The Guest House (14 page)

Harrisport, Massachusetts

July 1966

P
arties at the Moss cottage were so frequent that Tucker knew better than to lounge around in anything less than a collared shirt and khakis after six. You never knew when a jazz quartet might be setting up on the terrace, or a champagne toast might be called on the back lawn. From seven until midnight, corks popped like gun salutes, so loud and so frequent you’d cease to notice them after a while.

No sooner would the sun start its slow drop than the preparations would begin. Dorrie would call her troops to order and delegate from the counter, sending the handful of sun-kissed local girls hired to help serve out into the party. The rich, buttery smell of crab tarts would begin its journey down the hall shortly before five, floating up the main stairs, too strong to be swallowed by the lingering smell of the tide it encountered on its way. Linen tablecloths, snapped open with all the efficiency of a rigger tending to a sail, were smoothed across tables and sideboards. There was rarely any occasion. Sometimes a party would be organized to celebrate a summer neighbor’s return, or a surprise visit from family, but usually the reason, as far as Tucker could see, was simply that his mother and father couldn’t bear to be alone together.

Tonight’s party, however, had a very specific purpose: to celebrate Tucker’s graduation (and Jim’s too, of course). Though Lois and Garrison had produced a luxurious event in Charlotte at the beginning of the month to commemorate their son’s successful tenure at law school, his parents were determined to have everyone on the Cape know their pride also.

Tucker swung into the bathroom doorway and grinned to find Jim leaning over the sink, inspecting his foamy jaw in the mirror as he shaved with the concentration of a surgeon.

“Jimbo, you’ve been at that cheek for ten minutes.”

“This could well be the most important shave of my life,” countered Jim, pausing in his meticulous strokes to give his friend a disparaging look.

“Yeah, well, shave any closer and you’ll bleed to death before your first date. Relax, will ya?”

“How the heck am I supposed to relax?” demanded Jim. “I’ve been waiting to meet this girl for three months.”

Tucker wasn’t one to criticize; he’d been nervous all day thinking about Edie Worthington’s possible attendance.

Would she or wouldn’t she? The question had been banging around in his head for days now, a broken-record accompaniment throughout their drive to and from Boston, and there all through endless hours of meetings and feasts. To say he hoped so would give away his heart, make him a cheater, a wretched human being. And his father would have a fit.

So let him
, Tucker thought. In his joy after his trip to the Grange Hall, Tucker had hoped that his father might have seen him coming up from the beach with Edie, might have gotten wind of their blossoming friendship, but Garrison hadn’t spoken of it. Neither had his mother. It was a small rebellion—not that it was the reason for his interest in Edie Worthington—but Tucker wouldn’t lie that it thrilled him just a bit to think his desire for a local girl might rile his father to the core.

Moments later, both of them feeling as shiny and bright as new pennies, he and Jim made their way down the hall and descended the main staircase, pausing for a moment at the landing to survey the crowded room.

“Look at them all.” Jim took in a deep breath, staring out into the sea of guests. “It’s like someone’s wound them up and they’re just begging to be let go.”

“It’s the sea air,” Tucker said, waving to a bright-eyed blonde standing in the corner with a middle-aged man Tucker recognized as one of his father’s associates from Boston. “It makes everyone crazy.”

Jim’s blue eyes grew big behind his glasses. “Oh, let’s hope.”

•   •   •

D
eciding it was best to be as far away as possible from a clock, Edie biked to the town beach after dinner. It was a good crowd, she decided, scanning the familiar faces that were milling about, moving around the bonfire with sodas and beer. If she hadn’t been so chilled in her thin sweater, she might have picked up one for herself from the overflowing coolers that were stuck into the sand. Instead she moved as close as possible to the fire’s crackling flames and held out her hands to warm them, noticing the crescents of caked drywall mud that still lined her cuticles, try as she had to scrub them clean.

“Hi.”

