The Hot Flash Club Chills Out (6 page)

“This is so exciting,” Marilyn said. “I feel better already!”

“I can feel the sand under my feet.” Faye sighed.

Alice was less romantic. “I can feel the sand in my bathing suit.”

Shirley softly tapped her fork against her glass to get their attention again. “There’s one more little thing.”

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Alice said. “Spit it out.”

“It’s nothing to worry about. It probably won’t even bother us. It may not even exist!”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Marilyn asked.

Shirley hunched her shoulders up protectively and said in a very small voice, “Nora says there might be a ghost.”

7

M
other, I’m putting the lists on the refrigerator, okay?”

“Yes, dear,” Ruth replied. “On the refrigerator.”

“Here’s the phone number for the Nantucket house, and my cell phone number is here, and so are Faye’s and Alice’s just in case mine doesn’t work for some reason.”

“Darling, I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will, but I just want to go over things with you again. Here is Ian’s work schedule and his phone number at the university and his cell phone, in case of emergency. We stocked your cupboards yesterday, and I’ve made some casseroles; the instructions for heating them up are on the list, too.”

“I know how to heat food, Marilyn, and you’ve left enough to feed the Tibetan army.”

Marilyn hesitated, wondering whether Tibet even had an army. That just didn’t seem
right
somehow, so was this another sign of her mother’s increasing senility?

Focus,
she commanded herself.

Faye was arriving at any moment to pick up Marilyn for the drive down to Hyannis, which was great for Marilyn since she had only one car, and Ian might need that, even though he, like Marilyn, often commuted to work via the subway. Marilyn had been up since five-thirty, responding to e-mail related to her MIT classes, students, and committees, making lists to leave for her mother and Ian, and, finally, packing for this little weekend jaunt, which turned out to be more complicated than she’d anticipated. Last year, when she’d flown fairly often to Scotland to visit Ian, she’d had her travel kit ready to go at a moment’s notice, but of course now that Ian was living with her, she hadn’t used the kit. For a while, she couldn’t even
find
it, because when she and Ian moved in to this narrow, three-story rental, she’d happily and quickly thrown things into boxes and black plastic bags. Last night, it had taken her one long, muttering, hair-pulling hour to paw through the various boxes and bags at the back of the various closets, an hour she’d planned to use for other things, such as making lists for Ruth.

The beep of a car horn interrupted her thoughts.

“That’s Faye!” Marilyn bent over to kiss her mother. “Now remember, Ian’s son Angus is living here for a while, so if you hear anyone walking around upstairs, don’t be alarmed.”

“Darling.” Reaching up, Ruth put both bony hands on Marilyn’s shoulders, pulling her close enough to give her an Eskimo nose rub. “I’m going to be just fine. I’m snug as a bug in a mug down here.”

“Good.” Faye had picked up Shirley and Polly first; Marilyn’s home in Cambridge was the closest to Route 3, the highway down to the Cape. She didn’t want to keep all three women waiting.

Ruth continued, “If I get lonely, I’ll invite Ernest over. But I’ve had a busy week, and I’m looking forward to a nice quiet weekend with my knitting, my television, and my crossword puzzles. So don’t you worry about me for a minute! Just have a wonderful time.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Marilyn appreciated her mother’s words, but the little speech took so long, and her mother’s hands made her feel so trapped—she felt like an adolescent again, desperate to get away.

Three more toots sounded. Marilyn could tell her mother couldn’t hear them. Faye had planned extra time into their schedule for the drive to Hyannis, in case the traffic was heavy; still they had to be there on time or they’d miss the ferry.

“Faye’s here! She’s honking her horn! Gotta go!” She wrenched herself away.

Just as Marilyn got to the door to the stairs, Ruth called, “Marilyn?”

“Yes, Mother?” She forced brightness into her voice.

“Remember, if you don’t fricassee, fry, fry a hen.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” Was that a touch of hysteria in her dutiful laugh? “See you tomorrow night, Mother!”

Marilyn raced up the stairs, grabbed her backpack and duffel bag, returned to the kitchen to double-check that all the burners were off on the stove, confirmed that her house keys were in the middle of the kitchen table with a note written in BIG letters telling Angus to use them if he needed to, ran down the hall and out the front door.

