Beachcombers. Part 37

But really, she didn't see why. She drove past the turnoff on Cliff Road, leading past the Tupancy land with its spectacular views of the Sound and remembered the fund-raiser she'd been to there. She'd met Jimmy Buffett! And he had really looked at her, and even if he was an old guy, he was cool, and she'd loved being young and desirable in her sa.s.sy little cropped top and her long dangling earrings.

Next she pa.s.sed the road to Dionis and the gorgeous mansions resting on the edge of the cliff, with their splendid views of the Sound. She'd never been in one of those houses. She'd always wanted to, and perhaps, if she worked for the magazine next year, she would, or perhaps Eartha would invite her to accompany her to a party there ...

Why should she have to give up all that in order to be with Jason? If he loved her, why couldn't he change? If he really loved her, then didn't he love the part of her that desired gorgeous clothes?

She was thinking so hard she almost ran off the road.

Jason would never be able to afford one of those trophy houses. Even though contractors made a lot of money, they didn't make millions and millions. She didn't care about that, she didn't need millions and millions. But she did want just a taste of it, just a few pretty clothes, and she did want to go to Paris before she settled down.

Suddenly she was in Madaket, the small colony of houses and marinas cl.u.s.tered at the end of the island. Instead of turning onto the street where Jason was working, she went on down to a dirt road leading to the harbor and turned again, onto another dirt road that dead-ended in a forest. She turned off the engine and sat there in the silence, trying to calm herself.

What was she going to say to Jason? I'll give it all up to marry you?

That just didn't seem right. But she didn't want to lose him, and she tried to think clearly about why she loved him so.

First of all, she just did. She'd fallen totally, completely, helplessly, s.e.xually, romantically, in love with the man, and she trusted that, she trusted whatever surging insistent power it was that had brought her this man, that had brought her this kind of love. It was real, enormous, and unlike anything she had ever known before. It was momentous.

And it was right. She could step away from her pa.s.sion and enumerate the other reasons she loved Jason. He was a good man. He was reliable, honest, kind, funny, he was trustworthy, and he wouldn't fool around. He was in many ways, all of them good, like her father. She liked being with him. She felt at home with him. And if she thought of someday having a child with him--it made her s.h.i.+ver with helpless joy to even think of that.

But she wasn't ready for a baby yet. She wasn't ready to settle down, buy appliances, and spend her days working in a shop in order to pay for a new sofa or a mini vacation. She was who she was, young, probably naive, certainly not completely formed. But she was not just a helpless bit of driftwood being tumbled into shape by the power of the ocean; she did have some say in her future, in what she would become.

She didn't want to lose Jason. She didn't want to lose herself, either.

She started up the car again, did a three-point turn, and headed for the farthest road in this little town. She came to a modest white Cape with its splendid view of Madaket Harbor. Jason's truck was in the drive, another truck behind it.

She parked and stepped out into the suns.h.i.+ne. The clean smell of sawdust floated past on the breeze and she heard hammers pounding. She walked around the side of the house to the addition Jason was building, past the pile of plywood and the sawhorses with two-by-fours lying in wait to be cut to size. The new room had been framed in. Now they were pounding up the walls.

Jason was up on a ladder. It was one of his crew, Patrick, who spotted Lily first.

"Hi, Lily," Patrick called.

Jason's head whipped around. When he saw her, he smiled. "Lily! What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to talk to you for a minute," Lily told him.

He climbed down the ladder, tossed his hammer onto a pile of plywood, and came over to her. "It's nice to see you."

"Can we just walk down here a little way?" Lily asked.

"Sure." He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked away from the house, closer to the beach and the harbor, its water sparkling in the sunlight.

She stepped back a little, away from the shelter of his arm. She faced him head-on. "I just want to tell you I love you, Jason. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose us."

He smiled down at her. "Okay. Me, too."

Lily took a deep breath. Her heart thudded in her chest, in her throat. "But I do want to go to Paris. Maybe not for six months--" she hurriedly added. "Maybe just for three months, or two, I have to figure it out, and maybe you could come to Paris and stay with us and you and I could have a romantic time in Paris together, and maybe you could meet Eartha, because whatever I am, part of me does really like her, she's kind of fabulous, Jason ... I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want to have to make one choice, black or white; I want you and me to work this out together somehow. Can we do that?"

He was listening to her carefully. She felt his resistance harden when she mentioned Eartha and Paris, but when she stopped talking, she saw how his shoulders relaxed, just a bit, and the muscle stopped jumping in his jaw.

He said, "I love you, too, Lily. And I want you to be able to see Paris. I've been thinking. I was wrong to want to deny you that. I guess I'm afraid you won't want me if you go to Paris--"

"Oh, Jason! I'll always want you!" Lily cried and tried to hug him.

