“Should we tell Dad?”

  “Not yet. Let’s wait and see if you hear from her again.”

  Eddie said, “I don’t know whether to be happy or worried about this.”

  Barrett was pleased that for once she got to give advice.

  “Be happy,” she said. “Now go to bed.”

  thirteen

  Sundays were lazy for most people, but Barrett, like all the other merchants on the island, opened her shop. Janny didn’t work on Sunday, because business was slow then, and really, Barrett enjoyed her time alone. No famous, glamorous romance writer was here, making Barrett feel boring and, in comparison, flat-chested. No beautiful, brilliant older sister was around, taking care of their father and Barrett, wishing she were really back in the city, any city like New York or London or Paris or Rome. No unhappy father trudged through life, writing his seven-hundredth version of a book that no one needed.

  No, this was Barrett’s place, one she’d created with her own money and dreams. She was really living in Nantucket Blues. As she gently dusted and polished her blue souvenirs, she thought about what blue meant to her. It was the color of the sky and the color of the sea. In the dark universe, the earth was a globe of blue. Blue was breath and breathtaking. Blue held the ships as they crossed the ocean and blue was the essence of the sky that carried the planes. When she had been a little girl, she’d decided that as long as she could see the sky, she would be happy. A simple, innocent thought, Barrett knew, but not the worst motto to live by.

  Laughter and music drifted over the water from the boats moored in the harbor. Chocolate and coffee scents rippled through the air. Today it was hot and super humid. Clothes were damp and sticky and hair that was set to be straight went frizzy and hair that was set to be curly hung flat. Barrett wore no bra and a sundress that hung loosely around her body. She twisted her hair into a whale’s spout on top of her head.

  Most days Barrett didn’t turn on the air conditioner, because she thought that keeping her door open invited more people in to browse and buy. But today she turned it on and hung an extra sign in the window: Air-Conditioned.

  A man came in and bought a present for his wife. Two women came in to buy mementoes of their island vacation.

  Eddie called. “You close your shop at six on Sundays, right?”

  “Right.” Barrett watched a man, holding hands with a little girl whose braids bounced as she skipped, come toward the shop.

  “I’d better go,” Barrett said.

  “Okay, but don’t eat dinner out. I’m fixing a great dinner here.”

  “Wonderful!” Barrett clicked off.

  “We’re buying a present for Mommy!” the little girl called out.

  “That’s so cool!”

  Barrett had placed the breakable items above the reach of small children so pieces wouldn’t get accidentally broken, but of course the objects the girl wanted to see were little. Barrett was kindness itself as she reached for a tiny blue glass whale and a miniature porcelain birdhouse. She happily showed ten different pieces before the little girl decided she wanted the blue T-shirt with an image of the island on the front. As they left, a group of women here for the weekend came in, chattering and twittering like robins on the first day of spring. They bought all of Paul’s work, and some T-shirts, and all the blue baseball caps, even the ones with the smiling sharks across the front.

  Eddie told everyone to come for dinner at six-thirty, and everyone came, even Dinah. Eddie took one end of the table and her father sat at the other end. Barrett and Dinah would face each other across the table. Eddie sensed that Barrett was brooding about something, but that would have to wait. Eddie was serving lasagna, garlic bread, corn on the cob, and a green salad.

  Dinah was the last to arrive. She made a grand entrance, carrying a bottle of champagne.

  “What’s the occasion?” Eddie asked.

  “Being with all of you is the occasion,” Dinah said. She certainly looked festive in her lavender sundress. Her long black hair was swept up into a twist at the back of her head. An amethyst pendant hung from a gold chain, pointing directly down to the space between her swelling breasts.

  Sweetly, she said, “William, could you please open this bottle? I’m sure I can’t do it. And the bottle is so cold, the glass hurts my hands.”

  Before he could refuse, she handed him the bottle. He focused on opening it as if he were defusing a bomb. Dinah settled into her chair with a rustle of her dress. Eddie noticed that her father had showered and put on a clean shirt.

