Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (7 page)

Suddenly, within a matter of weeks, Marina lost her husband, her work, her home, and one of her very best friends. Most of her current friends were Gerry and Dara’s friends, too. They strained to be supportive to Marina without insulting Gerry or Dara, and that just made it difficult for everyone. Marina had to let them go.

Her parents had retired to sunny Arizona. Over the phone, they offered her love and understanding, but they were just a little bit
I-told-you-so.
They’d never liked Gerry. She saw a couple of therapists, but their advice was what she expected: You have to go through this loss, you can’t go around it. The Japanese sign for “crisis” also means “opportunity.” Their words were not much help in the middle of the night. Cartons of ice cream and old black-and-white movies worked better.

Christie saved her life.

“You’ve got to get out of town,” Christie advised her. “Here, you’re just mired in misery like an old horse stuck in mud.”

Marina had snorted out a laugh in the midst of her tears. “Thanks for the glamorous image. And where would I go?”

“Where do you
want
to go?” Christie countered.

Marina blew her nose and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Christie bellowed at her sons, “I told you boys, not in the house!” She turned back to Marina. “Why not Nantucket? Summer’s coming up. We had so much fun those summers, remember?”

Marina leaned back in her chair and thought about that. During college, she and Christie had gone east to work as waitresses in a huge swanky hotel. They didn’t make much money, but they had free lodging, free nights, and a few free afternoon hours. They swam, partied, worked a bit, and returned to Kansas City as brown as nuts and grinning at themselves.

Marina protested, “Oh, Christie, we were
young
back then. I’m old and worn out and pathetic.”

“You certainly will be if you don’t move your ass,” Christie insisted. “If you stay here indulging in self-pity. Think of it, Marina, the blue ocean, the salty air, the
freshness
of it all.”

“I won’t know anyone,” Marina said.

“Well, isn’t that the point?” Christie replied.

Now Marina found herself smiling. It was good, just to think of Christie and her practical optimism.

And Christie was right. Being here, away from
there
, was a kind of therapy. While out of sight was not completely out of mind, the reality of Gerry and Dara was not such an oppressive reality.

But she ached with loneliness. Leisure did not come easily to her. She’d worked hard to learn her trade, and she and Gerry had labored diligently and ceaselessly to build their business. She was accustomed to the sound of phones ringing, people chatting, footsteps hurrying past her office; she was used to the pressure of presentations and the dozens of little victories of accounts won and money made. She’d been such an excellent multitasker, scanning reports while she ran on her treadmill, dictating memos while she drove to a meeting, flirting with new business contacts during the intermission at a symphony.

Now, on this bright, airy island, she felt like a piece of flotsam lost at sea, without a compass or any way to communicate to others. The ocean expanded all around her. She was alone, as insignificant as a little cork bobbing on the surface.

But she wouldn’t give up.

She grabbed up the newspaper and a pen, and began to circle anything that caught her eye. Noonday concerts at the Unitarian church. A comedy presented in the evening by the Theatre Workshop. She hadn’t realized how many museums there were. The Nantucket Whaling Museum was right in town. So was the Maria Mitchell Science Library and Observatory. And the Coffin School. And someone was offering painting classes. Hm. She’d have to consider that. Gerry had always been the visual guy; but it might be fun to learn to do watercolors. She’d get a library card, too, and stock up on all the juicy novels she’d never had time to read.

And maybe she’d get to know Jim and his daughters better. Anything could happen, right?

Driving home from Carrie’s, Lily felt wistful. Carrie and her baby existed in their own sensual world of love and touch and cooing voices. Carrie had gotten slightly plump and she moved as if her limbs were heavy and when she held her baby in her arms, Lily could walk through the living room on her hands and Carrie wouldn’t glance her way. Lily didn’t want a baby, but she would like to live, for a while, in such a lazy world of love.

What she’d
really
like to have was another car, she thought, as she steered the rusty Old Clunker through the narrow streets. She wouldn’t even ask for a
new
car. Just a newer one. Her father had bought the Toyota sedan when Abbie was seventeen for her to use on the island. As the years passed, all the sisters had used it, referring to it with fond aggravation as the Old Clunker. She hadn’t minded its humble state when she was a kid, but now that she worked for the magazine, she hated showing up at posh events in such a tired tin can.

Her father’s truck was in the drive, so she parked in front of the house. He would probably leave before she did tomorrow morning. As she walked up her drive, she heard laughter. She walked around to the back of the house and went in the back door.

Her father and two sisters were seated at the kitchen table.

“Hi, honey,” her father greeted her. “Want some ice cream? We saved some for you.”

“Oh, but I made a pie, especially for Abbie’s homecoming!”

Abbie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Emma said, “We didn’t see any pie.”

“It’s on the windowsill in the pantry.” A little panic washed through Lily. Had her sisters assumed Lily had just blown off responsibility for tonight’s dinner? Well, in a way, she kind of had.

She went into the pantry and found the pie. Somehow a box of cereal had been shoved against it, so you wouldn’t notice it unless you knew it was there. She carried it out and set it on the table. “Ta-da!”

“Wow, Lily!” Abbie said. “What a masterpiece!”

Lily flushed with pleasure. “Let me cut you a big piece.”

“Tomorrow,” Abbie said. “I just finished all that ice cream.”

“I’ll wait, too,” said Emma. “I’m stuffed. Dad brought home fresh bluefish and Abbie cooked it perfectly.”

