The Beach Club

6 The Boys of Summer

July 10

Dear S.B.T.,

If we are to continue in this strange correspondence, I want some answers. Who are you? What do you do for a living? Why do you want this hotel? What could it possibly mean to you? And, most crucially, what right do you have telling me what my own daughter wants or doesn’t want? What do you know about me, really? You know only what I’ve told you in letters and what you might observe from the street. Isn’t that right?

Or are you someone on the inside? Are you a Beach Club member, a hotel guest, someone who walks the property every day? Answer me!

Bill Elliott

Mack spent the days following the Fourth of July questioning his future. His sweat equity had turned out to be nothing but sweat-salty water-and at the Beach Club, there was more than enough of that to go around. He’d been threatened with a gun by one of his employees, his girlfriend had kicked him out, and the woman he loved didn’t love him back. Running the farm in Iowa was looking better and better. It might not be so bad-climbing up into a combine again and knowing that as far as his eyes could see, the land belonged to him. He had half a mind to call David Pringle and tell him to hire a cleaning lady because Mack Petersen was moving back. He heard the eerie, haunting voice of Nantucket calling out Home, but Mack didn’t know what that meant anymore. He always assumed it meant Nantucket was his home, but the other night it seemed just as feasible that the voice was telling him to go home to Iowa. It might feel good to return, Mack thought. It might feel as good as it had felt to leave.

But then, just as Mack had almost made up his mind, the Boys of Summer arrived.

“How-Baby” Comatis always made Mack feel better, because when Mack saw How-Baby, he thought about hot dogs and cold beer, dugouts, organ music, extra innings, home plate. He thought about baseball: the word that defined summertime for the rest of America. Howard Comatis was president of the Texas Rangers, and he stayed at the Beach Club every July during the all-star break. He came with his wife, Tonya, and his two baseball buddies-Roy Silverstein (VP of marketing for the California Angels) and Dominic Saint-Jean (president of the Montreal Expos) and their wives. How-Baby was in every way the group’s leader-he was a tall, muscular Greek with a full head of black hair and a bushy mustache. His wife, Tonya, called everyone baby, and she always called Howard How-Baby, whether she was speaking to him or about him, and the name stuck. Mack had a hard time thinking of Howard Comatis as anything but How-Baby.

Mack first saw How-Baby when he opened the door of Lacey Gardner’s cottage at seven-thirty in the morning. How-Baby was standing on Lacey’s tiny porch.

“Howard,” Mack said, startled. “Good morning. Welcome back.”

How-Baby held out a Texas Rangers hat. “Put this on,” he said. “We have fifty bucks riding on who could get you to wear their hat first. The other two bozos are waiting by the lobby. They have no detective skills whatsoever.”

Mack took the hat. He had three like it at home from previous years, but he’d left them in the apartment with Maribel. He creased the brim, and tried it on: a good, snug fit. “All right,” Mack said. “Thanks.”

How-Baby put his arm around Mack’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid. Come with me. I want to show you off.”

Sure enough, Roy Silverstein stood on the front porch of the lobby holding a California Angels cap and Dominic St. Jean was stationed out by the Nantucket Beach Club and Hotel sign, holding an Expos cap.

“Damn,” Roy said, when Mack and How-Baby rounded the corner. “I thought for sure Dom was going to get Mack when he pulled in. Where’d you find him, How-Baby?”

“None of your business,” How-Baby said. “Now pay up.”

Roy was short, bald and skinny. He wore a pair of madras swim trunks cinched at the waist. He reached into his pocket and pulled out twenty-five dollars. “Hey, Dom,” Roy said. “How-Baby got to Mack first. Don’t ask me how.”

Dominic crunched across the parking lot. Dominic was the most elegant of the three men. Because he was Canadian, he sometimes lapsed into speaking French, and he was the best dressed-this morning in creased navy slacks, a lemon yellow polo, and tasseled loafers.

“Merde,” Dominic said. He spun the cap around his index finger, then he tossed the cap to Mack. “Wear it tomorrow.”

“No, wear mine tomorrow,” Roy said.

“You stick with the front runner, Mack,” How-Baby said. “Stick with the Rangers.”

Tonya Comatis popped her head out the lobby door, her auburn beehive hair-do spun high like cotton candy. “Boys, get back to your rooms. I won’t have you competing with each other all week.” Her face brightened when she saw Mack. “Mack, baby,” she said. She kissed his cheek, leaving, Mack was sure, a ruby red lipstick mark. “Why, you look ex-haus-taid!”

“It’s early,” Mack said.

“No, I mean, you look really tired. You look tired to your bones.”

“Give the kid a break, Tonya,” How-Baby said. “Now, Mack, can you find us the plastic bat and a few of those Wiffle balls for this afternoon? I’m going to teach these clowns a thing or two.”

“You’d think they’d want to get away from baseball,” Tonya said. “You’d think they’d want to forget all about it. But no. They love it. They absolutely love it.”

“If baseball were a woman,” How-Baby said, “I’d marry her.”

“I’d marry her first,” Roy said.

“She wouldn’t marry either of you,” Dominic said. “You’re both too ugly.”

That afternoon at five o’clock when the beach boys took the umbrellas down for the day, the beach became a playing field. How-Baby and Roy marked the bases and the fair/foul line in the sand. Tonya and the other two wives-Dominic’s wife was a quiet blonde named Genevieve, and Roy’s wife this year wore ponytails and looked just about eighteen-pulled shorts on over their bikinis and brought out bottles of cold Evian. The teams were co-ed-usually How-Baby and the two wives versus Roy, Dominic, and Tonya, but sometimes it was How-Baby and Tonya against everyone else. One thing stayed the same: How-Baby’s team always won. He clobbered the wiffle ball into the ocean every time he was up. The first two balls were lost out at sea. “That would have been a home run at Wrigley,” How-Baby said, as he rounded the bases. “That would have been a homer at Candlestick.” Then Tonya made a rule that hitting the ball into the water constituted an automatic home run.

