Island Girls (9 page)

Jenny hid her face as she chugged a long drink of wine, then went into a coughing fit. When she could speak again, she said, “Just remember, Arden, I warned you about Tim.”

“Why don’t you like him?” Arden asked. “He strikes me as one of the few decent men I’ve met recently.”

Jenny shifted uncomfortably. “I met him when I met Bjorn. I could tell Tim didn’t like me dating him, though I never understood why. A gang of us used to go out in Tim’s boat with a cooler of beer. We had fun, but Tim always gave me the cold shoulder. After Bjorn and I broke up, Tim stopped talking to me except about work, like this arts coalition site. I just think he’s unreliable. Maybe bipolar.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, everyone’s bipolar,” Arden said.

“Or bisexual,” Meg added, giggling, her cheeks rosy.

Arden laughed to see sweet little Meg getting tipsy. “At least bicoastal,” she added, and rose. “The water’s bubbling. I’m putting the lobsters in.”

While the corn and lobsters boiled, Arden melted butter in the microwave and set bowls of it in front of the three place mats. She’d already put out the plates, silverware, and shell crackers, and she added bowls to toss the shells into. Jenny and Meg offered to help, but Arden insisted that tonight was her night to cook.

“Tell me about your day, Meg,” Arden invited as she moved around the kitchen.

Meg lit up. “Heavenly. I’ve been reading about women artists in the late 1800s. Did you realize that back then women weren’t allowed to draw the male figure nude because women were considered too delicate? In Boston, they were so prudish. Women were allowed to take classes in male drawing, but they had to wear veils, so if the model ever passed them on the streets, he wouldn’t recognize them.”

Arden and Jenny broke into peals of laughter.

“The man sat there naked and the women wore veils?” Jenny asked.

“Kinky,” Arden said.

The kitchen filled with steam, and Jenny and Meg jumped up to help. When everything was done, they gathered around the table, dipping the sweet fresh lobster flesh into the salty melted butter, crunching into the corn on the cob, their fingers and lips shiny with butter.

When they were done, the shells of tails, claws, and legs towered in the bowls. They licked their fingers. Arden got up from the table and returned with a roll of paper towels. They wiped their hands and leaned back in their chairs and groaned with pleasure.

“Dad used to get all excited about lobster dinners,” Arden mused. “He fancied the
event
of it all, getting out the shell crackers and picks.”

“I remember,” Meg chimed in. “We had special bibs.”

“Right, and Mom gave him an apron and chef’s hat because she couldn’t bring herself to drop the lobsters into the boiling water,” Jenny added.

A momentary silence fell. Arden broke it, saying truthfully, “I never saw the apron and hat. But I’m sure he treasured it. He was mad for dressing up.”

Grateful to Arden for smoothing over what could have been an awkward patch, Jenny agreed. “He
was
a bit of a peacock. I always thought he took the three of us out to the ballet and dinner so he’d have an occasion to wear a suit and that swanky coat of his with the velvet collar and cuffs.”

“We got to dress up, too,” Meg said. “I always looked forward to that.”

Arden stretched her arms lazily. “Did Dad ever take either of you out by yourself? I mean after we were all grown up.”

“Not me,” Meg answered.

“Nor me,” Jenny added. “I think Dad favored the idea of family.”

Arden snorted. “That’s why he married three different women.”

“Well, yes,” Jenny argued thoughtfully. “He was kind of a philanderer, going from Arden’s mom to Meg’s mom to my mom, but he wasn’t a cad.”

Arden quietly said, “I don’t think my mother would agree with you.” She ran her fingers around the rim of her glass. “But he did keep us nicely financially supported. And when he was with us, he was really
with
us. Not thinking of something else, not in a hurry to get away from us.”

“He loved us,” Meg said. “In his own flawed, charming way, he loved us.”

“He was so handsome,” Jenny mused. “I suppose it’s hard for a man that handsome to stick with one woman.”

“It wasn’t just his looks,” Meg pointed out. “It was his personality. He was vibrant. (Can a man be
vibrant
?) He loved life. Whenever I was around him, it was like the world went brighter, more vivid.” Suddenly she buried her face in her hands. “Oh man, I miss him.”

“I know.” Arden had tears in her eyes. “The bastard, dying like that.”

