Authors: Nancy Thayer
Emily remains limp as her daughter bustles around her, tucking beach towels over her, lifting her feet to wrap the towel firmly, babbling excitedly, “Mommy, that was scary! I couldn’t see Heather! I didn’t know what to do! I was crying, Mommy! When we swam way out in the ocean, I couldn’t see you. I was
cold
.”
“Sssh,” Emily says. “Sssh, baby. It’s all over now. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” She pulls Serena onto her lap and cuddles her, kissing her head. Kissing her damp, gleaming black hair. “See how smart it was to wear your water wings? They kept you and Heather floating, even in the big waves. Did you feel that, how they helped you?”
As she speaks to her daughter, soothing them both with her voice and their mutual embrace, she’s aware that Ben is standing awkwardly to the side, watching them.
He came
, she thinks. He said he wouldn’t come, but he did. He’s here.
The rush of adrenaline that fueled her swim left her dizzy and nauseous when she first hit the shore, but now it’s receding, leaving
behind, in her body and heart, a powerful brightness of joy. Serena’s okay, and Maggie’s okay, and she, Emily, saved Maggie’s daughter’s life!
“Did you drink some water, Serena?” she asks. “Can you reach that water bottle? Mommy needs a good long drink of unsalted water.”
She sees Maggie awkwardly maneuver herself into standing position. Maggie takes Heather’s hand and they walk to Emily, where Maggie drops to her knees.
“Emily. Thank you. How can I ever thank you enough? You saved Heather’s life.”
Emily scoots to the edge of her chair so her arms can reach around Maggie’s bulk in a long, hard hug. Heather and Serena dance and jump around them, crying in their shrill voices, “Mommy, don’t be sad!” The rim of the aluminum beach chair cuts into Emily’s bum. Maggie’s low on strength and leaning on Emily more than embracing her, and the girls are as exasperating as mosquitoes, as precious as the sun.
Emily pulls away, croaking in a bad actor’s voice, “Honestly, can’t a woman have a good honest sob around here?”
“Mommy,” Serena says, “I’m
hungry
!”
Emily, Maggie, and Ben laugh. Probably their laughter is more explosive than it would be normally—they are all relieved, grateful, and exhausted. Emily lifts her arms away from Maggie.
“Hungry,” Emily says. “Right.” But her brain is moving slowly and it can’t come to a decision about food.
Maggie stands. “Okay, Serena, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m taking you and Heather to our house. You’ll both curl up on the sofa with the puffy puffy quilt and watch your favorite DVDs. I’m going to make you grilled cheese sandwiches and give you all the chocolate chip cookies you want for dessert.”
Serena cocks her head. “I thought we were having a picnic.”
Maggie is already gathering up her beach bag and blankets. “No picnics when little girls have been swept away by the waves. That’s a rule. After something like that, it’s necessary to go home and
rest
.”
“Mommy!” Heather stamps her foot, spraying sand. “I don’t
want
to rest!”
“Doesn’t matter. You need to rest. I need to watch you, keep an eye on your color, be sure you’re drinking water, and you are tired, whether or not you think you are.”
“Mommy!” Heather argues.
“Heather? This is
non-negotiable
.”
Heather sags. “Okay.”
Serena stares at her own mother questioningly.
“Serena, go with Maggie. I have to sit here and regain my strength. I’ll be there soon.”
“What about him?” Serena points at Ben.
“This is my friend Ben. He’s going to stay and help me. Then we’ll both come to Heather’s house.”
Serena shrugs, but willingly follows Maggie and Heather as they trudge up the sand to the parking lot.
After the others have gone, the beach is quiet. No gull flies overhead, and the waves, which roared around Emily with such drama, peacefully lap the shore.
“Ben,” Emily says, patting the beach chair next to her. “Come sit down.”
He sits. For a moment they both stare at the rolling blue water.
“You came,” Emily says.
“Yes.” Ben clears his throat. “Emily, thank you. You saved Heather’s life.”
He is very serious, this man she has known since they were children. He wants badly to do everything right, and his earnestness pierces her heart. She does love him, still loves him, and she wants to make him happy. To lighten his heart. To make him smile.
“Well, after all,” Emily says, “you once told me I was a warrior princess.”
“Wow,” Ben says. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“No, you didn’t,” Emily tells him, gently knocking the side of his knee with hers.
A small smile lifts his lips. “Okay, maybe I didn’t.”
Emily decides to go for broke: “She’s yours, you know. Serena. She’s your daughter.”
“Certainly looks that way.” Ben’s voice is hoarse.
Emily studies this man, this obstinate, wonderful, proud, deeply beloved man. His face is tanned, and lines extend from his eyes and gently etch the sides of his mouth. His long black lashes hide his blue eyes. She can’t read his expression. But he’s here. He drove out to be here, and he stayed here beside Emily.
“She’s
our
daughter,” Emily says. She sees his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. “Ben.” Reaching over, she puts her hand on top of his. “If I could change things, I would. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m sorry I went through the charade of the marriage I had with Cameron. But I didn’t feel I had any choice.”
“I was a total ass. I’m sorry.” Ben moves his hand away from hers. He stands up. He’s wearing a faded blue bathing suit and a white rugby shirt.
Her heart stalls. He’s leaving.
“Let’s walk,” he says, extending his hand. “I mean—can you walk? Have you rested enough?”
“I’m fine.” Emily’s more than fine, she’s delirious as she takes Ben’s hand and lets him pull her up.