“I know you, How-Baby,” she said. “You’ll try for the upper decks at Yankee Stadium next, and we’ll lose the only ball we have left.”

How-Baby was amazing in the field, too. He pitched so fast the ball was a white blur. He had Roy and Dominic and the ladies swinging at air, and if they did hit the ball it was usually a crazy-spinning pop-up that fell right into How-Baby’s hands. There was a magic to the man, a magnetism that neither Bill nor Mack’s father had taught him.

Nine innings with How-Baby took about an hour. Then, the players came in from the field, Roy wiping his bald head with a handkerchief.

“The bastard doesn’t even cheat,” Roy said to Mack. “If he cheated, at least I could hate him.”

“I hate him anyway,” Dominic said. He swatted How-Baby’s behind.

“Join us for a cocktail,” How-Baby said. He wasn’t sweating or winded; he was as cool as the breeze off the water.

“Okay,” Mack said. It was after six and he’d planned to spend the evening with Andrea-it was her final night on the island and he was supposed to help James shave. Then he hoped to walk with Andrea and James up the beach, but suddenly that seemed depressing. Mack might find a perfect scallop shell or a sand dollar and he would give it to Andrea as something to remember him by, knowing full well that by the time she reached Baltimore, it would be broken or lost. Better to spend time with people who made him feel good.

Mack followed How-Baby to room 1. (How-Baby always booked room 1-there was no question how the man felt about being first.) They sat in the deck chairs. Tonya appeared with two sweating beers, and How-Baby drank half of his in one long swallow. The man lived with gusto.

“So, Mack, tell me, how was your winter?”

“It was good,” Mack said. A pale, unenthusiastic answer, but it was all he could muster-and it wasn’t a lie. The winter had been good; it was only since May that things had started to spin out of his control. “Maribel and I lived on Sunset Hill again, next to the Oldest House.”

How-Baby stroked his mustache. “I wanted to ask you about Maribel. I got worried when I heard you were living out in back of the hotel with an old lady. Because you know Tonya and I think you’re a marquis player, but we like Maribel a whole bunch too.”

“Everyone likes Maribel,” Mack said.

Tonya stepped onto the deck. “So we’ll see her, then?” she asked. “We’d like to take you kids out to dinner.”

“I know you’re busy,” How-Baby said. “But there’s something I want to ask you. Something big.”

Tonya swatted How-Baby on the arm. “Now you’re teasing,” she said. “Just tell him what it is, How-Baby. Tell him right now.”

“You don’t have to tell me right now,” Mack said. “Because, you see, with Maribel…”

“Okay, I will tell him right now,” How-Baby said. He finished his beer in a second swallow, then let out a strong, healthy belch. “I have a job for you.”

“A job?”

“A job, working for me, working for the Rangers. When this job opened up, I thought to myself, ‘I know exactly who I want this job to go to. Mack Petersen, that’s who.’”

Mack laughed. “As you know, Howard, I already have a job.”

How-Baby turned to Tonya and chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you that’s exactly what Mack was going to say?”

“You sure did, How-Baby. Now tell him the rest.”

How-Baby leaned forward. “Son, I know you like your job here at the hotel. And the job I’m offering you is hotel-related. This job is you setting up travel plans for the team-flights, hotel rooms, restaurants. It means a lot of interaction with the players, it means seeing the rest of the country.” He paused dramatically. “It means I will triple your salary. But you’ll still have your winters off, just like you do here. You’re free in the winter and in the summer you’re traveling, fraternizing with the biggest names in the sport, and you’re making money.” How-Baby settled back in his chair. “How can you pass that up?”

The first word that popped into Mack’s mind was ridiculous. The second word was why? Why was it ridiculous?

“It sounds tempting,” Mack admitted.

“But you have doubts,” How-Baby said. “You have doubts because I’m asking you to make a major league switcheroo here. I understand that. And so I want you to think it over. I want you to discuss it with your pretty Maribel and see what she has to say.”

“We know she’s going to love the idea,” Tonya said.

“We know she’s going to love the idea because that young lady has a good head on her shoulders. She knows a winner when she sees one. After all,” How-Baby said, clapping Mack on the back, “she picked you, didn’t she?”

“Sort of,” Mack said. He felt stupid admitting the truth to How-Baby. How-Baby wasn’t interested in what Mack had lost; he was interested in winning. “Maribel kicked me out of the apartment. I made a mistake.”

Tonya tugged on her earlobe. “Another woman?” she whispered.

Mack’s neck grew warm. “Something like that.”

How-Baby slapped his leg. “I knew it,” he said. He nudged Tonya. “Didn’t I tell you Mack was in the doghouse and that’s why he was living out back? I knew it.”

“It’s worse than just the doghouse,” Mack said. “It’s complicated.”

How-Baby put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Of course it’s complicated,” he said. “It’s love. Love is the greatest thing in the world. And you’re talking to a man who’s been married twenty-seven years.”

“That’s right,” Tonya said. She kissed How-Baby’s forehead, leaving two red lips behind. “But love is hard work too.”

“Harder than pitching a no-hitter with four fingers,” How-Baby said. “Harder than playing centerfield in a hundred-degree heat. It’s damn hard.”

“Yeah,” Mack said.

“Let me ask you something,” How-Baby said. “Do you love Maribel? Do you really love her?”

Mack nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, then, let’s hear you tell the world. Go on and say it.”

“I love her,” Mack said.

“Say it louder,” How-Baby said.

“I love her,” Mack said.

How-Baby scooted to the edge of his chair. “Say it louder.”

Mack hesitated; this must be the way How-Baby motivated his players, by getting them to release their testosterone. “I love her!” Mack said.

“Say it louder,” How-Baby said.

Tonya whispered. “Louder, Mack baby, louder.”