Faye’s hunter green Mercedes idled gently in the driveway. Faye, Polly, and Shirley waved merrily from the windows. Marilyn waved back, tested the doorknob to be sure it was firmly closed, crossed the porch, skipped down the steps, tripped on the last step, and went sprawling on the front lawn.

“Marilyn!” Unbuckling their seat belts, all three threw open the car doors and jumped out.

Marilyn lay on her side. She’d caught herself with her hands and taken the brunt of the fall on her right hip. For a moment she couldn’t get her breath.

Faye knelt next to Marilyn. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Marilyn gasped. “Must…catch…breath.”

“Take your time,” Shirley urged. “We’re in no hurry.”

That, Marilyn knew, wasn’t precisely true. Gingerly, she sat up.

“How do you feel?” Polly asked.

“Like an idiot.”

Faye grinned. “She meant, did you break anything?”

Marilyn stretched, taking a mental inventory of her body. “Nope. Only my pride is hurt.” But when she pressed her hands on the ground to push herself up, she realized she’d abraded them during the fall.

Faye helped Marilyn up. Shirley took Marilyn’s hands in hers and inspected her palms. “Oh, dear.”

“Just little scrapes,” Marilyn said.

Polly peered over Shirley’s shoulder. “Still, you’d better wash them and put some ointment on.”

Marilyn turned to go back into the house. “I can’t get inside. I left my keys for Angus.”

Polly said in a sensible tone, “Well, knock on the door, he’ll let you in.”

Marilyn shook her head. “Uh-uh. Angus is up in the attic. Besides, he wouldn’t hear me if I yelled his name through a loudspeaker. He lives in his own little world.”

“Well, isn’t Ruth home? Let’s go around back to her French doors—” Shirley set off walking.

“Shirley, stop!” Marilyn’s voice took on a slightly desperate tone. “Trust me, if we go into Ruth’s place, she’ll take forever just to get to the door, and then she’ll want to cluck over my hands, and she’ll have to ask you all how you are, and we’ll miss the ferry—we’ll miss
all
the ferries.” To her surprise, she was on the verge of tears.

“Right.” Faye picked up Marilyn’s duffel bag and tossed it in the trunk of her Mercedes. “Let’s go!”

They all settled into the car, sinking into the luxurious leather seats. As they pulled away from her house, Marilyn felt as if she were on a spaceship, leaving a planet with exceptional gravitational pull. They went through Cambridge, along Memorial Drive, and were through the Big Dig area in Boston before the tug of responsibility finally thinned.

“We didn’t pick up Alice,” Marilyn noticed suddenly.

“She’s flying down to Nantucket,” Faye told her. “She’s not thrilled about this whole thing, doesn’t want to take the boat, thinks it’s a waste of time.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” Shirley said enthusiastically. “I’ve never been on a ferry before.”

“Neither have I,” Polly said. “And isn’t it a gorgeous day for a trip!”

They all looked out the window. Along the highway, the tender tips of newly budding trees waved beneath the blue sky like flags of a brand new country.

8

H
yannis was a crowded port. Getting to the ferry and then on the ferry seemed, for a while, a lot like their normal lives—full of schedules, rules, and organization. They found a parking place in one of the lots near the Steamship Authority’s terminal, and clustered around to observe Faye putting the receipt in the zipper pocket of her purse, so
one
of them would remember where it was when the time came to reclaim the Mercedes. They lugged and pulled their weekend luggage along the busy street and through the lines of cars to the office, where they bought their tickets.

By the time they joined the line of fellow voyagers standing by the boat slip, the handsome white ferry was making its stately approach. It docked, releasing passengers, cars, and trucks. They handed their tickets to the attendant, tramped up the ramp onto the first deck, and up a set of metal stairs to the main deck with its scores of blue vinyl benches and white tables, all securely fastened down.

“Let’s grab a booth,” Faye suggested. “We can go out if we want sunshine, but it might be too cool to spend the entire trip outside.”

Taking Faye’s advice, they claimed a booth, dropped their bags, and climbed another flight of stairs to the top deck with its double smokestacks and rows of seats, where people were already settling, opening picnic baskets, or leaning back to soak in the sun. A male voice came over a public address system, welcoming them to the boat, advising them there was no smoking, and providing information about where to find life jackets, which freaked them all out for a moment, until they noticed that no one else was paying any attention. The boat sounded its horn three times, and with a deep satisfied rumble, pulled away from shore.

