Nantucket Sisters (28 page)

He sets his glass and hers on the table behind them. Then he turns his full attention on her. “Right now I feel happier than I’ve felt in years. And absolutely terrified.”

She almost bursts into tears. “I’m scared, too.”

Tyler takes her hand in his. “Then I guess you and I are going to have to go slow.”

His hand is warm and firm, his voice steady, his eyes clear and honest, his aura purely good—she wants to unbutton his flannel shirt and crawl inside and curl up next to his heart. “Yes,” she says. “I guess we should.”

But he pulls her to him and brings his mouth down onto hers. At first his kiss is tentative, a breath of warmth on her skin. She turns toward him; moving closer, she puts her hands on his chest, and
Tyler groans, his arms hug her against him, his mouth searches hers, and he finds the answer he needs.

They can hardly stop kissing long enough to reach the bed. Tyler pulls her down onto it, kissing her and unbuttoning her shirt, kissing her and unzipping her jeans, while she tugs his clothes away from him.

“Oh, my God,” Tyler says, when they’re both naked. “Oh, my God, Maggie.”

Tyler’s long body is warm. He’s inside her almost instantly, and she folds her legs and arms around him to bring him tighter against her. They kiss as they move, wet, salty, sweaty kisses with strands of her hair caught in their mouths, and when they climax they hold each other as close as they can.

He collapses on top of her, and she does not loosen her arms and legs, she wants to hold him against her like this forever, his muscular chest pressing hers, his face nestled against her neck. She has so much to learn about him, she wants to roll him over and search out every detail of his skin, find his moles, what kind of hair furs his chest and crotch, and yet she doesn’t want him to move away from her, not yet.

Finally he rolls over, and she takes a huge breath.

“Was I crushing you?” he asks.

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Should I do it again?”

“Yes, please.”

They turn toward one another, this time less frantically. They explore one another, caress and kiss one another. It’s almost unbearably exciting to Maggie, to touch this man she knew when he was a boy, to find such intimate physical joys with the friend who knows her deepest thoughts. Nothing is missing. Nothing is held back.

His kisses lap against her skin like waves. He enters her, he rocks her, he whispers the sweetest words in her ear, and soon she’s sinking,
floating down. Light fades, darkness covers her, pleasure flickers against her and through her, then she rolls over and rides Tyler like a girl on a dolphin, casting her body against him, as they rise, then plunge. Her body seems to liquefy. Maggie is all ebb and flow, suds and whirlpool, salt wetness and briny surf. The gleaming treasure flickers at the seabed, golden, radiant, shimmering—she touches it, she reaches it—she merges into it, she is the gleaming treasure, lost, then found.

Afterward, they lie together. “Tyler?” The word squeaks out of her mouth, squeezed by hope and fear. “Would you like to meet Heather?” She knows he’s aware of how important this is.

“As soon as possible,” Tyler replies. He smooths back Maggie’s hair. “Tell me. What have you told Heather about her father?”

Maggie’s shoulders squeeze up to her ears in discomfort. “She’s only a little girl. Only four years old. I haven’t had to talk seriously with her about it. I told her that her father is a traveler who hikes in the mountains on the other side of the world and never uses phones or computers. She’s not sad. She doesn’t worry about it, about not having a father. Lots of children don’t, it’s not a big deal among the children she plays with.”

“What about Ben? How often does she see him?”

“Oh,
Ben
.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “When Heather was a baby and a toddler, he doted on her, but as he sold more properties and made more contacts, his life changed. Now he shows up whenever it suits him, bringing some fantastically expensive toy, spending half an hour with us all on a Sunday morning, then rushing off again. But she knows she’s got an uncle. When she plays families in her doll-houses, she usually calls the man Ben. That’s better than nothing, I suppose.”

“Well, good,” Tyler says decisively. “That means there’s plenty of room for me in her life.”

Maggie smiles.

“We should go,” Tyler says after a few more peaceful moments.

“Hmm,” Maggie murmurs. “I know. I promised I’d tuck Heather in bed.”

