As they walked across the parking lot to Frank’s car, Sheila watched his gait, his steadiness. He seemed absolutely normal, as if the three quick shots of bourbon hadn’t affected him at all. He helped her into the car, gently shut her door, went around the front, and slid into the driver’s seat.

  He drove through the side streets that led to the Milestone road, and he didn’t say a word. It made Sheila nervous.

  She put her hand on his arm. “Frank, something’s wrong, I can tell. Can you talk about it?”

  Sheila meant to calm him, but her words did the opposite. She could see his jaw clench.

  “You think you can sweet-talk me and make me all better? Not in my world, babe.”

  “Look out, Frank!”

  They’d arrived at the rotary where cars came and went to and from Old South Road and the Milestone road and Sparks Avenue. Traffic was heavy here, at the height of the summer. When Sheila warned him, Frank slammed on his brakes just in time to keep from running the STOP sign. Sheila was thrown forward and bounced back.

  “Sorry,” Frank muttered.

  He waited impatiently while a cement truck barreled through, then hit the gas, making the car lurch. They sped onto Milestone Road, and Sheila braced herself, holding on to the door handle. It was silly, she knew, to be afraid of their speed, because the fastest a car was permitted by law to go on Nantucket was only forty-five miles an hour.

  The Milestone road was two-lane, and both lanes had heavy traffic. Forests of pine and tupelo bordered the road, providing an immediate sense of countryside, of escape from a busy commercial town out into a green wilderness.

  Sheila was worried now, and almost afraid. She didn’t know whether Frank had passed the Polpis road turnoff on purpose or by accident.

  Softly, she said, “Frank, we passed the road to Polpis.”

  “Shit!” Frank yelled.

  He slammed on the brakes, yanked the steering wheel hard, making the car spin into a U-turn that narrowly missed hitting a contractor’s truck in the other lane. Horns up and down the road blared.

  “It’s okay,” Sheila said, alarmed. “We don’t have to go so fast—”

  “The road is right here,” Frank told her.

  He spun the steering wheel, veered to the right, and slammed hard into a small station wagon turning from the other direction without stopping at the Stop sign.

  The noise was apocalyptic. Metal shrieked against metal as the two cars collided. The hood of the station wagon flew up. The station wagon driver’s door crumpled.

  Sheila heard screaming. It took her a moment to realize the scream was coming from her.

  Sheila was propelled forward, the dashboard punching into her abdomen. She had instinctively thrown her hands up, and she thought that one, if not both, wrist was broken.

  Someone in the station wagon was wailing. Sheila glimpsed a child in the backseat of the other car.

  “Frank?” She turned toward him, dazed.

  Frank had been propelled toward the steering wheel. Blood streamed down his face.

  “Get out!” he yelled at Sheila. His face was ugly with anger. “Run! Get out of here, Sheila, go!”

  “I want to help you,” Sheila cried.

  “Then run! I mean it! Go into the woods. Now, goddammit!” Frank shoved her, hard.

  Sheila said, “Okay.”

  The passenger door was crumpled, so she climbed out over the door, landing on the tarmac of the road, losing her balance, and falling into the wild greenery of bushes and Queen Anne’s lace on the side. She heard sirens. She heard someone screaming from the station wagon. She heard cars stopping all around them. People yelling.

  She scrambled to her feet and ran across the grass and weeds on the roadside, right into the protective dimness of the crowded trees. Her ears were ringing. Her wrists were on fire, but she had pushed herself off the ground with them, so she knew they weren’t broken. She didn’t think anything was broken, although her abdomen hurt. She kept running into the interior of the woods.

  When she was far enough away from the road to no longer hear the screaming, to no longer spot even a blur of metal or the blue flash of a patrol car, she fell to the ground, sitting with her back against a tree, her skirt becoming sticky with pine needles, her lungs gulping for air.

  What hurt most were Frank’s words, yelling at her to run away.