“I can’t believe he’ll never hug me again.” Jenny wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head, swallowing her grief.

“He could always make me laugh,” Arden said.

“He always made me feel beautiful,” Meg said.

“You
are
beautiful,” Jenny told her.

“I’m fat,” Meg choked out.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Arden ordered. “You’re not fat. You’re stacked.”

“Plus, your hair. Your skin. Sorry, no sympathy for you at this table.”

“He made us all feel beautiful, I think,” Meg decided.

“It’s true.” Jenny pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes, yet continued crying. “I don’t want him to be gone. I really don’t.”

“I know,” Meg agreed. “I’m so sad.”

After a few moments, Arden blew her nose noisily. Lifting her head, she announced, “Ladies. I also bought a chocolate cake.”

“I’m supposed to be dieting,” Meg complained.

“Fine,” Arden teased. “Don’t eat any.”

“Temptation, thy name is Arden.” Meg shook her head, smiling helplessly.

Jenny said, “Arden, thank you. You gave us a wonderful meal.”

“You’re welcome,” Arden told her. “I know what else we need. TV. A movie—something with Sandra Bullock and a speeding bus.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Their sorrow drifted away as they rose from the table. Hurriedly, they cleared the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, working in silent accord. They headed into the den. Jenny searched
for a movie with the remote, and found
Speed
. They plopped down on the leather sofa together, laid their feet on the coffee table, and watched.

After a while, they paused the movie and went into the kitchen for huge slabs of chocolate cake.

Late Saturday morning, Arden met Tim at the yacht club. They took the launch out to his daysailer, and while Arden lounged in the stern, rubbing sunblock over her face and limbs, Tim readied the boat.

The day was warm, the wind gentle, just brisk enough to skip them over the waves to Coatue, a long strip of sand at the east end of the island. Tim didn’t talk while he steered, but contentedly observed the harbor waters, blue sky, and long stretch of golden beach.

Arden observed Tim. Almost movie-star handsome, so tall, lean, and muscular, with long tanned limbs, he was not the kind of guy she usually dated. For one thing, the men she went out with talked. Incessantly. Like Arden, they were ambitious, creative, on their way up the ladder of success, with ideas, strategies, plots, and projects cascading out of their overactive brains. They were definitely not Nature Boys, although if they had to woo a client, they could play a decent game of golf or tennis.

Tim steered the boat into the shallows. “I’ll anchor here.”

Arden nodded. “What can I carry?”

“Grab the beach blanket and towels.”

She did. He hefted the cooler and they waded in to shore. The water was cool but inviting.

They dropped their burdens on the sand. Tim glanced at Arden questioningly.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Let’s have a swim.”

The water enveloped her, turquoise silk, azure satin, radiant with sunlight. Tim struck off in an easy crawl, steadily heading for the other side of the world, or so it seemed, as he effortlessly sent his long, slim body through the water. Arden swam a bit, but mostly floated on her back, letting the water support her, closing her eyes, drifting.

Later, they came dripping up from the water, dried off, and put on sun hats to protect their faces. Together they unfolded the blanket and spread it over the sand to sit on. They doled out the treats they’d bought at Something Natural: sandwiches, chips, cookies. Tim had brought beer and soda, too. They sat cross-legged on the sand, gazing out at the sparkling water, eating, chatting. Sun sparked his blond hair into gold and illuminated the rather wondrous lines of his torso.
This guy must work out
, Arden thought.

Aware that he noticed her studying him, she said, “You seem at home here.”

“I grew up here,” Tim told her. “My father’s a contractor; my mother works for the chamber of commerce. My older brother is the superachiever, lucky for me. He’s in New York, working for a law firm. I get to be the mellow one.”

Arden laughed. “Mellow?”

“When I went to MIT, my father had high hopes I’d go on to Silicon Valley and invent a new computer, or at least gaming
software. But I always knew I’d return to the island, and the timing was perfect for what I wanted to do. I came back two years ago and started The Computer Guy, and I have more work than I can handle.” He took a swig of beer. “What about you?”

Arden was about to answer when Tim continued, “You’re Jenny’s half sister, right?”

She refrained from sharply pointing out that she wouldn’t say that was the most significant fact about her. Instead, she said, “Stepsister.”

“Right. The famous one.”