The four women stood together at the stern, watching the buildings, streets, trees, and rooftops of the mainland retreat.

“That’s the Kennedy compound,” Faye told them, pointing toward the shore, her other hand pulling her hair from her face as the wind blew it.

The houses grew smaller and farther away. Gulls swooped through the clear air. Duck couples idled placidly in the gentle swells. The ferry chugged steadily toward the horizon, until it was surrounded by Nantucket Sound, the wind furrowing the blue waters into fields of white-tipped waves. Sunlight struck sparks on the water, as if someone beneath the surface were tossing handfuls of diamonds up into the air.

One by one, the four women separated, silently going off alone to lean on the white rails, gazing out at the dancing azure waters. One by one, they felt the duties of the real world slip away, evaporating into the fresh air. The horizon was empty—almost. Far in the distance, sails cut white triangles in the blue, but for a while they saw no land, no houses, no human edifices, only the eternal expanse of sky and water, impervious to their power and their desires. They didn’t notice how their breathing deepened, how their shoulders relaxed, how their blood slowed. The blue waters were hypnotic, allowing a white ship of calm to sail through their minds.

A dog barked. A baby cried. A pack of teenage girls giggled past. The spell was broken. Faye, realizing she was slightly chilled from the breeze, hurried back down to the main deck and bought herself a cup of coffee.

Polly, Shirley, and Marilyn joined her at the booth, which, with their purses, duffels, sweaters, and scarves had become a temporary nest. The boat was in deeper waters now, and waves smashed against the ship.

Marilyn put her hand to her belly. “I think I’m getting a little motion sick.”

“Eat something,” Faye advised.

“What a good idea!” Polly bent over her duffel bag and brought out a plastic plate covered with foil. She opened it to reveal dark-chocolate fudge brownies, caramel-chip cookies, and almond macaroons. “Made them myself, just for the trip,” she told them, with a smile.

“Brilliant, Polly!” Faye exclaimed. “We don’t dock until 11:30, we won’t get to the house till after noon, by the time we get back into town for lunch, it will most likely be one or after. This will tide us over nicely.”

Munching away happily, they gazed out the window as another ferry, a cheerful white, red, and blue, passed them going in the opposite direction. Passengers waved from the upper decks.

“This is the way to travel,” Polly sighed contently. “We sit and eat while the scenery moves.”

“I can’t wait to see the house,” Shirley said.

Marilyn asked, “Have you found anyone to take Polly’s place at Havenly Yours for the summer?”

Polly nodded, her mouth full of chocolate.

Shirley answered for her. “We think Rosa, one of the seamstresses, can do the job. She’s smart enough, works well with the other women, and seems comfortable with authority.”

“I’ve left her in charge before,” Polly continued. “Some days I couldn’t make it in for one reason or another, and Rosa has always kept things running smoothly. Shirley and I have spoken with her, and told her she’s getting a raise and will get another one after the summer, if all goes well.”

“Plus, there’s always the cell phone,” Shirley added. “Faye, how does Aubrey feel about you spending time on Nantucket this summer?”

Faye grimaced. “To be honest, he’s become a bit of an old crab. His shoulder isn’t healing as quickly as he’d like, and now that he’s moved back to his own apartment, I’m not there to fetch and carry for him at the drop of a hat.” She stopped, looking startled. “Gosh, that sounded bitchy!”

“You’re allowed,” Shirley assured her.

Faye made a face. “Well, I feel guilty, but by the way, I’m not the only reason his bursitis is acting up. He admitted that earlier that day he’d gone golfing with a friend and it bothered him then. I was just the straw—let me rephrase that. I was just the elephant that broke the camel’s back.”

“You’re not an elephant!” Polly argued.

“Thanks, Polly.” Faye squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’s funny, isn’t it, how quickly we fall back into the role of Florence Nightingale/Mama. I loved being a nurturer when my daughter was young, but
I
was younger then. I had more energy, more stamina. I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my life nurturing Aubrey. Does that sound wicked of me?”

“Not at all,” Marilyn assured her.

Faye folded her paper napkin into intricate patterns. “Aubrey has begun to talk about marriage.”

“Oh, Faye!” Shirley, ever romantic, sighed at the fairy tale word.