  Good for him, she thought. Maybe he’s reentering real life.

  William uncorked the bottle perfectly. He rose and went around the table, pouring champagne for everyone, which was nice of him, although just possibly he was trying to sneak a look down Dinah’s bodice.

  “Here’s to summer!” Eddie raised her glass in a toast and everyone joined.

  The champagne tasted like sunshine.

  They chatted lightly as they ate, describing their days, pausing to moan with pleasure when they ate the fresh, butter-covered corn on the cob.

  Barrett asked Dinah, “How do you like it on Nantucket?”

  Dinah smiled, her lips shining with butter. “More than I can say. I’ve been reading all the Nantucket history and Nantucket fiction I can get my hands on. I’m dreaming of writing a Nantucket romance.”

  William shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We’re both working on what we call romances. I think our ideas are very different.”

  Dinah turned to him with a beautiful smile. “Oh, yes, of course. My idea of a romance involves men, women, and love. Your English Romantic poets were very British in their inability to talk about love between men and women.”

  Oh, here we go, Eddie thought.

  William couldn’t take his eyes off Dinah. “I’m not sure you’re right about that.”

  Dinah focused on William. “From what I know of the British Romantic poets, and, William, you are undeniably the expert on them, it seems they wrote about skylarks, clouds, and daffodils. Rainbows. Deep chasms, and that wasn’t a metaphor for part of the human body. The most famous are about nature. Not human nature.”

  “What poems do you consider the most famous?” William asked, obviously skeptical but interested.

  “ ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ of course. ‘Kubla Khan.’ Wordsworth’s daffodil doggerel.”

  Eddie wiggled her eyebrows across the table at Barrett. They waited quietly as the other two talked, and when their father pulled his chair around so he could face Dinah directly, they widened their eyes comically at each other.

  “A woman also wrote poetry at that time,” Dinah said. “Have you ever heard of Charlotte Turner Smith?”

  “Of course,” William answered.

  “Are you including her in your book?” Dinah asked sweetly.

  William cleared his throat. “Probably not. She wasn’t that important.”

  “Really? Have you read her poetry?” Dinah leaned toward William.

  “Not all of it,” William admitted, slanting toward Dinah as if she were a magnet.

  Dinah spoke alluringly. “Have you read her biography?”

  Eddie locked eyes with Barrett. Was Dinah trying to seduce their father?

  “We’ll get dessert,” Eddie said quietly and nodded to her sister.

  They carried their dishes into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” Eddie whispered to Barrett.

  “I can’t even guess!” Barrett hissed back. “I think Dinah is hypnotizing Dad.”

  “Let’s get back there!” Eddie ordered.

  They brought out the platter of Bartlett’s desserts.

  “Dinah, Dad, what would you like?” Eddie asked. “We have a blueberry pie, chocolate mousse, or tiramisu.”

  “Can we have two desserts?” Dinah asked.

  “Of course!” Eddie replied.

  “You have a sweet tooth,” William remarked as he helped himself to blueberry pie.

  Dinah had chocolate mousse on her plate and a spot of whipped cream on her lips. She smiled at William. “I certainly do.” She licked her spoon, closed her eyes, and moaned quietly.

  William blushed.

  Eddie looked at Barrett, who read her mind. Their father had blushed.

  William wrenched his focus onto his pie. He took a bite, swallowed it, and said to Dinah, “You seem to have an impressive knowledge of the Romantic poets.”

  “I love romance,” Dinah told him. Leaning closer to him, she said, “I would love to read the book you’re working on.”

  William looked absolutely terrified.

  He choked out, “It…it’s not ready for anyone else to read.”

  “But I’m not just anybody,” Dinah reminded him. “I have no connection with anyone in your very exclusive intellectual circles but I do, as you say, know a lot about the Romantic poets.” She leaned even closer to him, her creamy bosom swelling. “I’d let you read one of my books.”