They rise and shower—separately—before dressing and painstakingly arranging their hair and clothing to show no sign of having been tousled or touched. As Tyler drives them to the farm in his rental car, they’re quiet, holding hands, allowing the glow to continue.

Maggie leads Tyler into the living room of the farmhouse where Clarice sits in her armchair watching Frances read a storybook to Heather.

“How was dinner?” Frances’s eyes twinkle.

“Great,” Maggie replies, and can’t help grinning.

“Heather,” Frances announces, “this is your mommy’s friend Tyler.”

Heather is ready for bed, already bathed, blond flyaway hair combed, wearing her teddy bear pajamas and pink cotton robe with a flower for a pocket. She sits on the couch with an interested gleam in her eyes.

Maggie holds her tongue. Heather can be a handful if she wishes; she’s Bette Davis at four years old.

“Oh, yes,” Tyler says, and offers his hand to Heather. “You must be Rapunzel.”

Heather stifles a smile. She sniffs. “I am not Rapunzel.”

“Oh, right, I meant Ariel.”

Heather crimps her lips. “Not Ariel.”

Tyler sits on the sofa, keeping a large space between him and Heather. He thumps his forehead. “I was so sure— I know! You’re Dora the Explorer.”

Heather breaks into a giggle. “Of course not.”

“No? Well then—Madeline? The Cat in the Hat? But wait, you’re not wearing a hat.”

“And I’m not a cat!” Heather yells triumphantly. “I’m
Heather
!”

“Hello, Heather,” Tyler says formally, extending his hand. “I’m Tyler.”

Heather puts her tiny chubby dimpled hand in his large, elegantly shaped hand. In her best voice, she says, “How do you do?”

“I’m excellent,” Tyler says, “now that I’ve met
you
.”

Heather’s eyes widen. “Are you the man who travels in the mountains?”

Maggie holds her breath.

“Yes,” Tyler says. “Yes, Heather, but I’m coming home.”

Christmas morning at the farm, the little family of females shares a traditional breakfast of pancakes and strawberries, then gathers around the tree in the living room. Heather has already discovered the wooden easel, box of paints, sketch pads, and colored pencils that Santa brought her. Now she’s old enough to enjoy the pleasure of giving her gifts to her mother, Nana, which is what she calls Frances, and Grand, which is Heather’s name for Clarice. Ben has of course been invited to share the day, but he’s gone skiing in Vail with friends. He’s left a present for everyone, though—a special one for his niece. Maggie goes into the locked study and wheels out a sparkling pink bike with training wheels and glitter streamers hanging from the handlebars. Heather squeals with surprise.

The day is cold but sunny and dry. Maggie runs alongside, holding Heather until she’s steady, then watches her pedal like a mad thing up and down the driveway. Maggie’s happy but impatient today—she wants the afternoon to arrive. She’s waiting for Tyler to get there. He’s been invited for a walk on the moors and Christmas dinner.

After Heather has a forced rest in her room, during which she can be heard babbling the entire time to her stuffed animals, a knock sounds on the front door and Tyler comes in, his arms full of gifts. During the past month his presence has become so normal, it seems he was always around. Maggie wraps an apron around him, he rolls up his sleeves and peels potatoes to be cooked and mashed.

Clarice sits at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. “How’s business?”

“Crazy busy,” Tyler answers. “I have a secretary now—Joanne Post—”

“Oh, she’s a friend of mine,” Frances interrupts. “You’ll like her. She’s reliable.”

“Good to know. Because the appointment book is filling up. I need to hire another woman to help out with fitting and choosing frames.”

Clarice chuckles. “I’ll bet that’s always time-consuming. The color, the style, studying your face in the mirror, do you want round frames or rectangular—”

“Do these frames make my butt look too big?” Maggie jokes.

“Why are you all in here laughing?” Heather stands in the kitchen doorway, rumpled and indignant.

Maggie checks her watch. “You have ten more minutes of rest time.” She shoots a quick glance at Tyler.

“Maggie,” he pleads, as she knows he will, “it’s Christmas Day! Can’t you let Heather get up now?”

“I guess so,” Maggie agrees.

Heather simpers with triumph and launches herself at Tyler. “You’re here! I knew you’d come today!”