  Maybe she had passed out. Fainted, her mother would say. When Sheila opened her eyes, the woods around her were darker. The quiet seemed ominous. Her first thought was of something attacking her, a bear, a coyote. Then she remembered the only wild animals on the island were deer and rabbits. Shakily, she rose to her feet, leaning against a tree for support. Fear washed over her. Was Frank okay?

  Were any of the passengers in the station wagon hurt?

  The police would give Frank a Breathalyzer test, and he would fail it.

  She had to get back to the Sand Palace. She had to pretend she knew nothing about the accident. Sheila wanted to call her mother, but her mother would only scold her for going anywhere with any man other than Hank. Sheila wanted to call someone, but she had no idea where a pay phone was or even a building with people who had a phone, and if she could get there from here, she shouldn’t go into the building, any building, because people would ask her if she was okay, was she in that terrible accident on the Milestone road?

  She knew she had to walk home. First, she had to find a road, and from either of the two roads it would be only a two-mile walk to the Sand Palace. She slipped off her heels, amazed that she’d been able to run so far in them. Carrying them in her hands, she decided on a direction and stumbled forward, tripping over fallen branches as she went. In only minutes, she saw the blank wall of a building, and a minute later, she realized she was approaching Island Liquors from the back. The shop sat off Polpis Road, just a short way from the Milestone road. Soon she was on pavement, in the large parking lot of the liquor store. The soles of her feet were hardened from walking on hot sand, so she kept her shoes in her hand.

  She was almost at the road when the sounds of sirens alerted her. She jumped behind a tree and peered around toward the accident site. Two ambulances were racing away from the crumpled cars. Two, Sheila thought. A line of cars streamed back from the accident toward Polpis. Two police cars were parked on the verge of the road and as she watched, a state trooper climbed off his motorcycle. Policemen were stationed at both sides of the wreck, directing traffic. Lights were flashing, people were yelling, and at the back of the stalled line of cars on the Polpis road, someone began to honk his horn in irritation at the holdup.

  Frank would be okay, Sheila told herself. He had been talking to her after the accident. Maybe he’d broken an arm or a leg, or simply had his ribs bruised. She tried to remember who had been in the station wagon, but she wasn’t sure she’d even seen the person. She was grateful that Frank had forced her to leave. Their romantic evening would have become a nightmare of sitting in a police station—or even the hospital.

  Once again, she slid down against a tree and closed her eyes. She was still trembling and her fingertips were cold. She wanted to cry, but her entire body seemed frozen, blank.

  After a while, she heard the sound of traffic moving near her. Rising, she dared to look and saw the cars moving in both directions past the liquor store. A tow truck was slowly dragging the station wagon away, and Frank’s convertible was already gone. She began walking toward the main road, her shoes in her hand, her cute little evening bag over her shoulder as if nothing had happened. The sky was that beautiful shade of lavender that happened just before dark. Sheila wove in and out of the line of trees along the road, not wanting to be noticed. At the intersection where the accident had happened, she paused, waiting until no cars were in sight. Then she hurried across to the other side, noticing shards of glass and metal littering the pavement. She heard herself moan, but remained dry-eyed, focused, thinking of nothing but getting back to the safety of her bedroom.

  It was a short hike to Orange Street. Here, along the verge, thick grass carpeted the ground. It cushioned Sheila’s steps. It felt heavenly. Soon she was crossing the parking lot of Marine Home Center, and then she put her heels on and trotted up Orange to Main and past Main out to South Beach and the Sand Palace. All around her, families ate ice cream cones and window-shopped, couples held hands, people stopped to let the dogs on their leashes sniff greetings. It was normal. Safe. One-way streets. Slow traffic. Some people saw her and looked away, grinning. Sheila knew they were thinking she’d had an argument with her boyfriend, or gotten way too drunk.

