Page 23 of Summer Light on Nantucket

But first, Brooks was arriving.

She’d met Brooks several times before, and she liked him. He was dangerously handsome with blond hair and blue eyes and a slim build. He was on the football team and the soccer team and he was smart, too. He carried himself with a gentle confidence instilled in him from birth. His parents were executives at an international bank, and Brooks had traveled in several countries and spoke three languages, counting English.

Blythe tidied the kitchen. She went into the family room with the television and the couches. Here the large antique cupboard stood, full of board games and playing cards and, on the bottom shelf, sheets, blankets, and pillows for overnight guests. She was certain they would use them at least once more this summer when Holly had a sleepover with her friends. But tonight, and for the next month, Miranda’s boyfriend, Brooks, would sleep here.

Miranda came crashing downstairs, wearing a cropped T-shirt and low-rise shorts that showed off her belly button with its fake diamond.

“Mother! Teddy is stillsleeping! Brooks arrives on the ten-thirty ferry and Teddy will come slobbering down at noon, half-naked, burping, pouring his cereal all over the table!”

Blythe hid her amusement. She knew how important Brooks was to Miranda. How could she not? She’d been thinking of her own first love. She put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, steadying her.

“Miranda, Brooks knows how guys are. Brooks is staying here for a month, so he’ll see Teddy all the time. But the only thing Brooks will be looking at is you, and you are always beautiful.”

Miranda blinked back her tears. “Thanks, Mom. Sorry I’m such a freak-out. I just love him so much.”

Blythe gave herself a moment of peace before saying, “Everything’s ready for Brooks to sleep in the family room tonight?”

In an instant, Miranda transformed into a monster. She jerked away from Blythe’s hands. “Mom!We have two guest rooms!”

“I don’t want him sleeping on the second floor where our bedrooms are.”

“That issoinsulting! Do you actually think he’ll come sneaking down the hall to get in bed with me?”

“Miranda,” Blythe said softly, “we’ve discussed this. And you’re so emotional, I’m worried about you.”

Miranda collapsed onto a kitchen stool and sagged over the counter. “I know. I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just, I haven’t seen him for two days and itkillsus to be separated from each other.” Her face was tragic whenshe gazed up at her mother. “I don’t think you can understand the intensity of our feelings. I don’t think you and Dad ever felt like this.”

Blythe was quiet. In truth, she hadn’t felt like that for Bob. She’d loved him, in a way. She’d admired him sometimes, and she’d cared for him. But she’d never loved Bob the way she loved Aaden, and that was something her daughter didn’t need to know.

Blythe changed the subject. “Are you walking down to the boat to meet Brooks? Or do you want me to drive you?”

“Mom.” Miranda was insulted again. “I can drive. I have my license.”

“I just thought it might be nice for Brooks to put his luggage in the car and then you can walk into town with him.” Blythe spoke pleasantly, offering peace.

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s a good idea. I know, I’m a mess this morning.”

“I made you cinnamon toast.”

Blythe opened the oven door and pulled out the rack holding two pieces of toast thickly buttered and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. She didn’t do this for all her children, and that was the point. Early on, probably after Daphne was born, Miranda had become sullen. Pouty. Disagreeable. Blythe had discussed this with Bob, who had said, “She’s just jealous. She’ll get over it.” After that, Blythe had made it a point to give something special to her oldest child, even if it meant—especiallyif it meant—not giving the same treat to the other children.

When she talked this over with her friend Sandy, Blythe had said, “I’m probably giving all my children some kind of complex, some emotional issue.”

Sandy had laughed. “You’ll be giving them emotional issues whatever you do.”

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Blythe had always thought Miranda was more sensitive than her other children. Almost anything could make her burst into tears. If shecouldn’t tie her shoelaces or find the blue crayon and if the new baby, Daphne, screamed when her diaper was being changed, Miranda would cry. When she was in school, she’d return home in tears, because some other girl snubbed her or she hadn’t known the answer to a question or she hadn’t been able to control a cough that made the other kids stare at her.

It helped that she was beautiful. It helped a lot. Her light brown hair, streaked by the summer sun, was glossy, and she had large turquoise-blue eyes. Sometimes Blythe and Bob would lie in bed and speak in wonder about the gorgeous little girl, how had they managed to produce such a lovely child? As she grew older, she had several close friends, and she was always invited to birthday parties, and wonder of wonders, she made excellent grades, even in math and science, which had been Blythe’s downfall. Miranda could become a model or president of the United States or the scientist who discovered the cure for cancer. Those were the things they said about her, and she’d shrug and look miserable when they said it, and finally Sandy (Lord, what would Blythe have ever done without Sandy?) suggested that they were putting too much pressure on her. They should let her know she didn’t have to be extraordinary, she could be whatever she wanted and she didn’t have to decide that so early in her life, and they would still love her.

Blythe’s second child, Daphne, had been so different. Early in her first year, she turned her head away from Blythe’s breast and drank from a bottle. She insisted on dressing herself. She even insisted, for a few years, on cutting her own hair, even though she went around looking like an orphan right out ofOliver Twist. Her grades were excellent, she had plenty of friends, and her favorite pastime seemed to be pretending she and her friends had been abandoned on an island. At the far end of the backyard, they would collect leaves to stuff into old pillowcases to make beds and scrape the bark off of fallen branches to turn into bowls for collecting rainwater. For Christmas, Daphne askedfor field glasses—she called themfield glasses,not binoculars—and a sleeping bag and a Swiss Army knife. She wasn’t given any kind of knife, and she sulked until Valentine’s Day. At some point, she decided she would save the world, or at least the animals. She would only wear clothes bought at the thrift shop. She was independent and often critical of her parents, those great consumers, but she still enjoyed snuggling with them on Saturday night, sitting under a blanket, watching a movie, and eating popcorn. (They had to buy an air popper to pop the corn because most microwave popcorn bags were lined with perfluorooctanoic acid and diacetyl and hydrogenated oils.) Daphne was such a serious, studious, brainy child that Blythe was surprised (although she tried to hide it) when, in eighth grade, she brought home her boyfriend Johnny, who was also smart and impossibly handsome, with thick brown hair and slightly hooded eyes that Blythe had once calledcome to bedeyes, but never did after meeting Johnny. With Johnny, Daphne was lighthearted and relaxed. She was nice and friendly and warm. And, they finally realized, Daphne was also beautiful. Even so, she scorned cosmetics and last Christmas she asked for a subscription toScientific American.

A year ago, Johnny had moved away. Daphne hadn’t seemed upset, but Daphne held her feelings close.

Their third child was a boy, and Blythe couldn’t decide if Teddy was so relaxed and amiable because of all the coddling and attention he got from his sisters or if he was simply an easygoing kid. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a lanky build. He was a soccer star at his school and excelled in English as well as science. He had many friends, including friends-who-were-girls, and occasionally girlfriends, but nothing serious. He was only thirteen. Blythe didn’t worry about him, although she knew from one of the other mothers that the boys had tried smoking for a week and then gave it up, probably because they were too busy to remember to do it.

And finally, Holly, a surprise, like the sunniest day in the spring.She was happy in a crowd or alone in her room. She was almost a doll or a pet to her older siblings. If she cried, someone rushed to console her. Miranda loved dressing her, Daphne loved reading to her, and Teddy loved teaching her to play softball. When she was left alone, she happily went to her room to play or color and now to write her graphic novel, which Blythe considered a sign of creativity, except that sea gerbils were creepy. Was she raising a female Stephen King?

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