Tyler dries his hands so he can lift the little girl to his shoulders. “I think we should go for a walk.”

“I agree,” Maggie says. “What do you think, Mom? Do you need us to help?”

“Everything’s under control,” Frances assures them. “We’ll eat around six.”

“We’ll be back before then. It grows dark about four.” Maggie stretches up to tug on Heather’s coat, mittens, and cap, secretly bumping her body into Tyler’s as she kits her daughter up for the outdoors. She pulls on her own coat and snatches the car keys.

“Let’s go to the moors today,” she suggests. “We haven’t been there yet, not the three of us.”

They drive along a rutted sandy track into the moors and park near Altar Rock. As they stride along in the cold fresh air, they study the gray, dreary, dry foliage, which will be this way until June. To most people, this monotone landscape is faceless, but Maggie, Tyler, and now Heather know that deer, rabbits, and birds hide among the bushes. Occasionally they spot their tracks on the sandy path, or a tuft of rabbit fur caught on a thorn. The pines remain a stubborn green, and red berries shine in the thickets.

“Man, it feels so good to stretch my legs,” Maggie says. She’s holding her daughter’s left hand, Tyler’s holding her right and every few steps they lift her in the air and she giggles. “I love being curled up with a good book on a winter day, but I go crazy if I can’t be outside for a little while.”

Tyler doesn’t answer. She can tell that he’s straining to see ahead. This is the first time Maggie’s walked on the moors with both Tyler and Heather, and she knows what’s around the bend. She knows what she hopes will happen.

And it does.

As they come to the turn in the path that leads them up a slight hill, Heather pulls her hands away and races up to a large boulder. She makes a pretty little curtsy. “Hail, Lord Boulder!” she calls.

Tyler stumbles. He looks at Maggie. “You told her about my maps.”

“I did. Long ago, Tyler, when she was a toddler. I showed her your maps, long before we knew you were coming back to the island.”

Tyler’s eyes grow warm, his cheeks flush. “Foolish.”

“Not foolish. It’s your world, Tyler. It’s always been your world.”

“You’ve always been my world,” he tells her, taking her hand.

“You guys!” Heather chides. “Come on! Let’s go see Princess Pond!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

On New Year’s Eve, after Emily has tucked Serena into her pink canopied bed, she wanders their Park Avenue apartment in search of her husband. She finds him in his study, on the phone. She’s wearing her fluffy bathrobe, preparing to shower before dressing for the corporate party, so she simply curls up on his leather sofa and shoots him a smile, letting him know she’ll wait.

“Right. Bye,” he says, clicking off and tossing his cell on his desk. “Serena’s asleep?”

Emily stretches. “After five stories, she couldn’t keep her eyes open.” Readjusting herself to face him, she asks, “Cameron, can we talk?”

He stretches. He’s not ready for the party yet, but wearing a cashmere sweater and sweatpants after exercising. “Of course. What’s up?”

“Honey, I want to have another baby.” Quickly, she continues, “Serena needs a brother or sister. A baby would bring us closer, I think.”

Cameron folds his hands together on his desk as if about to discuss a business deal. “Emily, I know how you feel. You need to understand my point of view. I’m junior at the firm, working insane hours. Half the time I’m on an airplane and when I’m home, I’m too wiped out to play with Serena, let alone deal with another baby.”

“Cameron—”

“Please. Let me finish. I’m not saying
never
to another child. I’m saying not
now
. We’ve gone over this before, and—oh, Emily, don’t cry. That’s not fair.” Rising, he moves around his desk, coming to sit on the sofa and pull Emily into his arms.

“I really want another baby,” she cries.

“You’ll have one,” he promises, kissing the top of her head. “Be patient, okay? Give me some more time. I need more time.” When she continues to sob, he says, “We rushed into this so quickly, we married in such haste.”

Emily takes a deep breath and composes herself. He’s always a gentleman. It’s what brought her to him, but now she wonders if she hates this civilized, restrained aspect of him. He’s reminding her in the most subtle way possible that she gently forced him into marriage. She owes him. At least she owes him time.