“Can I help?”
“You most certainly can. I’m making the chowder; you can do the crab cakes. Let’s get a move on and see if we can all sit down for eight.”
Daff puts her bags down and goes over to the window, sinking down and curling her feet up under her, looking out of the window with delight, a sigh of satisfaction escaping her. She has seen views like this many times over the years—sunlight glinting off water, boats bobbing gently in the ocean—but she has been too busy to enjoy them.
She has been too busy to do a lot of things she enjoyed, she has started to realize, things that once upon a time, before she became a wife and mother, fed her soul.
Painting, for one. She hasn’t painted for years, but right before she packed, when she was sorting out her office, she found a tiny travel watercolor kit. She put it in her case, and bought a small pad of watercolor paper to go with it.
She used to listen to music all the time before she was married. She would turn it up loud when she was alone in her apartment at night, and dance, sometimes for hours. She remembers calling it the soundtrack to her life: Neil Young when she was a teenager, Joni Mitchell and Cat Stevens when she went away to school.
Why is it that the soundtrack to her life stopped on the day she got married?
She has started listening to music again. Pouring herself a glass of wine and soaking in a hot bubble bath, Jack Johnson crooning softly as she tips her head forward to take a sip, reveling in having to be nowhere else, having to do nothing for anyone else, for the rest of the night.
But she misses Jess. Oh how she misses Jess. Not the Jess of late, the truculent, angry, hostile teenager, but her lovely little girl, her sunny, warm, clever Jess, a Jess she knows is still hiding somewhere deep inside.
Better though, for now, that Jess is with her dad. Perhaps they both need this break from one another. Daff doesn’t see this move as permanent, and has a strong suspicion that Jess will be on the phone soon, begging to come home. And perhaps then they will find their feet again, will be able to be mother and daughter again, friends and allies instead of enemies. She met up with Carrie and liked her, understanding that someone like Carrie might be good for Jess, and this is just a trial after all, it doesn’t have to last long, just long enough for her to regain her equilibrium.
Nantucket is a well-deserved break, a time during which both Daff and Jess will be able to heal. She has her watercolors in her bag, a burner, and a CD of meditations that she hasn’t listened to for at least ten years, maybe longer.
This is a place to be reborn, she thinks, curling up tighter and hugging her knees. It feels as if a weight has been lifted, as if she can start again, and what a special, magical house to have found.
Everything does happen for a reason after all, she thinks.
“Should we go into the living room?” Nan keeps asking, topping up everyone’s wine glass. “Sarah cleaned in there especially. I really think we ought to be sitting in there.”
“Mom, relax.” Michael smiles at her, taking the bottle out of her somewhat unsteady hand and pouring the wine himself. “Everyone’s happy in the kitchen, and it’s lovely in here. We’ll use the living room another time.”
She smiles at him. “You’re right.” And she lowers her voice to a whisper. “So what do you think of the new tenant?”
Michael looks over at Daff, who is standing next to Daniel at the stove as he fries the crab cakes, asking him quiet questions about his cooking.
“She seems nice,” he says. “But sad.”
“I think so too.” Nan nods. “Terribly nice and probably on a journey to happiness herself.”
“What’s her story? Do you know?”
“Divorced. Single mother. Daughter staying with the father and girlfriend, and I think this is the first time she’s had for herself in years. I rather think she’s slightly lost, doesn’t know what to do with herself. Perhaps you’ll take her and show her the island tomorrow? I think she’d love it.”
“Mom?” Michael says warningly, shaking his head with a groan. “Please tell me you’re not matchmaking again?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Nan is shocked.
“I love you, Mom, and I know you. You always used to try to set me up with everyone.”
“I did not!” She is mock appalled.
“What are you two talking about?” Daniel finishes off frying the crab cakes and he and Daff wander over.
“Michael’s accusing me of matchmaking him with everyone,” Nan says indignantly.
“She did!” Michael laughs. “Whenever she found any single women on the island, she automatically told them about her son and I’d come home and find strangers waiting for me on the porch.”
