The Beach House (40 page)

The money from the sale of the house has gone into building a cottage on the other two-thirds of the land, half of which she is keeping, and half of which she has deeded to the town, to preserve as conservation land and a bird sanctuary, in perpetuity.

The phone rings again as she walks into her bedroom, and this time she is genuinely delighted when she picks up.

“Daniel! How I’ve missed you! Are you back? Are you on island? More important, are you ready for tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Daniel says with a smile. “I’m on my way to Michael and Daff’s. I can’t wait to see you.”

Michael walks up behind Daff, who is standing in the kitchen washing up the leftover breakfast things in the sink, puts his arms around her and kisses her shoulder. She smiles, looking at their reflection in the window, and turns, careful to keep her soapy hands off his clothes, letting herself be drawn into a long hug and kiss.

She watches him as he moves around the room, his long, muscled legs striding confidently through the little kitchen, and she can’t help but smile as she thinks how happy she is, how she didn’t know she deserved a relationship like this, didn’t know what love was until a year ago.

Nor did she dream she could be so happy, so settled, in so short a time. She moved up here permanently two months ago, bringing Jess with her. Richard and Carrie agreed that for now Nantucket seemed to suit Jess, and Carrie was pregnant, Richard busy focusing on his new family. Jess would be going back to them for the holidays.

Although Daff didn’t ever want anything to come between the relationship Jess had with her father, she also knew Jess could be happy,
happier,
on Nantucket. The beach life suited her, the simple life; she adored Nan, and was still helping Bee babysit the girls some afternoons and weekends.

Jess was busy, and happy, feeling both needed and wanted. She had found, in short, her place in the world, a firm footing on this island, which she had never felt before.

When Michael first found out he was a beneficiary, he and Daff bought a pretty house that came with some run-down cottages, run as bed and breakfasts, just outside town. Together they have renovated them, spending weeks and weeks in overalls, directing plumbers, electricians, attempting much of the work themselves.

Outside, a profusion of blue hydrangeas sprout in front of a low white picket fence, an old brick path taking you to the front door of the house, winding paths off to the sides, leading to the cottages.

Roses climb haphazardly over arbors, hidden archways cut into high privet hedges surround secret gardens. There is an air of magic that seduces everyone who comes over.

Windermere Cottages are now finished, ready to throw open the doors to welcome the summer guests.

“I love it!” Daniel exclaims, dropping his bags in the middle of Honeysuckle Cottage, the one they had picked out for Daniel this summer. Modern without being minimalist, the cottage is decorated in shades of sand, white and blue, with scrubbed pine floors, whitewashed reclaimed barn siding on the walls, sisal rugs strewn on the floors. The curtains are chocolate-brown linen panels, edged with white, the sofa and armchair in the living room slip-covered in white denim, patterned pillows scattered neatly at the back.

It is the personal touches that make it so special. Whelk shells they have found together on the beach, now varnished and left on a white painted table. Pretty beach scenes Daff has painted, which are for sale, and books everywhere—fiction, nonfiction, books about the island, and on the wall above the sofa in each cottage, a large antique map of Nantucket.

“God, it’s good to see you.” Daff winds her arm around Daniel’s waist and beams up at him. “It feels like
years.
”

“It’s only been six weeks!” Daniel says. “Remember? I was up in April to see the girls, except you wouldn’t let me see the cottages until they were finished. Do you swear I’m the first guest?”

“Absolutely.” Daff laughs. “first and hopefully not the last. So . . . what are your plans this summer?”

Daniel looks at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Daff tries to look innocent. “I just meant . . . any news from Matt?”

Daniel looks away. “As a matter of fact we’re meeting for a drink before the party.”

“Good.” Daff nods. “You know he cleaned up all the landscaping here? We had no idea there was such a beautiful garden hidden underneath. He did an amazing job.”

“I did know that,” Daniel says. “I speak to him almost every day.”

It’s true. While Daniel has been back in Westport this past year, he has flown to Nantucket every month or so to see the girls, or they have come to him, and during that time he and Matt have formed a close friendship.

A true friendship, one that is built on history, rather than merely an instant attraction they felt for one another when they met.

They have had dinner every time Daniel has been on Nantucket, but have really gotten to know one another through first e-mails, then, later on, when e-mails didn’t feel like enough, through phone calls, which soon became a daily occurrence, some of them going on half the night.

Neither has broached the subject of a relationship, and Daniel has been honest with Matt about the flings he has had over the past year. Matt has listened, given advice, never once shown anything other than support for Daniel’s journey, although Daniel couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy when Matt revealed a fling of his own.

Daniel is ready. Ready for the next step. His rental in Westport has just ended, his stuff is in storage while he decides where to go next. He isn’t entirely sure. He saw a small house in Cornwall, Connecticut, that he loved, and there’s always New York City, and now, of course, Nantucket.

But wherever he is, he’s ready for Matt to be there with him.

Windermere is filled with excitement, you can feel it as you crunch up the gravel driveway, lined tonight with torches blazing in the warm night air.

People have dressed for tonight, long chiffon dresses being held up so as not to get dirty on the gravel, and people are chattering away, squinting through the darkness as they make their way up to the house to wish Nan well on her way, to welcome the new owners, trying to see who else is here.

And in the living room, about to go outside to greet the first of her guests, is Nan, glorious in a floor-length turquoise gown, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of seeing Windermere come to life, and come to life with such style, the night before she moves out.

There is no furniture left inside the house. The rooms are empty, the memories still intact. This evening, before she got ready, Nan moved around the house, whispering her good-byes, thinking of the memories this house contains, thinking first of all the wonderful years she spent here, then about all those years she felt were sad. But, finally, she realizes it wasn’t the house that was sad. It was her.

She doesn’t have to be sad anymore.

Michael opens the champagne as the others cheer, then he peers out of the window.

“Mom!” he urges. “The guests are starting to arrive.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Nan says, taking a glass. “Stephen and Keith are there to greet them. We’ll be out in just a second.”

“May I make a toast?” Daniel asks when the champagne has been handed around, the small group standing in a circle.

“Of course.” Nan smiles, and Daniel raises his glass then looks slowly at Nan, Michael, Daff and then Matt, standing slightly apart until Daniel beckons him closer, into the inner circle.

“To Windermere,” he says firmly. “May she be as happy, happier, with her new family.”

“To Windermere,” they all echo.

“Wait!” Michael stops them as they’re about to take a sip. “One more. To new beginnings—” he raises his glass, looks over at Daff with love in his eyes—“and happy endings.”

With a cheer they step forward to hug one another, before moving outside to begin the night.

Acknowledgments

My thanks and love to my usual “superteam”: Louise Moore, Tom Weldon, Anthony Goff, Deborah Schneider, Clare Ferraro, Carolyn Coleburn, Nancy Sheppard, Natalie Higgins, Liz Jones, Louise Braverman, Clare Parkinson, Harvey Tanton, Elise Klein.

To the people who helped, knowingly or otherwise, during the research and writing of this book: Walter and Gina Beinecke, Maxine Bleiweis and all at the Westport library, Chloe Chigas, Dia Wasley and their families for welcoming us so graciously into their wonderful home, Keirsten Dodge, Karen and Franklin Exkorn, Laraine and Alan Fischer, Shirley and Bob Siff, Maximiliana Warburg.

To my family and friends who carry me through: Harry, Tabs, Nate and Jasper, the Greens, the Warburgs, Dina, Nicole, Heidi and Deborah.

Thank you.