Lily's breath caught in her throat. She held the dress against her. The material was so sensual, so exquisite. "I couldn't," she said carefully. "And it's a little too large."

Eartha laughed. "A little too large? Honey, you should run for office. Hey, we'll just have my dressmaker alter it for you. She's coming over later today. Check my calendar. And get my topaz necklace and earrings. I'll bet they'd be dynamite on you with that apricot dress."

Lily tried not to hurry as she went to Eartha's desk and turned her engagement book to the right page. "Seamstress at three."

"Now what about this?" Eartha held a dress up against her. It was cut loose and full in a swirl of yellows and pinks. "I think this will fit. Come help me."

Lily burned to open the jewelry drawers of the vanity, but she hurried to help Eartha undress and dress again. Now Eartha was into the full swing of decision making, yanking clothes on and off with Lily's help. G.o.dzy got bored and fell asleep on the bed. Lily fluttered around Eartha, eagerly helping, secretly praying, Don't forget the jewelry!

"G.o.d, I'm exhausted!" Eartha let the last dress fall into a silken puddle on the floor. "Honey, get me some Diet c.o.ke. I've got to rest. Jesus, this fashion business is tiring." She crawled back into bed wearing nothing but her underwear.

Lily went into the kitchen and returned with two tall gla.s.ses filled with ice and Diet c.o.ke. Pulling a chair next to the bed, she opened Eartha's engagement calendar. The two women went over it carefully, planning what Eartha would wear to each event, and which shoes, and which jewelry. Occasionally Eartha asked Lily to hold some of the jewelry up to a garment to see if it made the colors "pop." At eleven, Eartha headed into her bathroom for a shower while Lily stripped her bed and put on fresh sheets and pillowcases and smoothed the light coverlet over the bed. She went around the room, tidying the clothing. She carried the cardboard boxes out to the recyclable pile in the garage. When she returned, Eartha was ready for Lily to help her dress for lunch. Lily zipped up the beige linen dress and dug around in the closet for the shoes Eartha wanted. Eartha sat at her vanity, applying makeup.

"I think that's it for the morning," Lily said. "I've called your cab. It will be here right at noon."

"Be back at three," Eartha told her. "We'll get that dress cut down for you. You're going to the library fund-raiser, aren't you? Good. We'll be sure she's got the dress ready for you to wear for that. And here." Opening a drawer, Eartha lifted out a pair of intricate topaz and gold teardrop earrings and a matching necklace. "Take these. You can keep them. They're meant for your hair and coloring."

Tears welled in Lily's eyes. She blinked them back. "I can't keep them," she protested, but her voice cracked as she spoke.

"Why not? I never wear them. I've seen what you wear to the parties. You need some serious jewelry, honey. You may think you look adorable and innocent in your little costume stuff, but the topaz will make you stand out." She patted Lily's hand. "And I like my friends to be outstanding."

"I ... I could just borrow them ..."

"Oh, cut it out. Surely you can tell I have more money than sense. Take the d.a.m.n things. And stop that quivering-lip s.h.i.t. You're beginning to annoy me."

Lily grinned at Eartha's words. "Well, if you're sure. Thank you so much. They are beautiful."

"You are beautiful, honey. And young. Enjoy it while you can."

Mary Jo Cushing was holding a luncheon event to welcome a biographer who would lecture tonight about his new book on American presidents, but as Lily biked over to the Cushing house, she didn't review the questions she would ask Austin Abernathy for her article about him. Instead, she gloated over the topaz jewelry and the apricot dress.

At the Cushings' house on Cliff Road, Lily entered through the kitchen, stopping to chat for a minute with the caterers, who were friends of hers. The buffet luncheon was on the long green swoop of lawn overlooking the glistening blue waters of Nantucket Sound. Lily zipped around taking photos and writing down names. After the luncheon, Lily led Austin Abernathy to a quiet spot in the solarium to interview him. He was just as she'd feared--long-winded, pompous, and stodgy. She kept stealing glances at her watch. It had taken her fifteen minutes to bike from Eartha's to the Cushings'. She had to leave no later than two-forty-five; she didn't want to be late for the dressmaker, and it would be rude to keep Eartha waiting after her generosity.

"Now Herbert Hoover," Austin Abernathy droned, "was misunderstood by most of the more eminent historians--"

Lily's watch pointed to two-forty-six.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Abernathy." Lily closed her notebook and stood up. "I've got an appointment at three. It was an honor to meet you. Thank you so much for giving me this interview."