Faye smiled ruefully. “I’m not sure I want to marry him. I’m not even sure I want to
live
with him. I like my new little house. Now that I’ve gotten used to it, I like my independence. If I married Aubrey, we’d have to buy a new house and compromise on everything. Aubrey’s apartment is overwhelming, in a gentleman’s smoking room sort of way, all dark wood and Remington statues of cowboys.”

“Goodness, Ian and I haven’t even considered
décor.
” Marilyn looked alarmed.

“That’s because it doesn’t matter to you,” Faye told her. “Which is fine for both of you. And it’s only one part of the equation of marriage. For example, as much as I love Aubrey’s company, there are nights when all I really want to do is settle down on the sofa with a thick novel and a bowl of popcorn.” Looking at healthy Shirley, she added, “Finished off with a crisp apple.”

Shirley weighed in, her face earnest. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who loved you to rub your feet? Who brought you chicken noodle soup and ginger ale when you were sick? Who cheered you up at the end of a long day?”

“Is that what you want, Shirley?” Faye asked. “You could have that, if you married Stan.”

Shirley’s face fell. She stuck her lower lip out in a little pout. “That’s mean, Faye.”

“Why? I don’t mean to be mean!”

Shirley heaved an enormous sigh. “It’s not like Stan and I are anywhere close to talking marriage. I’m not even sure that we’re seeing each other exclusively.”

“Have you slept together yet?” Marilyn asked.

Shirley leaned her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.

“That bad, huh?” Polly’s voice was gentle.

“Not
bad,
” Shirley amended. “Just not
wonderful.
It’s kind of like he’s operating on a timetable. One compliment, two kisses, three touches, in, out, and we’re done!”

“But he could still bring you chicken noodle soup,” Faye said. “Or rub your feet. He would be company. You wouldn’t feel alone.”

Shirley lifted her head and with her fingertips, pulled down the skin beneath her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Everyone laughed.

“Where’s the
romance
?” Shirley demanded. “That’s what I want to know!”

“Maybe we’re too old for
romance,
” Polly suggested.

“Oh, easy for you to say, when you’ve got wonderful Hugh in your life,” Shirley huffed, leaning back in the booth and folding her arms over her chest.

“It’s not all romantic, believe me,” Polly retorted. “Sometimes it is, yes, that’s true. Hugh’s a wonderful lover. And he’s so imaginative and playful. When we go off on trips together, we have a spectacular time! But daily life is—
challenging.
For example, once again, this year we didn’t spend Valentine’s Day together, because his daughter had one of her intimate family dinners. His children and grandchildren always come first for him, and since they always include his ex-wife, they never invite me. That leaves me alone a lot, and that makes me fret and fume and stomp around feeling rejected.”

“And anger gets in the way of romance,” Faye said quietly.

“You bet it does!” Polly agreed.

“We know too much,” Marilyn said musingly. “We’ve lived long enough to lose patience with Cinderella stories. I think
romance
belongs to the young and foolish.”

“Well, hey, I’m
old
and foolish!” Shirley joked, a hopeful note in her voice.

“Look!” Faye interrupted the conversation, leaning toward the window, pointing. “Land!”

“Ahoy, matey,” Polly cried. “Let’s go up on deck!

“Here.” Shirley took out a tube of sunscreen and passed it around.

“Shirley, it’s only May,” Marilyn said.

“Yes, and the sun is strong, and even stronger when you’re near water.”

So as the four leaned on the railing, watching the island come closer, the scent of citrus and coconut drifted around them, waking up little brain cells that had been snoozing for years. There were no palm trees on Nantucket, but there were long expanses of sand, and dozens of boats bobbing in the harbor, and a stubby little lighthouse nestled on a point. Gliding past it, the ferry entered the harbor, its engines churning slowly, and they saw the town rise before them in shades of gray and lilac and white. Gold gleamed from a church steeple and spring buds filigreed the scene in pale green.

“It’s beautiful!” Polly breathed. “It’s like another world!” Grabbing Shirley, she hugged her. “Thank you!”

As they watched, the ferry rumbled into its slip. Chains clanked as the ramps were dropped and fastened, and the boat dipped and rose as cars and trucks roared to life and filed out onto land.

“Time to go!” Faye said.

They grabbed their bags, clattered down the metal stairs, and joined the line of passengers disembarking.

And then, there they were, on Nantucket.