He sent an e-mail out to all his friends to see if anyone wanted to sublet his apartment, and someone had immediately e-mailed back—they had a friend of a friend visiting from London who would take it for six months, cash payment, no questions asked.
He hauls his backpack up and walks over to the ferry, smiling to himself as he sees a couple of cars lining up, boats attached to trailers behind them, their rear bumpers plastered with Oversand Vehicle Permit stickers from years gone by, each year a different color, each year proclaiming their right to drive on the beaches.
It brings back many memories. Someone, every year, usually a non-islander, gets stuck on the beach, their wheels spinning madly on the sand. And when he sees cars with the stickers in Manhattan—shiny black Range Rovers—the stickers proclaiming their owner’s exclusivity, their ability to vacation on what has become a millionaire’s paradise, it still makes Michael laugh. He has always thought the stickers belong on old Land Cruisers, vintage jeeps, beaten-up pickup trucks, not the hedge-fund manager’s version of the same.
It is chilly on deck, but he wants to see the first glimpse of the island. Wants to step off and walk past the people lining up at the Juice Bar for ice cream, past the store on the corner that’s been there forever with the ACK hats and Nantucket T-shirts, up Main Street to see what has changed since the last time he was here.
“Mike?”
He looks up and smiles. “Jeff?”
“Hey, man!” They give each other a hug. “I thought it was you! Haven’t seen you for years. What are you up to? Heard you were a big-time jeweler in New York City.”
Michael smiles. “Not quite. But I did work for a big-time jeweler, although God knows you wouldn’t know it from my salary.”
“Amen.” Jeff smiles.
“And how about you? I heard you were married with kids.”
“Yup. Married Emily, have two boys and a girl.”
“You’re still fishing?”
“Every day. Took over my dad’s business in town a few years ago.”
“Boat repairs?”
“Yup. The old man still works there but I run it now.”
“So how’s business?”
“Crazy. All these millionaires with huge boats who haven’t got a clue.”
“So you’re charging them a fortune?”
Jeff grins. “They can afford it. Anyway, you have to charge a fortune. Living on the island nowadays costs a fortune.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“So how long are you back for?”
“I don’t know.” Michael shrugs. “Mom’s getting on in years and the house might be getting too much for her. I need to stay for a while.”
“Well, if you need a job at the boatyard you give me a call.”
The edge of Coatue comes into sight and Jeff and Michael stand up and lean on the railing, Michael unaware that a smile is playing on his lips, for there is no place like home. Never has been. He just hadn’t remembered that until now.
“It’s still beautiful,” he says with a sigh.
“Yeah. It’s changed, but it’s still my favorite place in the world.”
“I’m not sure I realized it until now, but I think it may be mine too.”
“Bet you didn’t miss the traffIc?” Sarah asks as they turn the corner into a wall of cars.
“Wow? What happened?” Michael cranes his head to see what’s causing it. “Looks like Manhattan.”
“I know. You should try parking.”
“No, thanks. Not today. How is Mom, then, Sarah? Really. I talk to her and she sounds great, but this whole boarding-house thing sounds nuts. Do you think the house is getting too much for her?”
Sarah lays a hand on Michael’s arm. “I know you’re worried, but she’s actually amazing. Your mom has more energy than anyone I’ve ever met, and renting out these rooms seems to have given her a whole new lease on life. Anyone else would have been exhausted at the prospect of getting the house ready, but she was extraordinary—she just never stops. And,” she continues, “the first tenant arrived and she adores him.”
“You’re sure he’s not an ax murderer?”
“A property developer. Although that may be the same thing?” Sarah snorts at her joke.
“A property developer? And she let him in the house? I thought she hates those developers—every time I talk to her she tells me how they’re circling to get their hands on the house.”
“Yes, but this one’s not local. He’s from Connecticut and doesn’t seem to be a threat. Poor guy just separated from his wife, and she and the kids are in a house out on Quidnet and he wanted to be close for the summer.”
“Anyone else?”
“There’s a woman coming in a few days. Daff something or other.”
“Do we know anything about her?”