  William looked stunned. “I don’t…I don’t have time to read contemporary fiction.”

  Eddie cried, “Oh, go on, Dad! It will do you good to lighten up!”

  “Yes, Dad, go on,” Barrett echoed.

  William gazed around the table at the three women. “I’ll think about it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Eddie, thank you for the dinner. Good night.”

  He quickly left from the room.

  Barrett waited until her father had shut his study door before speaking.

  “Dad’s always been defensive about his work.”

  Dinah nodded. “Yes, of course he has. As have I. For some reason, the literary world scorns romance. Yet any and all of those critics want romance in their lives. Need romance.”

  “Why?” Barrett demanded. “Why?”

  Dinah spoke gently. “Because romance stirs up our endorphins, and we always need little hits from the chemicals that are released when we fall in love. When we fall in love, we float on our pleasure into marriage, where we love profoundly, if we are lucky. But in marriage, reality comes stomping in like a smelly old warthog, crushing us with rent, mortgage, accidents, toothaches, difficult relatives, babies who won’t sleep through the night. We lose our sense of romance beneath the problems of everyday life. Reading a romance novel wakes up our endorphins, relaxes and releases us from the grip of necessity to the pleasure of being with another person. It makes you remember how it felt when you were in love and your lover was sitting next to you and he simply touched your hand. Just one light touch, and you’re happy.” She smiled and nodded to herself, as if remembering.

  “Is that why you never married?” Eddie asked.

  Dinah’s smile was gentle, wistful. “Yes. That’s why. And I got to enjoy many romances, and I intend to enjoy many more.”

  “Me, too.” The sisters spoke at the same time and the three women laughed.

  “Let’s go to Madaket,” Eddie suggested. “If we go now, we’ll be there for the sunset.”

  “I don’t know,” Barrett said. “I’ve got to do laundry, and help clean the kitchen, and I’m already bushed from working seven days a week.”

  “Then you really need to go to Madaket,” Eddie told her.

  Dinah spoke up. “Your sister is right. We should go to Madaket now. Tell your father to clean the kitchen.”

  Barrett stared in shock. “I thought you were all about romance.”

  Dinah lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “There is nothing romantic about a messy kitchen and something very sexy about a man who can do the dishes.”

  Eddie laughed. “That sentiment should be printed on dish towels.” She tugged Barrett’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Eddie led the way. William’s door was shut. She knocked on it.

  “Dad, we’re going out to Madaket. Would you clean the kitchen? Thanks. Bye.”

  Before he could speak, the three women hurried out the door to Eddie’s Jeep.

  Eddie flicked on the radio as she drove and Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass” blasted into the air. When they arrived at the west end of the island, they discovered the Madaket sunset was no secret. Dozens of cars were parked in the small parking lot.

  “Never mind,” Eddie said. “We’ll walk.”

  They parked on the side of the road and walked to a giant dune blocking the view. Eddie was their trailblazer. They climbed the dune and stood at the top, catching their breath and gazing out at the long stretch of perfect beach stretching out to the horizon. Laughing, they half slid down the dune and hurried to slip their feet into the water. The sea was calm, the tide drifting up to shore and whispering sssssh as it receded. They slowly walked west, not speaking, as if listening to what the ocean was telling them. When the sun was close to the horizon, they sat cross-legged to watch the light play over the sky and sea, and the view was so vast, the water turning amber, brown, gold, so it seemed that if they ran into the water now, they would come out with their own skin magically flickering with sunlight.

  Eddie cleared her throat. “Dinah, remember when I told you about our brother, Stearns? And Dove, who was our friend? Before Stearns died, Dove had a baby, a little boy, Bobby. Stearns died, and Dove took Bobby to Colorado with her. Well, um, I’ve had an email from Dove. They’re coming to visit us, here, on the island. I don’t know exactly when.”