  Finally, she saw the odd silhouette of the Sand Palace. She almost ran toward it. No one else was there. She entered her room and collapsed on her bed, and she was so cold she pulled the covers up over her shoulders all the way to her ears, as she had when she was a child, trying to hide.

  eighteen

  This Summer

  The oldies, as Francine had called them, went to Madaket, walked the long white satin beach, and watched the sun sink, flaming, into the sea. They didn’t talk, laugh, reminisce. They walked alone, thinking their own thoughts, stopping now and then to toss a pebble into the ocean. The blue water slowly darkened until it was as black as the sky. It was a spectacular sunset, but it didn’t lighten Wyatt’s or Sheila’s moods. If anything, they became more somber, as if the sunset were a curtain closing down on their lives.

  Back at the Lighthouse, no one wanted to go out for an ice cream. First Sheila, and then Ariel and Wyatt, said good night and went off to the privacy of their rooms.

  When Francine and Nick entered their suite, it was only ten o’clock, and outside their windows, the town was vibrant with voices, music, laughter.

  Francine slipped off her clothes and slithered into her short silk nightie. For a moment she remained at the closet door, considering whether to pull on her kimono and settle into bed with a book she was eager to return to, or to stay in her nightgown, often a visual flag that she’d be interested in sex.

  Nick came out of the bathroom in his boxers, looking preoccupied.

  Francine pulled on her silk kimono and went over to the small sofa by the window.

  “Nickie, come. Sit here with me.”

  Her husband settled next to her. “It’s odd, isn’t it, being with them all again.”

  “I suppose. I never knew them as well as you did. I think they’re enjoying themselves.”

  “I guess. It’s just so odd, seeing their children as adults. I worry about them. I mean, Wyatt is awfully hard on Jason. It’s as if he expects Jason to be a mini-me, to be an important scientist like he is.”

  Francine shrugged. “Fathers are often that way. Look at you and Jade-Marie. She wants to run a hotel, just like her father.”

  That made Nick smile. Jade-Marie often made her father smile. “That’s true.” Reaching over, he took her hand. “Jade-Marie really is the best of the two of us, isn’t she? She loves hospitality work and she’s good at it. At the same time, she’s got your tranquility, the innate ability to remain serene, to assure others.”

  “Also, she can spot a situation and manage it immediately, which is one of your many talents,” Francine said. With a sigh, she snuggled into her husband’s arms. “I worry about how Jade-Marie acts with Jason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think she’s fallen a bit in love with him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I see the way she looks at him.”

  “Francine, it’s only been a few days.”

  Francine chuckled. “I fell in love with you instantly, twenty-five years ago when you were catering on a yacht.”

  Nick nuzzled his chin into her hair. “I remember. You were the most impossibly sophisticated woman I’d ever seen.”

  “I can do impossibly sophisticated things,” Francine murmured.

  “I know I’m a lucky man.” Nick kissed her cheek. “But I feel responsible this week. What if Penny doesn’t make it back tomorrow?”

  “Worst-case scenario, my darling, Penny loves sailing and calls Sheila to tell her she’s spending the summer with Liam. Sheila will have a very public nervous breakdown, we’ll let her rant, then we’ll put her on the plane so she can return to her husband and her three sons. Penny and Sheila will be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right. I know that if Jason really does remain here this summer, working for Cabot’s, quitting his university job, Wyatt will never forgive me.”

  Francine laughed. “Darling, why do you care about Wyatt? He’s such a dull stick. He’s handsome, yes, but I really don’t know how Ariel can stay with him. If anything, Wyatt should understand. Wyatt worked at Cabot’s twenty-five years ago, and maybe it’s a compliment to Wyatt that his son wants to do the same.”

  “What if Jade-Marie wants to marry Jason?”

  Francine’s laugh was like a peal of bells. “What if our daughter wants to marry the man she loves? We’ll have the reception here at the hotel and they can honeymoon in Paris.”

  “You’re impossibly cheerful tonight.”

  Francine slid her kimono off, letting it puddle on the sofa. “I’ve been a good wife and hostess for several days. Is there any chance you and I could think about ourselves for the rest of the evening?”

