Six months ago, Marina had started her period on her fortieth birthday. The moment she woke she wanted to break into a howl of sorrow, but she choked it back as she rose from bed and rushed into the shower. Recently Gerry had been cool, abrupt, even irritated when she talked about her infertility. Their marriage was in one of those distant phases all marriages went through, probably because of problems at the office. Today she and Gerry both had crowded schedules. She needed to ignore her private life and concentrate on her accounts.

Sometimes she and Gerry drove to work in the same car, but he had a meeting elsewhere in the city today, so they drove separately. She was glad, really. She needed to talk to a friend. Christie was busy with a new baby, so she put on her headset and punched in Dara's number.

Dara sounded groggy. "Marina. What's up?"

"Dara, my period started today."

"Oh, h.e.l.l. Oh, Marina, f.u.c.king d.a.m.n. I'm sorry. How are you?"

"Not so great. And work is a rat's nest, which actually is not a bad thing. It will keep me from brooding."

"Good for you, Marina. Positive att.i.tude. Move forward. How are you celebrating your birthday?"

"Oh, forget my birthday." Marina sped up and pa.s.sed an ancient Toyota dawdling in front of her. Dara's chipper att.i.tude irritated Marina. She needed someone to help her mourn, to help her mark this occasion. Dara remained silent on the other end of the line. "Gerry hasn't planned a surprise party for me, has he?"

Dara laughed. "And I would tell you if he had?"

"Because I'm not in the mood for a party. I think I'd just like to get hammered. I'd like to sit down with you and drink tequila and wail."

"No Gerry?"

"No. We haven't been very close lately. Anyway, he's sick of me blubbering around."

"Well, honey, if that's what you really want to do, let's do it. Shall we meet at Hoolihan's?"

"Great. No, wait. I'd better ask Gerry if we have plans. I mean, it is my great-big fat fortieth. I'm sure he has something planned. I'm here. Talk to you later."

"Marina? Listen, honey--I just want to tell you ... I think you're going to be just fine. I think you're a tremendously strong person."

"Thanks, Dar'. I love you, too." Marina clicked off.

Later, she would remember her final words to Dara, and they would crash a world of humiliation down on her heart. How had she ever been so blind?

How had she ever been a friend anyone could so easily betray?

There was a surprise fortieth birthday party, thrown at Dara's house. It was a mob scene, with champagne and every other kind of liquor flowing like Niagara Falls, and music pumped up by a DJ and people dancing and getting properly smashed and yelling out all sorts of inappropriate things. In the midst of such revelry, Marina hardly saw Gerry or Dara. She got good and hammered, and she thought her husband had, too, so when Dara insisted they sleep at her place because they were too wasted to go home, Marina accepted gratefully.

Sat.u.r.day morning she awoke in Dara's guest room with a dry mouth and a bad headache. She expected to see Gerry snoring in bed next to her, but she was alone. She pulled on a robe of Dara's over her naked body and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, toward the smell of coffee.

Gerry and Dara weren't kissing or embracing or even touching. They were sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, quietly talking.

Yet something about the way they were leaning toward each other slapped Marina wide awake.

She said, "What's going on?"

Their heads snapped toward her in identical rhythm.

"Marina. You're awake." Dara stood up, poured a cup of coffee, and put it on the table.

Marina sat down. She took a sip of coffee--it was strong and rich. Dara was a good cook.

She looked at Gerry, whose mouth was pulled tight the way it always got during an argument, especially when he was in the wrong.

Slowly, Marina said, "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"I don't know," Gerry countered. "You might like it a lot, if you stop to think about it. I want a divorce, Marina."

She stared at him. They'd been married for ten years. They must have made love a million times. She knew everything about him, how stupid he looked when he was flapping around the office in a tantrum because of something at work, how tender he could be when they were alone together. He was handsome, and he worked hard at it, exercising at a gym, spending lots of time buying clothes and moussing his hair, he was even considering having a face-lift because he needed to keep his image young and fresh. She knew how his older brother's success as a physician overshadowed Gerry, how his parents scarcely saw their younger son because of the blinding light of their older son's brilliance. She'd held Gerry in her arms as he wept bitterly after they spent Christmas with his parents. Her love for him had been the motivation, really, for the fury with which she attacked her own part in their business. She had wanted to protect him.

True, they weren't getting along very well recently. Their time and conversations together revolved around work. He was probably sick of her relentless failures to get pregnant, and for her own part, Marina had to admit she hadn't felt close to him for a long time. Still. To bring up divorce like this, in front of Dara--what was he thinking?

