Surfside Sisters(34)



Keely hadn’t heard Isabelle sound so happy for a long time. Actually, she realized as she listened to her friend babble on and on, she hadn’t heard Isabelle’s voice for a long time. They were both so busy, Keely working and writing—although Isabelle didn’t know she was writing. No one did except her mother, who muttered vaguely supportive clichés when Keely spoke about her novel.

“I only managed two pages today!” Keely would cry, and her mother would say, “Many a mickle makes a muckle,” which was an actual Scottish proverb.

Isabelle was rambling on. “I met his younger sister, Giselle, when she came to tour Smith. I like her a lot. We had dinner together, Giselle and Gordon and I, and it was the best time! His family is so cultured. I mean, I’ve traveled a little bit, but the Whiteheads have been everywhere.”

She’s traveled a little bit, Keely thought sarcastically. Isabelle, who had gone abroad every single summer of her life, thought she’d traveled a little bit. Keely wanted to put the phone down and weep. Well, she was tired, tired from cleaning other people’s toilets and kitchen floors.

    Keely had intended for days to tell Isabelle she was seeing Tommy, often, as a friend, but after hearing Isabelle’s chorus of rapture, she was too tired to mention him.

Oh, and how would Tommy feel when he learned about the cultured Gordon?

Keely’s heart stung a little bit for Tommy, who was as sexy as hell but who never would be called sophisticated.

“Are you coming home for Christmas?” Keely asked when Isabelle had to stop talking to draw breath.

“No. The family’s going to New York. Rockefeller Center, Christmas lights, a new play, the usual.”

The usual? Did Isabelle know how smug she sounded, how heartlessly spoiled?

“Gordon’s going to meet us there on Boxing Day. He’s bringing his sister down for a few days in the city. They’ll stay at their father’s club, the Knickerbocker.”

“Boxing Day? Wow, Isabelle, that all sounds terribly posh.”

“Do you know where the word posh comes from?”

“So sorry, m’lady, I don’t.”

Isabelle didn’t catch the sarcasm. “When England was an empire and India belonged to it, British people had to travel to India by ocean. And it was so hot down around India, people chose their cabins by which ones got less sun during the voyage. Port side out, starboard side home. Posh, get it?”

“Fabulously interesting,” Keely said, exhausted by her day of work, irritated by all this posh talk.

“Oh, don’t be so contemptuous, Keely. We’ve both always loved words.”

“You’re right. It’s true. Forgive me.” She took a deep yoga breath. “I’m happy for you, Isabelle.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet him, but I don’t know how soon that can be, because we’re talking about going skiing up in Vermont during January break.”

    Keely listened. Said the appropriate words. When their call ended, Keely knew that she and Isabelle were worlds apart. And drifting even farther from each other. It made her very sad.



* * *





Christmas at Keely’s house was casual because her mother worked two shifts. Tommy was flying out to Vegas with his buddies over Christmas break, and Keely was glad. She didn’t want to be his rebound lover. She didn’t know what she wanted to be, except a novelist.

This Christmas, Keely was especially happy because the Lambrechts, a wealthy family from Texas, were spending the holiday in their picture-perfect brick house on Main Street. Keely was invited to be their housekeeper, hostess, and maid, bringing the exquisite heirloom platters loaded with turkey or ham or roast beef to the table and invisibly ensuring that the party of twelve never had an empty glass of wine. In the kitchen, Cindy Starbuck was in charge, stirring the gravy, telling her assistant it was time to take the rolls from the oven, not that oven, the other one. Cindy and the kitchen staff wore white shirts and white aprons, but Keely was expected to look appropriately festive because she was opening doors, serving the food, and generally moving quietly among the party.

She worked for the Lambrechts all day Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. She was paid a wage of sixty dollars an hour, and Dr. Lambrecht added an astonishing tip.

“Oh! Thank you, Dr. Lambrecht.” Keely almost curtsied.

“Thank you,” Dr. Lambrecht said.

Keely walked down to the main street of town. It was after nine and all the shops were closed. Her mother was working at the hospital—two women were in labor. Her friends were with their families. Keely wasn’t really lonely. She liked being alone. She liked this stretch of time just before the calendar tipped them over into a pristine new year. In her tote she carried seven Tupperware containers filled with delicious food Cindy had given her.

    Historically, Nantucket had been populated by strong women who kept the town’s economy going while their husbands were off hunting whales. Keely strolled around the tic-tac-toe streets of town, nodding with affection at Stephanie’s and Vis-A-Vis and Hepburn and Zero Main and Bookworks and the Hub and of course Murray’s Toggery. Year-round women worked on this island, keeping it alive and vital. Keely was proud to be part of this group.

She was also glad that in the coming winter months she wouldn’t have much work to do for Clean Sweep.

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