The Hot Flash Club Chills Out (33 page)

Polly scrutinized Faye’s face as she spoke to the lovers. Faye seemed one hundred percent happy, not the slightest wistful.

As Alice grabbed Shirley’s wrist and pulled her into the house, she saw how Shirley’s face was soft with yearning, and so, because the salt air was so shimmering and romantic, and because she loved Shirley so much, she said, “You know what, Shirley? Maybe tomorrow we can all meet this Harry you’re so crazy about.”

Shirley’s smile flashed like the summer sun.

52

A
s Faye pulled back the faded curtains in the front bedroom on the second floor of Adele Singleton’s house, the calico material nearly disintegrated at her touch. Gently, she tucked the fabric behind a bookcase slanting next to the window, allowing sunlight to illuminate the room.

A double bed with an iron bedstead stood against one wall, covered with a patchwork quilt. Polly would go wild over the handwork, Faye thought, running her fingers over the soft cotton. An old rag rug lay next to the bed, but most of the floor was bare wood, wide boards, scraped and scarred by years of living.

There were no closets in the room. An ancient pine armoire served to store clothing. One door hung open. Faye pushed it shut, and slowly it swung back open, creaking, pulled by the slant of the floor.

On an old oak chest of drawers lay an embroidered cloth runner, and centered there was a glass vase containing a sheaf of hydrangeas, dried and withered by time into brittle brown papery petals. Faye touched the dusty vase. Who had last been in this room, brightening the day with this small bouquet of flowers? Next to the vase lay an embossed silver-backed brush, comb, and mirror set, and a silver picture frame containing a photo of Adele’s three children. They were captured in their adolescence, two girls and a boy, laughing, sun-browned, hair as disheveled as haystacks. Adele had attended the funerals of her son and one of her daughters. Only one daughter remained, and she was older than Faye.

Trailing her hand over the walls, Faye toured the rest of the upstairs, two smaller bedrooms and one bathroom. In all of them, the plaster walls held cracks like frozen lightning, and the ceiling’s plaster was fractured into loose jagged fragments like upside-down icebergs. Faye was surprised they hadn’t fallen. The window frames were loose. The floorboards were splintered. The entire house tilted sideways, like an ocean liner slowly sinking.

She opened the door at the end of the hall. The attic, Adele had informed her, had no electricity, and so no light, and the moldy darkness did not entice Faye to climb the wooden stairs. She shut the door. She’d check out the attic later, when she had a flashlight…and a friend at her side.

Returning to the bedroom at the back of the house, she pulled back the dotted Swiss curtains and gazed around the room. The wallpaper of cabbage roses and giant ribbons and bows was pretty dreadful, but this room had two windows and faced north. Probably she could paint here. She’d met several painters on the island who had their studios in their homes and managed, even in the winter, with the use of good lighting, to have sufficient illumination for their work.

Yes, she could work here. She could envision it clearly. Her soul, her instincts, urged her forward. But her mind urged caution.

Adele Singleton had offered to sell Faye the house. Adele’s one remaining child lived in Arizona. Adele’s five living grandchildren lived all over the country. None of them had any sentimental tie to the island. All of them needed money. They wanted Adele to sell her house and let her estate split the proceeds. Adele wanted to help her children, and she admitted, sadly, she was finally getting too old, too weak, and too absentminded to live alone. She had friends at the retirement home on the island, where trained, strong, young people could help her get into and out of bed, her chair, her clothes.

Adele had resisted selling in the past, she admitted to Faye, in large part because she didn’t like the newcomers to the island, who knocked the venerable old homes to the ground and erected modern fakes in their place. But she’d gotten to know Faye, and to appreciate her artistic sensibility. Faye might restore the old house, but she wouldn’t rip out its soul.

This was true, Faye knew. It would be a labor of love to restore this old place, and it would
take
labor and love, and lots of money to do it right. She couldn’t buy this house unless she sold her house near Boston, and was she sure she could survive a winter on this island without all the cultural delights of the city? Of course Alice, Marilyn, Shirley, and Polly all assured her she could have use of their guest rooms whenever she wanted. Then they would come stay with Faye in the summer! Also, Shirley confessed, blushing and giggling like a schoolgirl, she intended to spend lots of time on the island during the off season. She would stay with Harry, but she’d have lots of time to meet Faye for lunch or a movie or a play. And perhaps—Shirley had rambled on exuberantly, optimistic as always—perhaps Harry even had a friend for Faye and they could all double date!

She didn’t need a man, Faye had assured Shirley. At the moment, she wasn’t even interested in men. She wanted to paint, and the thought of restoring this old house herself made her hands itch! She wanted to rip off the wallpaper, hire someone to sand the floors, and design a clever little kitchen that would have modern appliances but retain an old-fashioned ambience.

