Nantucket Blue

Eight





AS I WALKED TO THE HOUSE, I imagined lifting the scallop-shell knocker—Jules’s eyes huge at the happy surprise—how she might do that little jump-flutter-kick thing, then link her arm in mine and pull me to the two-seater swing on the porch, another spot well documented in the Clayton family photos.

I got there in no time at all. The house was exactly as I’d imagined it. Rose-covered trellis, soft inviting lawn with a garden, bushes with big flowers lining the front of the house, a wraparound porch with beach towels hung over the railing to dry, two bicycles leaning against the garage, a wood-paneled Wagoneer parked in the driveway (the land yacht, Zack called it).

I knocked. Jules answered the door right away. Her hair was up and she had on makeup.

“Ta-da,” I said, and stretched out my arms.

“What?” She blinked. She wore new earrings. Dangly ones.

“It’s me, Cricket,” I said. I wondered if in her grief she’d forgotten who I was.

“I know,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m living here. I got a job and a place to stay and everything!” I said, holding my arms open like Jules might jump into them. But she just stood there in the doorway with a blank face. I put my hands in my pockets. “I’m a chambermaid.” God, it sounded so weird.

“Oh.” She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, switching on a light that hung above the door. “Where?”

“The Cranberry Inn?” Jules shook her head, didn’t know it. “It’s so close. It’s practically around the corner.”

“Wow.” She smiled, but it looked like it hurt.

“So this is the famous Nantucket house,” I said, taking a few steps backward. The damp grass brushed my ankles. The light bulb buzzed inside its glass walls. Dark moths fluttered around it. The sky above was filled with stars. I breathed in the night air. “It’s beautiful.”

She nodded and sat on one of the benches. I sat across from her, tucking my hands under my thighs. She was quiet, so I just started talking. I told her about the bus ride to Boston and the Lucas kid. I told her about Gavin in his hippie pants, and Liz’s accent. I told her about my room at the Cranberry Inn, the slanted ceiling, the tiny dresser and the little window, the front door that was never locked. I told her that it took me less than five minutes to get to her house from there. I talked so much my mouth was dry; she didn’t say anything back.

“I completely understand why you can’t have any houseguests this summer,” I said. “I mean, of course. But I figured this way I could be here for you. If you need me at any time, you just call out my name, that kind of thing.”

“Thanks,” she said, staring past me. She crossed her legs and pulled out a cigarette. I tried not to act surprised. We’d only smoked once before. It was in her basement. It felt terrible, like breathing exhaust from an old school bus, and it made me nauseous and lightheaded. Nina smelled the smoke from the garage, where she’d been doing one of her projects—something with a sawhorse. She ran into the basement saying no, no, no, and waving a broom in a way that was unintentionally hilarious.

Later, she’d sat us down for a serious chat, showing us pictures on the Internet of black, shriveled lungs and faces so wrinkled they looked like they were made of corduroy. I hadn’t had a cigarette since then, but Jules was smoking like she knew how, tapping her finger on the end so that ash fell like snow into a Coke can. The beach towels on the porch rail stirred in the breeze.

“Want one?” she asked. I shook my head.

“Where’s your dad?” I asked.

“At the Club Car.” I nodded as if I knew what this meant. I heard someone laughing inside the house—a girl.

“Who’s here?” I asked.

“Zack and this girl.”

“Who is it?” As far as I knew, Zack hadn’t ever really had a girlfriend. There was Valerie, a French girl he’d met on a ski trip to Vail, but after a few weeks of video chatting, she’d sent Zack a dramatic e-mail and moved on. He wouldn’t eat french fries for a month, and all French words were banned from the house, including omelet, perfume, and champagne.

“This girl out here,” Jules said. She dropped her cigarette into the Coke can. It hissed.

“Cool. Hey, have you seen Jay?” I asked. “He said he was a lifeguard at Surfer’s Beach.”

“Surfside,” Jules said. “And, yeah, I saw him last night.”

“How’d he look?” Was he with anyone? Did he ask about me?

“Hot,” she said with a quickness and certainty that made me want to remind her how much I liked him.

“I can’t believe how close we came to kissing at Nora’s. It was amazing.”

“Must be something about a whore’s house.”

“I can’t wait to see him. I don’t know if I should text him, or if it’s better for me to just run into him.”

“I’d wait to run into him,” she said.

“You think?”

She nodded. “Anyway, I’m really tired. I think I’m going to hit the sack.”

“Well, all right,” I said, standing up. I hadn’t had a puff of the cigarette, but I had that lightheadedness anyway. I turned to head down the path that led back out to the street. “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Jules said. I opened the gate to leave.

“Are you hacking butts again, Jules?” I turned around. Zack was leaning out a first-floor window. He squinted in my direction. “Hey, who’s that?”

“It’s Cricket,” I said, and waved. Seconds later, the screen door was snapping shut behind him. He was barefoot and his hair was sticking up, like he hadn’t taken a shower since he’d come home from the beach. Jules stepped out of the way as he walked toward me in a half jog. Had he grown an inch in the last week?

“What are you doing here?” He gave me a quick, hard hug. He smelled like sunscreen and salt water. “I thought you weren’t coming. I thought you had a babysitting job in Providence. When did you get here? Are you staying with us?”

“No, remember what Dad said?” Jules said, standing several feet behind us. Zack looked confused.

“I got here tonight. I got a job at the Cranberry Inn, and I’m staying there.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that place. Don’t they have famous muffins?”

“I don’t know,” I said, smiling at the thought of Zack keeping up with the Nantucket muffin gossip.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Are you coming to the party in ’Sconset tomorrow?”

“What party?”

“It’s not a party,” Jules said. She was now silhouetted in the doorway, and I could see Nina in her shape so well that I felt a light pressure on my chest. “Just a few kids who come every summer, getting together.” I wondered if this meant that Jay would be there. I had a feeling it did.

“Fine. We’ll call it a mixer,” Zack said to Jules. “I didn’t know you had such a penchant for precision.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she said.

“Penchant?” I asked with raised eyebrows.

“I’m a Word Warrior,” he said. That was the SAT vocabulary-building program everyone had. Zack took a pen from his pocket. Then he took my hand, uncurled it, smoothed it, and wrote on my palm: 15 Sand Dollar Lane.

“I don’t know where that is,” I said.

“Just take Milestone Road.”

“Can I walk?”

“No. I’m getting a ride from work. But text Jules. She’ll take you.” We turned to her, but she was gone.