Nantucket Sisters (8 page)

Ben takes a deep breath, as if she’s wounded him. After a moment, he says, “You’re going to college in a couple of weeks. I’m going back to Tufts.” He shakes his head. “This was a mistake.”

“No.” She reaches over to put her hand on his arm. “No mistake. I’ve been wishing for that for a long time.”

Ben remains silent. He pulls up in front of her house, her parents’ big house on the bluff where she has never yet, in all these years, invited Maggie. He knows that. There is more than age between them, but age does matter.

Turning to face her, he carefully reminds her: “Emily, you just turned eighteen.”

This means so much. She wants to do it right. “I know that. And I’ve never … but I want this, Ben.” Summoning up all her courage, she says, “I want anything I can have with you.”

He frowns. He takes a deep breath. He touches the side of her face, stroking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”

She restrains herself from throwing herself across the seat on top of him. “Yes.”

“Six o’clock,” he says.

“Six o’clock,” she promises.

“The light will be good out on Coskata,” he tells her.

“I’ll bring a picnic,” she tells him. “We can eat on the beach, watch the sunset.”

“Nice.” Gently, he kisses her cheek. “Tomorrow, then.”

Emily lets herself into the house. It’s quiet and dark. She takes off her heels again and pads across the floor to the living room window facing the ocean. It’s calm tonight, and the moon stripes the water with a trembling light.

CHAPTER EIGHT

During her senior year at Nantucket High, Maggie had bucked up her courage and submitted some writing to the school newspaper, which was not such a stretch since one of her close friends, Kerrie, was the editor. People liked her articles, short witty pieces about “Backstage at the School Play,” “How to Buy a Posh Prom Dress Here in Sleepy Hollow,” or “The Accidentals and the Naturals Do New York,” so she wrote one every month. It wasn’t fiction, but it was still fun.

And in August it leads to the most amazing job.

Late one afternoon, the phone rings. “Maggie, it’s Marilyn O’Brien.”

“Mrs. O’Brien. Hello.” Maggie has half-turned to call her mother when Mrs. O’Brien says, “I’d like to talk with you about writing an article for
Nantucket Glossy
.”

Maggie almost falls over. “Really?” she says, then hits herself in the thigh with her fist for sounding like such a simpleton.

“Really. I’ve enjoyed your pieces in the school paper. You have a
gift for seeing things that others miss. I’d like to hire you to write about some of the public fund-raisers taking place this month. You’ll know most of the students who’ll be working at them, and many of the guests, and I think it would be fun to have a young person’s view of it all.”

Maggie forces herself to say, “Um, I’d love to, Mrs. O’Brien, but what about Kerrie Smith? She was the editor of the paper.”

“I know, dear, and I’m impressed with her editorials. She’s more confrontational than you are. Your style is more suited for my magazine. Your writing has flair.” Mrs. O’Brien adds the fee she’d pay Maggie for each article, continuing smoothly with other details: how long she’d like the pieces to be, the slant she’d like Maggie to take on her first piece, to stress the fun and glamour of the upcoming party.

“The Theatre Workshop is having its summer fund-raiser in Beverly Hall’s garden,” Marilyn says, and Maggie gasps. Beverly Hall is a famous photographer with a house overlooking the water out on the western part of the island. Maggie’s heard it rumored that Beverly has seven different gardens on her land, each landscaped in a different style. Maggie’s yearned to see them—and now she’s being paid to do it?

“The evening’s theme is Shakespeare in the Garden,” Marilyn continues. “For entertainment, some of Nantucket’s actors will put on a scene from
Midsummer Night’s Dream
. David Lazarus will be in it, I’ve heard.”

Maggie listens, eyes wide, thrilled.

“We’ll want a full account of the guests, their clothes, the food, the decorations … this is an extremely special evening, Maggie, and it will provide you the opportunity to show us at
Nantucket Glossy
what you can do. If you want to do it, that is.”

“I’ll do it.” Maggie gulps, trying not to sound like she’s just swallowed helium.

As soon as she puts down the phone, she clicks in Kerrie’s number and talks to her about the article. Kerrie, to her vast relief, has no interest in something so frivolous and is surprised Maggie would consider it.

“But the galas are to raise money for Nantucket charities,” Maggie stresses.
And for me
, she adds silently.

“Please,” Kerrie says. “I’m happy for you. It is so not my cup of tea.”