“I love her!” Mack said.

How-Baby stood up. “Say it louder!” How-Baby screamed. “Say it as loud as you can. Stand up and say it from your guts.”

Mack faced the water. There were still a few stragglers on the beach, but so what?

“I love her!!!” he shouted. “I…love…her!”

How-Baby applauded. “That’s right,” he said. “You love her. I believe you. I believe you love her.”

Roy Silverstein came out onto the deck of room 2.

“I see How-Baby’s doing his Baptist preacher routine again,” he said.

Mack collapsed in his chair. For the first time in weeks, he really laughed. Was it crazy to even consider taking this job? He was so locked into his choice between Nantucket and Iowa, he had never even thought there might be a third option. He’d been sitting around waiting for Nantucket to speak to him-and maybe that’s what had just happened. Maybe How-Baby was the voice he was waiting for. Mack wondered what the water looked like down in Texas. If he could get Maribel back, he would find out.

Soon thereafter, Mack left the deck, shaking hands with How-Baby, kissing Tonya on the cheek, and telling them he would consider their offer.

“Worry about the girl, first,” How-Baby said. “That’s what’s important.”

Mack rounded the corner to the side deck rooms. He knocked at room 18. Andrea opened the door. Behind her, Mack saw her half-packed suitcase, but he didn’t feel as sad as he’d expected.

“I’m here to help James shave,” he said. “I promised him.”

She looked him over. “I am going to miss you, you know.”

“Is James here?” Mack asked. He called into the room. “James, buddy, it’s Mack. I’m here to help you shave.”

“Hey,” Andrea said. “I said I was going to miss you.”

“You don’t have to miss me,” Mack said. “You’re choosing to. Is James here?”

“Of course he’s here. Where else would he be?” Andrea turned. “James, come here, please.”

A few seconds later James skulked into the room.

“I’m here to help you shave,” Mack said.

James spun on his heels and headed for the bathroom without a word. Mack followed him. James stood in front of the mirror, and Mack sat on the toilet.

“This is a graduation of sorts,” Mack said. “Because you’re leaving tomorrow.” He wondered if Andrea had gone over all this with James already. He wondered if it would matter, if James had any concept, really, of what was going on around him.

“Time for shaving,” James said.

“I’m going to watch you,” Mack said. “You go ahead. Tell me what’s first.”

“I don’t know,” James said.

“Lather your face with shaving cream,” Mack said. “Like Santa Claus, remember?”

James sprayed the foam onto his fingers and dabbed it onto his cheeks.

“And now what?” Mack said. “What comes next?”

James said nothing. How did How-Baby do it? How did he make people respond with exactly what he wanted to hear? “Pick up the razor,” Mack said. “We’ve done this three times already. Now I want you to shave yourself, James.”

“I don’t know,” James said.

“You don’t know what?”

James stared into the mirror. Mack’s heart deflated as he looked at the fifteen-year-old kid with a foamy white beard. He felt for Andrea, who would have to watch tomorrow, and next week, and maybe even next year, until James could get comfortable with the routine, until he could divide the task into steps. She was right, of course: nobody else would love James enough to have that kind of patience and that kind of stamina without losing their temper, without becoming frustrated enough to leave, as her husband had. Not even Mack.

Mack stood behind James and took the razor. He began to shave him gently.

“Do you like baseball, James?” Mack asked.

“Yes,” James said, automatically.

“Do you hate baseball?” Mack asked.

“Yes,” James said.

“You can’t like it and hate it,” Mack said. “You can’t do both. Do you understand that, James? You can’t like baseball and hate it.”

“I like it in person,” James said. “I hate it on TV.”

Mack smiled as he shaved under the curve of James’s chin. “Maybe I can get you some tickets to see the Orioles,” he said. “How would you like that?”

“Yes,” James said.

Mack shaved James’s upper lip. “When you do this on your own, you have to be careful of your lip. You don’t want to cut your lip or you’ll bleed for hours. There, you’re all done.” Mack stepped back. “I want you to rinse your face,” Mack said.

James turned on the water, splashed his face and dried it with a towel.

“What do we do after we rinse, James, can you remember?” James stared into the mirror.

Mack picked up the lotion and squirted some into James’s palm. “Rub this into your face. We don’t use aftershave, do we, James?”

“No,” James said.

“You’re going to have to remind your mom of that. No aftershave, just lotion. And stand up for yourself. I’d hate to think of you walking around smelling funny.”

James rubbed in the lotion. “All shaved,” he said.

“All shaved. You’re ready to go, then.” Mack reached for the latch on the bathroom door, but then stopped short. “Do you like me, James?” he asked.

“No,” James said. His green-gray eyes were a blank slate. “I love you.”

Before Mack left the room, he watched Andrea pack. “Your son’s smooth faced again,” he said. “But I don’t think I taught him a thing. I’m sorry.”

Andrea held a sweater under her chin and folded in the sleeves. “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

“Okay, then, I’m going,” Mack said.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the energy for a big emotional good-bye,” she said.

“Me either,” he said.

Andrea narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t beholden to me or anyone else, Mack. You’re your own person. A good person. But will you think about what I said, about Maribel?”

“I already have,” Mack said.

Andrea slid one of James’s flip-flops onto each of her hands. “I guess it’s ridiculous to think I’ll never see you again.”

“I’m beginning to believe nothing is ridiculous,” Mack said. “Let’s just say so long for a while. You might see me again, but it won’t be where you think.”

“You’re leaving here?”

“I promise I won’t show up on your doorstep,” he said.

“You’re really leaving here?” Andrea said.

Mack gave her a squeeze. “Safe travels tomorrow.” He inhaled the smell of her hair, but again, he wasn’t as sad as he expected. He made a point of not saying “I love you,” but Andrea seemed to hear it anyway.

“I know,” she said.