He put his arms on her shoulders and held her away from him. "We don't need Patrick to witness everything," he told her gently. "I'm glad you came out here, Lily. I'm sorry I stormed out of the house; it was a childish thing to do. I want to work things out with you, okay? We can both compromise a bit, right?"

Lily smiled. "Right."

"I'd better get back to work. See you at home tonight?"

She nodded. Jason dropped a light kiss on top of her head, picked up his hammer, and went back up the ladder. She watched him for a moment, loving the lines of his body, the strength of his arms, the muscles in his back. She saw how he was building something new with his hard physical labor. He was good at that, at building something new. And she could learn to be good at that, too.

She drove back home, and her thoughts still raced, but her heart was calm.

58.

Emma The sound of running water woke Emma. As she surfaced from her warm ocean of sleep, she was aware of a sense of extraordinary happiness growing within her. She didn't want to wake from this blissful dream. Then she opened her eyes ... and the dream was still there. Even more happiness rushed through her.

She was in Spencer's bed. The sound of running water was Spencer in the shower. They'd slept the night together here, in his house.

Sighing with pleasure, Emma sat up in bed, stuffing all the pillows behind her for support. When they came in last night, she hadn't really paid attention to Spencer's house--it could have been the Taj Mahal or a refrigerator box and she wouldn't have cared.

Now she let her gaze wander around the room. It was a quaint little chamber, tucked up on the second floor of this old house. The entire house was a low-ceilinged, beam-and-plaster jewel box, built in the late eighteenth century and remodeled and modernized as the decades pa.s.sed. The front door opened directly off a narrow hidden lane into a long room that served as living and dining room, with a galley kitchen downstairs and the bathroom upstairs built on the back of the house in what the islanders referred to as "warts." It was Spencer's house. He'd bought it with money left to him by his grandparents, and loving history as he did, he cherished the house.

The room was spa.r.s.ely furnished with a double bed, an old bureau, a chair, and on the wall several paintings of Nantucket by island painters. No curtains hung at the small, many-paned window. It was open, and the dewy air of early morning drifted into the room.

Last night had been amazing. Emma closed her eyes and hugged herself, remembering. When they first got to the cottage, they'd gone directly to bed, but later, after they made love, as they were ravaging through Spencer's refrigerator and making grilled cheese sandwiches, they'd talked and talked, getting to know each other better, sharing secrets and plans and dreams.

Later, around two, they'd gone back to bed again. They'd made love again. It was very late when, exhausted, satiated, and content, they finally fell asleep.

Now Emma's gaze fell on the clock on the bedside table. It was after seven-thirty. Oh, heavens, Marcia must have gone to Emma's house to pick her up for work. Emma jumped out of bed, grabbed her purse from the floor, and dug out her cell phone. She hit Marcia's number and got her voice mail.

She held the phone to her ear and leaned against the little window, peeking out at the bright day.

"Marcia? It's Emma. I'm sorry, I can't come to work today. I'll explain later. Sorry."

"Good G.o.d!"

The woman's voice, so close to Emma, made her nearly jump out of her skin, and it was only her skin that she wore. For a horrified moment, Emma stood there, stark, raving naked, gaping at Sandra Bracebridge, who loomed in the doorway bristling like a giant hedgehog. Spencer's mother wore a Lily Pulitzer dress in a geometric pattern and from her arms, neck, and ears several pounds of gold glittered. She carried a lights.h.i.+p basket purse, one of the new styles with a strap handle.

"What are you doing here?" Sandra demanded.

Emma was seized by an almost irresistible desire to laugh as various answers flashed through her head. She started to say, "Sorry," but realized that actually, she had nothing to apologize for. She crossed back to the bed, yanked the top sheet off the mattress, and wrapped it around herself.

"Mother?" Spencer stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, steam drifting behind him into the bedroom. "What are you doing here?"

Sandra Bracebridge drew herself up to her full belligerent grandeur. "I've been talking to your grandmother and I need to talk with you. Obviously things have progressed further than appropriate."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake." Spencer's face darkened. "In the first place, Mother, it's not appropriate for you to just appear in my bedroom unannounced. We've gone over this before, it's my house, not yours, and you should call me before you barge in."

Sandra was undaunted. "If you were in danger, wouldn't you want me to 'barge in'? If your house was on fire, wouldn't you expect me to--"

Spencer turned his back on his mother. "I've got to get dressed."

His mother glared at him for one long moment. "I'll be waiting downstairs."

Spencer tugged open a bureau drawer, pulled out a pair of boxer shorts and stepped into them. "Emma, I apologize. Mother has never just burst in on me like this. Give me a few minutes to talk to her and I'll get rid of her." He yanked on a pair of trousers and pulled on a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, then strode across the room barefoot to kiss Emma quickly on the mouth.

