A Nantucket Wedding(56)

Still, even after Margo’s visit, Alison continued to worry about David’s family and hers. The whole idea of coming to the Nantucket house as often as possible in the summer was to gradually knit her family with David’s. Alison had romantically envisioned herself as the wise and gracious matriarch, providing this newly formed and energetic family with a stable and generous center.

That wasn’t why she was marrying David, of course. She really didn’t need any more family. At this time in her life, she should be relaxing, exploring her own desires and dreams, her “bucket list.” She certainly should be enjoying the unexpected and almost miraculous love she’d found with David.

    But she wondered what was up with Jane and Ethan. Right from that first morning with the bread, they seemed to be entering into some sort of relationship. The very way they looked at each other all the time made Alison uncomfortable. But what could Alison do? What should she do? Their children were not adolescents! She felt a heaviness in her belly that seemed very much like fear.

She had not raised her daughters to be cheaters. She had tried to teach them that marriage meant fidelity. But of course, hadn’t Alison set the pattern when she’d left Jane’s father to marry Mark? She’d explained her reasoning to her daughters, as clearly as anyone could explain the complicated muddle of life. She’d been so young when she’d married Flint. He’d been the first boy she’d had sex with and they’d married because she was pregnant. Had she loved Flint? Had he loved her? It was necessity and the need to do the right thing that caused them to marry. And she would have stayed with Flint, really, she would have. When their beautiful daughter was born, Alison and Flint made a home together and worked hard to create a life. But how hard they had both had to work to make their little family seem like a happy one. Alison knew Flint harbored a festering anger toward her for trapping him—how old-fashioned, that thought, that she had trapped him, as if her entire goal in life had been to obtain a husband. As the months went by, they had not grown to love each other. Alison had tolerated Flint, and Flint had resented her. But he was a good man, and his parents were religious and strict and judgmental. Flint would never have left Alison.

She did not regret for one second that she’d been the one to leave Flint. She hadn’t cared if Flint hated her. Alison had been drowning, and Mark was air and sunshine and moon glow and joy.

Maybe her daughters couldn’t understand all this when they were little, and Alison had never told Jane how unhappy she’d been with Flint, how he had married her but then disliked her, rejected her. After the divorce, Flint had cut himself off completely from Alison and, more important, from his own daughter. He had moved across the country and never been in touch with Jane at all, never sent child support, never sent a birthday card or Christmas present. Alison didn’t even know where Flint was now. She supposed she could google him, but she didn’t care enough to bother. Flint’s parents had chosen not to be part of Jane’s life, either, although Alison could sense that there was regret in their anger.

    But Alison and Jane and then Felicity had had Mark as the man in their lives, and he had been wonderful.

Now Alison had David. But that did not mean that David had replaced Mark in any way as a father to Jane and Felicity. Alison knew full well she would never be considered a stepmother to Ethan and Poppy, and she didn’t want to be. The “children” were all adults now.

But she had hoped they would simply like each other.

And now Jane seemed to like Ethan too much.

And what could Alison do about that?



* * *



—

On the last Friday in July, Jane sat in a small armchair in their bedroom and watched Scott pack his suitcase. He wore a checked button-down shirt, jeans, and his hiking boots, because they took up too much space in his luggage.

“I can’t believe you’re really doing this,” Jane said.

“I can’t believe you’re not doing this,” Scott retorted. He folded his socks and tucked them around the edge of the case to cushion his other clothes.

Jane rubbed her face with her hands. They had been up long past midnight, talking and arguing. Jane had cried. Whenever she cried, Scott ignored her. He said her tears were unfair. He loved her, he said, and he didn’t want to make her sad, but they had agreed on this trip, just as they had agreed on not having children. Around three in the morning, Scott simply left the room. Jane waited. The apartment was quiet. Jane found him asleep on the living room sofa. She returned to their bedroom and fell asleep, exhausted, on their bed.

    They slept late—and they both felt weird and guilty and slightly nervous because of this. They always felt off-kilter on their first days of vacation, when they didn’t follow their routine. They drank coffee and showered, moving around each other without speaking.

Today Scott was leaving for Wales.

He really was going on the hiking trip. Without Jane.

Jane said, “I’m going to make some eggs and toast. We both need food. You’ve got time to eat.”

Scott checked his watch. Of course he checked his watch. Jane wasn’t hungry; she was sick at heart, sick in her belly, too. But she knew they would both feel better after eating some warm food.

“We’re both so tired,” Jane said. “Your plane doesn’t leave until this evening.”