“Nick, man,” Wyatt said in a friendly tone, “you’re a great guy. But I don’t know you well enough to hand over three hundred dollars.”

  “Three hundred dollars?” Sheila said. “Where are you taking her? Paris?”

  With obvious patience, Nick said, “I want to take her to the Chanticleer. I want to buy good wine and leave a big tip. I want to impress her, all right? This is my chance to show her who I am.”

  “With someone else’s money,” Wyatt muttered.

  “I told you I’d pay it back!”

  “I don’t believe you,” Wyatt said. With a face like stone, he turned away and went into his room, shutting the door softly.

  * * *

  —

  In her room, Ariel slowly dressed, pulling on a high-necked sundress. She twisted her long blond hair up into a knot at the back of her head. It was cool in her basement room, and the fan helped immensely, but the humidity was pervasive.

  Quietly, she walked down the corridor to Nick’s room. She knocked lightly. When he opened the door, she put her finger to her lips in a sh sign. She handed him an envelope. When he tried to embrace her, she shook her head and hurried back to her room.

  After a while, she heard Nick leave. She heard Sheila go into the bathroom and run the shower.

  Ariel went to Wyatt’s room, knocked on the door, and entered. Wyatt was lying on his bed, reading a John le Carré book. When he saw Ariel, he closed his book.

  “Let’s talk,” Ariel said, sitting at the foot of his bed.

  Wyatt sat next to her. “I knew when I came here that Nantucket was a playground for the wealthy, but I didn’t think someone my age would be so obsessed with money.”

  “Nick would have repaid you,” Ariel said softly.

  Wyatt didn’t answer right away. “If you believe that, if you can afford to lose three hundred dollars, you and I come from different worlds. Someone like you would never want to be with someone like me.”

  “Someone like me? Someone like you? What does that even mean, Wyatt? I’m working on the island, too, but I don’t have ambitions like Nick has. I want to be in love with the man I marry, and know that he loves me, and I want to have children, at least one, and I want to write, I want to create a space for me to write. That is who someone like me is.”

  As she spoke, she sensed Wyatt closing down.

  “Ah,” Ariel said, “I’ve said the marriage word, and freaked you out.”

  Wyatt faced her. “The thought of marriage does freak me out. I’ll never have a lot of money. I’ll probably make full professor and get tenure, but I’ll never be able to give you everything you want.”

  “But I thought…” Tears came to Ariel’s eyes. “You mean that whatever we have between us now is only, in your mind, a summer affair.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” Wyatt ran his hands through his hair. “Ariel, I want to be with you. I think of you all the time. I think about you…seriously. But I want it to be right.”

  “I think it already is right,” Ariel told him. “Let’s talk later. I have to get to work.”

  “Yes,” Wyatt said. He kissed her mouth softly. “Later.”

  * * *

  —

  Nick and Francine sat at a table in the Chanticleer, near the window, sipping their martinis. They’d given their orders—mussels and salmon for Francine, salad and steak for Nick—and an expensive bottle of cold white wine, because that was what Francine preferred. Still, Nick thought, he might make it out of here for less than three hundred dollars.

  Their drink at the Brotherhood after she came to Fanshaw’s had not lasted long. She’d had a dinner engagement. But she had searched him out, Nick thought, and that was important. She’d said that for him she would be a mermaid—and then a group of her friends approached her, chattering away excitedly, and their private conversation ended.

  But Nick remembered thinking: ice to heat. And he could sense the electricity between them.

  “The maître d’ knows you by name,” Nick said.

  “They ought to,” Francine said. “I drop enough money here.”

  “Money is important to you,” Nick said, smiling.

  “Is that wrong?” Francine spoke as if she were so exhausted it used her last breath to speak. As if the conversation was already boring her.

  “Not at all.” Nick sipped his wine. I like this woman, he thought. I think I can be honest with her. “Money’s important to me, also. I just don’t have as much as I want, but I intend to get it.”