Was she unstable? she wondered. Since Jack died four years ago, Faye had moved twice. First, she’d sold the posh townhouse where she’d lived with Jack and their daughter for so many years, given some of the proceeds to her daughter and her husband for their own home, and moved into one of the condos at The Haven. That had been fun, almost like being back at college. But she’d missed having her own place, especially her own garden, so she’d bought a little Cape Cod located halfway between The Haven and Boston. She’d enjoyed the house, but it never had
claimed
her the way this house did.

But would it be reckless, to buy this house when she hadn’t even lived on the island for a year? What about the doctors, and health care, Marilyn had asked. What about when Faye grew older? It was a valid question, and related to the question Polly had asked—if Faye moved to this old-fashioned island, would she develop an increasing estrangement from the real world? Already Faye was so separate from the culture of youth. She didn’t play video games, couldn’t use a skateboard or an iPod. She used a computer but hadn’t ventured much beyond e-mail. Would moving to Nantucket be hiding in the past instead of welcoming the future?

Faye lifted a piece of peeling wallpaper. Beneath it lay another layer of wallpaper, an ivory background covered with blueberries. She could envision living in this house, restoring it, painting landscapes in good weather, painting the woodwork of the parlor when it rained outside. She could imagine opening up the old fireplace, selecting one of her art books, and curling up to read. She could imagine walking into town every day to post her mail, stop at the library, buy groceries, perhaps meet Shirley for coffee or lunch. She could imagine fetching Adele from the retirement home and driving her out to appreciate the crash of waves on a stormy day. She could envision painting. She knew the landscapes she’d done over the summer were her best work yet. A gallery owner on the island wanted to give her a private show here next summer. She felt she was just starting out.

And if it was reckless to move here, then why shouldn’t she be reckless? She was old enough to be reckless!

And—for a good long time more—she was young enough.

53

O
n the eighth of August, Shirley traveled to Boston to Nora’s house. There, over the reassuring social ceremony of Earl Grey tea and scones, Shirley presented Nora with the news of their discoveries. On Nantucket, Faye and Polly invited Lucinda to tea that same afternoon, where, as synchronized as spies, they waited for Shirley’s phone call. At her signal, they told Lucinda about the letters. Then, using cell phones, Shirley, in Boston, and Faye, on Nantucket, began the difficult process of arbitration.

Both Nora and Lucinda reacted with disbelief and horror. In Boston and in Nantucket, the younger women rushed to strengthen the older women’s tea with stiff shots of brandy.

As the first shock faded, both Nora and Lucinda went into tailspins of panic about the possible legal and financial consequences of this information. Lucinda worried that Nora, now that she knew her father was Ford Payne, would sue for some portion of Lucinda’s estate. Nora worried that if her one living sibling and all the cousins knew that Nora and her children were not Pettigrews, her children would lose their share of the Pettigrew inheritance.

In addition, Nora had to deal with the fact that it was Lucinda who had been pilfering her heirlooms. And Lucinda had to suffer the embarrassment of Nora’s knowledge of her strange thefts.

Shirley did her best to soothe Nora, while on Nantucket, Faye and Polly did their best to reassure Lucinda. Finally, Nora asked for some time to think things over. Both Nora and Lucinda agreed to a détente during which no one would speak of these matters to anyone else.

For two weeks, the women of the Hot Flash Club at last basked in a temporary sense of summery peace. Shirley hurried back to the island to spend the hot August days with Harry. Faye painted. Alice spent time in Boston with Gideon, occasionally visiting her granddaughter. When she came to Nantucket, she kept busy helping plan a fund drive for the Meeting House. Polly traveled to Boston for various social outings with Carolyn Sperry, which included, naturally, Carolyn’s daughter, Polly’s goddaughter, Elizabeth, as well as,
naturally,
Carolyn’s father Aubrey. Marilyn and Ian split their time between their chaotic Cambridge home and blissfully idle island days, when they finally were able to plan their wedding.

Toward the end of August, Nora Salter phoned her Nantucket house. Shirley didn’t answer—she was pretty much living with Harry—but Faye was there, and the two women knew each other because they both served on the board of The Haven. After a brief consultation, Faye phoned Shirley, who flew back to Boston, and once again, using their cell phones, Nora, with Shirley as arbiter, and Lucinda, with Faye and Polly, struggled toward a rocky rapprochement.

Nora assured Lucinda she would place no claim on the Payne estate or make it public that Lucinda had been stealing Nora’s possessions, as long as Lucinda did not make public the newfound fact of Nora’s heritage. Lucinda agreed. Their verbal contract was based less on mutual trust than on mutual blackmail, but it was a start.

