Page 60 of The Summer We Started Over

“I know. I know. You don’t want to have children.”

Eddie listened carefully to his words. When she replied, it was as if a mysterious code came clear to her.

“Ithasbeen all about that, Jeff. Itwaswhat I needed. Or what I thought I needed. But it’s also been about helping Dinah, and no, I certainly don’t see her as a mother substitute. She’s a writer, andthat’swhat interests me. Books, and writing.”

Jeff nodded. “Okay. Let’s keep going with that. You spent a year in New York, working for a publisher. Then you spent a year here, on the island.”

“Right.” She spoke slowly, and felt strangely anxious—or was she excited?

“You’ve spent the last two years working for a writer.”

“Right.”

Jeff asked, “What do you want to do next?”

She couldn’t look at him. She had never said it out loud before. She whispered, “Maybe I want to write a novel?”

Jeff smiled. “Maybe you do.”

Eddie took a deep breath. “Well, that was a terrifying moment.”

“Why?”

“How can I write a book? I mean, I know I can do that, but there’s no guarantee it would get published.”

“No one can guarantee anything,” Jeff countered quietly. “That doesn’t mean you can’t try. If we were married, you could write. You could give yourself, let’s say, one year, to do nothing but write.”

Eddie gave him a wary look. “Could we be together, married, in New York?” She knew she was being contrary. “We could get anapartment together, and I could work part-time for Dinah, and spend, let’s say, the morning, writing. You could work in construction there.”

Jeff frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Damn, Eddie I don’t want to live in New York, or any city. I want to stay on Nantucket. I thought you knew that.”

“I do know that,” Eddie said. She pulled her hands away from him and turned to face the front. The rain was slowing now. She could see other people running out from the Box to their cars. It was after one in the morning.

She waited for him to say he’d consider living in New York.

Jeff didn’t speak.

Eddie said softly, “I should go home.”

“Okay.” Jeff started the truck engine and pulled out of the parking lot. “I guess we have a lot to think about.”

Eddie nodded. “I guess we do.”

—

Barrett’s shop was quiet in the morning. She restaged her windows, setting out cool blue jewelry and a set of glasses, pitcher, and matching ruffled apron all in turquoise with white polka dots. Sunburned island guests drifted inside. She and Janny were busy receiving, unpacking, and checking invoices for blue sun hats, sunglasses, bracelets, and flip-flops patterned with seashells.

While they worked, Janny chattered away cheerfully, mostly telling Barrett how wonderful Drew was, such a kind, caring big brother who had always helped Janny out of a tough spot. Whenever Janny got into an argument with their parents, Drew took Janny’s side, stood up for her, argued with her parents until they finally gave in or gave up. When she almost drowned at Surfside, Drew had rescued her. When she’d got deathly drunk the first time she tried alcohol, Drew had taken care of her.

Barrett thought it would have to be a saint who looked like Ryan Reynolds to compete with Drew for Janny’s love.

Barrett saw little of Drew because she was working twenty-seven hours a day in her shop. At least it seemed that way. Drew was in Boston during the week, sometimes coming to the island late Friday or Saturday night. When he couldn’t come on the weekend, he sent small, tasteful presents—to help her remember him, he said. A box of Godiva chocolates. A copy of Ann Patchett’s latest novel. A box of multicolored paper clips. The gifts made her laugh.

One Sunday Drew did get to the island for the day. He brought a picnic basket from Formaggio Kitchen in Cambridge, and they spent the afternoon on the beach. They walked, collected shells, swam, lay in the sun, and kissed, but casually, because so many other people were around.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Drew said that evening. “Come with me.”

Barrett laughed. “I have my shop, remember?”

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