Chapter Seventeen
Daff and Daniel start laughing as Michael struggles to maneuver the bicycles out of the shed.
"What?” Michael looks up at Daff, as Daniel shakes his head in disbelief.
“You’re not serious?” Daniel chuckles.
“About what?” Michael is bemused.
Daff chimes in. “We’re riding those?”
Michael looks down at the bikes. “What’s wrong with them? Admittedly they’re a bit dusty but I’ll wash them up and oil them and they’ll be as good as new.”
“How old are they?” Daniel asks.
Michael grins. “I think they were one of my mum’s wedding presents.”
“They look it.” Daniel gingerly takes one and wheels it around the courtyard. “Actually, they look older. If you took those onto the Antiques Roadshow you’d probably find they’re worth a fortune.”
“Oh come on.” Michael looks down at the bikes. “They’re not that bad.”
“Of course they’re not,” Daniel says. “They’re gorgeous. I’m just not used to seeing people ride bikes like that.”
“But they’re classic bikes. They’re beautiful.”
“You’re right. They are, but I live in a town where everything has to be new, and shiny, and the best. If you’re going to ride a bike it has to be a top of the line mountain bike, and no less than two years old.”
“Well, where I come from we love the old classics. Give me a beaten-up old Jeep, or a classic Schwinn any day.”
“I agree.” Daff smiles. “But Daniel’s right. We live in an age when we’re expected to wear our wealth on our sleeves, when money is God and the more you have the more you’re expected to display it. You can’t believe some of the houses being built in my town.”
“Oh I can,” Daniel says. “Let me guess—seven thousand square feet is now the norm?”
“Yup.” She laughs. “And that’s slightly on the small side. Then there are all the things you have to have with it: his and her closets, each the size of a bedroom, sweeping staircase and marble floor in the center hall . . .”
“Range Rover in the garage?” Michael contributes.
“Or the Hummer for the wife,” Daff offers. “But I’ll tell you my favorite. The local paper did an article about a house that went up on the water a couple of years ago. It was done by some big-name architect, and decorated by one of the big New York designers, and it was . . . wait for it . . . twenty thousand square feet.”
“Who in the hell needs twenty thousand square feet?” Michael gasps. “I mean, seriously? What for? What does anyone need with that? Do they have an army of children?”
“No, young couple in their late thirties—he’d evidently made a killing from hedge funds—and they had two small children. And here’s my favorite part: throughout this article they kept being quoted saying things like they were very unpretentious, and they wanted the house to be cozy and informal. They said they were very down to earth and wanted it to be inviting and reflective of who they are.” Daff cracks up laughing, along with Daniel, while Michael shakes his head in astonishment.
“How do you make twenty thousand square feet cozy?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.
“You don’t.” Daniel shrugs. “And trust me, everyone I’ve ever met who lives in one of those houses will tell you the same thing: they’re very down to earth and not pretentious in the slightest, and they’re ever so slightly embarrassed they ended up with such a big house.”
Daff sighs. “Give me an antique any day.”
“Me too,” Michael says. “As far as I’m concerned the old houses in town right here on Nantucket are sheer perfection.”
“I love those!” Daff says. “Didn’t we drive past them on the way out here the other day? I’d love to see them again properly. Can we do a tour?”
“Of course,” Michael replies. “Just give me a chance to get the bikes cleaned off. Daniel, are you going to come?”
“I don’t think so,” Daniel says. “But thanks. I feel like I’ve abandoned work a bit, so I’m going to look for somewhere with wifi in town and get some work out of the way.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. The girls are with me this weekend and I need to get all this stuff done before they arrive so I can just truly focus on them.”
“You sound like a wonderful father,” Daff says, her eyes suddenly sad as she thinks about Jess.
“I have wonderful children,” he says, and bidding them good-bye he turns to go inside.
Nan lies in bed, surrounded by magazines. It’s not often she does this, relax in bed and let the house get on without her, but for the first time in months she feels safe enough to do it, safe enough mostly because Michael is back, because the house finally feels alive again.
The wheels of the house, deep in the underbelly, are creaking and groaning but turning again, pushing a life force, an energy, through the house that is gathering a momentum of its own.
What a relief that it is not solely down to Nan to breathe life into Windermere; what a relief to know that Windermere has awoken, will continue, possibly even without Nan.
For Nan is tired these days. Unsurprising perhaps, given how much she has had to do, especially now that Sarah has gone to the Cape with her husband’s family until the end of the summer. Nan hadn’t realized, before now, quite how much she takes Sarah for granted, nor quite how much Sarah does for her.
And she misses her, wishes that after all her work in transforming the house, Sarah were here to join in the fun of being with these wonderful people. And she also wishes Sarah were here to insist on sending Nan upstairs, protesting all the time, when Sarah can see that she’s exhausted.
Nan is careful not to show anyone how tired she is, doesn’t want anyone to worry about her, but this morning, after breakfast, after she made pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon for everyone, she walked back upstairs and saw that she had forgotten to make the bed, and it looked so warm, so inviting and cozy, that all at once she felt exhausted, so she kicked off her shoes and sank back into bed, falling quickly into a deep sleep.
