A Nantucket Wedding(50)

“Scott wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I don’t think he would. He might want to, but he takes all his vows seriously.”

“So do I,” Felicity said, her voice thoughtful, forlorn.

“You’re thinking Noah doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s having a…sexual…affair with Ingrid, but I hate that he chooses her cookout over our family’s.” Felicity took a deep breath. “But I’m glad we talked. I’m going to give in and go to Ingrid’s party. With the kids. That will show Noah that I’m committed to helping him in his work. And it will remind Ingrid that Noah has a family.”

    “Well, damn it, I’m going to Nantucket!”

“Jane, please. Be good.”

Jane snorted. “When have I ever been anything else?”



* * *



—

Alison was disappointed to learn that Felicity and her family weren’t coming for the holiday weekend. The fireworks, set off at Jetties Beach, were always spectacular.

Jane was coming for the full four days, without Scott. Ethan was coming, and Poppy and Patrick and their children. And most wonderfully, David would be there, and he promised not to talk about work. Alison did everything she could to get ready—stocking up on groceries and making breakfast casseroles and dinner stews she could freeze to go with the succulent veggies she’d buy fresh every day. The weather had skyrocketed into the eighties, with humidity swamping the air. The fireworks were to be held on Monday the third, if the island didn’t get the thick fog that often blew in. Alison’s resolution for this particular weekend was to be especially nice to Poppy, to get to know her better, to become, possibly, her friend.

But when Poppy and her family arrived on Saturday afternoon, Poppy huffed out a hostile-sounding hello before walking away from her. True, Poppy and Patrick were loaded down with suitcases and backpacks, and they were both trying to herd Daphne and Hunter upstairs to their rooms to unpack and change into bathing suits. David and Ethan didn’t see Poppy’s snub because they were outside, blowing up the rubber whale and hosing off some beach chairs.

“Have you all had lunch?” Alison asked Patrick as he headed up the stairs.

“We have, thanks. We’re good. The kids are eager to get down to the beach.”

    “Great!” Alison went back to the kitchen to, as her mother had often said, have a little think. A bowl of fresh fruit sat on the kitchen table. Iced tea and pink lemonade were in plastic (unbreakable) pitchers in the refrigerator. Several kinds of beer waited in the refrigerator door. The sheets were fresh on the beds, bath towels and beach towels towered in the bathrooms, the kitchen was bursting with food to feed a mob, and yet Alison was troubled by a chill of foreboding, as if her very bones were warning of an approaching storm.

She wore shorts, a loose T-shirt, and flip-flops. This morning she’d had a lovely long swim to cool off after she’d finished cooking and baking. Jane hadn’t arrived yet. She would come in the late afternoon, and as she had before, she’d rent her own car. Jane liked to be self-sufficient. So Alison was free, really, to relax. She could read a novel or take a nap or sit out on the deck watching the others and being available—that was what her inner self was cautioning her to do: to be available.

She was in the downstairs bathroom applying another coat of sunblock when Daphne and Hunter thundered down the stairs in their bathing suits. Their father followed, yelling, “Wait for me, kids!” The back door slammed. Alison heard Patrick and his kids greeting David and Ethan.

“Alison.”

Alison turned. Poppy stood in the bathroom door, her face like a storm cloud.

“Poppy! I didn’t hear you come down. Would you like some sunblock? I like this kind especially, it doesn’t sting your eyes…”

“We need to talk,” Poppy said bluntly.

Alison flinched at the other woman’s tone. “What?”

“In the den.” Poppy turned and walked away.

After a moment, Alison followed.

Poppy was pacing in front of the fireplace.

“Poppy, what—”

“What gives you the right to delay my taking control of the company?”

    “Poppy, I don’t understand. Let’s sit down and—”

“Do you think, because I’m pregnant, I have to sit down?”

“For heaven’s sake, Poppy. No. I think because I’m older than you are, I need to sit down.” Alison sank onto a chair. “Okay. Now. Please. Tell me what you’re so upset about.”

“Don’t pretend not to know. You told my father he shouldn’t make me CEO of the company because I’m pregnant.”

“I see.” Alison tapped her lip. What a mess. David had mentioned in passing, in their flurried hours of packing for this weekend, that he had spoken with Poppy about waiting to take over the company, but he hadn’t give Alison any details. Had David told Poppy why he wanted to wait? Had he pointed out to his beloved daughter that she was making all kinds of mistakes and not getting necessary reports and directives done in a timely fashion? Alison needed to speak with David before she could talk truthfully. This wasn’t information Alison should give.

Alison equivocated. “That’s not what I said.”