Enchanted August (23 page)

O
ver at the assembly room, the scene was chaotic. Four of the kids sent notes with their cousins that they'd gone for a nighttime boat ride to look at the huge blue moon and wouldn't be back in time to perform. And Captain Hook was out with food poisoning. He had experimented with eating a dead crab he'd found on the beach and it had not gone down well. Hook's dad, who'd promised he would play piano for them, bowed out too.

The lack of music was too bad, but there could be no show without the lead pirate, so Caroline took Wills by the shoulder. She knelt down and looked him in the eye. “We need you, Wills. You've got to be Captain Hook,” she said. Wills was shaking his head, no no no. “You'd be great out there. They'll love you.”

“I don't want to be Captain Hook! He's too mean!” Wills was clearly on the point of a meltdown.

Caroline gave a hard look at the girls. “Come on, ladies. We have three Elsas and two Annas. We could do the show with one less princess. And you know it.”

“No way,” said Lucia. She was their lead Anna.

“You should be Captain Hook, Caroline!” said Sarah. “You're tall! And you can be mean!”

“I am not appearing onstage,” said Caroline. “Anywhere. Sorry.”

“Caroline!” Lottie had found her way backstage. “We saved you a lobster. Are you all set?”

“We don't have any music and we're missing Captain Hook. Otherwise we're good.”

“Yikes.”

Reece, frantic, ran over in a panic. “What should I tell everyone?” he asked. “They think the play should start!”

“I better go,” said Lottie. “Break a leg. Maybe Robert plays piano. I'll ask him.”

“Or we could just cancel the whole thing,” Caroline said as Lottie disappeared into the audience.

“There's always an island play,” said Paige, her lower lip quivering. “My grampy will kill me if we don't do it.”

“You have to be Captain Hook! We
need
you!” The girls were laying it on thick.

There would be photos and videos and hashtags swirling around the interwebs if she did it.
OSCAR LOSER S
INKS PIRATE PLAY,
or a lawsuit from Disney if she so much as uttered a word from
Frozen
. But her publicist would applaud; anything heartwarming that involved kids was a win.
CRYBABY CAROLINE M
AKES COMEBACK WITH K
IDS. DESTER FINDS HER
SELF ON LOST ISLAND.

Oh, what the hell, she thought. “All right. I'll do it.”

Her troupe of players cheered, and then got to work drawing a mustache on her upper lip, finding something from the costume box that would be vaguely suitable to wear, and testing her on her lines.

“Okay, everybody, get into position! Time to start!” said Jessie.

Reece flashed the lights. “Please take your seats!” he said. “
And be quiet!
It's time for . . .
Frozen Peter Pan
!”

Jessie pulled open the curtain. A piano fanfare started from nowhere. The play began.

 • • • 

With everyone else at the play, Fred and Rose had the cottage to themselves and made good use of it. The blue moon was rising outside their little bedroom, and Fred regarded Rose, asleep next to him. Her pale skin was almost aglow in this shallow light. Her eyes beneath the delicate lids were utterly still, her eyebrows almost invisible from so much sun, bleached completely away. Her shoulders were a little sunburned, as were her breasts—she must be sunbathing topless, he thought. That's nice. Her nipples were so pale they were almost translucent. He remembered how painful nursing had been for her, with tiny Bea and Ben latched on almost constantly for months. Ben hadn't wanted to feed at all, and Bea's first tooth had given her mastitis.

He kissed one breast very softly, then the other.

The scar from the C-section was a lot fainter now, but he knew she was still self-conscious about it. Hence that old red Speedo that she clung to. Women should bear these scars like warriors do. They should show them off and boast.

He loved that she had the body of a mother. It was a much more interesting body now than she'd had when they were young. Not that he hadn't been interested in her body then; on the contrary. But now she bore their history. That worry line between her eyebrows—that appeared while Ben had his endless colic. The wrinkles beginning to show at the creases of her eyes were from good times: Swings on the playground. Her first published poem. The weekend they spent in New Orleans.