She thanked her hostess and raced out to her bike. She pedaled as fast as she could, but anxiety strung her nerves tight. Emma had to have the car in the late afternoon because she had to drive the Bennett children around, and Lily understood that, but still it seemed unfair. The sun had grown hot and muggy, the warmest day they'd had yet this July, and she felt sweat break out all over as she forced herself to hurry. She didn't want to be late, but she didn't want to show up at Eartha's covered with sweat and smelling like old socks. Frustration clogged her throat. She sniffed back tears. Great. Swell. She was going to show up at Eartha Yardley's with swollen red eyes, a dripping nose, and sweat-smelling clothes!

She arrived at Eartha's only ten minutes late. The seamstress was just carrying a pile of altered clothing into the house. G.o.dzy was circling her, yipping and prancing and wagging his tail.

"Let me help you," Lily offered, dumping her bike on the ground. Mona Coffin had been a friend of her mother's, and Lily was always glad to see her.

Inside, Lily hid her impatience as Eartha tried on the new dresses that needed altering. Lily took garments off hangers and put them back on, entered the information in Eartha's black notebook, and brought everyone gla.s.ses of iced tea. She slid the garments Mona would take back with her into their garment bags and double-checked to see that she'd listed all the details of the alterations. She packed up the rejects for the next UPS visit. She chatted and laughed as the two older women gossiped about movie stars and TV celebrities.

And then finally, Eartha said, "Okay, Mona, now I've got a challenge for you. Can you cut this dress down from whale size to goldfish?"

Mona laughed. "Let's see."

Lily dropped her clothes and slid into the apricot dress. The fabric was as magical as she'd remembered.

"Oh, honey," Mona said. "This is stunning on you." She ran her hands down the side seams, pulling the material, evaluating. "Yes. Yes, I think I can take it in here, and here, like this ..."

"And you'll need to shorten it," Eartha added. "With legs like hers, it should be as short as possible. Cheese on a cracker, you could get two dresses out of that."

How pleasurable it was to have the two older women circling her, heads c.o.c.ked, studying her, complimenting her, smoothing the fabric over her back and hips, touching Lily and the dress so gently. It felt like a great tenderness. Lily's heart swelled with grat.i.tude.

"How soon can you have it finished?" Eartha asked Mona.

"It depends where it is on your list of priorities," Mona told her. She waved toward the pile of clothing she had to take with her to alter.

"Get my calendar, Lily. I think the library fund-raiser is next Friday night."

Lily ran her finger down the list of Eartha's scheduled activities. "It is."

"Let's have it by Friday morning, then," Eartha said. "It's going to be a big glam occasion. This dress will be perfect for it." She sat down on her bed. "G.o.d, I'm beat. I've got to rest before I go out for the evening."

Lily said good-bye to Eartha and G.o.dzy, then helped Mona carry the clothing out to the car. She jumped on her bike and pedaled away from the house, but when she came to the entrance to Sanford Farm, she locked up her bike and ran into a grove of evergreen trees. No one could see her here. She crumbled to the ground and gave way to a ma.s.sive storm of weeping.

She missed her mother!

She could remember her mother holding her, caressing her, whispering endearments, and she could remember Abbie holding her, too. Abbie had taken Lily shopping for clothes, Abbie had taken care that Lily had the prettiest outfits, and Abbie had altered Lily's clothes to make them perfect. Abbie had brushed Lily's hair and braided it or tied it in ribbons. Abbie had let Lily experiment with her makeup--oh, there had been lots of times when Abbie and Emma, sometimes, too, had dressed Lily like a live china doll. They had been so proud of pretty little Lily, with her red hair and gem-green eyes. They'd held her hands when they walked into town, when they attended church, when they'd gone to school events. Why, when she was small, Lily hadn't had enough hands, not with Abbie, Emma, and her father all wanting to accompany her!

And now she was so alone! Now Abbie and Emma were like strangers, only caring about themselves, not bothering to spare a single thought for Lily!

Oh, grow up, Lily, she told herself. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose and wiped her tears. You're an adult now, she reminded herself. How could she forget the best thing about being grown-up--Jason. Love, and s.e.x, with Jason. She took her iPod from her backpack, and as she did, she felt the little padded jewelry bag. Now she had real jewelry, too, another pleasure of being grown-up.

She left the grove of trees, climbed on her bike, stuck her earpiece into her ear, and biked home with ABBA jazzing up her mood.

Not until she was locking her bike in the garage did she remember.

Emma had arranged to use their father's truck to pick up the children so that Lily could use the car this afternoon to buy groceries. And in her excitement at Eartha's stunning generosity, Lily had forgotten all about buying groceries.

29.