"Gee," she said snidely, "nice of you to wait till I had my birthday party to tell me."

From the other side of the table, Dara spoke up. "Marina. There's something else."

Marina turned toward her friend. Christie and Dara had been the first to know when she'd gotten her period, the first to know when she'd lost her virginity, the first to know when she'd fallen in love with Gerry. Marina had been Dara's go-to person during her two marriages and grisly divorces. Dara was a beauty, apple-cheeked and bosomy, sensual and seductive.

Oh.

Gerry had found comfort with Dara. Which was why Gerry was talking in front of Dara.

"You and Gerry," Marina said flatly.

Dara nodded. "Yes." She raised her chin defiantly. "And Marina, I'm not going to apologize. You're not in love with Gerry anymore. I know that."

"Really. Did I ever say that?" Marina demanded.

Dara blushed. "Marina. There's something else."

"Good G.o.d," Marina cursed. "What more could there possibly be?"

Dara's eyes flew to meet Gerry's. Her face became radiant. Her smile was absolutely Mona Lisa.

It felt like a knife slicing through her entire torso. The pain made her breathless. "You're pregnant."

"With my child," Gerry added, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

It was almost dazzling, how quickly Marina's life changed after that. Of course, Gerry and Dara, in their eager selfish joy, had already plotted the path. With Dara's money, Gerry bought out Marina's half of the business. Gerry had already spoken to an agent who had a buyer lined up for Marina and Gerry's condo. With no children or financial issues, the legalities of the divorce were dealt with in a flash.

Suddenly, within a matter of weeks, Marina lost her husband, her work, her home, and one of her very best friends. Most of her current friends were Gerry and Dara's friends, too. They strained to be supportive to Marina without insulting Gerry or Dara, and that just made it difficult for everyone. Marina had to let them go.

Her parents had retired to sunny Arizona. Over the phone, they offered her love and understanding, but they were just a little bit I-told-you-so. They'd never liked Gerry. She saw a couple of therapists, but their advice was what she expected: You have to go through this loss, you can't go around it. The j.a.panese sign for "crisis" also means "opportunity." Their words were not much help in the middle of the night. Cartons of ice cream and old black-and-white movies worked better.

Christie saved her life.

"You've got to get out of town," Christie advised her. "Here, you're just mired in misery like an old horse stuck in mud."

Marina had snorted out a laugh in the midst of her tears. "Thanks for the glamorous image. And where would I go?"

"Where do you want to go?" Christie countered.

Marina blew her nose and shook her head. "I don't know."

Christie bellowed at her sons, "I told you boys, not in the house!" She turned back to Marina. "Why not Nantucket? Summer's coming up. We had so much fun those summers, remember?"

Marina leaned back in her chair and thought about that. During college, she and Christie had gone east to work as waitresses in a huge sw.a.n.ky hotel. They didn't make much money, but they had free lodging, free nights, and a few free afternoon hours. They swam, partied, worked a bit, and returned to Kansas City as brown as nuts and grinning at themselves.

Marina protested, "Oh, Christie, we were young back then. I'm old and worn out and pathetic."

"You certainly will be if you don't move your a.s.s," Christie insisted. "If you stay here indulging in self-pity. Think of it, Marina, the blue ocean, the salty air, the freshness of it all."

"I won't know anyone," Marina said.

"Well, isn't that the point?" Christie replied.

Now Marina found herself smiling. It was good, just to think of Christie and her practical optimism.

And Christie was right. Being here, away from there, was a kind of therapy. While out of sight was not completely out of mind, the reality of Gerry and Dara was not such an oppressive reality.

But she ached with loneliness. Leisure did not come easily to her. She'd worked hard to learn her trade, and she and Gerry had labored diligently and ceaselessly to build their business. She was accustomed to the sound of phones ringing, people chatting, footsteps hurrying past her office; she was used to the pressure of presentations and the dozens of little victories of accounts won and money made. She'd been such an excellent mult.i.tasker, scanning reports while she ran on her treadmill, dictating memos while she drove to a meeting, flirting with new business contacts during the intermission at a symphony.

Now, on this bright, airy island, she felt like a piece of flotsam lost at sea, without a compa.s.s or any way to communicate to others. The ocean expanded all around her. She was alone, as insignificant as a little cork bobbing on the surface.

But she wouldn't give up.