“Some of them were lovely,” Nan says. “You dated one or two.”
“One or two out of one or two hundred. That’s not exactly a good track record.”
“Sounds like you were interviewing for the position,” Daff says, turning to Nan and laughing.
“I was but we never did find the right candidate, did we?” She arches an eyebrow and revolves her head slowly to give Michael a mock glare.
“Speak for yourself,” Michael says, as his cell phone begins to ring, again, from the corner of the kitchen.
“Darling,” Nan says crossly, “that thing’s been ringing all afternoon. Can’t you turn it off?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I thought I had.” He goes over to the phone and picks it up to look at the number flashing on the screen. Jordana. Again. The sixth time she’s called in the last two hours. There are a string of messages, but he stopped listening after the first two. Her first was full of tears, her second full of rage.
There is nothing he can say to make it better, to make it different, and he cannot help but feel an overwhelming relief that he got out when he did. Hopefully, if he just lies low and stays unavailable, she will realize that there is no going back, will finally be able to move on.
He presses the button to turn the phone off, this time checking that it is actually off, and drops the phone in a drawer. He hates cell phones anyway, and certainly doesn’t need one now. A disastrous love affair that has led to no job, no social plans to make—why on earth does he need to look at this constant reminder of the way he has fucked up his life?
He closes the drawer softly and goes over to his mother. “Shall we sit down?” he whispers in her ear. “I’m starving.”
“This is bizarre,” Daff says, helping Nan clear the dishes. “I feel incredibly comfortable here. It feels like I’m having dinner with people I’ve known for years.”
“It’s Windermere,” Michael says. “Seriously. It’s the house. It was always like this when I was growing up. I’d forgotten how it does that to people.”
“He’s right,” Nan adds. “This house brings people together.”
“So much so I’ve barely seen the island,” Daniel says. “I’ve been here a week and I’ve hardly left this house, other than when I’m with the girls.”
“Is there stuff for them to do here?”
“Are you kidding? Tons! Fishing, boating, ice cream. It doesn’t get better than this. And I’ve been taking them to crafts at the whaling museum most afternoons. They love it. Your daughter should come out. I think this is a great place for kids.”
“She’s not really a kid anymore,” Daff says. “She’s thirteen. She’d probably think crafts at a museum ‘Like, ohmyGod, suck.’ ” Daff does an accurate impersonation of a surly teenager and Nan smiles.
“A tough age,” Nan says. “Michael was relatively easy but I had lots of friends with daughters who turned into horrors as teenagers. They came back, though. All of them grew up to be best friends with their mothers.”
“I hope so,” Daff says, and the sadness in her eyes as she looks away is undeniable.
“Michael, why don’t you show Daff some of the island tomorrow? ” Nan suggests, breaking the discomfort, and Daff starts to laugh.
“This isn’t one of your famous fix-ups, is it? Because if it is, you need to work on your subtlety.”
“Subtlety’s never been one of Mom’s strong points.” Michael grins. “But don’t worry, I’m strictly unavailable.”
“You are?” Nan turns to him in horror. “Is there something you should be telling me?”
“Just that after this last relationship, I’m taking a break. Seriously. No more dating for me for a year. I need to get my life back in order before I even think about sharing it with anyone else.”
“Hear, hear!” Daff raises her glass in a salute. “I agree. My forays into the dating world have also been disastrous. Right now I just need to find myself again.”
Daniel clears his throat. “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, but I need to get it out of the way. I . . .” He stops, unsure why he is telling them when he hasn’t even told his wife, but this feels easier, confessing to people who don’t know him as a husband and father, as a family man, confessing to people who know him simply as Daniel, who won’t judge him in the same way. “The reason my marriage broke up,” he continues, “is that I’m gay.”
There’s an awkward silence.
“Congratulations?” Michael says, and Daff laughs.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she apologizes quickly. “I just don’t know what to say. I mean, I assumed you were.”
“That’s terrible!” Daniel says. “Everyone keeps assuming I’m gay now that I’m no longer with my wife. How is it that no one ever thought I was gay while I was married and now everyone does?”