  Nick let his eyes linger on his lovely wife. Running a hotel chain was a constant plague of disasters, complications, late night phone calls, frustrated guests, and weeping employees. This week he’d instructed his vice president, who was in Jackson Hole, to take all calls and deal with all problems. He’d insisted this was his vacation, when he would reunite with old friends.

  He didn’t need to ruin this beautiful evening with his gorgeous wife. He traveled so much that a night like this was unusual. He knew that the excitement of challenges and disasters was what kept him fulfilled. But everyone needed to rest now and then. To refuel and revive with the pleasures of life—which was what he’d been trying to provide for his old Sand Palace friends. He liked making other people happy.

  He shouldn’t forget—and Francine would not let him forget—that sometimes he needed to indulge in a little pleasure himself.

  He took Francine’s hands and pulled her up against him. He kissed the side of her neck. They were apart so often that even after twenty-five years they weren’t bored by each other. Sex between them was always new, and always loving.

  Francine wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed against him, and everyone else in the world, and the world itself, disappeared.

  * * *

  —

  Sheila prepared for bed, brushing her teeth, creaming her face and hands, slipping between the crisp expensive sheets and heavenly soft quilted duvet, and picking up the e-reader she’d left on the bedside table.

  She couldn’t concentrate. She worried about Penny. Would Liam dock at a harbor tonight, or would they be out in the dark on the open waters? The Pilgrims had done it, after all. Were there sharks back in the 1600s? There must have been. What would they eat? What if Penny got drunk? Liam was such a large man, he would have a capacity for alcohol far beyond Penny’s. What if—

  She had to stop this. She needed to think of something else. After all, unlike everyone else from the Sand Palace, she had more than one child. She had four!

  She picked up her phone and called home.

  “Sheila!” Hank answered, sounding glad to hear from her. “How’s it going out there on your golden island?” The warmth of her husband’s voice, his enthusiasm for life, his love for her, was like an embrace.

  Sheila burst into tears. “I miss you,” she said. “I miss you all.”

  “We miss you. You’re having fun, right? Sun and old friends, freedom from housework for a week?”

  “Yes, yes, but, Hank, Penny’s gone off sailing with a strange man.”

  “Well, what man? Does Nick know him? Is he a good sailor?”

  “His name is Liam. Nick does know him, and he’s apparently a prizewinning sailor. He’s sailed across the Atlantic.”

  “Is he taking Penny across the Atlantic?”

  “No, no, he’s taking her up along the East Coast. All the way to Boston.”

  “Wow, Sheila, that’s terrific! What an adventure for our little girl. She’s breaking out, don’t you see, Sheila, and it’s about time, isn’t it?”

  “Oh.” Sheila was stunned. She and Hank rarely talked about Penny’s temperament, or about the boys’. There never was time to sit down and discuss their children, and Hank wasn’t the kind to probe into his children’s psyche anyway. Hank was all about action. “I never thought of her that way.”

  “Well, now you can. She’s an adult, after all, Sheila.”

  Sheila was still weeping slightly. “How are the boys?”

  “God Almighty, I was going to phone you! Sean hit a grand slam in the ninth inning! The crowd went crazy. He ran the bases like he was ten feet tall, and his whole team yelled and hollered and carried him on their shoulders, and Brodie and Patrick can’t stop congratulating him. We went out for pizza, I took the entire team, but you know Ernie Castleton, he coaches the team, he came along, too, and paid for half of it. I think Sean’s floating a few feet over his bed even now, he’s so proud of himself.”

  “Oh, Hank, how wonderful.” Sheila broke into a smile, which brought on more tears. Her youngest, smallest, least athletic son, Sean, was fourteen, still short, and getting that pre-pubescent chubbiness that boys got before they shot up tall. Sean had a cowlick at the back of his head that would not stay down, and he had freckles. He looked like Norman Rockwell had invented him. His older brothers, fifteen and seventeen, teased their younger brother terribly, but they all teased each other unmercifully. “I wish I’d been there,” Sheila said.