Mack drove to the basement apartment. He knocked tentatively on the door, but heard nothing. Then, he knocked a little louder. After a second, Maribel swung the door open.

“Oh, God,” she said. Her tan face went pale, as though she were going to be sick.

“Mari, I’m sorry, I have to talk to you.”

“Talk?” she said.

“Can I come in?” Mack asked.

The skin above her eye twitched. “I guess,” she said.

She pushed the screen door open for him and he stepped into the apartment. Jem Crandall was sitting at the dining table eating pizza from a box. He, too, looked sick when he saw Mack. He stood up.

“Jem,” Mack said. “Hi.”

“I’m going,” Jem said. “I’m out of here.”

Mack tried to hide his surprise. It was hard enough to see Maribel, but then to have one of his bellmen sitting at the dining table eating pizza?

“I don’t get it,” Mack said. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re friends,” Maribel said. “Get over your surprise. You don’t know what my life is like anymore.”

“No,” Mack said. “Obviously I don’t.”

Jem moved toward the door, taking the piece of pizza he was eating with him. “I’ll let you two hash this out,” he said. Then he turned around. “But if you hurt her, Petersen, if you lay a hand on her or you make her cry with something you say, I’ll kill you.”

“Great,” Mack said. Now both his bellmen wanted to kill him.

“I mean it,” Jem said. “And I’m saying this despite the fact that you’ve been pretty cool to me. But you did a bad thing to Maribel, and if you do anything else, you’re in trouble.”

“Okay,” Mack said. He repressed the urge to smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jem bit into his pizza. “Yeah,” he said, his mouth full. “Do that.”

After Jem left, Maribel sat at the dining table. “So, you’ve reclaimed your turf,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what you want. You want closure? I figured as much, but I’d hoped you’d call first.”

Mack looked around the apartment. He missed it. Even the shag carpet and the moldy, old-sponge smell. “I love you,” he said.

“You don’t cheat on someone you love. You don’t perpetuate a lie for six years with someone you love. Okay, Mack? Do you see how your credibility has worn thin?”

“Yes,” Mack said, “but I do love you.”

“Ha.”

“I asked Bill to profit-share,” he said.

Maribel raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“He turned me down,” Mack said. “He and Therese both. They said…well, do you know what’s going on with Cecily?”

“That she’s deferring a year from school you mean? To be with the boyfriend?”

“It has them really upset. And they won’t profit-share with me because they think if they do Cecily will be more likely to leave. They think she’ll be glad I’m taking care of the hotel for them, and she’ll feel free to go.”

“They’re absolutely right,” Maribel said. “Cecily’s said as much. So it sounds like you’re out of luck.”

Mack looked at his hands. “I did ask, though.”

Maribel fidgeted with the corner of the pizza box. “You’re too late, Mack.”

“We only broke up two weeks ago. How can I be too late? And another thing I’d like to know is what Crandall was doing here.”

“He likes me,” Maribel said. “I could go out on a limb and say he’s in love with me.”

“Great,” Mack said. “He’s too young for you, you know.”

Maribel snorted. “That isn’t for you to decide.”

“So you’re an item, then? You’ve fallen for Mr. November?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Mack,” Maribel said. Her voice was sad now, not angry, not sarcastic. “I’m thinking of leaving the island.”

“Why?” he said.

“Because I’m finished here. I gave it a shot and it didn’t work. Six years ago, you and I had a summer romance and I decided to stay. But it was always a summer romance, wasn’t it? The kind of romance that’s so thrilling because you know it’s going to end.” She flashed her blue eyes at him. “And guess what? Our summer is finally over.”

“I agree. Our summer is over.”

“Plus, I think people who live on islands…well, I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with them. It’s like they’re hiding from something. It’s like they’re afraid of the rest of the world and so they isolate themselves, surrounded by all this water.”

“What are we hiding from?” Mack asked. “What are we afraid of?”

Maribel tore the pizza box into tiny pieces. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m afraid that you don’t love me enough. You’re afraid that I love you too much. Or maybe we’re each just afraid of ourselves.” She started to cry.

Mack reached across the table and took her hand. “I got a job offer today,” he said. “And if you agree to come with me, I’m going to take it.”

“What kind of offer?” she said.

“Working for How-Baby,” Mack said. “For the Texas Rangers. Setting up hotel rooms, restaurants, flights. It would mean traveling around the States. It would mean the winters off. It would mean more money.”

Maribel went to the sink, ripped a paper towel off the roll and blew her nose. “How-Baby,” she said. “I always liked that man.”

“He and Tonya want to see you,” Mack said. “They can hardly wait. And How-Baby said he would triple my salary, Maribel. Triple it.”

“What are you going to do about the farm?” Maribel asked.

Mack thought about that for a minute. He still didn’t know what to do about the farm. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Maybe I’ll wait a year to see how I like this job. I’ll have Pringle hire someone for one harvest, and if the job works out, maybe I’ll sell the farm. The thing is, we’ll be able to do it, you and me, I know we will.”

“You’ll have to do it alone,” Maribel said, bunching the paper towel in her hand. “I’m not going with you.”

“You have to come with me.”

Maribel paced the kitchen floor so that the soles of her running shoes squeaked against the linoleum. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Mack took a deep breath. He felt as though he were falling, in a dream. “You don’t get it,” he said. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

For the first time in their relationship, he’d surprised her. Well, maybe the second time, because he knew finding out about Andrea had surprised her too. Just watching her gave Mack a rush. She was wearing a pale pink T-shirt, jean shorts, her running shoes. Her hair was in a bun held together by a pencil. At that moment, Mack wanted to be Maribel-she was getting something she’d wanted for so long.

“You’re asking me to marry you?” Maribel said.

I should sink to one knee, he thought. It seemed silly, there in the dampness of their rented apartment, but Mack made himself do it. He knelt.

“Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?” The words came right out; it was easy. He would say them over and again; he would scream them out. “Will you please marry me?”

