Page 6 of Summer Light on Nantucket

Aaden kept his eyes on the road. “Blythe. Listen. I want you to come with me.”

Softly, Blythe said, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” Aaden suddenly pulled into a parking spot in front of a deli. Turning to her, he said, “Blythe, you’d love it there! You love books, you love poetry, Ireland is all about poetry. You know that.”

“I’m not brave like you.” Blythe leaned away, against the door, not wanting him to touch her, to pull her toward him. “I like it here. I don’t want to live in a strange world.”

“Ireland is not strange!” Aaden objected.

Embarrassed, hurt, and all at once angry, Blythe finally faced him. “It is to me.”

“But I’ll be with you,” Aaden argued.

“You’ll be with your friends, your family. I won’t know anyone but you.”

“You’ll meet people,” Aaden said. “You’ll make friends.”

“I have friends. Perfectly wonderful friends.”

“You’ll make new friends.”

She looked away from him. “Aaden, stop. I’m not like you. I want to stay here. Go to Ireland, but don’t expect me to go, too.”

Aaden spoke softly, gently. “I don’t want to be away from you.”

She shook her head. “Go to Ireland.”

“Blythe, I’m sorry. I want to hold you.”

She wanted that, too. She was so confused. She pressed the button, making the seatbelt slide away from her. She leaned toward Aaden and sank into the security of his strong embrace. She laid her head on hisshoulder, feeling the strength of his arms, the bristles on his jaw, the swell of muscles beneath his coat. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Aaden kissed her hair and then kissed her mouth, but it wasn’t a lover’s kiss. It was a soothing kiss.

“Let’s go eat,” he said. “Let’s talk things over.”

“Okay.” Blythe pulled away from him.

As he drove, Aaden suggested, “Tell me about your vacation. Did you go skiing?”

She tried to be as calm as he was even though she felt like a raging Irishwoman in one of their tragic plays, gesticulating and weeping and gnashing her teeth and wanting to die. She blew her nose heartily and sniffed back her tears. “Not skiing. Jenna and I went skating at Frog Pond on Boston Common. It was the most beautiful cold day with bright sun and snow covered everything like a fairy tale. Oh, and we went to an amazing Moroccan restaurant. We went shopping…”

She couldn’t keep up the pretense.

“Oh, Aaden, is this going to be the end of us?”

The road was congested, vehicles swerving in and out, changing lanes, their lights flashing across Aaden’s eyes. He didn’t look away from the traffic; he couldn’t. But he said, “Blythe, there will never be an end to us.”

summer houses

Blythe was roused from her memories by the shudder and thud of the Steamship Authority vehicle ferry arriving at its Nantucket dock. The Benedict family squeezed down the metal stairway to the great hollow hull of the car deck where their minivan stood bumper-to-bumper with other vehicles. People chatted, doors slammed, dogs barked, and deckhands shouted directions.

She watched for the taillights in front of her to blink on and started the engine. She steered her trusty minivan down the clanking metal ramp connecting the ferry to the island. Carefully, she inched behind the line of other vehicles onto the parking lot.

“We’re here!” she announced, her heart flooding with happiness.

“Open the lock!” Teddy’s, Daphne’s, and Miranda’s doors opened and they jumped out.

Calling, “Wait for me!” Holly, from the middle seat, scooted out, too. The four raced away on the brick sidewalks, hoping to get to thesummer house before Blythe did. It had become a tradition for the kids to try to beat the minivan, packed with luggage, backpacks, and bikes, to their summer house on a narrow street that had to be accessed by weaving back and forth through other one-way Nantucket streets.

Blythe smiled, letting out a sigh of happiness as she watched her small tribe hurtling together up the sidewalk, dodging around people, dogs, and luggage.

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