The Beach House (36 page)

He doesn’t bother disputing it, merely takes a deep breath. “Well, I think, based on the comps, the Harbinger house is the closest one. You pointed out the other day that it has no ocean views, and obviously this one does, but it’s also on more acreage.”

“Point eight more,” Nan says dismissively. “I’d hardly say that counts.”

“It does though,” Mark Stephenson attempts feebly. “On an island, every square inch counts. But, as you know, the Harbinger house sold for eight, and taking the ocean view here into account, I’d like to make an offer of eight point five.”

There is a silence. Daff and Michael both watch Nan’s face closely to try to gauge her reaction, but there doesn’t seem to be one. She gets up, pours herself another martini and turns to face Mark Stephenson, suddenly seeming to grow in both stature and imperiousness as she holds herself straight and looks him in the eye.

“Mr. Stephenson,” she says with a gracious smile. “You appeared to have taken me for a fool the other day. Now you are insulting me by doing it again.”

Mark Stephenson colors slightly, then throws his hands up and sighs. “Mrs. Powell, I apologize. What do you want for the house? What’s your price?”

“Ten million,” Nan says coolly, as if she were saying ten dollars. “Two million in cash.”

“Ten million?” He is not happy.

“Ten million,” she says again. “I have done my research too, Mr. Stephenson, and I think ten million is fair market value for properties that I imagine you’ll be selling for many, many millions.”

“Not
that
many millions,” he says. “I need to think about it. Let me go away and do the numbers. I’ll get back to you later today. I just don’t know . . .” He shakes his head and huffs. “I don’t know if I can make the numbers work.”

“I’ll show you out,” Daff says. She can’t do it, she realizes. She can’t take any money from him, couldn’t live with herself if she did, couldn’t rest easy in her relationship with Michael, knowing that she had kept a secret from him.

For already, this early on, she knows this is something special she has with him, knows this is not something that will end this summer. There is an honesty about their relationship that is new to Daff, who knows she has found something more than just a summer fling.

Late at night, when the house is sleeping, Michael has been sneaking into Daff’s room, sometimes waking her up by stroking her hair, or slipping underneath the covers and tucking in tightly behind her.

She hadn’t realized, until now, how much she has missed being with someone. It isn’t even the sex, the physical act, but the intimacy, the cuddling, the lying in bed for hours afterward and talking.

She misses it more precisely because she never had it with Richard. This was what she always imagined her marriage would be like, when she was a young girl trying to picture her knight in shining armor, what he would be like, what their relationship would be.

She imagined someone who adored her, just as she adored him. Who went to sleep holding her in his arms, who lay in bed softly talking about anything and everything.

When she didn’t get that with Richard, Richard who rolled off her with a quick peck before turning over and falling immediately asleep, she forgot about the dreams she once had, tried to pretend that what she had was enough.

Just last night, lying in bed with Michael, she remembered the pain of her divorce. The pain of discovering Richard was in love with another woman, the sheer hardship of being on her own, having to deal with everything on her own after years of Richard taking care of things.

She thought, then, there would never be a time when she would be, could be, happy again, or at peace. Indeed, she wasn’t sure what peace was, other than something she had thought she’d had—mistakenly she now knows—for a short time at the beginning of her marriage.

Late at night, in Michael’s arms, she now knows this is peace. Michael calms her down, makes her feel safe and secure, completely
home
in a way that is entirely new. Now she understands why the divorce happened, why she had to go through the pain to finally reach the pleasure.

There is no way she’s going to screw this up by starting the relationship with a secret, and she walks Mark Stephenson to the door, about to tell him she cannot take the money.

“Our deal’s off,” Mark Stephenson says, bitterly, his voice lowered as they cross the hallway.

“What?” She was going to say the same thing, and is shocked he has said it first.