Faye and Shirley were instructed by both women to make copies of the letters between Amelia and Ford so that Lucinda and Nora each could retain them in safe deposit boxes in their separate banks. The pages of the original letters were divided equally between them.

And then, Nora announced, she wanted to come to Nantucket.

She didn’t want to inconvenience any of Shirley’s friends, who had been promised the house for the summer season. But her hip was healing nicely, and the truth was, curiosity about the tunnel between the houses was rather consuming her. Faye assured her she was welcome in her own home, and made plans to pick Nora up at the airport.

On the last Saturday in August, sunlight poured down, turning the humid air of the island into a giant steam bath. It was relatively cool in the basement of Nora Salter’s house, for which Shirley and Faye were grateful. Their hearts were already tripping as they assisted Nora Salter down the stairs and across the dirt floor to the tunnel. Even though they knew that Polly and Adele were with Lucinda, awaiting their arrival, they still dreaded the forthcoming confrontation. Both women were formal and proud—and in their seventies, the perfect age for a heart attack.

“My, my.” Nora leaned heavily on her ivory-handled cane as she peered into the entrance to the tunnel. “How inordinately peculiar. This was here all my life, and I never knew it. Would you shine the flashlight, Shirley, so I can see to enter?”

Shirley hesitated. “Are you sure you want to go through it? You have to sort of scrunch up and bend over—”

Nora chuckled dryly. “Since my hip operation, I’ve become quiet adept at stooping.”

Shirley shone the light into the tunnel. Nora peered around, investigating, then moved forward, slowly, resting her more vulnerable side on her cane with each step. Shirley followed, with Faye behind. They paused to show Nora the loose brick and the small space where the metal box holding the letters had been hidden. The tunnel was only eight feet long, but it was small enough to make them all claustrophobic, so they quickly moved on, out into the light and modern ambience of Lucinda’s basement.

Nora looked around. “I’d heard that Lucinda had turned her basement into a family room. This is nicer than I expected. Although the windows provide very little light.” Eagerly, she moved toward the stairs to the first floor. “I’ve never been inside the house in all my life,” she whispered to Shirley.

In spite of Nora’s enthusiasm, the climb up the stairs took time because of her hip, and Shirley and Faye kept alert, ready to catch the older woman should she fall. From their vantage point one and two steps down, Nora’s girdled, silk-trousered bottom loomed like a boulder.

“I think this is what’s called ‘bringing up the rear,’” Faye muttered to Shirley with a grin.

“What’s that?” Nora asked.

Shirley quickly improvised. “The basement’s so cool it makes you feel like spring is here!”

Polly was at the top of the stairs, holding the basement door open. “Greetings, travelers!” she called as the three women arrived in the kitchen. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll take tea in the front parlor.”

“Well!” Nora stared around her admiringly. “Lucinda has done a very nice job modernizing the place. Very nice.”

Slowly they made their way down the hall and into the front parlor. Lucinda was enthroned in a wing chair. Clad in ivory silk, she looked regal, but her hands clutched the arms of the chair, belying her facade of calm. Seated at one end of the sofa, Adele, with her white curls and bright eyes, looked like a very old child at the opening curtain of a play.

Nora’s green eyes met Lucinda’s green eyes across the expanse of the room. Nora was a bit plumper than Lucinda, and she kept her hair colored brown and cut short and styled loose and modern. Both women wore trousers and overshirts, but Lucinda’s look was classic, while Nora’s was more current. Both women’s cheeks were flushed.

“Sit down!” Polly invited, nearly squeaking with nerves. “Please!” she added. “I’ll pour tea.”

For a few moments, everyone was diverted by the business of getting Nora settled and tea poured and served. Then the room was silent. Because it was Lucinda’s house, Shirley assumed Lucinda would speak first, but Lucinda was so rigid she was nearly trembling. Polly glanced back and forth between Nora and Lucinda, using every ounce of willpower to stop herself from filling the silence with babbling. Faye and Adele exchanged glances, smiling at each other. Nora had the upper hand here. Lucinda had been sneaking into Nora’s house, stealing Nora’s possessions. Nora had the moral right to castigate Lucinda, or to sneer.

Nora sipped her tea, then looked at Lucinda. “I’ve occasionally wondered if we weren’t related. Our earlobes, you see.”

Lucinda touched her ear. Squinting, she studied Nora’s earlobe. “Yours are overlong, as well!”

Nora nodded. “I’ve never seen anyone else with such long earlobes. Well, my daughter has them. I seldom wear earrings, because I feel they call attention to the abnormal length. As a child, I was very self-conscious about them.”