Maribel stared over the top of his head as though his thoughts were suspended in a balloon. Answer me! the balloon would say. And then for a second it occurred to him she might say no, and that was like peeking into a dark hole with no bottom.

“Maribel, will you marry me?” Mack asked a little louder.

She looked at his face as though she were surprised to find him there, on one knee, his eyes level with her tan legs.

“Of course,” she said. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Lacey Gardner couldn’t believe it. For twelve years she’d watched Mack grow up: She watched him run the hotel, graduate from the community college on the Cape, grieve for his parents; she watched him take girls on dates. And she watched him, especially carefully, with Maribel. But never in a million years would she have predicted this-and Lacey was old enough now to have very few things shock her. But this, yes. Mack brought her usual cup of coffee and the Boston Globe from the lobby, and before she even scanned the headlines, there was this news.

“I’ve asked Maribel to marry me and she said yes.”

His tone of voice was barely repressed joy, pride, awe, and Lacey supposed that was as it should be. Lacey experienced first surprise and next, sadness. Mack, then, lost to her forever, in a way.

“And all this time, I thought you were saving yourself for me.”

Mack hugged her across the shoulders so that she nearly spilled coffee in her lap. His energy astounded her-maybe he was in love with the girl after all. “You’re the best, Gardner. The absolute best. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“You’ll be moving out, then?” Lacey said. She eyed the leather sofa where Mack had slept the last two weeks. Usually, he came in after she fell asleep and was up before she awoke, but for two weeks there was another human being under her roof, and that felt good. She sometimes heard Mack’s footsteps or the toilet flush in the middle of the night, and once, when she couldn’t sleep, she tiptoed out to the living room and saw his figure under the blankets and she wished he would never leave, that he would simply stay with her until she died.

“I’ll be moving back to the apartment,” he said. “But we’ll still have our Sunday night dinners. I told Maribel that was part of the deal. Sunday nights are for you, Lacey.”

“Well, good,” she said.

Mack was getting married.

Lacey remembered back to September of 1941 when she and Maximilian drove Sam Archibald’s dune buggy out to Madaket. Sam Archibald wasn’t on Nantucket that summer because he’d enlisted in the army and was at training camp in Mississippi. Maximilian received a postcard from him that said, “Half the gents here have never seen the Atlantic, much less played croquet in ’Sconset. Take the old girl around in the bug and have a good time for me.” On September 16, that’s what they were doing-driving to Madaket. The mood between Lacey and Maximilian was more serious than normal, because of the war. Everyone sat by their radios listening for word on Hitler. The military used Tom Nevers Field as a training ground for landing in the fog; the coast guard patrolled the beach, looking for U-boats. There were piles of sandbags in the streets of town and all around them, men enlisting in the service. Lacey supposed it wouldn’t be long before Maximilian went away also. Then she would be left to drive the dune buggy to the beach alone.

When they reached Madaket, Lacey and Maximilian walked through the sand barefoot.

Maximilian said, “I brought you out here for a reason.”

Lacey laughed, but it was so windy her laughter was carried away. “You brought me out here because Sam wrote and said you should. You men, always sticking together!”

Maximilian’s necktie lifted in the breeze. “No, Lacey, that’s not it.”

And then, of course, she thought he was telling her that he was off for the war as well. You men, she thought, always sticking together. No wonder the armed forces worked. Men loved each other’s company; they loved a group, the bigger the better. And she thought, If Maximilian is going, I’ll enlist too. I won’t be left behind with the women, I just won’t.

But Maximilian said, “Lacey, I brought you here to ask for your hand in marriage, both hands, and the rest of you, for that matter, if you’ll have me. I promise to provide you with a home, and to give you the life you’re accustomed to as well as I possibly can-”

Lacey interrupted him by putting her fingers to his lips. She remembered that too, the way his warm lips felt under her fingertips. “Yes,” she said. “The answer is yes.”

She held tight to that memory, and to the flood of happiness it brought her, even though two months later Maximilian did join the service and was gone from her for three years. Those were days when love meant something because it stood side by side with life and death. Those who survived had a reason to be nostalgic, and she, Lacey, had survived.

Mack waited for her to speak. What could she say? Things were so different these days she could hardly understand them. “You’re doing the right thing,” she said finally.

Relief crossed his face like a ray of light.

“Thank you,” he said. “I was hoping we’d have your blessing.”

“You always have my blessing, Mack Petersen,” Lacey said. And that much, at least, was the truth.

When Cecily found out Mack and Maribel were getting married, she experienced envy like a slap across the face. She heard the news from Maribel, over the phone.

“He’s going to marry me! Mack and I are getting married! Can you believe it? Married, married, married!”

Cecily stared at herself in the mirror, a bad habit of her mother’s. “You’re so fucking lucky,” she whispered. But Maribel blabbered something about a church and flowers, and didn’t hear. Cecily quietly hung up the phone and took it off the hook. Then she fell facedown on her bed and cried. She should be happy; she had wanted this for both Mack and Maribel. But the truth was, she liked it better when Mack and Maribel were miserable. She liked it better when she was the one lucky in love. Now Mack and Maribel were beyond lucky; they’d hit the jackpot. Married! Cecily cried bitter, jealous tears. She knew Maribel would be trying to call back, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t talk to Maribel, and she couldn’t face Mack. It was completely irrational-their good news didn’t mean bad news for Cecily. Lots of people could fall in love and get married at one time. But that thought didn’t make anything better, not with Gabriel thousands of miles away and Cecily stranded here, on this dinky, go-nowhere island.