“Well, honey, it’s my cup of mead,” Maggie jokes. Next, she calls Tyler, who’s somewhere on the road to the West Coast. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

Tyler listens to her babble, tossing in the appropriate “Wow” or “Amazing,” but after a few minutes Maggie can tell he’s not enjoying this conversation.

“Hey,” she says, “what’s up? Even if you are leaving the island, you’re still my best island friend and I want to share this with you.”

“Sorry,” Tyler apologizes. “It’s a huge deal. Congratulations. I wish I could see you at the party.”

Maggie grimaces—glad they’re not on Skype. Marilyn O’Brien told her she could bring a date, but would she want to ask Tyler?

Before she can speak, Tyler continues, “It’s great, Maggie. Absolutely. It’s like you’re on your way.”

“I know,” Maggie agrees, twirling in place. “It’s like Fate’s giving me a go-ahead sign.”

The very next day, another astonishing thing happens.

After breakfast, Emily arrives on her bike, wearing a bathing suit covered with a long tee shirt.

“We’re not going to write today,” Maggie tells her. “You’ve got to help me organize myself for my first real writing job!”

“What? Tell me!” Emily demands.

When Maggie tells her, Emily screams, hugs her, and then shouts ten thousand questions in one minute.

“It’s this Friday,” Maggie tells her. “It’s a gala for the Theatre Workshop. Everyone will look so fabulous, and I don’t have anything to wear. I don’t even know what kind of thing to try to find, and I’ll probably have to go to the thrift shop to look for something. Clothes are so expensive here. Would you go shopping with me?”

“I’ll do better than that,” Emily says. “Come to my house. We’ll find something in my closet for you to wear.”

Maggie nearly falls over flat on her face. This is the first time Emily has ever invited Maggie to her home. Why would Emily ask her now? Perhaps this gala gig will make Maggie more acceptable to Emily’s snobby parents.

Before Maggie can speak, Emily rolls her eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I’m ten feet tall, but I’m sure we’ll find something that will work on you.” Without waiting, Emily climbs back on her bike. “Come on.”

Maggie grabs her ten-speed and follows Emily along the bike path to ’Sconset and Emily’s house on the bluff. When she was younger, during long boring winters, Maggie used to sneak around outside the Porters’ house, standing on tiptoes to peek through a crack in the drapes into the rooms inside. Most of the furniture was covered with dust cloths. It was spacious, a symphony of seaside blues and sands. Now she’ll finally get to see Emily’s bedroom. What if Emily’s mother is there? Will she look down her nose at Maggie as she always does?

When they reach her house, Emily carelessly tosses her bike against the front porch, so Maggie does the same thing.

“No one’s home,” Emily announces over her shoulder. “Let’s get a Diet Coke before we go up.”

Maggie trails behind her friend, trying not to be too obvious about scanning the rooms. Thaddeus’s house is as big as this, but it’s messy, cluttered with the paraphernalia of active lives. This house is like a stage set.

Emily’s bedroom faces the ocean, its wide windows raised to let
the sea breeze float the sheer white curtains like sails into the room. Emily’s got a canopy bed and, by the window, a white chaise next to the windowsill covered with books.

“Okay,” Emily says, throwing open her closet doors. “Let’s see. You don’t want to be too glitzy, you need something sophisticated, which makes me think, what shall we do with your hair?”

Maggie’s heart is thumping. She’s somehow passed through into an alternate universe, and while she’s trying to process it all, Emily starts yanking dresses off their padded hangers. Black crepe. Lime satin. A sleek crimson slip dress. A long coil of silver.

“Emily!” Maggie can’t help exclaiming at such abundance.

“Oh, shut up,” Emily says. “You know I have to go to all the yacht club dances. Try these on. All of them.”

For an hour Maggie and Emily concentrate on slipping the garments off hangers and onto Maggie’s voluptuous body. They settle on the silver dress, which has a lot of give in the material and a boat neckline so Maggie won’t be seeming to flaunt her bosom.

“If you think it’s too tight around the hips,” Emily says, cocking her head, “have your mother take it out a bit. The seams are generous, and your mother will know what to do.”

“But then it won’t fit you,” Maggie protests.

“That dress looks awful on me,” Emily says. “I’m so flat I look like a drainpipe in it. Now sit down here and let’s think about your hair.”

Maggie’s thick black hair falls past her shoulders in waves. “A chignon?” she suggests, twisting her hair up.

Emily squints. “No. No. Just”—sweeping Maggie’s hair up with both hands, she pulls it back from her face—“a high ponytail, I think. We’ll straighten it. I’ve got a silver clip to hold it back.”