“I’m not giving you any percentage of this deal,” he says. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but the point was you would get her to sell it to me for a fair price. Ten million’s a fortune. It’s what she’d get on the open market, not what I expected to pay in a private deal off-market, particularly one that was being brokered by you on the quiet.”

“That’s completely unethical,” Daff says, not because she has changed her mind, but because she can’t believe how this charming, self-effacing man has suddenly turned into the devil.

“That’s business, I’m afraid,” he says, walking out, climbing into his car and pulling the car door shut.

In the study, standing against the wall, is Michael, the color gone from his face. He too, has discovered something with Daff he never thought he’d find. Comfort, ease and serenity. It is unlike any relationship he has ever had, and the more he sees her, the more he wants to see her.

But what he has just heard is sickening. He thought he knew her, thought she was a good person, but it seems that, yet again, he has made a horrible error of judgment.

He turns and walks back to the living room, his feet and his heart both heavy with disappointment, and sadness.

Bee has been quiet since finding out her father’s secret, and it is breaking Everett’s heart, on so many levels, to have added to Bee’s already heavy burden.

He had always carried this naive hope that when he was able to return to Nantucket, to see Nan again and apologize for everything, she would welcome him back, understand that he did it because he was a desperate man, a different man from the one standing before her today. Although he knew forgiveness might be hard, he had no doubt that forgiveness would come.

He never thought about what it would do to Bee. His beloved Bee. Throughout her entire life he has tried to protect Bee from harm, but now he has seen her being hurt by one blow after another. First there was the separation, then she found out her husband is gay—not that that was any surprise to Everett, who suspected it the first time he met Daniel—and now she has found out her own father told a most terrible lie, one that he tried to bury as he built his new life.

Bee has avoided him since finding out. Of course she has been around, has tended to him, fed him, helped him dress, let him play with the girls, but she hasn’t been able to look at him, hasn’t engaged with him. When he has tried to talk to her, she has shaken her head, said she isn’t ready, disappearing into her bedroom for hours at a time, the only sound her tapping on the computer.

Today he takes Lizzie and Stella down to the children’s beach. They play on the playground for two hours, Everett pushing the girls on the swings for far longer than either their mother or father would, buying them sandwiches, ice cream, giving them his undivided attention, which they lap up like kittens.

Over to the whaling museum for crafts—today they make scrimshaws out of large, oval bars of white soap—then finally back home when Everett can put it off no longer, for the girls are tired and want their mother.

He walks in to find Bee in the kitchen, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, is in fact days, Bee looks directly at him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she says. He puts his arms out, and Bee walks over, allowing herself to be hugged.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It was just such a big shock. I needed time to adjust, to think about everything, to take it all in.”

“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I’m sorry for lying to you, for not telling you the truth, and I’m sorry that this was the way you found out.”

Bee sighs. “This feels like a dream, or a movie. Like something that happens to other people, not to me. Not to us.”

Everett says nothing, just looks at his hands.

“I have a brother!” Bee says. “Well, half-brother. Remember how I always begged you and Mom to have another baby because I wanted brothers and sisters?”

Everett smiles at the memory of Bee, golden curls and big eyes, chubby cheeks, as she climbed on his lap and asked him if there was a baby in his tummy because she had asked Santa for a baby and she thought maybe he was cooking one for her.

“I can’t believe I have a brother,” Bee says, almost to herself.

Lizzie and Stella are chasing one another around the kitchen island. “Girls, how would you like to watch a movie?” Bee asks them. “I have
The Wizard of Oz.
”

“Yay!” The girls cheer as Bee takes them into the other room and settles them in front of the television to enable her to talk to her father in peace.

“I’ve been thinking so much,” Bee says to Everett, once the girls are absorbed. “I know this might be . . . unexpected, but I think we should stay here awhile.”

“Nantucket?” Everett is shocked.

Bee nods. “There are a number of reasons. I . . . to be honest I can’t bear the thought of going back home and being the subject of gossip. Everyone will find out about Daniel, and I can’t bear it, I just can’t bear the thought of going home.”

