Summer Beach Reads Read online

  The Bracebridges were one of Nantucket’s founding families. Millicent Bracebridge’s collection of Nantucket arts and crafts was rumored to be extensive and significant. Emma couldn’t believe she was about to work for one of the island’s old legends, a wealthy, prominent woman from an important Nantucket family. Of the various jobs Emma had accepted, this one seemed the most interesting.

  Now Emma followed Sandra Bracebridge up the wide steps, across the porch, and in through the wide front door. The black-and-white tiled foyer floor was covered with priceless antique Oriental rugs, and a crystal chandelier sparkled from the ceiling. In a polished cherry case a grandfather clock ticked away, its face artistically decorated with the sun, moon, and planets. An oil painting of a whaling ship took up most of one wall.

  “Wow,” Emma breathed. “What a magnificent room.”

  Sandra ignored her and swept on into the living room. “Millicent? We’re here.”

  Emma followed her employer into a large room crowded with antiques. Oil paintings in elaborate gilt frames spanned the walls. Elaborate boxes of ivory scrimshaw were set along the mantel. In the window seat, seven lightship baskets of varying sizes were displayed, the darkened cane a testimony to their age. Small tables held Tiffany lamps and cloisonné vases. Obviously no children were allowed to enter this room, where one careless movement could provoke a disaster.

  “Millicent? This is Emma Fox. She’s come to read to you.”

  Millicent Bracebridge sat in a wheelchair with a tartan blanket tucked around her legs. Her white hair was styled like a 1940s movie star, finger-waved in strict ridges. She wore a light wool suit with a diamond brooch at the collar, and heavy hose and lace-up, high-heeled shoes.

  “Well, let me get a look at you,” Millicent said, gesturing impatiently.

  Emma stepped close to the wheelchair. Sandra had told her to dress conservatively; her mother-in-law did not approve of the current style of showing off so much skin. Today she wore a white shirt, khaki trousers, and sandals. It was hot outside, but in this room with its high ceilings and heavy draperies drawn against the sun, the heat was moderate, although the air was heavy with humidity.

  “Hello, Mrs. Bracebridge,” Emma said.

  “Lean down so I can see you. I’ve got macular degeneration. If you come close, I can get bits of you, though.”

  Emma obediently leaned down. As she did, she caught the scent of the older woman, a mix of talcum powder and a light floral fragrance.

  Millicent Bracebridge turned her head slightly, seeming to aim her black eyes away from Emma’s face. “You’re a very pretty girl. Pick up that book over there and read a few sentences for me.”

  “Moby-Dick!” Emma exclaimed. “I loved this book.” Opening it to the first page, she began to read.

  After a few sentences, Sandra Bracebridge interrupted. “All right, Millicent? Does she read to your satisfaction?”

  “She’s fine.” She waved her hand. “Go on along. Don’t worry.”

  “The bathroom is just down the hall,” Sandra Bracebridge told Emma. “And the kitchen’s at the back of the house if you need a drink of water, or there might be iced tea in the refrigerator.”

  “Sandra, the girl is not an imbecile.” Millicent’s voice was sharp.

  “All right, then.” Sandra leaned over to kiss the older woman’s forehead. “Three hours, right?” she asked Emma.

  “Right,” Emma affirmed.

  Sandra left the room, and a moment later, the front door closed. Emma picked up Moby-Dick and settled on the corner of the sofa. “Can you hear me from here, Mrs. Bracebridge?” she asked.

  “Very well, thank you. But before you get settled, I’d like you to get another book. Do you see the glass-fronted secretary in the corner? On the top shelf, far left, you’ll find Agatha Christie’s Murder in the Links.”

  Emma obeyed. She opened the door, found the book, and returned to the sofa. “Got it.”

  “Good. Now, this is important. When you are through reading, every day, you must remember to replace the book exactly where you found it.”

  “Oh. All right. I’ll do that.”