Well, Abbie would, wouldn’t she
, Lily thought. She felt both jealous and guilty.
She
should have prepared dinner for Abbie’s first night home. She’d intended to. She just got waylaid at Carrie’s.

“I’ll have some pie,” her father said.

As Lily cut a piece for her father and settled in at the table, Abbie told her, “We were just talking about all the changes in town since I’ve been gone. So many restaurants have closed, and so many stores downtown!”

“The economy is rough everywhere,” Emma said.

“I guess that’s good,” Lily offered, trying to be upbeat. “In a misery loves company kind of way.”

“Dad,” Abbie asked, “how are you doing?”

Their father took the time to finish his pie before answering. He nodded at Lily. “That was delicious, honey.” He leaned back in his chair and seemed to be physically summoning up his strength. “I’ll be honest with you, Abbie. Times are tough. I had three different clients back out of their contracts to have new houses built and one actually shut down on the renovations I was doing and didn’t pay me. I think I’m going to have to take him to court to get any money out of him, and I don’t know that hiring a lawyer wouldn’t end up costing me more.”

“So what jobs do you have going on?” Abbie asked.

Their father shrugged and shook his head. “Just small ones. A couple of renovations. Nothing substantial. That’s why I rented the
Playhouse. I always knew in the back of my mind it would come in handy someday.”

Abbie asked, “How long is the rental?”

“Marina’s got it for six months.” When he said the woman’s name, their father blushed.

The three sisters exchanged glances.

Their father cleared his throat. “While we’re on the subject, I probably ought to tell you … I’m going to sell the boat.”

“Dad!” Their voices came out in one surprised chorus.

“You can’t sell the boat!” Abbie continued.

“Honey, I know how attached you are. We all are. I don’t want to sell it. But if I can … it might keep me going for a little while longer … and things might change …” Clearly he was having trouble speaking about this. “If I sell the boat, that might buy me a little time until a new job comes in, and then I won’t have to sell the house.”

“Sell the house!” the girls cried.

“I know, I know, I hate it, too, but it might come to that. Now, it might reassure you to know that I do have some savings in an IRA. Not a lot, but with social security, I should be able to live pretty comfortably for the rest of my life. The thing is, I can’t take out the money until after I turn fifty-nine and a half or I’d have to pay some fees and penalties. So I’ve got a few more years to go before I can touch those IRAs. I think I can make it, if I watch my pennies, but …” He held his hands out in a what-can-I-do gesture.

“Oh, Dad, this is terrible,” Abbie said.

“Well, I’m not putting it on the market right away. I just want you to know it’s got to be an option in my life.” He shrugged. “And come on, it’s way too big for me. If Lily weren’t home, I’d rattle around here like a marble in a bathtub.”

Lily watched her sisters for some kind of wisdom. But Abbie and Emma just sat there stupefied.

“You know,” their father said, “it might not be such a terrible thing for me to sell the house. I mean, I don’t think any one of you wants to live the rest of her life on the island, and if I sold the place, I’d make a nice fat sum of money and I’d have something to give each of you.” He studied his daughters’ faces. “Abbie? You look like I’ve just hit you over the head with a board.”

Lily could tell her sister’s smile was forced. “Sorry, Dad,” Abbie said. “I think jet lag is clogging my mind. I can’t seem to think right.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” her father told her. “I don’t want you girls to worry about anything. I mean, if any of you were to get married, have some children to come here for summer and holidays, then I can see this big old house might be worth struggling to keep. But as it is …”

Emma made a choking noise and burst into tears. Shoving her chair back, she rose. “Sorry.” She ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.

“She’s really taken it hard, Duncan breaking off with her,” Abbie observed quietly.

“Duncan was an asshole,” their father said, surprising Lily. He seldom swore.

Lily smiled. “You’re right. She’s better off without him.”

He pushed back his chair and stood. “Well, I think I’ll catch some of the ball game before I go to bed. Let you two catch up on some girl talk.”

“Night, Dad,” Abbie said.

He pecked a kiss on their heads. To Abbie, he said, “It’s great to have you home. And thanks for cooking dinner.” He left the room.

“I was at Carrie’s,” Lily blurted out. “She’s got a baby now, a little girl only seven months old, and Carrie’s exhausted. I went over to help—”

Abbie interrupted Lily by leaning back in her chair and yawning enormously. “Oh, man, it’s hitting me now.” She stood up. “I’ve got to go to bed or I’ll fall over on the floor. Good night.”

“Um … good night,” Lily replied. She stood alone in the silent kitchen, with all the dirty dishes for a meal she hadn’t eaten.

Rain streaked down the windows like teardrops. Perfect for Emma’s mood. She checked the clock: 6 a.m. She groaned and rolled on her side, trying to fall back asleep. Instead, her thoughts flashed a slide show in her mind, a private DVD of images of Duncan and Alicia, happy, together. Perhaps she dozed.

Someone tapped gently on the door. “Emma? Honey?” It was her father.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to see him.

The door opened. Her father came in and sat down at the end of her bed. He smelled of Old Spice and his own particular scent of soap and wood dust.

“How’re you doing?” he asked softly.

She muttered, “I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry.”

“It’s raining,” he told her. “It’s down in the lower sixties, if you can believe it. Be sure to wear a sweater when you go out. It’s supposed to be cool and rainy all day.”