Together they go down the beach, walking parallel to the shore, for a few silent minutes as quiet as an old married couple taking a stroll. The sand is warm to their feet, the sun warm on their backs. The tide floods up in a white lacework of foam and retreats, the water sinking into the sand, making it shine like satin.
“I never stopped loving you,” Ben says.
“Oh, Ben.” All at once, the weakness from her exertions in the water, combined with the glorious shock of Ben finally saying he loves her, slams into the backs of her knees. She wobbles. She leans against his arm. “Wow, I think you literally knocked me off my feet.”
He turns to face her, putting both hands on her waist to hold her steady as he looks down at her. “Are you okay?”
His eyes are a deeper blue than the ocean, a more sober blue than the sky. They blaze at her with the intensity of cobalt, warming her, sustaining her, adoring her.
Adoring
her.
“I’ve never been better in my life,” she tells him, wrapping her arms around him. “Hold me,” she says.
Ben pulls her closer to him. She rests against his firm body, hearing the steady beat of his heart, savoring the warm strength of his arms around her waist.
“Why are you crying?” he asks, lifting her face to meet his.
“Happy tears,” she tells him. “Serena can explain what that means.”
His smile is like the sunrise. Gently, he touches his fingers to her face, wiping her tears away. “Can I kiss you?”
She lifts her arms to his shoulders, resting her hands on his strong, warm neck. “Please. Although you’d better hold me tight. I might fall down.”
She closes her eyes, and feels the soft warm huff of his breath, the tickle of his skin, the sweet urgent pressure of his lips on hers. She allows her body to press into his, she wraps her arms more firmly around him, she sighs as her loins, belly, breasts, and mouth remember the touch of this man. She kisses Ben back passionately, opening her lips, touching his lips with the tip of her tongue, squeezing her leg between his.
He pushes her away. “Okay, stop that. I was trying to be romantic.”
“So was I,” she teases.
“No. You were being seductive, and I am not taking you here on this beach in broad daylight.” He begins walking again, holding her hand, gazing out at the water.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I’m not sure. Years have passed. Maybe I’ve become more conservative in my old age.”
“Ben. You’re thirty.” It is all coming back, the give-and-take between them, the passion and the pleasure, the indestructible connection. It is as enduring as the ocean touching the earth. Sometimes stormy, always unfathomable, their love is lasting. Has lasted, will last.
“Yeah, I’m only thirty, but I want to do the right thing. I think I may not take you to bed until we’re married.”
Married
. Grinning like a child, she asks, “How long do I have to wait?”
To her surprise, Ben stops walking. Taking both her hands in his, he drops to his knees. Looking up at her, he says, “Emily Porter Chadwick, will you marry me?”
Behind him, the sun strikes the waves into an ocean of diamonds.
Sinking to her own knees to meet his deep blue eyes, she says, “Yes.”
It’s like a morning in heaven.
For Charley
again, and always
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank my agent and friend Meg Ruley for championing this book from the beginning. Linda Marrow, my angelically astute and gentle editor, coaxed and cajoled me through many drafts, changes, deletions, insertions, and improvements. The debonair Dana Isaacson helped so much with his insights and deft touches. Much thanks to him and to the perceptive Anne Speyer.
It is an honor and delight to work with the entire Ballantine group. I’m extremely grateful for the support of Libby McGuire and Gina Centrello. Kim Hovey, Ashley Woodfolk, Alison Masciovecchio, Quinne Rogers, and Penelope Haynes have been a delight to work with, especially as we all enter deeper into the computer world. For that, I also thank Christina Hogrebe at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, who has been enthusiastic and kind and never once called me an idiot. (As far as I know.) My gratitude also goes out to Paolo Pepe for working magic with my author photograph and for the gorgeous book covers.
I send my gratitude to Janet Schulte and Jascin Finger of the Maria Mitchell Association on Nantucket who helped me understand how the Natural Science Museum operates. Many thanks to Amy Jenness and Nancy Tyrer of the Nantucket Atheneum and to Wendy Hudson and her dynamite staff at Nantucket Book Works and Mitchell’s Book Corner. Thanks to the wonderful group at Titcombs Book Shop in Sandwich, and to Jody Levine of the Pelham Library, and a general hoorah to all libraries and independent book stores.
Thanks also to my wonderful friends who have brightened my life during the writing of this book and helped me believe I was not just hiding in my study talking to myself. When I say friends, I mean those I have had coffee with and all those with whom I would love to share coffee, my dear, funny, brave, inspiring friends from Facebook.
BY NANCY THAYER
Nantucket Sisters
A Nantucket Christmas
Island Girls
Summer Breeze
Heat Wave
Beachcombers
Summer House
Moon Shell Beach
The Hot Flash Club Chills Out
Hot Flash Holidays
The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again
The Hot Flash Club
Custody
Between Husbands and Friends
An Act of Love
Family Secrets
Everlasting
My Dearest Friend
Spirit Lost
Morning
Nell
Bodies and Souls
Three Women at the Water’s Edge
Stepping
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
N
ANCY
T
HAYER
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
A Nantucket Christmas
,
Island Girls
,
Summer Breeze
,
Heat Wave
,
Beachcombers
,
Summer House
,
Moon Shell Beach
, and
The Hot Flash Club
. She lives in Nantucket.
nancythayer.com
Facebook.com/NancyThayerAuthor