A Nantucket Wedding(26)
He was taking time out of his day to drive them from the suburb of Lexington to Hyannis, Felicity reminded herself. Added to the drive back, that was three hours out of his day. She tried to be grateful for that.
* * *
—
Once again, Jane flew in from New York and rented a car at the Nantucket airport. She preferred having her own transportation rather than relying on someone else, and she needed the psychological freedom she felt from knowing she could leave whenever she chose.
As she approached David’s house on Surfside Beach, she told herself to shove the wasp hive of anger at Scott into the darkest corner of her mind. This weekend was not about her; it was about her mother and David. They were offering a luxurious place to stay on a gorgeous island—it would be churlish not to be happy.
But she wasn’t happy. She was angry at Scott, and she was tied up in knots about this baby thing. She had seldom been jealous of Felicity, even if her younger sister was so much prettier and more endearing, but listening to Felicity talk about her children had been difficult, like being thirsty with no water near.
Okay, well, Ethan had made Jane forget her baby cravings, but that was another problem. He was another problem. She didn’t want to be unfaithful to Scott, and yet she also really did. It wasn’t simply a matter of sexual chemistry, it was also a completely irrational need to wound Scott, to perform an extremely childish act of “So there!”
She imagined snapping a shot of Ethan on her phone and sending it to Scott with the message: If you don’t agree to having a child, I’m going to sleep with this man. It would be blackmail, it would be revenge, it would be like a thwarted child pounding a closed door, trying to get her own way.
All of that passion, all of that heat, had to be tamped down the moment she arrived at David’s house. This was her mother’s time. Alison had been an attentive, loving mother and she had been lonely and unhappy after Mark’s death. Now Alison had found happiness again, and she was offering, and David was offering, the exceptional gift of long summer days on a sun-kissed island. Jane vowed to herself that this weekend, just for two days—surely she could manage two days—she would put all thoughts of babies out of her mind. She would hang out with her mother, she would be kind to Felicity, she would ignore Ethan and take long walks on the beach thinking of nothing but the sweetness of the breeze in her hair and the warm sand on the soles of her feet.
David’s house had a circular drive. Three cars were already parked on the bricks. Jane pulled her car behind a Jeep SUV, turned off the engine, and stepped out into the sunshine. The forecast was for a warm, sunny weekend. She leaned against her rental car and closed her eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the sun on her face.
* * *
—
And everyone arrived, in a kaleidoscope of kisses, hugs, loud high-pitched voices, running feet, slammed doors, flushing toilets, and adults yelling, “Wash your hands!” David told the children, in his most serious voice, that they couldn’t go down to the beach unless an adult was with them—that was THE RULE OF THE HOUSE. So while the adults went yammering away as they unloaded their luggage, eight-year-old Daphne, who possessed an uncanny ability for organizing children, led them into the garage to find the vacillating sprinkler for the hose, and soon the four children were on the back lawn running in and out of the water and whooping with glee.
Alison made a large pitcher of iced tea and another large pitcher of pink lemonade. If only, she thought, adults could become friendly with the good-natured ease of children. Patrick O’Reilly worked for an agency representing athletes, and Alison thought Patrick was perfectly suited for the job. He was tall, with the big shoulders and broad chest of a football linebacker, a thatch of unruly red hair, sparkling brown eyes, and an oft-broken nose. It amused Alison, how slender, elegant Poppy could make Patrick hop to it with a word or a look. Poppy was attractive, with the Gladstones’ large blue eyes and glossy blond hair, but she seemed constantly exasperated, and she probably was, with two children at home and an important position at the Gladstone company offices. As Alison surreptitiously watched, she noticed that Ethan and his sister were cool toward each other. Poppy seemed to be the good child, serious and responsible, while Ethan was the irresistibly adorable rebel. Ethan obviously liked Poppy’s husband; today they shook hands in greeting and settled into a discussion about the Red Sox.
Alison set the pitchers on the kitchen table with a stack of paper cups. She’d been at enough children’s birthday parties to know not to use glasses.
“Ethan,” she said, “I’m sorry you have to sleep on the pullout bed.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s perfect, actually, for what I plan to do.” His grin was mischievous, lopsided.
“What do you plan to do?”
He said with false piety, “Get a good night’s sleep down here away from the noise of dozens of children.”
Ethan was far too young to sound so happy simply to get a good night’s sleep, but Alison didn’t question him.
The day spilled out like colored marbles, people going in all directions, laughing, running, and swimming. In a great mass, they went down to the beach and bravely tried to swim in the cold ocean water. The children shrieked and complained until Drill Sergeant Daphne took them under her wing and inspired them to build an enormous sand castle. By dinnertime, Alice was under her spell—Daphne was tall and self-confident as well as being the oldest—and the children would have eaten porridge without honey if Daphne had told them that was all they could have.