  “How nice,” Dinah said. “I look forward to meeting them.” She continued gazing at the sky.

  It took a long time for the sun to sink below the horizon. When it did, a group watching from the top of a cliff applauded. At once, the air was cooler and the world was a darkening gray.

  Dinah broke the silence. “My hair is frizzing.”

  Barrett laughed and Eddie said, “It’s part of Nantucket’s charm.”

  As if sent by the sun, a breeze came up, and they shivered.

  “Time to go home,” Eddie said.

  They walked down the beach, back up the dune, down to the road. This time, as Eddie drove home, she didn’t turn on the music. No one talked. They were lost in their own thoughts.

  When they returned to the house, they discovered that William had cleared the table, cleaned the kitchen, and started the dishwasher. Eddie and Barrett did a high five.

  * * *

  —

  Barrett buzzed with good energy as she opened her shop. She should walk by the ocean every evening, or at least several times a week. She unpacked deliveries, set out more stock, dusted, and polished.

  She was surprised when Paul came in, carrying a box of carved pieces.

  “Oh, good,” Barrett said. “We’ve sold all of your boxes and only one songbird is left.”

  Paul put the box on the counter and brought out several paperweights, carved into orbs, except for the flat bottom, and painted to resemble a blue ocean with a gold Nantucket Island curving over the top. They were stunning.

  “Wow, Paul. These are amazing. This is your best work yet,” Barrett told him.

  They discussed the pricing, and Barrett gave him the proceeds from his sales last week, and she offered him coffee, and he said he’d rather buy two very cold iced coffees from Provisions.

  “It’s almost noon,” Barrett realized. “The wharf is deserted. Anyone with any sense is at the beach now. Let’s sit on the bench outside.”

  “Agree. I’ll be right back.” Paul left the shop.

  Barrett sat on the bench. Thank heavens, it was in shadow now, cooler than the other side of the wharf. She watched Paul coming back with the cold drinks. He was wearing work boots, cargo pants, and a white T-shirt. He was tall and muscular and sunburned.

  “Thanks,” she told him when he handed her the iced coffee. When he had settled next to her and they had both sipped their drinks, she asked, “Why are you wearing your work boots today?”

  “Because I’ve been at work.” Paul rolled his shoulders.

  His very big, very handsome shoulders.

  “But you’re here now?” Why couldn’t she keep her eyes off of him? When he moved his arm to drink his coffee, she saw the ropes of his veins over the swelling muscles. She wanted to put her hand on his arm, to feel its strength, its sturdiness. She’d always thought Paul was sexy, but this felt like more.

  She was confused in so many ways.

  “I started work at five,” Paul told her. “I wanted to take an hour off to come see you.”

  Was it hot out here? Barrett wondered. Why am I so hot? “Oh, right. To bring me your paperweights.”

  After a moment, Paul agreed, “Right.”

  “How is it going?” she asked. “The building, I mean.”

  “Good. We’re working from sunup to sundown, with only a half hour lunch break. But I get it. Everyone wants a fancy new house on the island so they can live here for two weeks and brag about having a place on Nantucket when they’re in the city.”

  “I’m amazed at how much money everyone has,” Barrett said. “The island’s changing.”

  “It will be fine,” Paul said. “I grew up here. Change happens, but the island is still here. Still the island.” He changed the subject. “How are the sales at the Book Barn?”

  “Slow. Still, enough books are getting sold so that Eddie can cull more from the house to put on the shelves,” Barrett said.

  “Good. That’s good. Let me know if you need anything else. Like more shelves.”

  “Thanks. Oh, how was the gala with Janny?” Barrett was surprised at how her pulse quickened when she mentioned his date. Was she jealous?

  “It was okay. Lots of good champagne, great food.”

  Barrett couldn’t keep herself from pressing, “Did you have fun with Janny?”

  “I guess. She’s young. I met her brother and his date.” Paul took another swig of iced coffee. “Well, I’d met Drew before, here at your opening.”