  Francine lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Really? Before, you said you want to own a chain of hotels. How will you make that happen?”

  “I’m willing to work hard and kiss ass to get it.”

  His last few words brought a genuine laugh to Francine. She leaned back in her chair and applauded. “Bravo! I like this, that you are a practical man.”

  “Are you a practical woman?” he asked.

  “God, no!” Francine said, making her eyes big as if he’d shocked her. “That’s why I need to be with a practical man.”

  “You could get any man you wanted,” Nick told her.

  “Maybe. Probably. But the trouble is, there are so few men I find attractive.”

  The waiter set their first courses in front of them. Now Nick wished he hadn’t ordered a salad. Lettuce was difficult to eat elegantly. He watched Francine use the two-pronged mussel fork to lift the small meat from its shell and slide it between her barely open lips. She delicately deposited the shell in the small bowl set beside her. She was elegance itself.

  Francine met his eyes. “You want to meet my father, do you not?”

  Nick felt his face redden. “Of course I want to meet your father. I read about him long before I met you. I know he’s an international hotelier. But I didn’t ask you to dinner in order to charm you into introducing me to your father. Don’t insult me. Don’t insult yourself.”

  “I love how you blush when you’re angry,” Francine said, lowering her eyelashes. “I apologize for insulting you. I promise not to introduce you to him.”

  “That’s fine with me, Francine. I mean it. You and I—” Nick put down his salad fork and laid his hands on the table, making himself calm down, taming his swirling thoughts.

  Francine continued to enjoy her mussels, moaning lightly with each one.

  Nick finally said, “Francine, forget your father. I think there’s something, I don’t know, I hate using the word ‘special’—”

  “ ‘Interesting’?” Francine suggested.

  “Yes, fine, interesting between us. It’s not just lust, although it is partly lust. You have a drop of wine on your lip and it makes me want to sweep away the plates and throw you on the table and ravish you.”

  “Oh, please do!” Francine laughed. “I would enjoy that immensely.”

  “I know you would. But I’ve said it before. I want more than sex with you. I want—” Nick hesitated. More than once in his life his impulses had driven him into trouble. “I want you to know that I had to borrow money to bring you here tonight. I want you to come to the total crash pad where I’m living for the summer and have dinner with me and my friends tomorrow. On Hump Night. And don’t dress like you are now, all chic and diamonds. Try to dress like a normal person. I didn’t choose the people I live with for the summer, but I like them, and they are real. And it seems to me you could use a little reality.”

  Francine stared at Nick, and she seemed to be on the verge of crying. She looked like porcelain, as if she could shatter. Then, before he could speak, her face changed. Her shield was up. That Mona Lisa half-smile was back in place.

  “I would love to meet your friends,” Francine said. “I am honored by the invitation. But tell me, what do you mean by Hump Night?”

  “It means that Wednesday is the ‘hump’ day of the week. Like a camel’s back. Meaning it’s sort of the mountain we have to trudge up and then it’s smooth sliding downhill to the weekend.”

  “Ah. Clever.” Francine was concentrating on her mussels.

  “Sheila and Ariel started it. We’re all working so hard that our nutritional decisions are usually potato chips and ice cream, with some V8 juice to give us some vitamins. On Wednesday, Hump Day, we set the table nicely—it’s not in the basement, it’s on the first floor in an air-conditioned, civilized area. Well, not really civilized, given that the hotel is mostly a wreck. The builders are waiting on permission from the powers that be. Still, it’s nice. We have wine with our meal, and we actually have conversations.”

  “It sounds darling,” Francine said. She reached across the table and touched Nick’s face lightly. “I can’t wait to come.”

  twelve

  This Summer

  Nick had given the Sand Palace Four a daylong tour of the island, including an extravagant lunch at the famous Chanticleer restaurant in ’Sconset. They had strolled the idyllic lanes of the eastern end of the island, remarking on the changes in shoreline and residences the past twenty-five years had brought. They’d sat at the ’Sconset beach, watching the tides roll in and out, talking idly about this and that, until they were sun-dazed and so relaxed they were almost limp.