Could it be she was so upset because she wanted to marry Mack? When Cecily was younger she’d had a terrible crush on him. Every day she wrote in her journal what Mack said to her: “Hey, there, Sunshine, whatcha up to?” “Cecily, babe, let’s see you turn a cartwheel.” She wrote down every time he pulled her curls or flung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Nights when he went on dates she stayed in her room without turning on the radio or TV, convinced that if she was having a miserable time, he was, too. Then the next day she pestered him for the name of the girl, what she looked like, what they did on their date. Dinner? Movie? Dancing? And then shyly, Cecily would ask, “Did you kiss her, Mack?” And Mack would either say, “Sure did, Sunshine,” or “Nope, not that one, too ugly.” Cecily always prayed for the latter answer. She prayed that all of Mack’s dates had a faint mustache, or bad breath. She hoped he would realize no girl was as pretty as Cecily.

By the time Cecily was old enough to go on dates herself and Therese grabbed hold of the idea that Mack and Cecily should be together, Cecily was N.I.-Not Interested. By that time too, Maribel was in the picture, and Cecily fell for Maribel almost as hard as she’d fallen for Mack. Cecily imitated the way Maribel talked, the way she wore her hair, the way she dressed. From the beginning, Maribel treated Cecily like an equal, and it worked like magic. Cecily was hooked.

Was Cecily so upset because she was in love with Mack, or Maribel? She’d read Freud and other dead European males at Middlesex, and some would say she wanted to be married to both of them. Gobbledy-gook. She wanted to be married to Gabriel, that was all there was to it. But Mack and Maribel had separated themselves from her. We’re getting married. You’re staying single.

For the time being.

Cecily opened the drawer of her bedside table and counted her money. She was getting closer, but still not close enough. She snuffled, blew her nose, and went into the bathroom to splash water on her face. She was due on the beach in half an hour and as much as she wanted to stay hidden in her room, missing a day’s work meant missing a day’s salary, and money was the only thing keeping her from Gabriel.

She stomped upstairs to the living room and found her father staring out the bay window at the activity below. This was his quiet time, while Cecily’s mother was busy with the chambermaids, and Cecily never interrupted. Plus, whenever Cecily talked to either of her parents now, they clung to her words as though she might never speak again. They must have thought if they paid her more attention, she wouldn’t leave, but that was completely fucking erroneous on their part.

Cecily cleared her throat. Her father snapped to attention.

“Good morning,” he said. “How are you this morning?”

“Mack and Maribel are getting married,” Cecily said. The inside of her mouth was dry and chalky.

“I’m sorry?”

“They’re getting married.” Saying it aloud was the worst kind of pain-worse than menstrual cramps, worse than falling down and skinning her palms. “Maa-reed.”

“They’re getting married?” Bill said. “You know this for a fact?”

Cecily couldn’t bring herself to say anything further. And if her father made a big, happy deal over it, she would leave immediately, tonight, today. But thankfully, he didn’t. He took the news quietly and then seemed reflective, but not in a glad or happy way.

“Well,” he said. “How about that?”

Bill Elliott knew the instant he heard the news about Mack and Maribel getting married that Mack was going to leave. Part of Bill cheered Mack on-Good for you getting married, good for you returning to the land that’s yours, good for you! But then the reality of the situation hit and Bill felt a familiar tightness in his chest. He left Cecily banging cabinets, muttering, “There’s never any fucking food in this house,” and went into his bedroom to lie down. Mack leaving spelled disaster for the Beach Club. He was the manager and he managed like nobody else. Kids loved him, adults loved him, the crotchety old ladies of the Beach Club loved him. Most importantly, Bill loved him, and if it weren’t for the fact that he had a daughter of his own, Bill would not only have profit-shared with Mack, he would have left the hotel to him without a second thought. He lay on his bed, and thought, I have survived worse. I survived losing my son. But thinking about Mack leaving gave Bill an oddly similar feeling-empty, sad, hopeless. He closed his eyes. Why not sell the hotel then? Cecily didn’t want it and how could Bill run it without Mack? S.B.T.’s face appeared to him, a demon.

Later, his fears were confirmed. Mack was talking with a guest in the lobby and Bill touched him on the elbow, and said, “When you get a second.”

Then Bill sat at his desk and looked out the window. The most beautiful beach in the world-the blue water, the white sails in the distance, the brightly colored umbrellas in the sand. It was glorious here.

Mack knocked lightly, pushed open the door. “I guess you heard?”

“Why don’t you tell me yourself,” Bill said.

Mack stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts. “I’m going to marry her.”

“Getting married was the best thing I ever did,” Bill said. “By far the best thing.”

Mack jingled his key ring. “I know you feel that way. You and Therese have had a big influence on me. I really appreciate that. You’ve been role models.”

“That sounds like a good-bye,” Bill said. “Is that a good-bye?”

“Did someone tell you I was leaving?”

“No one needed to,” Bill said.

Mack looked out the window and Bill followed his gaze, willing him to see how beautiful it was, hoping he would understand that the rest of the world was not this beautiful.

“I’ll stay through the season,” Mack said. “I would never strand you midseason.”

“But next year?…”

“Next year, no. This will be my last year. This is it.”

The demon face of S.B.T. shimmered on the horizon. “I just can’t picture you as a farmer,” Bill said. “But I want you to know I understand why you’re going back. In the end, you have to protect what belongs to you and your family.”

Mack’s lower lip dropped. “Oh…no. Whoops.” He laughed. “Well, you got it half right anyway. I’m leaving, but I’m not going back to Iowa.”

“You’re not?” Bill said.

“No,” Mack said. “I’m going to work for Howard Comatis. For the Texas Rangers. It’s a baseball team.”

“A baseball team?”

“Howard Comatis, room one. He’s president of the Texas Rangers. He offered me a job yesterday. And I thought about what you said, about wanting to give the hotel to Cecily. So anyway, it just seemed right. And I’ll still have winters off. So it’s not as if I’ll never see you again. We can visit you in Aspen. You can finally teach me to ski.”

“Howard Comatis?” Bill said. “The big hairy guy? The loud obnoxious guy?”

