Elin Hilderbrand - The Beach Club

Bill exhaled; he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. “I don’t know either,” Bill said. “It was just an idea. You mean a lot to Therese and me. We want to do something for you.”

“How about a raise?” Mack said. “I am saving to buy a piece of land.”

“I’d be happy to give you a raise,” Bill said. “A big raise.”

“And full control next time there’s a storm?”

“You got it,” Bill said.

“And one afternoon off a week,” Mack said. “If I ever get another girlfriend, I want to be able to spend some time with her.”

“Agreed,” Bill said. “Do you want this all in writing?”

“No,” Mack said. “I trust you… Dad.” Mack grinned, then laughed, then reached out to shake Bill’s hand, and Bill embraced him. Dad . So it would be a joke between them from now on, that was fine. But Bill couldn’t help wishing that sometime in the next twelve years Mack would take him up on his offer, and become his son.

When Bill returned to his house, Therese was on the phone with the realtor from Aspen, setting up arrangements for their winter house.

“We’ll be there December fourth,” Therese said.

After she hung up, Bill said, “Maybe we shouldn’t go back to Aspen this year. After all, I can’t ski anymore, really. Maybe we should go to… Hawaii.”

Therese flashed him a disgusted look. “We can’t go to Hawaii.”

“Why not? It’ll be warm. We’ll get a condo with maid service and a cook. We can walk on the beach-”

Therese cut him off. “We can’t go to Hawaii because Cecily won’t know to look for us there. The only place she’ll look for us is at the house in Aspen.”

“Oh,” Bill said. Two good ideas shot down in one day.

“Don’t you see how it’s going to work?” Therese said. “One morning we’ll be sitting on the sofa drinking coffee and staring out at the back of the mountain, and we’ll see a bright spot. Cecily’s hair. She’ll be trudging up the road from town with her backpack, and we’ll see her beautiful hair. That’s how it’s going to work. That’s how it’s going to be.”

Therese spoke adamantly. She was nuts, of course, as delusional as Bill had been during the storm. They were taking turns being crazy. That’s how it’s going to be . Bill admired her confidence. He closed his eyes and hazily saw the scenario she painted. The cool, sharp evergreens that bordered the road to Independence Pass, the snowdrifts three feet high-and sticking out so that they couldn’t miss it, Cecily’s red hair. He guessed it wasn’t impossible. Maybe if they went through the motions of sitting on the sofa with their coffee every morning, God would recognize their pain, and more importantly, their devotion, the two of them sitting there like a kind of prayer, and He would let this wish come true. Okay, then, they would go to Aspen and look out the window and wait for their daughter to come home.

Bill nodded to let Therese know that he agreed, and then he took her hand and led her into the bedroom. She was alive and warm and she was staying, had always stayed and always would. She was his wife of thirty years. Bill made love to Therese, even though it was three o’clock in the afternoon.

When Mack was halfway to Steamship Wharf, he wondered why he’d offered to see Maribel off. He supposed he owed it to her-you dated a woman for six years and lived with her for three and it felt suspiciously like a piece of you was getting on the boat and leaving. Mack wished he owned a dog; he could talk things over with a dog without worrying about a response. He needed someone to bounce ideas off; he was sick of himself. In Iowa, he would pick up a Labrador or a German shepherd from a large farm litter. A new best friend.

Mack occupied his mind with thoughts of his new dog until he reached the steamship parking lot. It was ten to twelve; Maribel’s Jeep wasn’t in the lot. He missed the statement she’d made, then, officially driving off Nantucket. Mack swung his Jeep into a space and hopped out. There were tourists dragging suitcases on wheels, and there were the usual stout Steamship Authority workers in their Day-Glo vests. But no Maribel. She probably decided to forgo the good-bye; she probably found it too difficult.

Then Mack felt a tap on his shoulder, and there she was.

“Jem drove the car on,” she said. “I told him I was waiting for you.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time waiting for me,” he said.

She teared up immediately, and pulled a Kleenex out of her suede jacket. “I came prepared,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“You’ll be happier without me,” Mack said. “That’s why I did what I did.”

“You gave up,” she said.

“You deserve better.”

“It doesn’t help to hear you say that,” she said. “Because I love you and I believe in you.”

“I know,” he said. He opened his arms and took her in. He’d seen enough movies to understand that there were two kinds of endings-the kind where Maribel decided at the last minute to stay with him despite everything, and the kind where she got on the boat and left. Mack didn’t know which ending he was pulling for, a sign in and of itself. Maybe he had a warped sense of what love should be, but he thought that in love everything would be clear-instead of the muddy, confused, back-and-forths he’d had with Maribel. Still, as he held her, as she cried into his sweater, he thought, I will never watch her run in her sleep again. I will never see her jog toward me, ponytail swinging. I will never make her smile. It was his job now to play the uncaring ogre, so that she could leave and find happiness elsewhere. He owed her that much. But what about his own happiness? Where would he find that? Where would he even look if Maribel left?

Over the loudspeaker came the fuzzy announcement that the noon boat for Hyannis was ready to depart. Maribel lifted her face from his chest, her mascara ran and her upper lip quivered. But she said nothing. It was Mack’s turn to speak.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he said. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he said. “Maribel, I love you.”

“You love me?” she said.

“Yes.” He was sure that hearing this hurt worse than anything else he could have said, but what could he do? It was the truth.

Maribel blinked her blue eyes, more tears fell.

“I want you to stay,” he said. “Please stay.”

She smiled, and for a second Mack saw her as she was when it all began: Maribel standing in the stacks of the Nantucket Atheneum secretly reading a paperback romance. Six years younger and full of hope.

“I want you to stay,” he said.

“You’re lying,” she said. “But thank you.” Then, she turned and ran from him.

A Kleenex fell from her pocket and blew toward Mack. He picked it up-it was wet and stained with black splotches. He put it in his pocket and climbed into his Jeep. If he had a dog in the seat next to him, he might be able to watch the boat pull out of its slip and listen to its lonely moan of a horn. But he couldn’t do it alone, so he drove away.

Back at the hotel, things were quiet. The wind sang a bit, and Mack heard the thock of a gull dropping a hermit crab shell onto the asphalt. This was a taste of what the winter would be like-after Bill and Therese left for Aspen and it was just him, living alone in Lacey’s cottage. He hoped he’d learn to appreciate his solitude. That was what Mack wanted-to hear this quiet and be able to call it peace.

A man jogged into the parking lot. He was in his early fifties, with thick blond hair, wearing a Nantucket sweatshirt and navy nylon shorts. His legs were red with the cold. He looked familiar and Mack ran through the summer’s faces. Beach Club member? Hotel guest?