Page 34 of Summer Light on Nantucket

“Like now,” Blythe said. “Look.”

The sun had dropped beneath a cluster of puffy white clouds, their rippling edges glowing pink. From the apple tree at the back of the garden, a robin sang, his tail flicking among the fresh green leaves. A gentle gray dusk passed on to the porch, so the light was dimmed and it felt that, for a moment, the world held its breath.

They were quiet for a while, and the silence seemed to be a way of speaking to one another, and to the evening, to the moment, this moment of peace.

Then another bird swooped onto the branch where the robin sat and they chirped and flew off. Someone called for someone named Corker from a house down the street. Someone else yelled, “Coming!”

The world began again.

Nick said, “I’d like to rent a spot on this porch every evening.”

Sandy pretended to be indignant. “What’s wrong with our porch?”

“It doesn’t face west.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Sandy slipped off the swing, stepped into her sandals, and said, “I have to go home. I’m suddenly yearning for my new mystery novel.”

Blythe was used to her friend’s quick changes. “That’s a good idea. I haven’t read a book in two or three days. It was such a mad dash packing to get here. It always is.”

Nick rose, too. “Thank you for the cookie and the drink. I hope we can get together again.”

“I’d like that,” Blythe told him, trying not to sound too eager.

She walked with them through the house down the hallway, and the entire time she admired the long span of Nick’s back, his wide shoulders, his thick honey-brown hair. No male-pattern baldness here, she thought, and she knew that shouldn’t matter, but right at that moment, it did. When they stepped out onto her front porch, Nick turned and shook her hand.

“Thanks again, Blythe.”

She wanted to say:Don’t leave.

“I’m so glad you came,” she told him.

They smiled at each other and kept holding hands. Blythe had forgotten how delicate the skin of her palm was, and the trick it had of sending shock waves through her body.

Behind Nick, Sandy stood grinning.

“I’ll see you soon,” Nick said, and gently released her hand.

Blythe returned to the kitchen. She realized she was humming. And she hadn’t thought of Aaden for the past hour.

She checked her phone.

Aaden had texted:Sorry. I was out with my host for drinks with his neighbors. Raincheck?

Before she could stop herself, Blythe texted,Maybe. Because it was fun to flirt with Aaden even though he probably knew she’d run to him in the pouring rain or the wildest wind.

Immediately, his text popped up.Tomorrow? Dinner?

Blythe textedYesand hugged herself.

The summer was beginning to be more interesting than she’d imagined.

—

Now Blythe waited for her children to come home. The three younger ones had to be in by eleven. Miranda and Brooks had a curfew of midnight. Blythe settled herself in an armchair in the living room and opened one of the Agatha Christie mysteries someone had left in the bookshelf. What was it about Agatha Christie books that was so unexpectedly comforting?

Not that she needed comforting. She hadn’t been this excited since—since high school? Could that be true? It could be, because never before had she been interested in two men at the same time. She closed her eyes, lay her head against the back of her chair, and pictured the two men. Aaden, dramatic like lightning spearing her heart. Now Nick, as sweet and tempting as a spoon of honey.

She was being silly, and she knew it, and she loved it! How many times did a woman in her forties who had children to raise and feed and protect find her entire body awake and astonished by her own desires and pleasures? For pleasure was what Blythe had experienced with Nick, and with Aaden, too. What a surprise!

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