  “It’s Sandra, you see. She worries about me. She’s afraid I’m getting senile. Getting lost in the past. And here’s a little secret. I do get lost in the past. As often as possible. I love it there. But Sandra knows I’ve read Agatha Christie’s entire oeuvre several times over. I don’t want to cause her any alarm, and she will become alarmed if you tell her you’re reading Agatha Christie to me. So this is our secret, all right?”

  Emma grinned. “Absolutely. I’m very good at keeping secrets. I—”

  Millicent cut her short. “All I care about is that you keep my secret. Now please read.”

  Emma read.

  After thirty minutes, Emma excused herself to fetch iced tea for herself and Millicent. The tea provided a necessary pick-me-up; the warm dim room with all its heavy rugs, sofas draped with afghans, and antiques piled on top of antiques began to seem claustrophobic to Emma. No sounds came in from the street, no children laughing, no birds singing. Only the ticking of the clock in the hall provided any counterpoint to Emma’s voice. As she read, she found herself giving a distinctive voice to each character, using a French accent for the Belgian detective, a pompous British one for Hastings, and high fluttering voices for the women. She was rewarded by seeing Millicent smile whenever Poirot spoke. Emma read along, stopping only to refresh her throat with some tea, and soon the clock struck four.

  “It’s time for me to go, Mrs. Bracebridge,” she said.

  “Very well, mark the place where you stopped. There’s a bookmark over on the secretary. You’ll have to remember where you left off on the page. I don’t like my books marked with pencil or pen.”

  “Is there anything I can get you before I leave?” Emma asked after she’d put the book back on its shelf.

  “I’ll be fine.” Mrs. Bracebridge felt around on the table next to her until her hand closed on the remote control. “I’ll listen to television until the girl comes to bring me my dinner and help me to bed.”

  “Well, then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time, same station,” Emma said.

  Mrs. Bracebridge was pleased by that. “Yes. Same time, same station.”

  Stepping out into the sunlight made Emma squint. The fresh air revived her, brought her back to the present. She stood for a moment, enjoying the sight of a family biking down the street, the children ringing their bells and laughing, a man with curly black hair walking his black standard poodle, the window boxes of houses along the street radiant with color. The blue sky, illuminated by the golden sun, spread like a luminous canopy over the trees and rooftops. Summer. How hard it must be to lose all this, Emma thought.

  Sandra Bracebridge had told Emma that if she spotted any signs of senility, Emma was to inform her immediately. Emma smiled. As far as she was concerned, Mrs. Bracebridge’s desire to enjoy more of her beloved Agatha Christie was only a sign of good mental health.

  It was time for her to drive out to Surfside to pick up four children, drive them out to Annye’s health food store to choose whatever they wanted for dinner, and deliver them to their house in Sconset. The Bennett father was still in London on business and the Bennett mother had her hands full with social engagements, so she’d hired Emma as a chauffeur and maid of all jobs for two hours in the late afternoon. The four kids were noisy and quarrelsome, but after the tomblike quiet of the Bracebridge house, Emma welcomed the clamor. At the house, the children shoved and pushed one another, yelling, as they fought their way out of the car.

  “Grab your towels, kids!” Emma reminded them. “And your beach bags!”

  She’d forgotten she was as invisible to them as a gnat. She crawled into the backseat of the SUV and gathered up the sodden sandy beach towels. She carried them and one of the beach bags to the back of the house. She made two more trips to take in the beach paraphernalia and food. Once everything was out of the car, she went to the back of the gar
den to shake the sand out of the towels before lugging them past the outdoor shower and into the laundry room. She stuffed the towels into the washing machine and started the wash cycle, then went into the kitchen and began to empty and clean out the beach bags and coolers. As she worked, she heard Mrs. Bennett trying to rein in the children, who were in the family room with the television volume on high.

  Emma had just finished with the coolers when Jody Partridge came in the back door to begin her shift as babysitter for the evening. Jody was an island woman in her late thirties, married, with two children of her own.

  “How are the maniacs?” she asked Emma.

  Emma dried her hands on a dish towel. “Maniacal. Have fun.” She hurried out of the house.

