Page 13 of Summer Light on Nantucket

“Don’t stay too long. We’re going out to dinner at the yacht club tonight.”

Next, Blythe called her best island friend, Sandy. Sandy taught art in the elementary school in Williamstown, and her husband, Hugh, was an art history professor at the college there. They had twin daughters who didn’t give a fig about art because they were competitive athletes. At thirteen, Lara and Anne played baseball, soccer, tennis, and basketball. In the winter, they skied and skated. On Nantucket, they swam and sailed and belonged to a tennis team at the yacht club.

“I don’t understand where they came from,” Sandy often said. Sandy got motion sick on a boat or in a car and had terrible hand-eye coordination. Hugh could sail but preferred not to.

“Sandy,” Blythe said happily when her friend answered her phone. “We’re here!”

“Come over! Now!” Suddenly whispering, Sandy said, “Help me. We’ve put up the badminton net.”

“I’ll be right there,” Blythe promised, laughing.

Sandy’s house was only a few blocks away, and the walk was blissful. Blythe strode along brick sidewalks past huge houses with widow’s walks and cupolas. Many of the homes had a flowered wreath ontheir front door, or flags from Ireland, Canada, Japan, whatever country their guests were from. The music of a Chopin nocturne drifted out from an open window, and as Blythe strolled past, beneath the shade of a majestic old maple, she remembered that the composer died when he was thirty-nine.

Chopin was in the last year of his life when Sandy’s Greek Revival house was built in 1849. Would he have traded his eternal fame for a longer, less creative life?

Blythe laughed at herself. Such foolish thoughts she had when she was on the island.

“Blythe!” Sandy exploded from her front door, running like a young girl to catch Blythe in an exuberant hug. “Come inside. We’ll sit in the living room. The little darlings have given up on me and gone down to the club.”

“How are they?” Blythe asked as she went up the wide steps and into the expansive house where every room was a different color and paintings and hooks waiting for more new pictures decorated the rooms. Blythe settled on a sofa.

Sandy sat next to Blythe. “Energetic. How areyou? You look wonderful.”

“I’m good. Well, tired. The drive from Boston to the Sagamore Bridge went okay, but getting over the bridge took forever.”

“I always thoughtSagamorewas an unfortunate name for a bridge,” Sandy remarked. “I really don’t want to be on a sagging more bridge.”

“The important thing is that we’re here.” Blythe stretched luxuriously. “Another Nantucket summer.”

“So, are you going to dinner at the yacht club with Celeste tonight?”

“Absolutely. I’ve already spoken to her. Will you be there?”

Sandy studied her nails and casually said, “Yes, Hugh and I will be there, too. We’re taking a friend to dinner, Nick Roth. I don’t think you’ve met him yet. He’s a widower. Nice guy. Handsome, too.”

Blythe groaned. “Please, not another fix-up. At least let me get my bags unpacked.”

“When do Bob and Teri get here?”

“Not for a few weeks, I think. Truthfully, I’d be glad if they arrived tomorrow. I’d send Miranda over to stay with them and Celeste.”

“What’s up with Miranda?”

“She’s in love with a guy at her school. Brooks Tillingham.Brooks.Why does that name make my teeth hurt? He’s a nice guy and a star athlete. Captain of the football team. He sails, plays tennis, and is more handsome than he should be. I mean he knows he’s handsome. He uses it.”

“Miranda is beautiful,” Sandy says. “Don’t forget that. No guy could be more handsome than Miranda is beautiful.”

“Yes, but…Miranda is so obsessed with him. I’m afraid he’ll break her heart.”

“Oh, Blythe, remember. We all get our hearts broken in high school.”

“I certainly did.”

“The wrestler.”

“Yes. Aaden Sullivan.” Saying his name sent a thrill through her. “I thought we’d be together forever. When he broke up with me, I was crushed.”

“But you recovered. And if Brooks dumps Miranda, she will, too.” Sandy rose. “Let’s get some iced tea.”

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