I miss Daddy,” Margaret continued, her mouth downturned, her long black lashes brushing her cheeks.

“I know, sweetie.”

“When I wake up in the morning …” She frowned, searching for the words.

“You forget Daddy’s dead? You think you’ll run into our room and jump on the bed and wake him up?”

“I do, Mommy!”

“And you think he’ll tickle you and lift you up in the air?” Margaret’s eyelashes sparkled with tears.

Carley said, “He was such a
good
daddy. He took good care of us and we had a lot of fun with him.”

Margaret stopped walking and stared up at her mother. “Mommy, is Cisco mad at you?”

Carley started to deny it, but paused. This little child saw and understood a lot. “Yes. Yes, Cisco’s mad at me. I think she’s mad at the world, like we’re all mad at the world because Daddy died. But you can’t well, kick the world, can you?” She made her voice light, and her daughter relaxed a little. “Losing Daddy is really hard, Margaret. We’re all sad. We all have to manage in our own way. Cisco still loves me, Margaret, and I still love her. Families are very complicated. Cisco is helping Nana, you see. It helps Nana to have someone young and cheerful around.”
If only Cisco could be cheerful around me
, Carley thought, her heart hurting. She shook off her self-pity.

“I won’t leave you, Mommy.”

Carley dropped to her knees on the sidewalk and hugged her little daughter tight. “Oh, thank you, Margaret. I know you won’t leave me. And I won’t leave you.”

Later, after Margaret was in bed, Carley worked at her computer for an hour, catching up on paperwork and reservations and bills. She folded the bath towels from the dryer and moved the beach towels from the washer. She showered quickly and fell into bed exhausted. These nights she was asleep before ten o’clock.

In the middle of the night, a soft hand touched her arm.

“Mommy. I wet the bed.”

Like a sleepwalker, Carley rose, stripped her child of her wet pj’s, stripped Margaret’s bed, and dumped the wet things on the bathroom floor. She pulled a clean nightie over Margaret and brought her into her own bed. Someone, just after Gus’s death, had warned Carley against letting Margaret sleep with her. Once you start that, it will be difficult to stop, they had predicted. But it was
comforting
to hold her child’s warm little body against hers. It was much less lonely.

• • • • •

On a hot July evening, since Margaret and Cisco both went for a sleepover at their grandparents’, Carley was free to take Lexi out to dinner. Ostensibly this was to thank Lexi for all her advice and support as Carley began her business, but also Carley just plain enjoyed hanging out with Lexi. They were close to the same age, but Lexi wasn’t married—she was divorced, and she had no children. She didn’t run in the married group Carley ran with; she didn’t come with the same set of expectations.

They sat at a table in the corner at 56 Union, enjoying their wine and kicking back after a long day of work. It always took Carley a few minutes to get over Lexi’s presence. The blond woman was exquisite. On the other hand, while Carley could never be as tall as Lexi, widowhood had quickly made her just as slender.

“Let’s not talk about work anymore,” Carley begged. “And not about Gus, either.” She leaned her chin in her hand. “Tell me about your love life.”

Lexi laughed and tossed her silver-blond hair. “The truth? It’s
amazing
. Have you met Tris Chandler? He runs a boatyard out in Madaket.”

“I don’t know him. But obviously, you do.”

Lexi’s eyes twinkled. “You might have read about him a couple of years ago. He went missing. His boat was wrecked up near Nova Scotia, on Sable Island, which is uninhabited, but did have old fishing
shacks for shelter. Some Newfoundland fisherman found him, saved him—it was all very dramatic.”

“I did read about that, in the paper.”

“
Chronicle
did a segment on it, too, on their evening program. But the amazing thing is, the whole time Tris was missing his daughter, Jewel—I think Jewel is just Cisco’s age. I’ll bet they run into each other in school. Jewel Chandler?”

“I don’t recognize the name. But Cisco’s been a ballet fanatic until recently.”

“Well, anyway, Jewel used to hang out on the pier near my shop. She was waiting for her father to return. He was gone
three months
and she never gave up hope. I used to go sit with her. She’s mature, complex, fathoms deep. I adore her. I think she’s pretty fond of me, too.”

“What about her mother?”

“Tris and Bonnie are divorced. Bonnie left Tris for a wealthy man, Ken Frost. They have a toddler. Jewel lives with her mother during the week and with Tris during the weekends. We’re planning to get married, Tris and I, but we’re not in any rush. We’ve both been married before, and we have Jewel’s feelings to consider, but we’ve been together for almost two years. We don’t live together actually, although I often spend the night at Tris’s house or he comes to my apartment.”

“And Jewel?”

“She seems happy that we’re together. She often sleeps over at my apartment when Tris is there, or at Tris’s when I’m there. Of course there’s no hanky-panky the nights Jewel’s around, but that’s all right. I love Jewel. She’s a very cool kid.”

Carley ran her fingertip over the stem of her glass as she listened to Lexi talk. Her shoulders relaxed, her breath slowed, her heart warmed. It was therapeutic to hear about others’ joys and troubles, old loves and new.

Lexi’s face brightened. “My oldest best friend, Clare Hart, is married to my brother, Adam. They have the sweetest little baby boy, Alexander. Alex.” She struck a pose. “Named after
me
, his auntie
and his godmother! They let me babysit a lot, thank heavens, but as much as I love Jewel—and I do, we have a very special bond—I’m still longing for a baby of my own.” She waved her hands. “Listen to me, Ms. Self-Absorbed, going on and on.”

