Nantucket Blue

Four





THE FIRST TIME I THOUGHT of going to Nantucket by myself, I was about to pick up the phone and call Deirdre King, mother of Andrew. I’d already typed in her number on my phone and was staring at it on the screen. My lip curled. Why, I wondered, was I doing it? I hated that job. Last summer, Andrew was obsessed with the word boobies. He’d say “boobies,” then punch me in the boob. It really sucked. Especially when Mrs. King found it funny, which maybe it was if it wasn’t your boob. I didn’t want to play the straight man for Andrew King’s comedy act again. I hung up the phone. I won’t do it, I thought, falling back on my bed. I won’t.

I started to think of other babysitting jobs, ones that provided housing, ones that I heard paid twenty bucks an hour or more. Ones on Nantucket.

A little seed was planted.

The second time I thought of going to Nantucket by myself, I was sitting on the front porch, texting with Jay. It was supposed to have been my night at Dad’s, but Alexi wasn’t having a good night, so none of us was having a good night. Polly had adopted him from an orphanage in the Ukraine when he was three years old, and he’d had a pretty rough time there, which I guess is why he sometimes had these fits. Alexi loved the Beatles, and that night, after the fifth time of listening to “Yellow Submarine,” I was going a little insane, so I changed the song. I put on James Taylor, one of Dad’s favorites, but it set Alexi off. He started rocking on the floor, kicking his heels and wailing, even after I’d switched it back. Polly had to make him feel better, which meant that Dad had to make Polly feel better. I slipped out the back door without even touching my grilled steak. Dad was too swept up in the chaos to convince me to stay. He just waved good-bye and blew me a kiss.

At least it was peaceful at Mom’s, I thought as I read a text from Jay. He’d gotten a job as a lifeguard out there on Nantucket, at a beach called Surfside. I started thinking about my almost-kiss with him and the moment when he’d pulled me onto his lap. I was thinking about sitting in a lifeguard chair with him in my new plum-colored J. Crew bikini with a ruffle. I was thinking about kissing him in the sand.

The seed burst from its husk and sprang green spindly roots.

The third time I thought about going to Nantucket alone, I was at the Brown University Bookstore. I was looking for my summer reading books when I saw a T-shirt just like Nina’s. My heart cramped. I held my breath. I couldn’t be away from Jules all summer. The Claytons might need alone time now, but in a week or so Jules would want me there, she’d need me. I wouldn’t be in their house, so I wouldn’t be a burden, and they’d still have their privacy. But I’d be close by. Ready to pitch in. Ready to load the dishwasher or run to the store for milk. I’d be ready to whip out a board game when that famous Nantucket fog rolled in. I’d make silver dollar pancakes for everyone. I’m good at that. I had an image of me setting the table.

But the vision was quickly replaced by one of Nina with the colorful place mats that she brought home from Mexico last spring. I could see her hands laying them on the table. I could see the wavy silver cuff bracelet around her wrist. I could see her eyes squinting in a laugh as Jules and I tied the matching napkins on our heads like bandannas. It made me miss her so much I felt like I’d been kicked. I held my breath until the sadness subsided.

I bought all my summer reading books except one (they didn’t have the collection of Emily Dickinson poems for Mrs. Hart’s class), and stopped to get a Del’s from the cart on the corner. I handed over the dollar bills, soft and crinkled from a whole day in my back pocket, and took the cold little waxy dish of frozen lemonade. One lick woke up my mouth, chilled my sinuses. It would be fun to go alone. I was going to be eighteen in eight weeks, an official adult with the right to vote and join the armed services. I’d have my own paycheck and spend my money as I chose. I’d go to that café I’d heard Jules talking about, the Even Keel. I’d develop a croissant and coffee habit. I’d go running on the beach every morning and cool off in the ocean afterward. Maybe, in the evening, I’d carry a sketch pad. My whereabouts would not be known at all times, and this idea filled me with space: a pleasant, light-filled space.

I’ll be like a college student, I thought as I stopped in front of a café popular with Brown students. The plastic bag of books strained and started to cut off the circulation in my hand. I switched my grip and peered in the window. A girl in a sundress with a purse slung over her chair was scribbling in an artist’s notebook. I should wear dresses more. I need a notebook like that, I thought, when a cute guy walked in, kissed her, and sat down with a couple of drinks. As he touched her knee under the table and they clinked glasses, the idea of going to Nantucket by myself bloomed like a tropical flower.

I had to go.