Girls of Summer(35)

Often, it wasn’t a hardship, dealing with Atticus. For one thing, he was amazingly handsome, in a doomed-poet sort of way, with long tousled black hair and blue eyes with black lashes. He was tall and too thin, and he always wore button-down shirts to school, so he looked like an aristocrat among the grungy peasants. At his best, he could be smart and funny and quick-witted. At his best, he always had Beth laughing.

   At his worst, he didn’t laugh. He hardly spoke. He had dark circles beneath his eyes from not sleeping and he grew increasingly paranoid, thinking the teachers were trying to flunk him out, thinking that Beth and Theo were in love. It became too unpleasant for the three of them to walk home together, so Theo walked home another way. With other girls.

Even when he was at his worst, Beth never suspected that he might actually commit suicide.

When Atticus was found dead from an overdose, everyone who knew him or his family was shocked. Many were overwhelmed by grief, but a few people were angered, and their anger at this senseless loss had driven them to bring therapists over to the island to talk at a town meeting. The police department had bulked up its presence. The mental health organizations had spread the word that they were there to help. Beth’s father insisted she spend an hour a week with a counselor. And that helped, a little, because Beth felt so guilty about Atticus’s suicide. Had she not loved him enough? She’d never had sex with him, but he had never urged her to, and she knew Atticus didn’t often have the energy or the desire for much of anything. Dr. Moore helped release some of the guilt she carried, and Paula Barnes had written a brief note to Beth telling her that Atticus’s suicide was not in any way Beth’s fault, that it might have happened sooner if Atticus hadn’t had Beth’s companionship and love.

Over time, the town went on. The Barnes family moved off-island. Beth and her classmates went off to college.

With a kind of jolt, Beth came out of her reverie. She was here, now, staring out the kitchen window, lost in her thoughts. She wanted to go forward, but where?

She gathered up her purse, redid her lipstick, and was headed out the door when the house phone rang.

   “Beth? Is that you? You are exactly the person I’m looking for!” Prudence Starbuck didn’t need to introduce herself. Her sterling silver voice was unforgettable. “Listen, darling, I’d like to take you to lunch to talk about a job that might interest you now that you’re home.”

“Oh, Mrs. Starbuck, that’s very nice—”

“It concerns this new organization, Ocean Matters. I saw you at Ryder Hastings’s lecture. I’ve agreed to be his point man on the island. We need someone young and energetic and savvy to do the social media for our Nantucket chapter.”

“I’d be glad to volunteer my free time, Mrs. Starbuck, but I need to get a job—”

“Darling, this is a job. You’ll have an office on Easy Street, and a computer and all that sort of thing, and of course you will have a very considerable salary. Now, what are you doing for lunch today? May I take you to lunch at Cru?”

Maybe this was the sign from fate that Beth was looking for! Anyway, Beth liked Mrs. Starbuck’s brisk can-do energy.

“I’d be happy to meet you at Cru,” Beth said. “What time?”





ten


Monday morning, Lisa unlocked the door to her shop. Every time she entered, moving around the space, turning on lights, waking her computer, she felt a surge of pride. She had built this business. She had made it happen.

She set her go-cup on the shelf behind the counter. She was behind on ordering, and because Monday mornings were always slow, she expected to get a lot of work done.

She was arranging a new shipment of summery jewelry—turquoise, blue, coral—when Moxie Breinberg entered the shop.

“Hi, Moxie,” Lisa called. “Let me know if I can help you.”

“Sure thing.” Moxie fastened her attention on a rack of new sleeveless dresses, pulling one out and holding it to her while she looked in the full-length mirror, putting it back, choosing another one. “Could I try this on?” she asked Lisa.

“Of course,” Lisa said, leading Moxie to the dressing room.

   For a good thirty minutes, Moxie tried on dresses. Moxie was divorced, with one child in college. An extremely pretty woman, she spent a lot of time keeping in shape and trying to look young. Lisa knew Moxie the way she knew many islanders, from seeing her at community events, school plays, summer parties, so she knew that Moxie was around forty-five—around Mack’s age—but she wore cropped tops and short shorts and very short dresses with plunging halter tops in the summer. Lisa didn’t think Moxie had ever bought anything from her shop, and her curiosity grew.

Moxie made her decision and brought a light peach pashmina to the counter.

“I think I’ll take this. It’s so pretty.”

“It is. And you’ll look beautiful in it.”

“So,” Moxie said, “I heard that you’re seeing Mack Whitney.”

Lisa focused her attention on the credit card machine. Now she knew why Moxie had come in. “He’s working on my house,” Lisa explained. “I have to have some ceilings replaced and my bathroom renovated.”

“Oh! How nice.” Moxie toyed with the other pashminas displayed on a nearby table. “So that’s why he took you to the Seagrille?”