Edie glanced up to see Hank beside her. He looked dressed up, she thought. His hair tidier than usual. His shirt tucked in. She wasn’t used to seeing him this way. They’d known each other since they were kids, and he’d worn his hair the exact same way the whole time: short, except in the front. For reasons she never could understand he insisted on keeping a puff of his coal-black curls at the front of his scalp, like a rooster. She’d always meant to ask him why he did it. Sometimes she wanted to tease him when he’d nag her because she’d wrapped the cords wrong or misplaced some tool, but she didn’t. The truth was, when he sweated, which he did standing still most days, those black curls turned under themselves in a way that she found annoyingly darling. Sometimes she’d wanted to reach out and push her fingers through the tangle of them, just to see what it would feel like. Now was one of those times.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Why?”

“I’m just surprised to see you here; that’s all. I thought you didn’t like hanging out at bonfires.”

She shrugged, pulling her sweater tighter around her front. “I figured it was a nice night.” What else could she say? Certainly not the truth: that she’d made herself come because she’d been afraid that if she’d been home alone and unaccounted for, she’d have given in to temptation and raced down to the Moss cottage to accept Tucker’s impossible invitation.

Hank sipped his beer. “You look really pretty tonight.”

Edie looked up at him, startled by the compliment, even as a flush of pleasure warmed her skin. In all the years she’d known Hank Wright, he’d never once told her she was pretty. Suddenly it seemed desperately important that he had.

“Thanks,” she said. “You look nice too.”

Hank squinted into the blaze. “You think I keep you from doing big jobs on the site because you’re a girl, don’t you?” he asked.

Edie frowned, bewildered. “Well, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “I do it because I worry about you. Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“So you already told me.”

“I don’t mean like that,” he said. “Not like someone worries about a little kid, Edie.” He turned to her then, the glow of the fire catching the hard lines of his jaw. “I mean the way a man worries about a woman that he feels for. A woman he feels
very deeply
for.”

Edie blinked at him, the words sinking in. She wanted him to repeat them, wanted to savor them one more time, but then on the other side of the fire, she saw Missy Murphy, foolishly underdressed and huddled with her girlfriends, the young woman’s eyes fixed on Hank, her turquoise satin blouse shimmering under the firelight as she waved. Edie glanced to see whether Hank had noticed his admirer, and sure enough, he had. He waved back. A flicker of discomfort charged through Edie. She felt silly in her fat braid, immeasurably young in her polka-dotted skirt. She reached up and touched the elastic, fingering the knot enviously. Did Hank like Missy’s hair that way, pulled up on one side like a foamy wave about to break? She wanted to ask him—it seemed desperately important to her now—but before she could he touched her on the shoulder and said, “I’ll see you, Edie.”

“See you,” she answered dully, disappointment filling her as she watched him make his way around the fire to where Missy waited for him, the feeling growing when he slid his arm around Missy’s waist and Missy looked up at him with an expression that Edie could describe only as victorious.

•   •   •

A
t ten till nine, Tucker decided he would wait outside. The porch was teeming with guests, few of whom would spill over into the harsh exterior light above the side entrance. There he would be safe from their curious eyes, but in plain sight of Edie’s when—
if
—she came.

It was a cloudless night; the stars blinked from one end of the sky to the other. He’d left Jim well-off; no sooner had Helen Willoughby slipped through the door between her parents, tanned legs stretching out from a skirt of petal-pink tulle that made her look like a long-stemmed carnation, than Jim was a goner. Though Tucker’s escape hadn’t been guaranteed: there were still obstacles to get through, several of his father’s associates and their wives, a few neighbors. There were inquiries into school and future plans, but mostly it was talk of Florence, how she was doing and when they could all look forward to seeing her this summer. Tucker had answered every query pleasantly, patiently, even as his eyes had drifted over their shoulders toward the clock on the mantel. When he saw his mother coming out with an unfamiliar couple, Tucker excused himself to the porch before she could arrive with introductions. He’d pushed through the clumps of guests, squinted through the clouds of cigarette smoke, and crossed the lawn, free at last.

Now he stood with his hands in his pockets, staring out into the blackness beyond the fence of pines like an expectant retriever. He told himself he wouldn’t be crushed if she didn’t show, but as the minutes ticked by, his heart thundered right along with them. Suddenly everything felt fleeting, fragile. Huge and tiny all at once. His thoughts raced with possibility—outrageous and reckless questions. What if he took them away tonight? What if he asked Edie to leave the Cape with him, and what if she said yes? But as the waiting continued, his hope faded. Maybe it was better she’d changed her mind. He’d been brash and thoughtless and just plain dumb thinking he could change the course of his life in one night.