Stunned, Emma sank down on the side of the bed. She wanted to take a shower, but she also wanted to hear what Spencer had to say to his mother, and curiosity won out. She remained very still, hardly breathing, and listened.

"I'd like you to give me my key back now." Spencer's voice was calm but firm.

"Nonsense. What if you need me to fetch something when you're off-island--"

"In that case I'll give you a key before I leave. I want my key back now. Or I'll change the locks."

"Why are you acting like this! You have no right to speak to me this way!"

"I have every right, Mother. I'm an adult. This is my house. I bought it with my money. I--"

"Very well, I apologize. But really, Spencer, consider it from my perspective. I hardly slept last night, not after I phoned Mother and she told me you'd gone off with that girl."

"Her name is Emma, and I'm going to marry her."

Emma nearly fell off the bed.

"Oh, Spencer, you can't be serious! She's just an island girl, she's not one of our kind."

"Thank G.o.d for that," Spencer said. Sandra's voice had risen a few octaves, but he sounded mild and reasonable. "Mother, I've got things to do. You need to leave."

"Spencer, I'm your mother. I'm only concerned about your welfare. I--"

"Believe me, I've never been happier. Now please go."

"You can't shut me out like this."

"Please go."

"Promise me you'll come to my house for a drink this evening. By yourself."

"I can't promise that. I have plans."

"It's your grandmother who's instigated this, isn't it! Millicent is always trying to turn you against me."

Now his voice was cold. "Please. Go."

Emma heard the hard click of Sandra's heels against the floorboards, and then the firm slam of the door.

Spencer came up the stairs, two at a time. "d.a.m.n, that woman makes me crazy! My brother and sister have both moved to the other side of the country, and now you know why. She's so controlling, she's so infuriating, she's like some kind of giant household pest!"

Emma just smiled. She couldn't stop smiling.

Spencer gawked at her, then suddenly smiled back. "So I guess you overheard our conversation." He sat next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. "I suppose that was not the most romantic marriage proposal in the world."

"But perhaps the most unusual," Emma a.s.sured him.

Spencer laughed. Then, more soberly, he said, "I'm not trying to rush you, Emma. I don't want you to answer yet. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to marry me. I know I've got the strangest, most dysfunctional family in the world. You've seen my mother in action. And I want to live on this island, and that means I'll always be within Mother's striking range. Does that frighten you?"

Emma started to reply, but the question was a serious one, and she took a moment to consider it. She had never discussed the th.o.r.n.y subject of money with Duncan. She had always glibly pretended to be comfortable around people with lots of money, and for the few years she'd lived in Boston, she'd felt certain she was going to make a nice fat bunch of money for herself and her family and belong to that golden group.

"I do think," she said slowly, thinking aloud, "that your mother will never accept me. I don't come from money. Our family doesn't have the kind of money you do."

"Let me just remind you that my mother doesn't even have the kind of money she acts like she has. That's why she tried to steal those lights.h.i.+p baskets. She's always trying to sell off something so she can have more ready cash."

Emma nodded. "Still. Still ... Spencer, I think I'm a little afraid of people like you."

"Because we have an old family name? I am proud of being a Bracebridge. It's one of the reasons I know so much history. But other than that--my father is dead. My mother is a terrible sn.o.b. My brother and sister have moved away and hardly keep in touch. Plus, they don't give a fig about Nantucket. My mother fights with my grandmother all the time. Since my brother and sister have abandoned me, my mother focuses way too much of her energy on trying to run my life. And I'm afraid I love my grandmother more than I love my mother." He paused, and with a wry smile said, "Actually, now that I've enumerated all our charms, I can see why you'd be afraid of us."

Now Emma smiled. "Oh, Spencer, I've got a pretty odd family, too. Perhaps everyone thinks their family's odd." She laughed. "Perhaps every family is odd."

"You can't build a straight house out of crooked wood, but you can build a very cozy crooked house," Spencer said. "Grams used to say that all the time. The house Grams lives in will have to be sold when she dies, and the money will be divided up among my siblings and me. I'll never be rich, Emma, but I think I'll be comfortable."

"Comfortable," Emma echoed. She ran her thumb over Spencer's hand. "I like this, Spencer, I like talking about all the real stuff." Suddenly, sitting there naked with a sheet wrapped around her, she remembered--"Actually, my own family is in its own crisis right now. My father has met someone, at last, a really nice woman who makes him happy. Spencer, I need to take a quick shower and get back home."

"I'd like to meet your family. Outside of the police station, I mean." He grinned.

"Oh Lord," Emma moaned.

Spencer stood up. "You shower, I'll make coffee."

59.

Abbie Abbie took Harry upstairs to help him brush his teeth and dress for the day. She really wanted to tuck him under her arm and run. Or maybe just hide in the closet. She heard the front door open and slam shut.

"Mommy's home," she told Harry.

"Mommy!" Harry raced down the stairs.