“That’s him.”

“You’re going to work for him?” Bill asked. This news affronted him. Mack working on his family farm was one thing, but a guest snatching him away was another. Guests had been trying to hire Mack away for years, but he’d always turned them down. “What will you be doing?”

“Hotel rooms, dinner reservations, travel plans. Getting the team from place to place, that kind of thing.”

“How much is he paying you?” Bill asked.

“A lot,” Mack said. “We haven’t talked actual numbers but it’ll be a lot.”

Bill nodded. It must have been a lot for Mack to give up Nantucket.

“I’d do anything to keep you here, Mack,” Bill said. “I’ll give you a raise right now.”

Mack put his keys back in his pocket. “Not this kind of raise. Besides, you made it clear that your first concern is Cecily, and that’s okay.” He knocked on Bill’s desk. “Bill, that’s okay.”

Bill rubbed his forehead. “If Cecily weren’t threatening to leave, if Therese and I hadn’t already lost a child, all that, things would be different.”

“But they aren’t different,” Mack said.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” Bill said.

“We don’t have to say good-bye right now,” Mack said. “It’s only July. We still have lots of time.”

Bill looked back out at the beach. Dutifully, Cecily started to circulate among the umbrellas; a ferry approached on the horizon.

“We have time,” Bill said. “Okay, you’re right. We have time.” He stood up and stuck out his hand and when Mack shook it, Bill embraced him. “Congratulations,” he said.

Four bridesmaids in room 19 destroyed the place. Therese put down her clipboard. Empty diet Coke bottles rolled around on the floor, potato chips were ground into powder in the carpet, three wet bikini bottoms sat in soggy clumps on the bathroom tile. The top bedsheet had been ripped in half, hair spray scum covered the mirror, a nail polish spill pooled like blood on the dresser. These girls had requested extra towels. Extra towels! They were lucky they were here in the name of love. Therese had half a mind to kick them out.

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway with her cleaning cart and her vacuum. “Gross.”

“Gross, you’re not kidding,” Therese said. A pair of stockings fluttered over the brass reading lamp by the bed, a swollen tampon floated in the toilet. “This is the most disgusting room I have ever seen.”

“Really?” Elizabeth asked. She seemed encouraged by this news. “This is the worst?”

“You don’t have to clean this room,” Therese said. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re going to clean it?” Elizabeth said. She peered into the room. “They sure did drink a lot of diet Coke.”

“Go on to eighteen,” Therese said. “But leave me your vacuum.”

Elizabeth left and Therese furiously unwound the cord for the vacuum. Mack appeared in the doorway. “Geez,” he said. “What a mess. Here, let me help you.” He started to pick up the bottles and put them in an empty Lion’s Paw bag.

“Leave them be,” Therese said. “Anyone who makes this much of a mess deserves to live with their own filth.”

“But I want to help,” Mack said. “What can I do to help?”

Therese looked him dead in the eye. “I’m not changing my mind about the profit sharing,” she said. “You know I love you, Mack, but I can’t do it. I have a teenage daughter to think of. When you have a teenager of your own, you’ll understand. Boy, will you ever.”

“It’s not the profit sharing,” he said. “I have something else to talk to you about.”

Therese spied a bra dangling from the ceiling fan. She switched on the vacuum and swathed a path only where the floor was clear-around the cans, around the chips, around the clothes. It took her thirty seconds. She shut the vacuum off. “So what is it?” she said.

“I’m getting married.”

Married. The word took her so by surprise that she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she caught her reflection in the scummy mirror. She looked fuzzy, as if someone were trying to erase her. “You’re getting married?”

“I asked Maribel and she said yes.”

“I thought you two were on the rocks,” Therese said. The room went out of focus. It looked like a wedding that had been through the blender. “I thought she threw you out.”

“We’ve worked through that,” Mack said. “I’m going to marry her, Therese.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said. She didn’t want to believe it. Her dream of Cecily marrying Mack, a dream for the trash. She stood on the bed and unhooked the bra from the fan and threw it on the floor with the rest of the girls’ clothes, although what did it matter now? What did a messy room matter now that everything else was collapsing? Therese found a notepad. “The proprietress has cleaned your room!” she wrote. She left it amid the clutter on the nightstand and wondered if they would even see it, if they would even notice. Mack sat on the dresser, tapping his fingers on the top drawer.

I know what’s best for you. Therese thought. Nobody believes it, but I do.

Shotgun wedding. Handgun wedding. However you phrased it, Vance had Influence. His stunt with the gun had brought about Mack and Maribel’s breakup, and then Mack’s proposal. Vance might have been jealous-Mack marrying someone as perfect as Maribel-but instead he felt a grand satisfaction. He snagged control from Mack’s hands. He had made something happen. And oddly enough, it was something good.

It inspired Vance to go after Love. She was older than he was, but she was pretty and athletic and organized. He liked the way she spoke to guests; he liked the way she listened. He liked the way she didn’t wear makeup or hairspray. She was a natural Colorado outdoor beauty. She smelled like a pine cone. A refreshing change from the girls Vance usually brought home from the bars. She made him want to lighten up. She made him want to laugh. So he would have his own summer romance for once. And who knew, maybe someday he’d be the one getting married. Vance. Vance Romance.

Maribel wondered if she’d ever be this happy again. Hearing Mack finally propose was an answer to her daily prayers. Just when she’d given up hope, just when she thought she would have to somehow endeavor to move on, he asked. He asked and she said yes. More than anyone, Maribel wanted to tell her father. A man who didn’t exist, except for in her mind. See there, someone wants me. Someone wants to marry me!

Maribel called Cecily, and then her mother, and after relaying the news to a teary, elated Tina (“God bless you, Maribel. God bless you and Mack”), Maribel called Jem. She called early in the morning-during the bracket of time when Mack had left for work but Jem would still be at home.

He answered sleepily. “Hello?”