Then, just when disappointment had finally settled over his heart, he caught a shimmer of metal and movement through the black, and he was wholly unprepared for the rush of excitement that tore through him, his doubts blowing away like ashes.

The click of bicycle spokes came seconds before she did. In his relief, he let go a laugh, then took a deep inhalation of air, a man coming to the surface to taste oxygen after nearly drowning.

T
he beast awakens!”

Edie grinned as she approached the porch where Jim had arrived with a cup of coffee shortly after nine, his white hair and shirt collar gently askew.

“I wondered how much noise we’d have to make before you woke up,” she teased.

“In my defense, I got home just after three a.m.,” he said, coming down the steps to meet her at the edge of the lawn.

She smiled. “Then Boston was good?”

“As good as it ever is,” Jim said. “The old gang still has a pulse; we take what we can get these days.” He squinted out at the lawn, considering the scene. “Boy, you don’t waste any time, do you, young lady?”

“Not when I’ve got weather like this,” Edie said, gesturing to the swath of cloudless blue above them.

“So when does everyone else get here?” Jim asked.

Edie frowned up at him. “What do you mean, everyone else? This
is
everyone.”

“But”—Jim slid his gaze back to her—“they’re all . . .”

She smirked. “I think the word you’re looking for is
women
, James.”

“I might have known,” Jim said, a smile spreading across his face.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” she said. “Because if you are, too bad, James Masterson. A deal’s a deal, and I’m not letting you out of this one.”

“I wouldn’t dream of any such thing. I would, however, dream of having dinner with you again.”

Edie reached to her neck, smoothing the short hairs that curled behind her ears. “I can’t tonight,” she said. “I’m having my kids to the house for pizza.”

“Speaking of kids . . .” Jim glanced back at the house. “Cooper and Alexandra seem to be getting along, don’t they?”

Did they? Edie considered Jim’s observation with a lump in her throat. As much as she wanted her daughter to move on with her love life and finally let someone in, Edie didn’t imagine it would be Hudson’s brother, Tucker’s other son. Of course, what did she know? And what difference did it make? Love was never as neat and tidy as her daughter—or son—wanted to imagine it.

“Of course they would get along,” she answered at last. “I’m sure Cooper barely remembers all that foolishness.”

“Now, now,” Jim scolded gently. “You didn’t think it was foolishness when it was you and Tuck getting along so well.”

“It was never a good match,” she said softly, her eyes shifting to the guest house.

“Tuck was in love with you, Edie.”

She shrugged. “He just thought he was.”

“I was his best friend for fifty years.” Jim’s light tone dropped into a heavy register. “I
know
he was.”

Edie turned back to Jim, searching his unusually serious expression for a moment, then forcing her gaze away. She tugged on her work gloves. “I should get back to my crew.”

“Maybe you’d better,” Jim said, nodding toward the guest house, where a crowd had formed around the doorway. “It looks as if something’s happening in there.”

•   •   •

L
exi wasn’t at all surprised to see the hulking shape of the green Dumpster as soon as she came around the bend in the driveway the next morning. She knew how fast her mother worked when it came to securing permits and equipment delivery. The driveway, quiet for days, was suddenly crowded with unfamiliar cars and trucks, their owners already busy carting armloads of discarded material from the guest cottage across the lawn to the enormous trash bin. Lexi parked and carried her first load of equipment toward the house, seeing the crew as she neared the lawn. Her mother’s all-woman crew had changed in the two years she’d been away, but Lexi still saw a few familiar faces as she scanned the group.

A part of her, too small to indulge, was sorry to see them there. She wouldn’t lie; it had been lovely having the house to herself—or rather, to her and Cooper. She’d enjoyed the privacy, and their time together, maybe more than she wanted to admit.

But now even Jim had returned; Lexi had spotted his Town Car in the mix of vehicles in the driveway.

Where was Cooper? she wondered as she let herself into the cottage, thinking as she did how easily she had resumed her circulation in the big house. For so long, it had been unimaginable that she would ever set foot in the Moss house again, let alone feel comfortable walking through its enormous rooms unannounced, and yet, here she was.