She didn’t even hear Michael poke his head around the door, smiling at her as he walked over and tucked the covers around her, much as you would do to a child.
Nan awakened feeling a little better, but still not quite herself. Probably coming down with something. She had, after all, been around those adorable little girls—Stella and Lizzie—and weren’t children just like little mobile Petri dishes of germs? Wouldn’t it be just her luck to have picked up some kind of ghastly summer flu that was sweeping the elementary schools of Massachusetts?
“Can I get you anything?” Daniel knocks on the door and comes in.
“No thank you, Daniel,” she says, with a smile that is trying to be as luminous as always. Ten minutes later Daniel reappears with a cup of tea.
“You are a love,” she says. “Now where is Michael? Have you seen him?” She pats her bed, inviting Daniel to perch on the edge.
“He and Daff have taken out those ancient bikes to go exploring.”
“Oh good,” Nan says, “I hope they have fun. I have a sense that there could be a romance between them. Is that awful of me to say? You mustn’t say anything.”
“I won’t.” Daniel smiles. “And I feel the same thing. Michael invited me along but I graciously declined. I thought that the two of them ought to be alone somehow.”
“Good for you,” Nan says. “So what are you up to today?”
“I do have to work. I’m off into town. Are you sure I can’t get you anything else? Do you need me to call a doctor or anything?”
“Good heavens, no! I’m not truly sick, just feeling a little under the weather. I’m fine. I don’t believe in doctors anyway. I only ever believed in Dr. Grover, who used to patch up all the local kids when they tore themselves up. But not for us adults. Quite unnecessary, I think.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure.” And with a smile she waves him out of the room.
“Are you certain you’re okay?” Michael keeps stopping on his bike, way ahead of Daff, waiting for her to catch up, which she does eventually, puffing away like a lunatic.
“Absolutely,” she says, forcing a smile and trying not to show quite how out of shape she is. “It looks a damn sight more fun than it is, though,” she says wryly, and Michael laughs.
“When did you say you last exercised?”
“I didn’t.” She puts on a fake scowl. “In between working, being a single mother, and running my life and that of a truculent teenager, I haven’t quite been able to fit in those good old Pilates classes.”
“Let’s take a break,” Michael says, climbing off his bike and sinking down onto the grass. “We can sit for a while. So . . . your life sounds busy. Is your ex involved?”
“With me or my daughter?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Your daughter’s with him now, isn’t she? So that’s a given.”
“True. I have to say, I think we get on fine. I thought at the time that I would never get over the pain, but I came to see that there was a reason he looked outside the marriage, that if it had been as good and as perfect as I thought, he would never have looked elsewhere.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael says. “I didn’t realize.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t tell you. But yes, I am that clichéd woman who discovers her husband is having an affair.”
“And you didn’t want to give him a second chance?” Michael cannot help himself, he is thinking of Jordana, of what would happen if Jackson found out.
“I always thought I would. I mean, in those conversations where you imagine the worst and you wonder how you’d react, I think I always thought that I might be able to forgive an affair, that infidelity doesn’t have to be the ultimate destroyer of a marriage, but Richard couldn’t choose, and that’s what I couldn’t forgive.” She sighs. “That’s enough about me. What’s your story?”
“Me? I don’t have a story.” Michael grins.
“Forty . . . what? Three? Four?”
“Close. Two.”
“Ever been married?”
“Nope.”
“There’s a story right there.”
“Maybe, but it isn’t nearly as exciting as it sounds. I think I just chose badly. I had a couple of long-term relationships with women who were great in many ways, but who weren’t great for me. I never found peace in a relationship, and now I thank my lucky stars I didn’t end up marrying them because it wouldn’t have ended well.” He pauses. “And then there was my latest unfortunate incident.”
“Oh yes?”
“I hate even admitting it, particularly when your husband had an affair, and I’m not proud of it at all . . .”
“You had an affair with a married woman?”
Michael nods, and when he looks up he sees Daff’s eyes are gentle. Despite what has happened to her, he is not being judged.
“Was that the crazy ringing of the phone last night?” She raises a knowing eyebrow.
“Oh God. Is it that obvious?”
Daff smiles. “I’ve been there before. I figured it was something to do with a woman. So, what now?”
“It’s over. Completely.”
“For both of you?”
“That’s the problem. For me, absolutely. But she wants to carry on. She has this crazy idea that I’m her soulmate. And I adore this woman, truly I do. She’s someone I’ve known for years; but as I’ve come to know her better I’ve realized there’s no way we belong together, and I had to leave.”
“Aha! So that’s the reason you fled back home to Nantucket. ”
“Pretty much. What are you fleeing from?”
“Not fleeing from,” Daff muses, standing up and stretching. “Looking for, I think. Looking for who I am.”
“Before you became a wife and mother?”
Daff looks at him in surprise. “Exactly! How did you know?” “I don’t know.” Michael stands up with her and climbs back on his bike. “It just seemed to make sense.”
