Girls of Summer(39)



Theo lay on her bed like an angel dropped flat on his back. Juliet was grateful a sheet covered his torso. She went forward, intending to shake him, but stopped when she saw the Tylenol on the bedside table. And the beer. Obviously he’d found another beer at the back of her fridge and washed the pills down with the beer.

When did Theo say he fractured his arm? Tylenol and beer, not so good together.

   “Theo.” She leaned over the bed and shook him. “Theo. Wake up.”

“Uh?” Theo blearily opened his eyes. “Go away.”

“Theo, it’s morning. We’re going to see Mom.”

“For God’s sake, let me sleep. I flew across the continent yesterday, my arm’s screwed up, I’m supposed to rest. The doctor told me I have to rest.”

Theo turned onto his good side, his back to Juliet.

“Two more hours, and then we’re going.” Juliet shut the door, her thoughts all over the place. Her mother with a boyfriend, her careless brother back on the East Coast. She was sitting down at her laptop when she realized she’d forgotten she had dinner with Ryder tonight.

She would have to cancel it. Maybe that would be the wise thing to do, anyway.

She texted Ryder: Sorry, Ryder, I can’t do dinner tonight. My brother just arrived with a broken arm and we’ve got to go to Nantucket to see Mom. Some other time, I hope. After agonizing over the words, she ended the text with a friendly but neutral OXJ.





twelve


Lisa woke feeling like a schoolgirl on the first day of vacation. Which she certainly was not. She had to shower, dress, make some sort of breakfast, and open her shop. But she allowed herself another few moments to lie in bed remembering the phone conversation she’d had with Mack the night before.

She’d left her bedroom windows open slightly. She could hear the birds chirping on the magnolia tree and far away, high in the sky, the hum of an airplane coming to the island. More and more planes would be coming as they brought back the summer people.

And her shop would be more and more busy.

She’d talked on the phone with Mack about this last night, one business owner to another. Mack was a restoration carpenter, specializing in old houses, but the big money was made by construction companies tossing up brand-new McMansions. Millionaires eager to live for a couple of summer months in a home with a hot tub, a home movie theater, and a swimming pool often approached him, offering him enormous sums of money if he could build their house, right now. When Beth was in high school, with college tuition on the horizon, Mack had accepted some of the offers. He’d built spacious houses on beautiful lots, but the work didn’t seem true to who he was and why he was living on the island. Now Mack wanted to do the work he loved, restoring old venerable houses instead of building vanity castles.

   “I understand,” Lisa had said. She was curled up on her sofa in her comfy robe, leaning on pillows. She’d turned off most of the lights, because she liked the sense of intimacy she felt while they were talking. “When I first worked for Vesta, before you were born—”

“Stop that,” Mack interrupted.

Lisa was determined to keep them both aware of the difference in their ages before they got too close. Before she got hurt.

“Okay,” Lisa said. “Anyway, Vestments sold clothing for the young and chic and sexy. Very short skirts. Plunging necklines. Skintight and revealing.”

“I’d like to see you in something tight and revealing,” Mack said.

She ignored him. “I suggested we sell more traditional apparel. Blazers, silk shirts, long-sleeved dresses. More women came in, and younger women also bought some of the more tasteful clothing. Hermès scarves. That sort of thing.”

“What do you sell now?”

“The same stuff, really. Classy clothing. Elegance never goes out of style.”

“Does Juliet wear what you sell?”

“Heavens, no. She’s very NYC urban. Lots of black, knee-high boots.”

   “I’ll bet Beth would buy your clothes more often if she could afford them. She’s always liked the clothing you carry.” Mack laughed. “Listen to me, as if I know anything about fashion.”

“But that’s interesting,” Lisa told him, and it was. Speaking about clothing led them to talking about their children, what they’d been like as children, what their goals were now.

As they talked, Lisa settled more deeply into the sofa cushions. Somehow this conversation made her feel more comfortable with Mack. Neither one of them went to bars, and Mack never really had, since he became a father at twenty-one. They had the work ethic ingrained in them, and that didn’t bother them one single bit. They both loved their work, the routine, their everyday life.

“Oh, Lord,” Lisa said after they’d talked for over an hour, “I’m afraid you’re as much of a stick-in-the-mud as I am.”

“Yes, I think we’re very much alike,” Mack agreed.

Lisa paused, wondering about the consequences of this conversation. Before she could speak, Mack said, “So the age thing shouldn’t bother us, right?” Again, before Lisa could speak, he said in a joking tone, “I can put up with you being more sophisticated and better traveled than I am, and you can put up with me being callow and inexperienced.”

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