On her left arm were the freckles that always appeared in that exact spot: a cluster right above her wrist, then a pause, then a scattering up to her elbow.

I love my wife, he thought.

Rose opened her eyes. “Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

“I love my wife.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, I was thinking of how much more I love your body now than I did when I first met you.”

“Now I know you're lying,” said Rose, though she was smiling.

“You think so?” he said, and rolled on top of her.

She grinned. “Guess not.”

 • • • 

The piano was not Robert's favorite instrument—the thing was so mechanical—but Lottie told him that the whole show would fall apart if there was no music, so he reluctantly sat down at the bench. There was some sheet music provided for a couple of the songs, but that was it. He started the play with a cheesy fanfare and imagined he could get away with a few well-placed chords to go with the action, but from the first moment Captain Hook stepped onstage, the game was suddenly elevated. When she spoke, her voice sent a thrill through his body from the back of his neck to the soles of his feet.

He was not much of a keyboardist but he played to impress her and took his cues from whatever she did onstage. He was the silent movie pianist to her swashbuckling adventurer. When she didn't have the audience in stitches she had them fearing for their lives. She made the kids seem like professionals. She made him feel like he would do anything for her.

At the end of the show the audience demanded an encore of the dreaded song about following your dreams or letting things go or whatever it was about, and in the final chorus Robert took it up a half step so the girls could really milk it. Then the curtain rang down and the play was over.

A triumph.

The kids poured off the stage and into the arms of their parents, who'd been determined to be pleased by anything they saw but were genuinely delighted at this. Robert began to pack up the music. He looked for Caroline but could not find her in the crowd. A few of the islanders he knew gave him a pat on the back and said, “Good job.” He waited for Caroline to come over and tell him he had been magnificent, that he had saved the show, that they made a great duo, but when he did spot her, she was surrounded by kids who wanted a group selfie, so she was not about to notice him.

He gave her a few minutes, just to be sure she'd have a chance to find him if she was looking. Then she went backstage and he was forgotten.

Figures.

Ah well, the walk back to the cottage might be restorative. He turned off the lights as he walked out of the assembly room and turned onto a shortcut to Hopewell. The air had that almost-fall chill; there was the sharp tang of woodsmoke on the breeze; the crickets were deafening; the sky was cloudless. The high, brilliant moon was in its full glory. The path was wide enough for two. He was one.

“Robert!”

Was that the voice? A flashlight wavered on the path behind him. It must be in the hands of someone who didn't know the path well. Someone who needed another person to walk with. Someone who had recently been a pirate?

He turned and shaded his eyes against the light. “Um, can you put that down a little?” He hated to ask, but she was practically blinding him. “Caroline.” The thrill of saying this new name.

She lowered the flashlight and he could see her outlined by the moonlight, which made her luminous, which even he recognized was a cliché.

“You saved the show,” said Caroline. “Thank you. I'm Caroline Dester.”

“
You
saved the show, I think.” The more he heard that name, the more he thought he knew her from somewhere. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don't think so,” she said. “Every time you're at the cottage, I'm not. Does this path lead back home?”

Home! A thrum of possibilities shot through his body.

“Straight to Hopewell. I don't think we even need the flashlight, do we? The moon is so bright.”

They could see their shadows as they walked. “I thought you played guitar,” said Caroline.

“I mostly play guitar, but I can noodle around on the piano if absolutely necessary. My own instrument is the lute.” So nerdy! Would she run away?

“I'd like to hear a lute sometime,” she said.

“Anytime.” He hoped he sounded nonchalant.

They walked in silence for a while, the soft tones of the buoy bells in the distance. There was the tiniest trace of a mustache still on her face.

“Do we have to go straight back?” asked Caroline. “It's such a pretty night. I haven't seen the island in moonlight. Where does this path go?”