  When they returned to the hotel in the late afternoon, Nick told the others everyone was free to do whatever they wanted. Ariel and Wyatt went off to their room for a nap, promising Sheila they’d get in touch later about evening plans.

  Sheila took a long soaking bath and creamed lotion on her skin, which was already freckled from the sun in spite of her sunblock. She pulled on her robe and lay down on her bed, the bed a maid had made up with fresh linens, leaving a chocolate in gold foil on her pillow. She swirled the chocolate slowly in her mouth, loving its rich silkiness. This room, the luxury, the silence, the views, made her feel as if she were in a posh spa. Thank heaven there had been availability for Penny to have her own room. Penny was, after all, an adult, but it was hard for Sheila not to worry about her.

  Sheila didn’t want her daughter to feel like the outsider Sheila had been twenty-five years ago. And that caused her to think about Francine. If anyone was an outsider this week, it was Nick’s wife. Francine was snobbish and aloof, but maybe that was the way she dealt with being around the Sand Palace Four. It would be nice, Sheila thought, to get to know Francine better. If Francine had lived with Nick all these years, she would have some interesting tales to tell.

  On the spur of the moment, Sheila called Ariel.

  “Ariel, I’ve had an idea. Let’s invite Francine to go out to dinner for a girls’ night out. I don’t want her to feel ignored.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Ariel said. “Hang on, let me ask Wyatt what he thinks.” After a few mumbling noises, Ariel said, “Wyatt wants to watch the Red Sox. Let’s do it!”

  “Great, I’ll call her right now.”

  Francine accepted their invitation and Sheila made a reservation for three at the Languedoc, which she assumed Francine would prefer because the restaurant’s name was French.

  They met in the hotel lobby at seven-thirty. Ariel wore a blue silk sheath with a violet shrug that set off her blue eyes. Sheila wore a white piqué sundress with a pink paisley shawl, a rather exotic and daring accessory for her, and an expensive one, too. Francine met them in the hotel lobby wearing cream-colored slacks, a matching cream long-sleeved T-shirt, and around her neck, an Hermès scarf in cream printed with gold buckles and black riding crops.

  “Why doesn’t she just wear a sign that says ‘I’m French,’ ” Sheila whispered to Ariel.

  “Because she doesn’t have to,” Ariel responded.

  The restaurant was only a few blocks away, but the sidewalks were crowded with tourists, mothers pushing double baby strollers, small children skipping along oblivious to anyone else, and gaggles of girls window-shopping. They were delighted to be shown into the upstairs back room, a chamber of quiet and elegance.

  The moment they settled into their chairs, a handsome man appeared in front of Francine.

  “Darling, they didn’t tell me you were coming,” he said, bending to kiss Francine’s cheek.

  “I would have called you myself, but it was all spur of the moment.” Francine turned her head toward the others. “Ariel, Sheila, this is my very close friend Jimmy Jaksic.”

  “Delighted to meet you,” Jimmy said. “Of course, Francine would have beautiful friends.”

  Before anyone else could speak, Jimmy said, “Francine, I’m bringing you a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal for the table.”

  “You’re too kind,” Francine cooed. Jimmy went away. Francine said, “This man knows everything about food and wine. If the Lighthouse had a restaurant, I would make Nick steal Jimmy away. He is the most charming man in the universe.”

  “He must be French,” Sheila said.

  Francine laughed. “No, he’s an American. But yes, he seems French, doesn’t he?”

  Jimmy brought the champagne to the table, uncorked it with a flourish, and poured it into beautiful crystal glasses.

  “Enjoy,” he said, and hurried away.

  “Cheers,” the three women said, and sipped the champagne.

  At first, they were formal and terribly polite, but as the champagne worked its magic and their appetizers appeared, the three women became more comfortable with one another.

  Francine said, “You two seem so close. Do you keep in touch? Letters, emails, photos?”