  She had a free hour before she went to her next job, babysitting for a couple staying at a local B&B. As she drove back into town, she tried to remember what food was left in the house. She wasn’t hungry, really. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be hungry. But she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten and she was shaky from low blood sugar.

  What were Duncan and Alicia doing now? Perhaps they were strolling around the Public Garden, holding hands and enjoying the soft summer air before meeting friends for dinner at the Taj. The friends would be wealthy, like Alicia, and perhaps as they lingered over dessert, they’d discuss vacations … oh, no. No. Duncan and Alicia wouldn’t come to Nantucket on vacation, would they? Duncan’s family had a summer home in Maine. Surely they’d go there. On the other hand, Duncan had loved Nantucket. He had a lot of friends here, and a lot of contacts. What if Emma were working, pushing a baby stroller around town or running into a store to pick up something for one of her clients, her hair frizzed with humidity, and she ran into Duncan and Alicia ambling down the street in all their sleek perfection?

  It was a nightmare thought. It took her breath away. And now that she’d imagined it, she couldn’t get the scene out of her head. It played itself over and over, filling her with dread.

  16

  Lily

  Tonight the Hennersons were holding a fund-raiser for the next senatorial candidate. It was going to be a crush of the wealthiest people summering on the island. It was just the kind of event where she could meet someone. The One. So she wanted to shine.

  But her look just wasn’t coming together. Lily was on the verge of tears as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by every dress and skirt and top she owned. She’d tried them on in every possible variation, but nothing worked. She wanted to look sophisticated. She wanted to look fabulous. She wanted to be able to just go out and buy herself a new dress.

  Emma had the sort of clothes Lily coveted. City clothes. Sleek silks and crepes, expensively subtle. And Emma had said she’d loan Lily some of her things.

  Lily went into Emma’s room. Emma’s bed was unmade but she’d finally unpacked her bags. Lily rooted around in Emma’s closet and came out with a filmy silk shirt in pale olive that would be dynamite with Lily’s red hair. She took it into her room and tried it on. Wow! It was perfect. She slipped into a pair of cream silk capris, clipped on a dangle of earrings, and slid her feet into high-heeled sandals. All right. In fact, very nice. She smiled at herself in the mirror. If she were a man, she’d be attracted!

  She heard voices in the kitchen. Good. Her sisters were home. She hurried down the stairs. Wait till they saw her! Wait till they heard she was going to see inside the fabulous Hennersons’ house!

  Abbie and Emma were in the kitchen. Emma was pawing through a cupboard while Abbie squatted down as she searched through the vegetable crisper.

  “Where’s Dad?” Abbie was asking.

  Emma replied, “Out fishing. Said he’d get dinner at Henry’s.”

  “The peanut butter’s all gone,” Abbie said. “And there is only one slice of bread, and it’s the heel.”

  Lily positioned herself in the doorway, hip stuck forward, model-style. “Ta-da!”

  Abbie’s face when she saw Lily was not full of admiration but of irritation. “Lily, weren’t you the last person to have breakfast this morning?”

  “Well, I guess, so what?”

  “So you used the last of the bread for toast, right?”

  “Well, why not? Honestly—”

  “So didn’t you notice there was no bread left? Didn’t it occur to you that you should have gone to buy bread? Not to mention fruit, cereal, milk, yogurt?”

  Impatiently, Lily shot back, “Why should I buy the stuff? You guys are here now. You eat here, too.”

  Emma joined the argument, crossing her arms and glaring at Lily. “Just because we’re here doesn’t mean you get to be a baby again.”

  Lily sniffed. “Well, that’s mean!”

  Abbie said reasonably, “Come on, Lily, Emma and I work. We were out of the house and working while you were still in bed.”

  “I work, too! I have to leave for work right now, actually!” She hated how her sisters treated her, as if they were adults and she was a hopelessly silly little girl.

  “Wait a minute,” Abbie said. “Are you taking the Old Clunker?”

  “Of course,” Lily said. “The party’s up on Cliff Road. I can hardly walk there in high heels!”