She grabbed up the newspaper and a pen, and began to circle anything that caught her eye. Noonday concerts at the Unitarian church. A comedy presented in the evening by the Theatre Workshop. She hadn't realized how many museums there were. The Nantucket Whaling Museum was right in town. So was the Maria Mitch.e.l.l Science Library and Observatory. And the Coffin School. And someone was offering painting cla.s.ses. Hm. She'd have to consider that. Gerry had always been the visual guy; but it might be fun to learn to do watercolors. She'd get a library card, too, and stock up on all the juicy novels she'd never had time to read.

And maybe she'd get to know Jim and his daughters better. Anything could happen, right?

8.

Lily Driving home from Carrie's, Lily felt wistful. Carrie and her baby existed in their own sensual world of love and touch and cooing voices. Carrie had gotten slightly plump and she moved as if her limbs were heavy and when she held her baby in her arms, Lily could walk through the living room on her hands and Carrie wouldn't glance her way. Lily didn't want a baby, but she would like to live, for a while, in such a lazy world of love.

What she'd really like to have was another car, she thought, as she steered the rusty Old Clunker through the narrow streets. She wouldn't even ask for a new car. Just a newer one. Her father had bought the Toyota sedan when Abbie was seventeen for her to use on the island. As the years pa.s.sed, all the sisters had used it, referring to it with fond aggravation as the Old Clunker. She hadn't minded its humble state when she was a kid, but now that she worked for the magazine, she hated showing up at posh events in such a tired tin can.

Her father's truck was in the drive, so she parked in front of the house. He would probably leave before she did tomorrow morning. As she walked up her drive, she heard laughter. She walked around to the back of the house and went in the back door.

Her father and two sisters were seated at the kitchen table.

"Hi, honey," her father greeted her. "Want some ice cream? We saved some for you."

"Oh, but I made a pie, especially for Abbie's homecoming!"

Abbie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Emma said, "We didn't see any pie."

"It's on the windowsill in the pantry." A little panic washed through Lily. Had her sisters a.s.sumed Lily had just blown off responsibility for tonight's dinner? Well, in a way, she kind of had.

She went into the pantry and found the pie. Somehow a box of cereal had been shoved against it, so you wouldn't notice it unless you knew it was there. She carried it out and set it on the table. "Ta-da!"

"Wow, Lily!" Abbie said. "What a masterpiece!"

Lily flushed with pleasure. "Let me cut you a big piece."

"Tomorrow," Abbie said. "I just finished all that ice cream."

"I'll wait, too," said Emma. "I'm stuffed. Dad brought home fresh bluefish and Abbie cooked it perfectly."

Well, Abbie would, wouldn't she, Lily thought. She felt both jealous and guilty. She should have prepared dinner for Abbie's first night home. She'd intended to. She just got waylaid at Carrie's.

"I'll have some pie," her father said.

As Lily cut a piece for her father and settled in at the table, Abbie told her, "We were just talking about all the changes in town since I've been gone. So many restaurants have closed, and so many stores downtown!"

"The economy is rough everywhere," Emma said.

"I guess that's good," Lily offered, trying to be upbeat. "In a misery loves company kind of way."

"Dad," Abbie asked, "how are you doing?"

Their father took the time to finish his pie before answering. He nodded at Lily. "That was delicious, honey." He leaned back in his chair and seemed to be physically summoning up his strength. "I'll be honest with you, Abbie. Times are tough. I had three different clients back out of their contracts to have new houses built and one actually shut down on the renovations I was doing and didn't pay me. I think I'm going to have to take him to court to get any money out of him, and I don't know that hiring a lawyer wouldn't end up costing me more."

"So what jobs do you have going on?" Abbie asked.

Their father shrugged and shook his head. "Just small ones. A couple of renovations. Nothing substantial. That's why I rented the Playhouse. I always knew in the back of my mind it would come in handy someday."

Abbie asked, "How long is the rental?"

"Marina's got it for six months." When he said the woman's name, their father blushed.

The three sisters exchanged glances.

Their father cleared his throat. "While we're on the subject, I probably ought to tell you ... I'm going to sell the boat."

"Dad!" Their voices came out in one surprised chorus.

"You can't sell the boat!" Abbie continued.

"Honey, I know how attached you are. We all are. I don't want to sell it. But if I can ... it might keep me going for a little while longer ... and things might change ..." Clearly he was having trouble speaking about this. "If I sell the boat, that might buy me a little time until a new job comes in, and then I won't have to sell the house."

"Sell the house!" the girls cried.