She was leading them along a dirt path that would take them to the east side of the island if they followed it all the way. “We'll be able to see the moon on Horseshoe Beach if we take that one,” he said.

“Then let's take that one.”

Even Robert could not have predicted this. Just a couple of hours ago he was gutted by the appearance of Rose's husband. Now he was in the moonlight, on his island, with this exquisite woman, who wanted to keep walking with him and who called his cottage home.

She stumbled. Take care of her, you fool! “Careful, there are a lot of roots to watch out for here. Do you want the flashlight?”

“No, my eyes are used to the dark now. It's quieter this way.”

He knew exactly what she meant.

“Watch out on the rocks here too. It's a couple of steps onto the beach. There.”

Neither of them spoke as they regarded the moonlight on the water, a wide swath of silver white light on the sleepy waves. It was cold down here on the water's edge. Caroline rubbed her hands over her arms. Why hadn't he thought to bring her a sweater?

“Cold?” he asked.

“No.” She was looking out to sea. “I'm good.”

Robert wanted to take her hand and almost reached for it. But she didn't need his help to steady herself on a flat beach, so there was no excuse. As he was wondering what kind of excuse he could make up, Caroline said, “You made this all possible.”

“What?” he asked.

“Not the moon and the beach. But the cottage. And the sign. The whole month of August. It was all your idea, and it's working. Every one of us is happy here.”

They stood in silence till he saw her shiver. “I can't stand that you're cold,” he said. “Shall we go back to the cottage?”

“Okay,” said Caroline. “But let's take the long way.”

They found a lot to talk about as they wound back along the path on the island's periphery to Hopewell. Robert's image of Caroline Dester as an out-of-work actress evaporated when she used the phrases “talk-show appearances” and “my favorite assistant director.” He was glad he never read
People
magazine or looked at celebrity websites. He would have been far too intimidated by Caroline Dester to play piano for her island production.

“I hope you don't mind me pushing around the furniture in the cottage,” she said. “It just needed a fresh eye, I think.”

“Absolutely,” he said. He wanted to say, I not only like your eye, I am blown away by every single thing about you, from the top of your moonlit hair to your crooked little toe. Can I kiss you, please?

“You haven't even seen what Beverly and I did in the little garden off the kitchen,” said Caroline. They weren't far from Hopewell now and Robert wanted to delay going in for as long as he could.

“Show it to me now,” he said.

“It's dark.”

“Show it to me in the moonlight, and then again tomorrow, in the sun. How about that?”

They walked over to where Caroline and Beverly had begun working. “We thought Hopewell Cottage needed a kitchen garden,” she told him, “so we planted herbs.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in their scent. “I'm getting something,” he said. “Basil?”

“Basil for one.” She leaned down and picked a few leaves off one of the plants. She rubbed them together right under his nose.

“Oh! Lavender,” he said.

“I love lavender.”

I'll bathe you in it, he thought.

She plucked another. “How about this one?”

“Easy. Thyme.” Could he lick her finger?

“Try again.” She stepped even closer. He could smell the thyme but more powerfully he could smell her own scent: roses, honey, lime.

“Thyme,” he said again. “Oh, but you're right, there's something else in there.
Lemon
thyme,” he said.

“Got it,” she said. “Here's a tricky one.” She crushed some leaves between the palms of her hands, then opened them in front of Robert's face.

I love you, he thought. “Isn't that oregano?” he said.

“Marjoram,” said Caroline. “Beverly prefers it to oregano. More subtle, he says. He was so bossy about what we could put in this garden and what we couldn't.” She looked up at the cottage. Robert saw her take notice of the light on in one of the turret rooms. “I don't want Beverly worrying about me. We should go in.”

She turned toward the back stairs of the cottage and he followed. The Hopewell kitchen, with its pile of lobster crackers, dirty silverware, and wineglasses in the sink, was spectacularly unromantic. He should have made his move out there in the herb garden.