Marina Jim had phoned Marina to tell her he was running late. Could she meet him at Even Keel at eight instead of seven? She'd said of course, and he said he'd change the reservation, and now she was strolling into town on a warm summer evening, and everything around her seemed soft and new and lovely. She felt soft and new and lovely, and it wasn't just the pale blue summer dress that drifted around her as she moved, it wasn't just the warm glow her skin carried from the summer sun. It was partly, she thought, that she was falling a little in love with this island, with its golden beaches and shimmering skies and gardens vibrant with flowers. It was also, partly, she admitted to herself, the presence of Jim Fox in her life.

She turned off Orange Street onto Main Street. The stores were still open, spilling light onto the brick sidewalks where people sauntered along, laughing and chatting, their clothes as brightly multihued as the flower boxes beneath the shopwindows.

Jim was waiting for her in front of Even Keel. He looked wonderful in khakis and a red cotton b.u.t.ton-down shirt, and he was talking with another man. Of course he was; Jim couldn't move a step in this town without running into a friend.

She saw Jim's face light up as she approached. He introduced her to his friend, then escorted her into the restaurant. To her delight, they were seated in the garden patio at the back.

"How was your day?" she asked.

He told her about the house he was renovating, how a guy on his crew had injured his thumb with a band saw and had to go to the hospital to be st.i.tched up. He asked about her day and she told him about working on her lightship basket at Sheila Lester's and attending the noonday concert at the Unitarian church. Jim ordered a bottle of red wine, and they sipped it as they waited for their entrees to arrive. Above them, the night sky changed colors, paling from blue to a radiant dove gray. All around them the other diners were talking and laughing, but they seemed insubstantial to Marina, background for the center of the universe, this table, this moment, this man.

She had not been this happy for a long time.

The waiter set their plates before them. Salmon for her, prime rib for Jim.

"Oh," Marina said. "That reminds me. I've invited your daughters to dinner tomorrow night. I told them I'd grill steak."

Shocked, Jim said, "What?"

"I stopped by your house and asked your daughters to come to dinner. They chose tomorrow night."

Jim put down his knife and fork. "I wish you'd asked me about this first."

Now she was the one who was shocked. "Is there a problem?"

His face was troubled. "It's just that it seems, well, premature."

The word was like a slap in the face. Marina sat back in her chair, gathering her thoughts. "It's only dinner, Jim. It's not a serious commitment. It's not even a suggestion that there ever will be a serious commitment. It's just being neighborly. I'm living in their old Playhouse. I see them every day and they see me. It's not like I'm invisible." She thought she was going to cry.

Jim shook his head. "I know. It's just that the situation is delicate. I suppose I've tried to protect the girls."

"Do you mean in all these years they've never been invited to dinner by a woman you were dating?" Her voice was shriller than she'd meant it to be. Several other diners glanced her way.

Jim muttered, "I don't think you should sound so judgmental. You don't know the background."

"I'd like to know the background," she said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it here," Jim told her. "Not out in public." He picked up his utensils and set about eating as if he were performing a necessary task.

"Oh, Jim." Marina leaned close to him and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I'm sorry. I had no idea this would upset you so much. I'm not trying to rush things with you. I'm not trying to make it seem as though you and I are together. I only thought it would be fun. And I suppose I thought it would be nice for your daughters to meet the woman their father is dating."

"I understand," Jim told her. "I'm sorry, too. It's just--things are complicated." He raised his eyes to Marina's. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of a confession. Then he said, "Let's talk about something else."

But no other topic of conversation held their interest for long. Jim was clearly involved with his private thoughts and Marina just felt miserable.

After dinner, they strolled around town, listening to the street musicians, pretending to have a pleasant time. They walked out on the wharves, looking at the yachts anch.o.r.ed there. Clearly Jim didn't want to talk about his daughters or his life, and Marina acted lighthearted, but she just really wanted to hide away in her bedroom and weep.

Finally it was time to go home. The streets were emptying of cars and people. The sky was dark, a quarter moon riding high overhead. As they wended their way down the narrow lanes to Jim's house, even the birds in the trees were quiet. In some houses lights burned, spilling illumination and shadows on the streets and occasionally a door would open and people would come out, laughing, happy on this hot summer night.

When they got to Jim's driveway, Marina said, "Jim. Come in for coffee, please?" She knew he understood what she was offering.

He sighed. "Not tonight, Marina. I've got to get up early tomorrow." He walked her halfway down the drive before saying, "Good night, then." And he turned and headed for his house, leaving Marina to walk to her little cottage alone.