“And maybe my mom’s rhinestone earrings?” Maggie wonders. She’s always wanted to wear those earrings, long dramatic falls of sparkle.

“No. No, that’s too much. This dress is already enough shine, and then the clip … and a touch of makeup.”

Both girls stare at Maggie’s reflection in the mirror, the shape of her face, the slant of her cheekbones, the thick black eyelashes over arctic ice blue eyes, the fullness of her lips.

“You’re so pretty,” Emily declares. Not giving Maggie a chance to object, she says, “
Now
. You’ll need a date.”

“I know …” Maggie’s still turning her head this way and that, studying herself in the mirror.

“I’m hungry.” Emily tugs Maggie’s hair. “Take off the dress, come downstairs, let’s find a snack. We need energy to think about this. Come on, you must have a crush on some guy. Or are you weirder than I thought?”

Yanked back to reality, Maggie slowly admits, “Well, there is Shane.”

“Shane? You know a guy named
Shane
?”

Maggie pulls the dress off over her head to hide her blushing face.

“Out with it!” Emily commands.

“Shane Anderson.” Maggie sighs.

Emily makes a hurry-up sign.

“He’s eighteen. He’s tall, played football in high school. Nice, too.”

“Handsome?” Emily asks.

Maggie blushes red.

“Wow. So does he like you?”

Maggie nods. “He’s part of the group I hang out with. He’s really sweet to me … but, Emily, I don’t want to start all that dating stuff. I want to be a writer. I can’t do that if I get pregnant.”

“For heaven’s sake!” Emily scolds. “You’re only asking him to a party with you, not having his babies. Sometimes you are absolutely unbelievable.”

“Not everyone’s as sophisticated as you,” Maggie swipes back.

Emily hands her the phone. “Call him. Ask him to the gala.”

Maggie chews her lip. “What if he says no?”

Emily gives her the eye. “Do you
think
he’ll say no?”

Maggie blushes again and calls Shane.

CHAPTER NINE

Wednesday evening Ben drives Emily over the rutted sand to a beach on Coskata at the head of Nantucket Harbor. No one else is there. The light is diffuse with moisture, like an Impressionist painting.

Ben sits cross-legged on a blanket, eating the cold chicken, potato salad, and lemon meringue pie Emily bought at Petticoat Row Bakery. While they eat, they talk about the men Ben works with, and Emily tells him about the kids she showed around the aquarium.

When they finish eating, Emily tidies things into the picnic hamper. Then Ben walks down to the water and stands staring out. Emily stands next to him.

The tide is low, exposing all the sandbars. Channels of water ripple like clear silk over the pebbles. The sun sinks downward in the sky, casting long shadows. For a few moments they don’t speak. They walk around the white branches of a fallen tree, stripped smooth and polished to marble by the wind. Fiddler crabs scuttle to their
holes. On a distant sandbar, a pair of dark cormorants stand, two capital letter T’s, their wings extended to dry. It’s very still. The lights of town are far away.

He picks up a flat rock and skims it over the water. “Okay. I’ll say it. What are we doing here?”

Emily’s confused, and at the same time, she’s suddenly, ecstatically, aware. “Having a picnic?” she answers, her voice light.

“Slumming it?” Ben suggests, not looking at her.

“What?”

“Come on, Emily. You’re rich. You’re a city girl. You’ve been everywhere. You’re out of my league.”

Emily studies Ben’s face. In the fading light, his expression is almost impossible to read, but she feels an urgency and a gathering-up in him, like a swimmer about to dive.

“That’s ridiculous, Ben.” She touches his hand. “Come on.”

He doesn’t move away, but he seems to contract, somehow, to withdraw tighter in an invisible shell. She sees the pulse beating in his neck. His skin is hot, he’s like a crystal figure in a kiln. With a lightning bolt through her heart, she understands that her words could liberate him or break him.

The magic of the night gives her courage. Breathing the air, she fills herself with its clarity. She knows exactly what she wants—and what it is that she can give.

“Ben, don’t you know? I love you.”

He stands as still as stone.

“I’ve never said that before to anyone except my parents,” she confesses. “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s not just that I think you’re handsome, although of course I do think that. It’s that—I’m so full of admiration for you. I think you’ve become—wonderful. I always sensed that you were powerful, but now—well, now you’re powerful and
good
. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like you. I would never hurt you, never. I feel privileged that you showed me
this island. That you shared your love for it with me. I love you for that.”