Arden aimed a flirtatious smile at him. “I do a show on Channel Six in Boston. I don’t think it makes me famous, but some people recognize me.”

“How did you get into that?”

“I always wanted to be on television, but not as an actress. For a while,” she admitted, “I wanted to be a weather girl on the Weather Channel.” Arden rose to her knees and waved her arm toward an imaginary screen. “And the highs today in the Ohio River Valley will rise to an unprecedented eighty-three degrees, while down here in Tucson, my goodness, folks, they’re expecting snow!” She realized her green bikini set off her lean, fit figure as she moved. She was vain, and knew it. She enjoyed his frank appraisal of her as she posed.

Tim laughed. “Seems like a natural for you.”

Arden shrugged and sank back into the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees. “A girl has her dreams,” she joked. “I actually took a course in meteorology in college, but it wasn’t for me. Plus, the whole time I was at BU, I thought I might end up selling real estate. Mom and Dad both were real estate agents. After college, I worked in Mom’s office in Boston for a while. Then I started helping a friend of Mom’s who’s a professional house stager.”

“A what?”

“There’s a whole industry of people who help you sell your house by getting it ready for prospective buyers to see. Buyers don’t want to see your baby photos or your high school basketball trophies or even your historic silver. They need to envision a house as it would be with
their
stuff in it. Most people can’t strip it down themselves. They’re too attached to their possessions, and they think what they have is just right. So stagers come in, remove the clutter, rearrange the furniture, and get it ready for showing.”

“Sort of like my mom going through my room when I was a kid.”

Arden laughed. “Sort of. Anyway, I was so amazed at the crap people hang on to and how it hampers their lives, even their vision of what their future might hold. So I came up with a plan for a television show about that, and Mom just happened to be dating the general manager of Channel Six at that time.…”

“Aha,” Tim said.

“Hey, it’s all about who you know, right? Bud liked the idea, I put the show together, and it’s run for four years now.”

“Think you’ll move on? To New York or LA or Atlanta?”

Arden drew a curvy design in the sand with her forefinger as she contemplated the question. “I don’t know. I like Boston. And I like being close to my mom.”

“And your sisters.”

Arden hesitated. This was officially a first date, and she didn’t want to let loose all her pent-up sarcasm about Jenny, Justine, and even Meg and Cyndi. She knew it made her sound sour. “I don’t know how much I’ll see Jenny,” she replied at last. “Since she lives on Nantucket and I don’t get here very often.”

“Do you think Jenny will stay on the island?” Tim asked.

“I have no idea. You know about our father’s last controlling-from-the-grave deal about the house, right?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“The three of us will inherit the Lily Street house only if we spend three months of this summer together in the house. Then we can keep it or sell it and divide the profits.”

Tim whistled. “Huge profits on that place.”

“Right. That’s why I’m down here instead of in Boston. Meg, too.”

“What does Jenny think of all this?”

Arden cocked her head. “You know, you seem just a tad obsessed with Jenny.”

Tim averted his face, picking up a pebble and tossing it far out into the water. “Maybe. We’re competitors.”

“Surely there’s room for more than one computer expert on the island.”

“Oh, definitely. Plus, she’s got a couple of contracts with New York–based firms. She set up a complicated site for about two hundred plastic surgeons and keeps that going, and does something for one of the big news blogs. So her major income doesn’t even come from the island.”

“You sure know a lot about her work.”

Tim shrugged. “She knows a lot about mine.”

“And …,” coaxed Arden.

Tim’s expression grew stony. “She thinks she can just toy with guys. I don’t trust her.”

Arden waited for more, but Tim started gathering up the empty bottles and sandwich wrappers, stowing them in the cooler. He looked at the fat diving watch on his arm. “We should get back.”

They sailed in silence, luxuriating in the day. It was nearly five
when they secured the boat to the buoy, beckoned the launch, and were motored to the yacht club dock.

Arden thought perhaps Tim would invite her for dinner, or at least a drink, so she was surprised when Tim merely asked, “Would you like me to drive you home?”

Standing on the front porch of the club, Arden was a five-minute walk from the Lily Street house, and because of Nantucket’s narrow one-way streets, a good ten-minute drive. Still, if Tim had spoken differently—if he’d said, “I’d like to drive you home”—she wouldn’t have resisted.