Beachcombers (30 page)

46

Abbie

M
onday afternoon, Abbie let herself into the Parker house, walked straight through into the kitchen, and found Harry and Howell there, finishing their lunch. They were dressed alike in white tee shirts and khaki shorts. When Howell saw her, the connection between them sparked like a Roman candle.

"Hi, Nanny Abbie!" Harry's piping high voice was full of excitement. "Daddy came home last night and he brought me a
giant octopus
!"

Abbie pretended to shiver. "A live one?"

"No, silly Nanny Abbie!" Harry giggled. "A rubber one." He wriggled in his chair. "I'll show you--"

"Finish your lunch first, Harry." Howell tapped the side of his son's plate.

"How's the noggin, Harry?" Abbie slid into a chair next to the little boy's and checked out his head. The bump had disappeared. Only a bruise-colored mark remained.

"He's right as rain," Howell told her. He moved his leg under the table so that his bare foot touched her ankle.

The touch took her breath away.

"Mommy took me to Victoria's house!" Harry announced. "Victoria has a kitten! We might get a kitten."

"That would be terrific, Harry," Abbie told him. She smiled a friendly kind of smile at Howell and moved her leg away. She was determined to carry through with her decision, her logical, responsible decision, even though her heart and her soul and her senses all flowed toward Howell, craving his touch, the sound of his voice, the flesh of his body. She clenched her fists beneath the table, digging her nails into her palms. "How did your conference go?"

"Very well. I didn't trip over my own feet to or from the podium, a respectably large audience attended my talk, and no one fell asleep or stormed out of the auditorium while I was reading my paper."

Abbie forced a laugh and winked at Harry, who was watching her face. "As if you were really worried."

"Hey," Howell retorted playfully, "have you ever spoken before three hundred of your peers, most of whom are praying for the opportunity to discredit you?"

Harry slid halfway out of his chair. "Daddy, Nanny Abbie, I'm through with lunch!"

"You can get down," Abbie told him. She stood. "Let's get you ready for the beach, kiddo."

Howell rose, too. "I'd love to go with you, but I've got piles of email to deal with."

Abbie flashed him another fake smile. "We'll be fine."

Because the wind was whipping in from the northeast, Abbie tucked Harry into the SUV and drove to Miacomet Pond. The pond side was sheltered, and most people went up over the dune to the ocean side, so Harry had a large plot of sand to himself. He brought his rubber octopus and Abbie stationed it in the shallow water, weighting its middle down with sand, its eight legs floating free.

At three she called him up to their little nest beneath the beach umbrella. He had his snack of fruit juice and crackers, then curled up for a nap with a beach towel over him. Abbie lay next to him, on her side, just looking at him. He was the most captivating child she'd ever seen and she loved him with a love she couldn't comprehend, but after his fall from the carousel horse, she knew she'd been absolutely wrong to think she could ever be more to him than a nanny. He already had a mother. And he was a child who needed his family intact. What child didn't?

Then it was time to gather up all the beach things and head back home. At the Parkers' house, Abbie gave Harry a quick rinse in the outside shower, then brought him inside.

Howell came into the hall and squatted down to hug his son. "Hi, guys, how was the beach?"

"Nanny Abbie made the octopus swim!" Harry told his father.

"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 butter 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 lightship 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. God, 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 butter 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 fuckup."

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 bitch. 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

N
ow 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 shore, 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 clustered 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 shore. 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 shore. Her shorts and tee shirt 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 unobstructed 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 bump against her hip, a kind of message in a language she could interpret any way she wanted.