“You know your mom—I think she got her life story in the first five minutes. Single mother, daughter staying with the dad for the summer, has always wanted to come to Nantucket.”
“Maybe she and the other guy will get together.” Michael laughs. “Wouldn’t that be something? A little romance over at Windermere. God knows it’s been years since that house has seen anything romantic.”
“Well, how about you, Mr. Powell? Speaking of romance, any special ladies in your life?”
Michael shivers. “Not something I want to talk about. Let’s just say I’m taking a break from romance for a while. A few years, perhaps.”
“Shame. Sam’s got a couple of nice women working at the store, if you change your mind.”
Michael laughs. “I’ll let you know. How is Sam?”
“Busy as ever. But life’s good. We’re happy. Lucky.”
“That’s great to hear. Thank you again, Sarah. For taking such good care of Mom. Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without her,” she says softly. “She’s more like family than my own family.” And as Sarah looks over at Michael with a smile, the traffic finally starts to move.
Nan’s laughter peals through the house as Michael walks through the front door.
“Hello? Mom?”
“Darling!” Nan comes barreling down the hallway, apron on, wooden spoon in hand, looking exactly as he remembers her.
It is only now he realizes that he has a morbid fear of seeing her and not recognizing her, expecting her to be stooped, or slow, getting older.
But she looks exactly as she has always looked. Her hair pulled back in a chic chignon, her lips a dark red, her figure as slim as ever and, most importantly, she looks happy.
“Oh Michael!” She flings her arms around him, squeezing him tight, then steps back to look at him, a smile of delight spreading over her face as she cups his chin. “You look handsome but sad,” she says, gazing into his eyes. “You need to be home, I think. Oh how I’ve missed you!” And she links her arm with his and leads him down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“Oh. Hi.” There is a man standing at the island, dicing onions very small and wiping away tears with a piece of paper towel.
“I’m sorry.” The man blinks. “These damn onions.”
“I thought my mother had said something to upset you.” Michael laughs and shakes his hand. “I’m Michael.”
“I know. Your mom’s been telling me all about you. I’m Daniel.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniel. And forgive my asking, but aren’t you the new tenant?”
“I am.”
“Why are you in the kitchen dicing onions? Aren’t you supposed to be down at the beach, or at the whaling museum or something? Relaxing and being a tourist. Not cooking.”
Daniel laughs. “Believe it or not, I love cooking. Nan needed some help and frankly she’s been keeping me entertained with wonderful stories all morning.”
“Don’t believe a word she says.” Michael grins as Nan looks at him fondly.
“It’s lovely to have you home,” she says. “Isn’t my son gorgeous? ” She turns to Daniel with a smile as Daniel flushes a deep, dark red and turns away to wash his hands.
Oh my, she thinks. Perhaps I have misread the situation somewhat. And deep in thought she leads Michael out to the porch to sit down and catch up properly.
Lizzie and Stella jump out of the car and run up the driveway as Daniel opens the front door. His heart lifts as he bends down for them to jump into his arms.
“Daddy!” they both cry, covering his face with kisses, one girl in each arm, their little arms linked tightly around his neck.
“Oh girls,” he says, his smile so wide his face is almost hurting. “It’s so good to see you.”
He looks up to where Bee is standing awkwardly in front of the car.
“I’ll pick them up at five,” she says, coldly.
“Can we make it six?” he says. “I’d love them to have dinner here. Please, Bee. I haven’t seen them for a week.”
She pauses, then nods. “Fine. I’ll see you at six.” And barely looking at him she gets into the car.
Nan watches from the window, her heart aching at the pain she sees. There is something so familiar about Bee’s pain, the loss, the anger. Something so heart-wrenching about seeing it played out on her doorstep, Daniel’s joy at having his daughters back, the pain of a marriage ending in divorce.
Daniel had told her they were separated, and when Nan asked if there was a chance they would get back together, a chance this separation was temporary, an opportunity for them to sort out their differences, he had shaken his head adamantly.
“It’s over,” he had said.
“And does your wife know that?”