Cooper’s confession swam through her mind, filling her with a palpable excitement and relief. She’d hoped he’d remembered their exchange all those years ago, hoped she hadn’t fabricated her recollection of his interest, the way they’d been drawn to each other that night. Was that why she’d arrived early today? Why she’d taken the time to think through her wardrobe instead of throwing on the first clean shirt she saw?

“Good morning.”

Cooper was in the kitchen when she stepped inside the house, leaning against the sink with a cup of coffee, dressed in a T-shirt and swim shorts.

“Good morning,” she answered, settling her bag on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“I’d love some.” A second cup? Since when did she allow herself a second cup? she thought sheepishly as she took the mug he held out to her.

“So much for the peace and quiet, huh?” he said.

Lexi nodded as she blew across her coffee. She wanted to tell him that it was better this way; she wanted him to say it first. Didn’t he feel it too? It was as if they had been unsupervised children the day before—dangerous hours when they might have chosen poorly in a weak moment: drawn on the walls, made forts with the sofa cushions.

“I really enjoyed last night,” he said.

“So did I.” She smiled at him. “I’m afraid I had too much to drink, though. I said things . . .”

“We both did. But I’m not blaming the wine.”

Lexi dropped her gaze to her coffee.

“So are you sorry you never got to New York?” she asked.

“Oh, I got there,” he said. “Moved into a closet in the Lower East Side, waited tables at night, and paid for the whole program myself.”

Lexi considered him, impressed to know that he’d stood up to his father and gone his own way. Had Hudson been outraged, she wondered, at his little brother having the strength to do what he, Hudson, could never do?

“How’s the novel coming?” she asked. “Getting any closer?”

“I must be,” Cooper said. “I usually reread the previous day’s pages and edit them on the spot but with this book I’m like a runaway train. I don’t dare stop on the tracks.”

“Maybe that’s a good sign.”

He smiled. “An optimist.”

“Not always,” Lexi said, returning the smile.

Maybe lately.

His eyes shifted to her bag, where she’d dumped it on the chair, unzipped and gaping.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, gesturing to the corner of his novel poking out.

“It is; I just got it,” Lexi said, feeling a flush of embarrassment when she reached into her bag and pulled it free, as if he’d found her doing a search for him online. “I haven’t had a chance to start it yet.”

“Well, good,” Cooper said, holding out his hand. “Then I can inscribe it for you before you do.”

“You don’t have to do that. . . .”

“Of course I do. Everyone knows it’s bad luck to sign a book after the reader’s already started it.”

She laughed. “Bad luck for the reader or the author?” she asked.

“Probably both.” He scanned the counter until he found a pen. Lexi watched as he spread the book open to the title page and began to write. Try as she did, she couldn’t make out his words before he’d closed the book and handed it back to her. She slipped it into her purse without reading it, wanting to save it for later, and not sure why.

“No pressure,” he said. “I can take criticism. If you don’t like it, tell me the truth.”

“I’m sure I will,” she assured him. “How was the beach?”

“I haven’t been yet. I was just on my way, actually.” Cooper yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it over the back of the chair. All the times he’d loped around the property as a teen, shirtless and barefoot—now she had to drag her gaze away.

He picked up the towel he’d left on the table and swung it over his shoulder. “Want to join me this time?”

She smiled, gesturing to her clothes. “Still no suit,” she said.

“So don’t swim.”

“But you just poured me coffee.”

“So take it with you.”

She might have surrendered if not for a knock on the screen door. A young woman with spiky blond hair stood on the porch, wide-eyed and winded. Lexi recognized her at once from her mother’s crew: Hannah.

“Lexi! Girl, you’ve
gotta
see what we found,” Hannah exclaimed. “Come see it before your mother covers it up. It’s too awesome!”

Though Lexi didn’t want to spoil the excitement for her mother’s giggling crew, she knew exactly what they had found under the layers of cracked wallboard as she followed Hannah down the lawn to the guest house: her father’s declaration of love, the one he’d carved deeply into the framing to show Edie Worthington—and the world—how he really felt all those years ago. The testimonial that had buoyed her mother after Tucker Moss’s heartbreak.

Lexi smiled as she began to move toward the open doorway to finally see the confession for herself, and as she did, she realized something.

She wasn’t the only jilted woman to be both set adrift and rescued in the guest house.