“Oh, but I’m fascinated! And you have no idea how sick I am of myself!”

Later, after the steamed mussels and the spicy Javanese rice with shrimp and chicken, they decided to split a crème brûlée.

“I can’t believe how much I’ve eaten.” Carley put her hand on her belly. “My stomach actually hurts.”

“You could use a few pounds.”

“You should talk.” Carley leaned back in her chair. “I’m glad we’re tucked in a corner. I’d hate for anyone to see me having such a good time.”

“Just because you’re widowed doesn’t mean you’re never allowed to smile again.”

“It seems that way, though. When I’m in the grocery store and an acquaintance sees me, their faces drop and they kindly ask how I am. What if I said, ‘Actually, today I’m having an okay day’? What if I
smiled
? It would be all over town in a flash. Carley’s happy her husband’s dead. She didn’t love her husband.”

“Did you love him?”

“How can you ask that? Yes, of course I loved him! He was the father of my children. He was my
husband
.”

Lexi scooped the last of the silky cream from the little pot. She took her time tasting it, leaning back in her chair, savoring it. Tilting her head, she looked at Carley. “Anything you tell me is in confidence. I know what it’s like to marry a man you think you love, only to discover you don’t really love him at all.”

“But I
did
love Gus,” Carley insisted. “We had great times together. Perhaps we were more a family than a couple, maybe we never had that truly, madly, deeply kind of love going for us, but we did love each other. We never would have divorced.”

“Because of the children.”

“Right! And his parents. I mean, we had a
life
.”

“And you’re only thirty-two. Someday you’ll be able to fall in love again,” Lexi told her. “Perhaps you’ll meet the love of your life. I did.”

No one had ever suggested this to her before. Carley picked up her glass of water and downed the whole thing, fighting to get in control. “I’m such a wuss.”

“Honey,” Lexi said, “you’re allowed.”

• • • • •

Toward the end of July, the heat intensified so fiercely it became the main subject of conversation around Carley’s breakfast table. Men kept tapping their BlackBerrys and iPhones, checking the Weather Channel, as if that would give them a better report. The entire Northeast coast was sweltering under a heavy layer of heat that would not move. Because Nantucket was thirty miles out at sea, it was a few degrees cooler, but the humidity was brutal. Most huge old houses on the island didn’t have central air-conditioning. A hundred fifty years ago, when they were built, the weather was cooler in the summers. Installing central air was a major expense, involving lots of architectural renovations. Carley had had room air conditioners installed in the guest bedrooms, but nowhere else. Usually a cool sea breeze sufficed to keep things comfortable. But this was not usual weather.

Sunday morning, Carley had just put in a new load of wash when she heard voices, and then Wyatt and Cisco walked in to the laundry room. Wyatt wore a bathing suit, a ripped polo shirt, a scalloper’s cap with a long bill for sun protection, and Docksiders. His arms and long muscular legs swirled with thick brown hair and when he moved, she could see a strip of white skin under the short sleeve of his shirt, shocking against the dark tan of the rest of his limbs. The
healthy scent of fresh air and salt water accompanying him stirred Carley deeply, in a primitive, sexual way that made her turn away, embarrassed.

“Wyatt’s taking us sailing!” Cisco announced happily.

“Oh, how nice.” Carley shut the lid of the washing machine. “I’ll get Margaret ready.”

“Get yourself ready, too,” Wyatt told her.

“Oh, Wyatt, I’d love to go, but I’ve got—”

“Just a few hours,” Wyatt insisted. “It will be good for you. You’re turning into a drudge.”

“I am not!” Carley objected.

Cisco giggled, glancing at Wyatt with a conspiratorial smile. “Actually, Mom, you are.”

Cisco was
smiling
. Cisco was teasing Carley. Cisco wanted Carley to join them sailing. How could Carley resist? Wyatt was working some kind of magic.

She flashed him a smile. “I’ll get ready.”

As they rode out to Madaket in Wyatt’s convertible, the sun flashing down on them, the breeze fluttering their hair, Carley laid her head back against the seat and allowed the warmth and fresh air to ease into her bones. Wyatt had a Beach Boys CD playing, and for the first time this season, Carley was really
there
in the magic of summer. At Wyatt’s house, everyone, even little Margaret, helped carry things out to the rowboat and lift them onto Wyatt’s twenty-two-foot day sailer. Carley helped Wyatt rig the boat. She double-checked the life vests on her daughters, zipped one on her own body, then settled down to watch Wyatt steer them out of the harbor.

The wind was fresh and fickle, not too strong or steady. Wyatt’s attentions stayed with the boat. Occasionally he gave an order to Cisco or Margaret, who scurried to obey.

“Open the cooler, Carley,” Wyatt called when they were out in the open water. “I’ve got beer for me and Cava for you.”

“What do you have for us?” Margaret asked.

Wyatt grinned. “Check it out.”

Margaret lifted the lid and squealed. “Popsicles!”

In a terribly responsible voice, Wyatt said, “Made of fruit juice, Carley.”

At that moment, Carley didn’t think she would have cared if they were made of pure sugar. She poured the sparkling wine into a plastic cup and sipped it. Bliss. The hot July sun shone down and the playful breeze swept the boat along. The water leapt and hissed and sparkled all around them. She stripped off the life jacket and shirt she’d pulled on over her bikini and let the heat melt her. She closed her eyes.

When they neared Great Point, Wyatt dropped the sail. “Lunchtime, ladies. Carley, don’t move. We’ll bring you everything you need.”