He had closed his eyes to block out the pain. “We haven’t said those words, but I think she knows.”
“Do you know what you are looking for?”
“I’m getting there,” he had said with a small smile. “But right now I’m not looking for anything. I’m just looking to spend as much time with the girls as I possibly can.”
Nan watches as Daniel leads the girls around to the garden, to play in the old rowboat that sits at the bottom. It must be very hard, she thinks—realizing that his situation is not as simple as she first thought, not after she glimpsed the way he looked at Michael—it must be very hard to lead a life in which you are not being true to yourself.
Understandable, to take the easy route, to do what is expected of you, to follow conventions, although Nan has never done anything for anyone other than herself.
Not that she is selfish, but she has always lived true to herself, hence her reputation as an eccentric. That poor Daniel needs to be honest with himself, she thinks. As long as he lives in denial he’ll struggle, and as she wanders into the kitchen she suddenly has what she thinks is a wonderful idea.
The garden center is quiet, the pots of hydrangeas lined up in the front wilting in the heat. Nan parks her bike at the side and walks up the alleyway, admiring the picturesque herb garden they have planted as inspiration, stopping to pet an old ginger cat rolling on his back in a patch of warm sunlight on the path.
“Nan?”
“Jack! Lovely to see you.”
“And you, Nan. What an unexpected surprise. How’s your vegetable garden this year?”
“Wonderful. That fence we put up worked wonders. No deer at all. Sarah and I have been gorging ourselves on lettuces, peas, cukes and tomatoes. But they’re nearly over.”
“I’ve still got masses of tomatoes here. Like tiny bunches of grapes and as sweet as candy. You ought to take a couple. What can I help you with today?”
“I was thinking about putting in a flower garden. Nothing too grand—a couple of beds with an arbor and a bench, just in front of the meadow. I was wondering if you might send one of your lovely men to help.”
“Of course, Nan. I could send James over tomorrow.”
“James? Do I know James?”
“No, he’s new. But he’s good.”
“What about that nice Matt? He’s always very helpful when I come in. Any chance of having Matt over? I’m sure James is very good, but I know Matt, I think I’d be more comfortable with him.”
“Absolutely,” Jack says. “He’s out working on a job in Tom Nevers until the end of the week, but I can send him over on Monday. How does that sound?”
“Monday? Perfect!” And with a jaunty wave Nan climbs back on her bike, and smiles as she starts the journey home.
“Lemonade, anyone?” Nan carries the tray outside and the girls leap up and down. “It’s homemade,” she says, pouring a glass for Daniel as well, and handing the girls a doughnut each, having stopped at the Downyflake on the way back.
“You’re spoiling us,” Daniel says with a smile.
“Quite right too,” she says. “It’s lovely having little ones around to spoil. Lizzie? Stella?” The girls gather around Nan, crumbs around their mouths; they are still a little intimidated by her, but curious.
“Do you know what a widow’s walk is?”
They shake their heads.
“It’s a deck on the roof, and in the old days the wives would go out at night and stand on the deck to try to see their husbands coming back from sea. You have to climb a ladder to get up there. Would you like to go and see?”
“Yes! Yes!” They jump up and down with excitement as Nan leads them inside.
She turns just as they walk in. “Oh Daniel? I hope you don’t mind but I’ve got someone coming to help dig a couple of flower beds on Monday. Michael’s busy, so I was hoping, if it’s not too much trouble, you could give a hand.”
“Of course,” Daniel says. “I’d be happy to.”
The gravel crunches as Bee pulls up. She shuts the door softly, then walks up the path.
“You must be Bee,” Nan says, coming to the door. “I’m Nan. And Daniel’s just on his way back from the beach. He took the girls for a picnic. Please come in.”
“It’s okay,” Bee says. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Absolutely not.” Nan ushers her in. “I won’t hear of it. Come and sit with me in the kitchen. I could do with the company.”
Bee, realizing that no is not an option, follows her down there.
As soon as they reach the kitchen, the door bursts open and the girls come in.
“Mommy!” They squeal and rush over to kiss Bee, who refuses to look at Daniel.