  Ariel and Sheila exchanged tense glances.

  “Yes, in a way. Christmas letters,” Ariel said, laughing a little. “Life was so complicated that fall, actually the moment we stepped off the ferry into the real world. Wyatt and I had a quick wedding in Boston, with only our families attending, no friends, and we moved to Missouri right away because Wyatt started work at the university. I got pregnant immediately, probably on our wedding night. We had to find a house, we had a baby, Wyatt was devoted to his work…it was a crazy time.”

  “Hank was waiting for me when I got off the boat in Hyannis.” Sheila was relaxed and happy in her reminiscence. “It was very romantic. We got married in October. Hank had a job coaching the high school football team, and he was all about football. I had a premature baby at the beginning of April, little Penny. She was perfectly healthy, only small. Hank was disappointed when the baby was a girl, but a few years later I gave birth to a boy. And if that wasn’t enough, I had two more sons. This week is the most blissfully quiet time I’ve had in twenty-five years.”

  “What about you, Francine?” Ariel asked. “Did you want more children?”

  “Oh, no!” Francine looked askance. “I’m not really a lover of babies. Also, I’m involved with my family’s hotels.” She glanced up. “Oh, look, our dinner. Bon appétit!”

  The waiter set oysters and pan-roasted lobster before them.

  Francine took a bite, then put down her fork.

  “I was not strictly truthful.”

  Ariel and Sheila stared at her, fascinated.

  “Nick wanted to have more children. He wanted very much to have a son. But I dreaded the thought of another pregnancy and childbirth, so I stayed on the pill.”

  “He didn’t know?” Sheila asked.

  “No. Someday I’ll tell him. Or not. Remember, Nick was ambitious. Is ambitious. He was always working, traveling, giving orders, solving problems. He spent very little time with Jade-Marie when she was small. Now, of course, he adores her. She is his mini-me.” Francine turned to Ariel. “What about you? You have only one child.”

  Ariel toyed with her food for a moment. She put down her fork. “I wanted more children, but I couldn’t have them. I had a hysterectomy, for health reasons—don’t be alarmed, it was not serious. But yes, Francine, we have only the one child.”

  “You could have adopted,” Sheila said.

  Ariel laughed ruefully. “Wyatt wanted only children who carried his brilliant DNA. His father is such a huge deal, and Wyatt is still trying to catch up with his father’s accomplishments. Sadly, that might be impossible.”

  “Maybe Jason will carry on the tradition?” Francine suggested.

  “Maybe.” Ariel sipped her wine. “I don’t think he wants to. I sense a rebellion on its way.”

  “And what about your own accomplishments?” Sheila asked.

  “My accomplishments?” Ariel looked puzzled.

  “Yes, tell us about the short stories you’ve had published.”

  Tears filled Ariel’s eyes. “Do you know, no one has asked me that before?”

  “Wyatt must have,” Francine said.

  Ariel shook her head. “Wyatt hasn’t read my work. He thinks fiction is useless. I have a small group of friends at home who write. I’d like to take a course in creative writing at the university, but Wyatt is dead set against that. He’s afraid I’ll write something that will embarrass him.”

  “That’s terrible,” Sheila cried. “He’s not your boss!”

  “He is the breadwinner,” Ariel admitted. “He says that once I start making money with my writing, he’ll take me seriously.”

  Completely deadpan, Francine asked, “Would you like me to kill him now or later?”

  Ariel laughed. “Thanks for your support, Francine. Actually, after this trip, I’m determined to take more time to write. I’ve started a novel. I’d like to attend one of the writers’ retreats. I could write all day and at night I’d have a meal in a lodge with other writers. We could discuss our work, and how technology is changing the writers’ world—” Ariel caught herself. “Maybe someday.”

  “Why not now?” Sheila asked.

  “Writers’ retreats are expensive. Getting to them is expensive. Don’t worry. I’ll get there.”

  In the moment of silence, the waiter discreetly opened another bottle of champagne and set fresh glasses before them.