As she organized the food for Thursday evening, Marina obsessed over Jim's reaction. She ran their conversation over and over again in her mind, searching for any hints that would help her understand his response. She longed to ask Sheila Lester about him, but remembered how, when she'd asked Sheila about Jim's wife's death, Sheila had shut her off, telling her to talk to Jim about that subject. Part of the time she scolded herself for so eagerly, hopefully, stupidly inviting the girls to dinner. Part of the time she was angry at Jim for his bizarre behavior. It was only dinner! And if Lily hadn't come in that night, she knew she and Jim would have gone to bed together. And enjoyed it. He was attracted to her, Marina knew it, and she felt there was some value in their desire, some significance. Some hope.

Still, she planned to behave with complete propriety when they all came to dinner. She would not touch Jim, she would not sneak an intimate glance his way, she would behave like someone's maiden aunt. The girls would like her. She would like them. It would be a fun evening, not laden with whatever heavy memories Jim seemed to keep safeguarded and treasured.

Jim phoned in the afternoon to tell her he wasn't going to be able to make it to dinner. The interior of a client's house was behind schedule, and he was going to continue working with his crew so it would be ready when the family arrived in August.

Marina was stunned. "I'm sorry you won't be coming," she said, forcing her tone to be cheerful. "I know the girls will miss you. I'll miss you, too."

"They're used to this," Jim told her. "They know what summer's like for me. But thanks for the invitation."

His formality was an insult. She cursed as she put down the phone.

Well, she thought, so much for any chance of a relationship developing between them.

She prepared the dinner with all the care she'd have taken if Jim were coming. She made a potato salad with small red potatoes with their skins still on and capers and bits of dill. She made a green salad spiked with thin slices of pear and crumbles of blue cheese. She concocted meringues with raspberry sauce and whipped cream. She bought fresh Portuguese bread and several bottles of wine. She spread a blue tablecloth on the little table--a tablecloth she'd bought brand new at Marine Home Center, nothing secondhand. She tucked daisies into a little white pitcher and set it in the middle of the table. She placed candles all around the cottage--to let the girls know she liked candlelight all the time, not just when entertaining a man.

She thought about wearing her shorts and tee shirt for dinner, but decided she didn't want the girls to think she hadn't dressed up because Jim wasn't coming. So she pulled on a yellow sundress and a wild beaded necklace. She coated her eyelashes heavily with mascara and brushed her lips with pink color. When she scrutinized her face in the mirror, she saw how sad she looked, really. How sad her eyes were--just like they'd been a month ago, before she came to the island.

d.a.m.n, this was just unacceptable! So what if Jim Fox had lost interest in her. No, so what if she had acted prematurely, inviting his daughters for dinner, a.s.suming he would enjoy this, a.s.suming he was comfortable with his daughters knowing he liked her. So what if her rash action had driven Jim away, had cost her the undying love of the last good man on earth. She was not going to allow herself to snivel and whine. Men weren't everything! She was still on a gorgeous island, she'd made friends, she'd feathered a dreamy little nest, and she would enjoy herself!

She put a Glen Miller record on her used record player. " ... is that the Chattanooga choo-choo?" filled the room. She sang to it as she finished the dinner preparations, and she felt her spirits lift.

When the girls arrived, Marina could tell at once they'd been arguing. Abbie and Emma both greeted Marina pleasantly, but Lily clearly was not amused about being there.

"Oh, wow," Abbie said. "You've done wonders, Marina!"

As the three women walked around studying the cottage, Marina studied them. The family resemblance was striking in the shape of their faces, but their individuality was distinct.

Abbie wore a faded Something Natural tee shirt with a short denim skirt and sandals. Her only jewelry was a wide silver cuff bracelet. She carried herself with a natural authority, no doubt because she was the eldest.

Emma wore baggy cotton trousers, a coral-colored linen shirt tied at the waist, and turquoise and coral earrings. The sprinkling of freckles over her nose gave her an innocent appearance, but the depths of her dark eyes held sorrow, a sorrow Marina could understand.

Lily was the beauty of the family and she played it to the hilt. Her emerald tank top brought out the green of her eyes and accentuated her slender waist. Her skirt was a swirl of green, and everything about Lily sparkled. Her dangling earrings glittered with colored stones, bangle bracelets clattered on her arms, a gold chain glinted from around her ankle, and she even wore a toe ring with her sequined sandals.

Marina poured them all gla.s.ses of sparkling Prosecco mixed with peach nectar.

"Bellinis," she told them. "It's a girl drink, but since your father can't come, I thought we could indulge."

Lily brightened. "Dad's not coming?"

"No. He phoned to say he's working late."

Lily couldn't hide a smile. "Oh, too bad."

"I can't believe how you've changed this place," Abbie said.

"The walls are such a dreamy blue," Emma added. "And the pictures. They're so interesting."

"Compliments of the Madaket Mall," Marina told them.

Lily asked, "How did you get out to the dump?"