“You can’t run away forever,” Everett says wryly.

“You would know,” Bee says softly. “Maybe it is running away a little, but I feel at peace here, at home in a way I never did in Westport. I’ve even started writing.”

“Oh Bee!” Everett’s face lights up. “You were always such a wonderful writer. I could never understand why you gave it up when you got married.”

“I didn’t feel I had stories to tell,” Bee says. “Now, I guess one of the hidden benefits of all this turmoil is that I’ve suddenly found I have so much to say.”

“Do you mind me asking what you are writing?”

“A memoir,” Bee says carefully. “I started off just journaling, writing about what I’ve been going through with Daniel, then since the other night, when I found out about you, I haven’t been able to stop.”

“I’m delighted,” Everett says quietly, tears welling in his eyes. “You always had a passion, and a talent, for writing. I’m thrilled you’ve found your passion again.”

“So am I. I had forgotten how much it meant to me, how cathartic I found it. I’ve been writing about my marriage, meeting Daniel, those early days. The more I remember, the more I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t see the signs,” Everett says. “I can understand that. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

“But I did see them. Of course I saw them. They were as clear as day.” Bee sighs. “I just chose to ignore them; I pretended that if I didn’t think about them, didn’t acknowledge them in some way, they would simply disappear.”

“I think that’s called burying your head in the sand,” Everett says and smiles. “I’m something of an expert on that, so we know where you get it from.”

“Then there’s you,” Bee says. “And Nan. Michael. I feel excited about writing again, about finding out about this family, and about you, who you really are. I feel . . .” She pauses. “I feel alive again. I feel like I’ve been underwater for such a long time, and suddenly I feel alive, excited . . .” She trails off.

“So you want to stay to write?”

“Yes. To write, and to be by the sea, and to get to know who you are, who you
really
are, and where you come from. I think you should stay here with us too.”

“It’s an interesting proposition,” Everett says. “But I’m not wanted here. Both Nan and Michael—” he chokes slightly saying his name—“made that quite clear the other day.”

“They have just found out,” Bee says, laying her hand on his arm. “Their reaction was entirely natural. Give them space, give them a little time to adjust, and they will want you here, I’m sure of it.”

He nods. “Thank you, Beezy. I do know what you mean about feeling at peace here. I have dreamed of Nantucket for years, but even in my dreams I had forgotten quite how magical it is to be here. I also feel a sense of peace, now that I’m home.”

“This is your home, isn’t it?” Bee says. “I mean, your real home.”

“It is. Generations of Powells have lived on this island, have had a hand in most of the building or renovation of what you see here today.”

“Will you tell me about my family?” Bee has tears in her eyes. “My grandparents. Do I have aunts and uncles? Who are we? Where do I really come from?”

“I’ve been waiting to tell you all your life,” he says, suddenly realizing that it is true. He thought he could lose his identity, reinvent himself all those years ago, but he could never lose who he really is.

For the first time in years, no longer living a lie, he feels like he can breathe.

“Where’s Jess?” Daniel startles Daff, deep in thought as she paints a delicate watercolor of the house.

“She’s gone into town with Nan,” Daff says. “I think they both had a craving for ice cream.”

Daniel shakes his head and grins. “What an unlikely friendship. Who would have thought a teenager would feel comfortable with Nan?”

“I think in theory it’s unlikely, but I get it,” Daff says. “I remember being a teenager. I hated my parents, but loved other adults who treated me as an equal, who stopped to listen to me, who valued what I had to say.”

“Nan definitely treats her like an equal. I think she has no idea Jess is only thirteen. By the way, what would you think about Jess doing some babysitting for us?”

Daff cocks her head.

“Bee just phoned me. She wants to go out with her dad this afternoon—I think he’s going to show her around the island, tell her about his family. She wanted me to have the girls but I have an engagement.”