“As was I.” Lucinda shook her head, remembering. “I felt rather like a Ubangi. I never noticed that yours were overlong.”

“We seldom saw one another,” Nora reminded her.

“True.” Lucinda sipped her tea.

“But your
subconscious
must have known!” Shirley eyes shone with excitement at this touchstone. She turned to Lucinda. “I mean, you took so many
earrings.
Maybe your mind was trying to give you a message.”

“I never took any earrings,” Lucinda asserted.

Shirley and Faye exchanged worried looks. Was Lucinda going to sit here in front of them and deny her thieving?

“I admit I took many things from Nora’s house. But I never took any earrings. Go check if you wish.”

“But we all lost earrings,” Shirley insisted.

Adele spoke up. “It was probably a ghost. Perhaps Amelia’s ghost, or Ford’s, trying to get you girls to notice and start communicating.”

Faye, amused, smiled down into her teacup at such nonsense. Polly looked skeptical.

But Shirley caught the look that flashed between Nora and Lucinda.

“I’ve always thought we had a ghost.” Nora’s eyes misted slightly. “I’ve always thought it was a woman, and I never felt endangered by her presence. Perhaps it was my mother.” She smiled. “I’d like to believe it was my mother.”

Shirley scooted forward on her chair. “They say young children are more sensitive to extraordinary phenomena, but they lose it as they become educated in the ways of this world. Perhaps people, as they grow older, begin to regain this ability.”

“What an interesting idea!” Adele looked thoughtful.

But Nora and Lucinda both bridled.

“We’re hardly that much older than you!” Lucinda reminded Shirley coolly.

Nora nodded sharply, agreeing with Lucinda.

“That’s true, of course.” Shirley, appropriately chastised, settled back in her chair.

Lucinda, emboldened by this much rapport between herself and Nora, cleared her throat, straightened her already ramrod-straight shoulders, and lifted her chin high. “I’m in the process of packing several boxes with your little, um, bibelots. Since these women are so much younger and stronger, they’ll be able to carry them back to your house for you.”

Nora responded mildly. “I would appreciate that.” Looking around Lucinda’s parlor, she commented, “This room looks very tasteful without embellishments. The Quakers would have approved. I often think I have too many items scattered around.”

Adele spoke up. “My children have made oodles of money, selling a lot of the family stuff on eBay.”

Nora, who was an investor in The Haven and an active member of several important charities, was savvy. “Not a bad idea.”

Lucinda looked puzzled. “What is eBay?”

Faye opened her mouth to explain, but was halted by Adele gently placing her hand on Faye’s. Faye looked questioningly at Adele, who nudged her to observe the two adversaries.

Nora inclined toward Lucinda. “EBay is a sort of computer marketplace. You
do
have a computer?”

Lucinda sniffed. “I do not.”

“But you should have one!” Nora exclaimed. “They’re wonderful for keeping in touch with friends. And it opens up a whole new world.”

“I have no interest in computers,” Lucinda said with a touch of defiance.

“That’s because you’ve never used one,” Nora retorted. “Look, come over sometime and I’ll let you try mine out. You’ll be amazed.”

“
I
use one,” Shirley put in. “And I’m hardly part of the college set.”

“I don’t use one.” Adele let an elderly quaver enter her voice. “I’m really too old to learn the things.” Stifling a grin, she allowed herself to meet Shirley’s eyes. Vain Lucinda would want to distinguish herself from Adele.

Lucinda looked annoyed. She knew she’d been boxed in. “Very well. I’ll give it a try. Would you like to set a time?”

Nora took a small black leather notebook from her purse and checked it. “What about tomorrow? Around eleven in the morning? I always feel fresh in the mornings.”

“I have to check my calendar,” Lucinda told her.

“Would you like me to get it for you?” Polly offered.

“I’m hardly lame,” Lucinda responded. Rising, she crossed to the handsome desk on the other side of the room and opened a leather diary lying there. “Tomorrow morning at eleven will be fine.”

“Good.” Nora set her teacup on the table.

Adele stirred her plump limbs. “Girls, I’m sorry to break up the tea party, but I believe I need to go home.”

“That’s fine,” Nora said. “I’m ready, too.”

Polly and Faye helped Adele up and stood back like maids-in-waiting as Adele and Nora slowly perambulated to the front door. Shirley opened the front door and the covey of women, politely thanking Lucinda for the tea, bustled out into the hot August day.

Just as they were almost out the door, Nora turned back. She looked at Lucinda, archrival, thief, and half-sister. “Oh, and Lucinda.” Her voice was cool, but tinged with the beginnings of laughter. “When you come tomorrow, you won’t need to use the tunnel. This time you can come in the front door.”