Page 97 of Summer Light on Nantucket

“Don’t you miss us, Mom?” Miranda twined around Blythe’s shoulders. She could be an aloof teenager one moment and the next, miraculously transform into a winsome child.

“Yes, I miss you all,” Blythe said. “But I know you’re not far away.”

And sometimes,she thought, hiding a smile,I’m having a very good time without you.

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Most of those lovely two weeks when the children were with Bob and Teri, Blythe spent with Nick.

One afternoon they biked out to Madaket on the west end of the island, where the waves were high enough to body surf and the beach seemed to stretch on forever. They dove and swam in the cold dashing water until they stumbled out, exhausted and drenched. They lay on beach towels, their backs warmed by the sun. Blythe tried to hide a hum of pleasure when Nick gently stroked sunblock on her back. They ate peaches and salty chips and drank cold clear water and were too waterlogged and sunstruck to have any kind of conversation. At the end of the day, they had dinner at Millie’s, and there they talked,about everything, their favorite television show, whether there was life on other planets, their most embarrassing moments when teaching, the most famous person they’d ever met, whether or not Bob would get a reverse vasectomy for Teri, how glad they were to have biked out because they had just eaten seventy thousand calories of delicious food and needed to burn some off.

One evening, they were invited to a cocktail party in a rambling seaside mansion in ’Sconset. The guests crowded into three different rooms where platters of amazingly constructed canapés with French or Italian names were artistically displayed. A live jazz band turned the largest room into a dance hall, and while Blythe and Nick knew some of the guests, they never did find their hosts.

It was mid-August, and in spite of French windows thrown open to the lawn, the air was steamy. Everyone at the party seemed to be drinking more, laughing louder, and shouting inarticulately, like children who knew the party was almost at an end and exams started in only a few days.

After an hour or so, Nick spirited Blythe away from the crowd and out into the warm night. The quiet calm of the streets was a relief.

“How did you enjoy the party?” Nick asked.

“It was…exciting.” She added, “But exhausting.”

Nick laughed. He took her hand and they strolled away from the mansion on the cliff, toward the small village with its small antique cottages and lavish gardens. They were quiet, taking in the fragrance of roses and the shushing sigh of waves breaking on the beach below. They walked along the bluff path until they entered a leafy tunnel formed by trees. Nick settled Blythe against the trunk of a tree and stood close to her, kissing her softly. Hidden from the rest of the world, they embraced.

One day it rained. Nick came over to help Blythe assemble a jigsaw puzzle, a photo of Nantucket from the air. Sometimes as they placed pieces in their spots, their hands would touch, and Blythe’s fingers sparked and she closed her eyes to enjoy the moment. Outside, the skywas dark. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed and rain cascaded down the windows, blurring the world around them.

“I’ll make more coffee,” Blythe said, because it was cool in the room.

She was lifting the cream from the counter when Nick entered the kitchen, came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed the back of her neck. Her heart lurched and desire flooded her body. She leaned against him and then slipped around so they were face-to-face, body to body, desire rushing through them. They kissed for so long, the coffee grew cold.

Finally, Blythe gently pushed Nick away. “We can’t. Brooks might come in any moment. Actually, any of my children might arrive.” She touched Nick’s face tenderly.

“And I’m still Sandy and Hugh’s guest,” Nick murmured. He ran his hands over her shoulders and arms, as if he couldn’t stop touching her. She didn’t want him to stop touching her.

“We’ll have to wait until we’re back in Boston,” Blythe said.

Nick moaned as he stepped away. “Thank God it’s August.”

One night they went to dinner at the yacht club, just the two of them, which was pretty much a public proclamation that they were officially a couple. Another night, Blythe invited Celeste and Roland for dinner at her house, so they could get to know Nick. Was it odd, hoping her ex-mother-in-law would like her new boyfriend? Blythe didn’t think so. The world had changed, and she was glad.

Nick drove Celeste and Roland home and returned to Blythe’s house. The August heat and humidity hung over the island like a damp rag, and Blythe had turned the air conditioner on.

The lights were low in the living room, which made the room feel intimate. Blythe and Nick sat in the well-loved, saggy armchairs across from each other, with their feet up on what Blythe liked to call their “heirloom” coffee table, which had been in the house for over sixty years and still stood, scarred but strong.

“I like Celeste,” Nick said.

“She liked you,” Blythe said. “I could tell. I hope I can be like her someday, more relaxed and wise.”

“You are the mother of her grandchildren,” Nick said. “That means a lot. I think you’re already relaxed and wise. You seem comfortable with your ex-husband living with another woman.”

Blythe laughed. “Relaxed? I’m delighted! I’m not being juvenile. I mean it. Bob is a nice man. A good father. We parted as friends, and sometimes I wonder if we were ever more than friends.”

“Friendship is a good basis for marriage,” Nick pointed out. “Maybe essential.”

His tone deepened when he spoke. Blythe took a moment, then asked, “Were you friends with Brielle?”

“I was.” Nick put his hands behind his head and settled more comfortably in his chair. “I loved her, too.”

Something about the cool air-conditioned air and the shadows in the room allowed Blythe to admit, “I never loved Bob the way I loved my high school boyfriend.”

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