“Jem, it’s Maribel.”

“Maribel?” He sounded confused, then alarmed. “Did Mack hurt you?”

Maribel felt a flurry of guilt. “He didn’t hurt me,” she said. “He proposed.”

Silence. Then, quietly, “You’re kidding.”

Maribel winced. “No.”

“Oh, God,” Jem said. “Wow. He asked you to marry him? The nerve of that guy.” More silence. “But you said no, right? I mean, this is a guy who left you in the dust for another woman. This is a guy who cheated on you.”

“Jem…”

“You said no, didn’t you?”

“I said yes.”

“You said yes.”

“It’s complicated,” Maribel said. “We’ve been together for six years. You understand that.”

“Not really,” Jem said. “Not really at all.”

“Jem,” Maribel said, “I’m sorry. You’ll have to trust that I know I’m doing the right thing.”

“Because you’re in love?” Jem said.

“Yes,” Maribel said.

“And what does being in love feel like?” Jem asked. “Does it feel like when you’re with the person you’re the best version of yourself and when you’re not with the person your insides hurt?”

“I don’t know, Jem,” Maribel said gently. “It’s different for everyone.”

“And does that person become the only person who matters, and no matter what you can’t stop thinking about her. Is that what it’s like, Maribel?”

“Jem…”

“Is being in love finally realizing why we were put on this earth? Is it when everything starts to make sense?”

“Jem,” Maribel said. What could she possibly say? He was right. “Yes, Jem.”

“Yes,” Jem said, “I thought so.”

“You’re not in love with me, Jem.”

There was huff on the other end of the line. “I wish you were right,” Jem said. “I really wish you were.”

“Jem…”

“I have to go,” Jem said. “I have to get to work.” And with that, he hung up, and Maribel, who thought nothing could squelch her happiness, stared at the dead receiver. She closed her eyes and wished his pain away. She knew just how he felt.

The next evening, Mack and Maribel went to dinner with How-Baby and Tonya at Kendrick’s, on Centre Street. How-Baby reserved the back room for just the four of them; a magnum of Dom Perignon chilled on the table. Mack had been very careful not to say anything to How-Baby about his engagement to Maribel or his decision about the job, but from the looks of things, How-Baby already knew. Or maybe this was just his superconfidence shining through: live as though everything was going to go your way. When Mack took his seat, though, he started to enjoy it: the private, candlelit room, the waiter pouring him a glass of Champagne. There was already the sense that things had changed.

How-Baby raised his glass. “I’d like to make a toast,” he said. “To you charming young people. Maribel, you are positively glowing, and Mack, that makes you one lucky man.” How-Baby winked.

They all clinked glasses and sipped the Champagne. Maribel was glowing-she hadn’t stopped smiling since Mack proposed. When they were home alone, she talked about nothing but the wedding. Mack was tickled to see her so excited, although the idea of a wedding disheartened him. He had no family to speak of; he would invite Bill and Therese and Cecily and Lacey Gardner. He felt a pang of guilt. The people he loved best, the people he would soon be leaving. He looked across the table at How-Baby and Tonya. His future.

“I have a toast as well,” he said. How-Baby raised his bushy eyebrows. The man knew, he just knew. “First of all, I’m proud to announce that Maribel and I are getting married.”

Tonya squealed and grabbed How-Baby’s arm. “You darlings!” Her beehive tipping dangerously close to the candle flame. “That is brilliant! We’re so happy. Aren’t we, How-Baby?”

How-Baby clapped his hands. “Congratulations! Maribel, my sources tell me you just landed the most eligible bachelor on the island.”

“I sure did,” Maribel said. “He’s the answer to my prayers.”

Mack laid his hands on either side of his dinner plate. “And I’ve thought about your proposition, Howard.”

“Have you, now?” How-Baby said.

“I have,” Mack said. He wondered what it would be like working for a guy who always sat on top of the world. Did the man ever falter, ever have a bad day? The Rangers had lost both halves of a doubleheader that very afternoon, but How-Baby was as smooth as ever.

“What did you decide?” How-Baby asked. “Did you decide to join the team? Or will you remain loyal to the Beach Club?”

“I’ve decided to join the team,” Mack said.

Tonya squealed again. How-Baby rounded the table to shake Mack’s hand.

“Good for you, Mack! I promise you won’t be disappointed. You’ll be our new travel and hospitality manager, answering directly to me. Tomorrow you show me your W-two from this year, and I will triple your salary.” He grabbed a fistful of Mack’s shoulder. “Welcome to the big league.”

“It was a hard decision to make,” Mack said, reaching for Maribel’s hand under the table. “My job at the Beach Club is the only job I’ve ever had, unless you count some construction work or helping on my father’s farm.”

“That’s right,” How-Baby said. “I forgot about you coming from the heartland. Where is it? Indiana?”

“Iowa,” Mack said.

“Do your parents still farm, Mack?” Tonya asked.

Mack paused. A new job meant starting over, explaining his circumstances, letting other people know him. He wished he could just say yes.

“My parents were killed in a car crash when I was eighteen,” he said.

Silence. Always, when Mack told this part, there was silence. He longed for Bill and Therese, because with them there wasn’t a need to explain.

How-Baby looked up from his menu. “Did you have a good relationship with your father?”

“I did,” Mack said. “We had a very good relationship.”

How-Baby nodded. “I can tell. Know why? Because you’re a good kid. A team player. If I should be so fortunate as to meet your father someday in heaven, I’ll tell him he raised a fine young man.”

Mack looked at Maribel; her eyes were shining.

“Thanks,” Mack said.

“Did you consider what your father would have thought about changing jobs?” How-Baby asked. “Did you maybe even have a conversation with him about it?”

“I figured he would tell me to do what was going to make me happy, and to go where I was wanted.”

“You’re wanted in Texas,” How-Baby said. “We’re going to take good care of you.”