Nan lays a hand on his arm. “I suspect it won’t be as much of a surprise to other people as you might think, and that’s not a bad thing. Think of all the things you have to look forward to, a life in which you no longer have to keep secrets.”
“It’s the one thing I try to keep thinking of,” Daniel says. “The one thing that keeps me going. That, and my daughters. Obviously.”
“Will we meet them?” Daff says.
“Absolutely. They’ll be here tomorrow. Bee’s dropping them off at four.”
“Bee?”
“My ex. And she doesn’t know yet so don’t say anything. Please.” He sighs deeply. “I know it’s wrong, telling you before I tell her, but I’m so scared of telling her, and every time I say those words out loud it becomes a little less scary.”
“We understand,” Nan says gently, and looking around at each of them, Daniel feels a huge sense of relief, for he can see that it’s true.
“Tell me about the girls,” Daff says, changing the subject, sensing it becoming difficult for him. “Jess was so adorable when she was little, I miss it still.”
Daniel’s face lights up as he tells her all about Lizzie and Stella.
Chapter Seventeen
Daff and Daniel start laughing as Michael struggles to maneuver the bicycles out of the shed.
"What?” Michael looks up at Daff, as Daniel shakes his head in disbelief.
“You’re not serious?” Daniel chuckles.
“About what?” Michael is bemused.
Daff chimes in. “We’re riding those?”
Michael looks down at the bikes. “What’s wrong with them? Admittedly they’re a bit dusty but I’ll wash them up and oil them and they’ll be as good as new.”
“How old
are
they?” Daniel asks.
Michael grins. “I think they were one of my mum’s wedding presents.”
“They look it.” Daniel gingerly takes one and wheels it around the courtyard. “Actually, they look older. If you took those onto the
Antiques Roadshow
you’d probably find they’re worth a fortune.”
“Oh come on.” Michael looks down at the bikes. “They’re not that bad.”
“Of course they’re not,” Daniel says. “They’re gorgeous. I’m just not used to seeing people ride bikes like that.”
“But they’re classic bikes. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re right. They are, but I live in a town where everything has to be new, and shiny, and the best. If you’re going to ride a bike it has to be a top of the line mountain bike, and no less than two years old.”
“Well, where I come from we love the old classics. Give me a beaten-up old Jeep, or a classic Schwinn any day.”
“I agree.” Daff smiles. “But Daniel’s right. We live in an age when we’re expected to wear our wealth on our sleeves, when money is God and the more you have the more you’re expected to display it. You can’t believe some of the houses being built in my town.”
“Oh I can,” Daniel says. “Let me guess—seven thousand square feet is now the norm?”
“Yup.” She laughs. “And that’s slightly on the small side. Then there are all the things you have to have with it: his and her closets, each the size of a bedroom, sweeping staircase and marble floor in the center hall . . .”
“Range Rover in the garage?” Michael contributes.
“Or the Hummer for the wife,” Daff offers. “But I’ll tell you my favorite. The local paper did an article about a house that went up on the water a couple of years ago. It was done by some big-name architect, and decorated by one of the big New York designers, and it was . . . wait for it . . . twenty thousand square feet.”
“Who in the hell needs twenty thousand square feet?” Michael gasps. “I mean, seriously? What for? What does anyone
need
with that? Do they have an army of children?”
“No, young couple in their late thirties—he’d evidently made a killing from hedge funds—and they had two small children. And here’s my favorite part: throughout this article they kept being quoted saying things like they were very unpretentious, and they wanted the house to be cozy and informal. They said they were very down to earth and wanted it to be inviting and reflective of who they are.” Daff cracks up laughing, along with Daniel, while Michael shakes his head in astonishment.
“How do you make twenty thousand square feet cozy?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.
“You don’t.” Daniel shrugs. “And trust me, everyone I’ve ever met who lives in one of those houses will tell you the same thing: they’re very down to earth and not pretentious in the slightest, and they’re ever so slightly embarrassed they ended up with such a big house.”
Daff sighs. “Give me an antique any day.”