I barely recognized Jack’s boat. It was sparkling, clean, seaworthy even, a murky oyster scrubbed and steamed to reveal the pearl inside. I had replaced the old overstuffed fabric couches with sleek, stylish, low-profile leather furniture that still looked manly and boatlike and would stand up to the water. The disgusting carpet had been replaced by shimmering teak floors. The quartz in the kitchen, appliances, and granite in the bath were all new and brought the boat up to date while still maintaining its integrity. The gorgeous wood inside had all been shined and polished and looked fresh and fabulous.
Jack emerged from the cabin looking as though he should be on a yacht advertisement. He had on navy Top-Siders and a navy-and-white-check button-down with the sleeves rolled up hanging out over his shorts.
“There’s my girl,” he said.
My insides went soft. “Am I?” I said.
“Are you not?”
There it was. That amused look that made my heart race. He stepped off the boat and onto the dock. “Let me help you with this stuff. You’re going to be excited,” he said, as we carried the bedding into the master bedroom. “Look.” He pointed proudly. “New mattress.”
I smiled. “That is so wonderful. Now you aren’t sleeping in mildew and bed bugs.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” He took the pillows and set them on the bed. Then he swooped me up in his arms and kissed me. And just like that, all of my worries from a few minutes earlier floated away like fresh dew in the early-morning sun.
“I missed you,” he whispered, kissing the tip of my nose.
“I missed you, too.”
And I knew I had. There was simply no reason to keep fighting it.
We made the bed and tucked in the coverlet, tight and smooth.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “A beautiful room on a beautiful boat. Who the hell would’ve thought?”
Jack pulled me to him, and we admired my handiwork.
“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking now that she’s seaworthy, I might take her out on the open water.”
I gasped. “Is she ready for that?”
I was actually wondering if I was ready for that. I liked having Jack right here, where I could find him.
He nodded and held up his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
We both laughed.
“And so,” he continued, taking my hand in his, “I was wondering if you would consider joining me on the maiden voyage of the Miss Ansley.”
I gasped and hit his arm. “You did not name your boat after me.”
He grinned. “Oh, I assure you, I did. The guys will be here to change the name this afternoon.”
I laughed. When a man named his boat after you, he was in. “I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds fun, but isn’t that kind of a lot of . . . pressure?”
He looked at me, puzzled, his eyebrows meeting in the center of his forehead. Then he laughed, catching on, and said, “Oh, Ans, we never had any trouble with that.” He shrugged. “And there’s no pressure. If you don’t want to, we’ll wait.”
Oh, but I wanted to.
He smiled and pulled me in close to him, kissing me with all the fervor he had when he was a teenager. In so many ways, he was that same kid. “I’d hate to make it awkward,” he said, unbuttoning my blouse, his mouth still on mine.
My hands found the button of his shorts, and I wondered, briefly, if I could still do this. It had been sixteen years, after all. But I was sure it would come right back to me. Like riding a bike . . .
As he lowered me onto the bed, I said, “Jack, no!”
He looked at me, alarmed.
I laughed. “Oh, no. Not that. I just had all these shams and coverlets pressed.”
He rolled his eyes and kissed me. And I can truly say that I didn’t give that bedding another thought.
THIRTY
defying physics
caroline
After that semester I spent in Peachtree Bluff after Dad died, I was at NYU summer school so fast it would have made your head spin. Back to my friends. Back to the not-so-fresh air, the crowds, the noise, the excitement, the center of the universe, basically. I didn’t even glance in the rearview mirror. (Well, I mean, the theoretical rearview mirror. As we’ve established, I didn’t drive.) I was so ready to get out of there. Ready for freedom. And my sisters would tell you that they were quite ready to get rid of me, too.
That first weekend back in New York, I realized that against all odds, I was starting to feel a little bit, well, family-sick. I wasn’t homesick. I mean, I was home. But I missed my sisters. So I picked up the phone, called my mom, and asked if they could come stay. She, of course, said yes, but she couldn’t talk Sloane into returning to New York. She wasn’t ready. Instead, Mom bought me a ticket back to Peachtree Bluff.
I didn’t and couldn’t, obviously, but it still made me happy at the end of the long weekend when Sloane and Emerson begged me to stay. I knew Mom wanted to beg me to stay, too, despite what a pill I had been, but that would have been bad parenting.
When I got home from our family weekend at the Cloister, I could tell that James wanted me to ask him to stay. But I didn’t. Because, yeah, we’d had a decent vacation, but that was a long, far cry from moving back in together. Surely he knew that.
When I walked into the main house, Vivi ran upstairs to see the boys. And it was like the jig was up. Mom, Grammy, Sandra, Emily, Emerson, Sloane, and Hummus were all sitting in the living room.
“We’re sorry,” Emily said, pointing at Sandra. “We know we aren’t family, but we’re dying over here.”
I laughed.
“Holy hell,” Sandra said, before anyone could say anything. She motioned for my hand. “That is the biggest rock I’ve ever seen. It’s gorgeous.”
Grammy shook her head. “Don’t let him buy you.”
“I’m not letting him buy me,” I said. “For him, it was a show of good faith that he’s in this even though he knows I may not be.”
Emerson motioned, her mouth open. “That is seriously insane. Like you shouldn’t wear it in public.”
“OK,” Mom said. “How did it go? Did you decide anything?”
I told them about the weekend, the dinner and the horseback riding, the fun family activities. I omitted the sex, although my sisters would weigh in on that later.
“I think,” I said, “that I’m going to give it another shot. Vivi, Preston, and I have a few more months in Peachtree, and I’ll try to make a decision one way or another before we go back to New York.” I sighed. “But I do believe he’s sorry, and I do believe he wants me back. So that’s good.”
“That’s big of you,” Sloane said.
“Yeah,” Emerson chimed in. “I’m shocked.”
“The long and short of it is that I don’t know what’s going to happen. So stay tuned . . .”
Mom shifted nervously on the couch.
“What?”
“You might be mad.”
I sat on the arm of Emerson’s chair. She handed me her wineglass, and I took a sip. I felt like I might need it.
“I ran into someone today,” Mom said. “And he’s coming to say hi to you at nine.”
I could feel the confusion on my face. “Who?”
“Peter,” she whispered.
My heart raced. “Peter Hoffman?”
She nodded. I laughed. Oh, my gosh. I’d had the hots for Peter Hoffman big-time. We’d had a fun Christmas break in Peachtree and one awkward hookup once I was at NYU. But I wouldn’t hold his nineteen-year-old hookup skills against him.