Michael shows Daff all the places a first-timer to Nantucket should see, and then some of the places that aren’t so necessary, but that are important to him. He takes her to the Sankaty lighthouse, scene of his first kiss, the jeweler where he used to work on Saturdays, where he discovered he loved his craft, and out to Coatue, where he and his friends used to have wild drinking parties late at night on the beach.
They stop at the Club Car for lunch, and later the Juice Bar for ice cream, walking back outside to find a group of boys from the bike shop next door standing around their bicycles.
“Are these yours?” says one.
“Yup.”
“Man, I haven’t seen bikes like this in years. My dad grew up on one like this. This is a serious bike.”
“I know. It’s been around for a long, long time.”
“Can I take it to the end of the road?”
“Sure.” Michael watches as the kid cycles off, and Daff turns to him in amazement.
“What?” Michael looks at her.
“He could steal it,” she whispers uncertainly.
“He’s not going to steal it. He’ll be back in a minute.”
“I can’t believe you trusted him with your bike. What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He will. But if he doesn’t we’ll hitchhike home.”
Daff gasps. “Hitchhike? Are you crazy?”
Michael starts to laugh. “I’d be crazy if I was proposing hitchhiking on, say, the Bruckner Expressway, or on Third Avenue, but this is Nantucket. Anyway, I’m joking. We won’t have to hitchhike. He’ll be back any second.”
Fifteen minutes later Daff stands back and raises an eyebrow at Michael.
“Who’s going to be hitchhiking now?” she says.
Michael shakes his head. “Damn. I can’t believe that. I really thought he was a good kid.”
“You’re not as savvy as you seem, Mr.-I-live-in-New-York-City. ” Daff laughs.
“Oh no?” Michael grins as the kid screeches up next to them.
“I got carried away.” He climbs off the bike and hands it to Michael, who gives Daff an “I told you so” look. “That is one sweet bike. I almost took off with it,” he adds. Michael returns his smile, and pointedly ignores Daff, who is trying not to laugh.
“You’re obviously a lucky man,” she says, as they wheel the bikes around the corner.
Michael looks at her in disbelief. “Hardly,” he says wryly. “I used to think life tended to play out the way you expect it to. If you expect the best in people, generally they’ll give you the best, and if you expect the worst, then that’s what you’ll get.” He sighs. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
“You should be sure. I think that sounds very wise,” Daff says. “And very true. I think a lot of the time I operate out of fear, but your way sounds much better.”
“Fear of what?”
“Of everything. Of not having enough money, of Jess not wanting to come back, of not getting enough work, of losing my home.”
“Sounds like a scary place to live.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s not like I think about these things every day, nor that the fear is so bad it’s ever crippling, but I’m aware of things being hard, and mostly I think I’m aware of the buck stopping with me. If I don’t get enough work, then I don’t have enough money, and if I don’t have enough money, then I could lose my house, and there isn’t anyone else I can turn to for help.” Daff laughs nervously. “Oh God! Will you listen to me? I sound like a neurotic wreck. Listen, I love my life, I’m just aware that I have a huge responsibility, and sometimes that feels a little overwhelming. That’s all.”
“I get it,” Michael says. “I feel much the same way most of the time. Let’s go and sit down on that bench.” And as they walk over to it, he places his hand on the small of her back, an unconscious gesture, a kindness, but Daff is immediately aware of the warmth of his hand on her back, and is stunned that a feeling of absolute safety washes over her as she allows herself to be guided to the bench.
Daniel is standing at the island in the kitchen when they get back, chopping carrots.
“What are you doing?” Daff asks, sitting at the kitchen table. “Where’s Nan?”
“She’s not feeling well,” Daniel says, then turns to Michael. “I’m making her some chicken soup but I’m wondering whether we should call a doctor.”
“She was fine this morning,” Michael says, bewildered. “What’s the matter with her?”
“She says she’s fine, but she looks gray and seems exhausted. She’s probably coming down with some flu-type thing.”
“I’ll go up and see her,” Michael says, heading for the door.
“I hope she’ll be okay,” Daff says.
Michael turns around just as he walks through the doorway. “Oh she’ll be fine. She’s as strong as an ox. Just you wait and see.”
Sure enough, two hours later Nan comes downstairs ready to start cooking dinner, looking absolutely fine.
“How are you feeling?” Daff rushes over, but Nan waves her away.
“I’m as right as rain,” she says firmly. “I just needed a lazy day in bed. But something smells delicious, did someone make dinner?”
Daniel shrugs. “Me, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I just thought I’d go ahead and do it. Do you mind?”
“Mind? I’m thrilled!” Nan walks over to the dresser and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and an elegant gold lighter from the drawer. “I’m just going out to the porch for a ciggie. I’d love a drink, Michael, darling. Could you mix us up some martinis? Daff? Daniel? Coming?”
They follow her out and Michael looks at her with concern. Until fairly recently he had assumed his mother would go on forever, that there would never come a time when he looks at her and has to worry, but tonight, for the first time, he actually sees her frailty, rather than worrying about it in the abstract, and as they walk across the deck he takes her arm, and she looks at him happily.
“I love you, Mom,” he mouths, and she smiles at him before sinking into a chair, taking a cigarette out of the pack and putting it to her lips for Michael to light.