  “Lily.” Now Abbie was tense. “I was counting on using it. I’m babysitting for a family out in Monomoy.”

  “You can bike there,” Lily protested.

  “Monomoy’s farther than Cliff Road,” Abbie argued.

  “Not much farther and besides, you can’t expect me to bike to a fund-raiser in my good clothes!”

  “But you can expect me to bike to Monomoy after I’ve worked all day.”

  Lily crossed her arms defensively. “Well, I didn’t know that, did I?”

  Emma’s voice was calm and serious when she weighed in. “Lily, you know we have jobs. We told you about them. Abbie and I both got up at six and worked all day. You slept until God knows when and had the whole day free, right?”

  Lily insisted, “My work schedule is different from yours.”

  “You had the whole day free,” Emma repeated. “Did it occur to you to buy groceries?” She waved her arms around. “It certainly didn’t occur to you to clean up the kitchen. What did you do today, Lily? Wait, don’t tell me, I know what you did! You went to the beach, didn’t you?”

  “You don’t understand. I need to keep tanned for my job. I don’t want to look pale like—” She’d gotten herself into a corner and didn’t know how to get out.

  “Like the rest of us?” Abbie suggested. “The rest of us, who are too busy working all day to lie on the beach and soak up the sun?”

  “Okay, I’m sorry!” Lily snapped. “Perhaps I should have bought groceries. I’ll buy them tomorrow. But I’ve got to go now, this fund-raiser is a big deal. I’m lucky I got a press invitation. Oh, stop being so mean to me. If I cry, I’ll ruin my mascara!”

  “Oh, go on.” Abbie gave in. “I’ll go do some shopping after I finish babysitting. Stop&Shop’s open all night now.”

  “Wait,” Emma said, moving toward Lily. “Is that my top?”

  As Emma walked toward her, Lily suddenly felt like Cinderella in the Disney movie with the two wicked stepsisters looming over her, ripping her clothes to rags. “I was going to ask you,” she babbled. “I don’t have anything nice to wear, and this is a very big deal, and I knew you wouldn’t be using it tonight, oh, please don’t make me take it off, I don’t have anything sophisticated—”

  “Stop acting like someone out of Dickens,” Emma ordered. “Go ahead and wear it. You just should have asked first. And actually, you can keep it. It fits you better than it ever fit me.”

  “Oh, Emma, thank you! Does it really look good on me?”

  But Emma turned away from Lily. “Listen, Abbie, I’ve got a babysitting job tonight right in town, just a short walk from here. I’ll stop by Grand Union on the way home and grab some milk and bread for tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, great, Emma, thanks.” Abbie looked at her watch. �
�We can make a grocery list tomorrow morning so we can stock up for the week or at least a few days.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Lily said softly.

  Abbie didn’t respond to Lily. She was on her tiptoes, searching through the highest shelf in the cupboard. “Don’t we have any soup or anything in this house? I’m starving.”

  Lily hurried down the hall, grabbed the keys to the Toyota, and went outside. She felt terrible, guilty because she could have bought groceries today and it was too bad Abbie was hungry, and also furious because not everything was her fault. After all, Abbie had traveled abroad, she was übercompetent, she wasn’t actually starving, she was just trying to make Lily feel bad, and also hurt, because there they were again, her two older sisters ganging up, the perfect pair, turning their backs on their dumb little sister.

  She blasted the radio as she drove over to Cliff Road, hoping the summer rock would help her change out of her sullen mood. It was a gorgeous hot evening, and even if she was only going for work, still she was going to one of the most elite parties on the island. She found the house on a street already lined with convertibles, Hummers, and sports cars. She had to drive three blocks before she could find a place to park. As she hurried toward the house, she put a little swing into her walk, just in case anyone was watching.

  A handsome guy in a tux was at the door, checking invitations. As Lily joined the throng of people streaming into the house and out onto the long deck with its ocean view, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. The way her long red hair fell past her shoulders was cool. She looked good.