Page 88 of Summer Light on Nantucket

That was how Blythe felt now.

“Oh, God,” she said out loud, “can I possibly be more melodramatic?”

She wiped her eyes and tied on an apron and began cutting up vegetables for the slow cooker. It was a perfect day for stew.

While the stew was simmering, Blythe made chocolate chip cookies. The aroma lured Teddy and Holly from their sleep. They decided that they wanted to stream a movie.

She took the last sheet of cookies from the oven and let them cool. At her desk, she sat in her little computer nook and tried to work on her lesson plans for her seventh-grade English class, but after a while, she gave up.

She fussed around in the kitchen, not sure what she wanted to do next. The rain had stopped, but the day was cloudy. She didn’t care. Shefeltcloudy, all buffeted around by her family’s needs. Brooks returned and stayed just long enough to change into his tennis whites. When he told her goodbye, she hoped she would be free for a while.

How did she get here, in the middle of all these problems? And she’d agreed to teach again, to jump right into the middle of an entire trampoline of more problems?

She walked upstairs, entered her room, and locked the door. She fell onto her bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep. She was too worried, especially about Celeste and Miranda.

Her phone pinged.Nick.

“Are you in Boston now?” she asked.

“I am.”

“How is it?”

“Hot, congested, noisy.”

“You’d better come back to Nantucket.”

“I will, as soon as possible. How are you?” His voice, so silky and baritone, soothed all her ruffled nerves.

“Truthfully? I’m tired and anxious and tired of being anxious.” Blythe began to cry, not harsh quaking sobs, but sweet clear tears that drifted down her cheeks. It was as if her full, crowded heart had opened and spilled out so much emotion she could breathe again. “Sorry,” she snuffled.

“Take your time,” Nick told her. “You have a lot going on.”

His sympathy made her cry harder. “I’m not usually so weepy.”

“You don’t usually have days like this.”

“True.”

“I wish I could come over and hold you.”

His voice was so warm, like a quilt wrapped around her. Like an embrace. “Oh, I wish you could, too.”

“But I can talk all night if you want,” Nick said.

At that, she smiled. “What would we talk about?”

“MaybeTear Water Tea.”

“Oh, I loved that book! We still have it at home. I read it so many times to my children.” Blythe realized she was smiling. “That wasexactlywhat I needed to hear. Are youperfect,Nick?”

“Yes, actually I am,” Nick joked. “Although if I admit that I’m perfect, does that mean I’m egotistical andnotperfect?”

“But if you say you’re not perfect, and you are, does that make you a liar and therefore not perfect?”

Blythe closed her eyes as a sense of comfort spun through her while she and Nick talked nonsense with each other, which was, in a way, almost as good as if he were right there, holding her.

They talked on lazily, about favorite childhood memories, and grandparents, and vacations, good and bad. Blythe didn’t know how long they talked, but when they finally said goodbye, she wanted to call him back immediately, just to hear his voice.

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