Page 73 of The Summer We Started Over

Dinah was the last to arrive. She made a grand entrance, carrying a bottle of champagne.

“What’s the occasion?” Eddie asked.

“Being with all of you is the occasion,” Dinah said. She certainly looked festive in her lavender sundress. Her long black hair was swept up into a twist at the back of her head. An amethyst pendant hung from a gold chain, pointing directly down to the space between her swelling breasts.

Sweetly, she said, “William, could you please open this bottle? I’m sure I can’t do it. And the bottle is so cold, the glass hurts my hands.”

Before he could refuse, she handed him the bottle. He focused on opening it as if he were defusing a bomb. Dinah settled into her chair with a rustle of her dress. Eddie noticed that her father had showered and put on a clean shirt.

Good for him,she thought.Maybe he’s reentering real life.

William uncorked the bottle perfectly. He rose and went around the table, pouring champagne for everyone, which was nice of him, although just possibly he was trying to sneak a look down Dinah’s bodice.

“Here’s to summer!” Eddie raised her glass in a toast and everyone joined.

The champagne tasted like sunshine.

They chatted lightly as they ate, describing their days, pausing to moan with pleasure when they ate the fresh, butter-covered corn on the cob.

Barrett asked Dinah, “How do you like it on Nantucket?”

Dinah smiled, her lips shining with butter. “More than I can say. I’ve been reading all the Nantucket history and Nantucket fiction I can get my hands on. I’m dreaming of writing a Nantucket romance.”

William shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We’re both working on what we call romances. I think our ideas are very different.”

Dinah turned to him with a beautiful smile. “Oh, yes, of course.Myidea of a romance involves men, women, and love. Your English Romantic poets were very British in their inability to talk about love between men and women.”

Oh, here we go,Eddie thought.

William couldn’t take his eyes off Dinah. “I’m not sure you’re right about that.”

Dinah focused on William. “From what I know of the British Romantic poets, and, William,youare undeniably the expert on them, it seems they wrote about skylarks, clouds, and daffodils. Rainbows. Deep chasms, and that wasn’t a metaphor for part of the human body. The most famous are about nature. Nothumannature.”

“What poems do you consider the most famous?” William asked, obviously skeptical but interested.

“ ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ of course. ‘Kubla Khan.’ Wordsworth’s daffodil doggerel.”

Eddie wiggled her eyebrows across the table at Barrett. They waited quietly as the other two talked, and when their father pulled his chair around so he could face Dinah directly, they widened their eyes comically at each other.

“A woman also wrote poetry at that time,” Dinah said. “Have you ever heard of Charlotte Turner Smith?”

“Of course,” William answered.

“Are you including her in your book?” Dinah asked sweetly.

William cleared his throat. “Probably not. She wasn’t that important.”

“Really? Have you read her poetry?” Dinah leaned toward William.

“Not all of it,” William admitted, slanting toward Dinah as if she were a magnet.

Dinah spoke alluringly. “Have you read her biography?”

Eddie locked eyes with Barrett. Was Dinah trying to seduce their father?

“We’ll get dessert,” Eddie said quietly and nodded to her sister.

They carried their dishes into the kitchen.

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