Family Reunion by Nancy Thayer (ereader android .TXT) 📗

This was the second time she’d seen her father with that particular woman. She couldn’t simply worry about it with Eleanor, she had to do something. But what? Her thoughts tumbled anxiously in her head. She felt as if she were on a roller coaster or some kind of whirligig, and ten minutes later, when she pulled into Eleanor’s driveway, she threw her car door open, leaned out of her seat, and threw up on the drive.

Twelve

Silas had phoned on Saturday to ask Eleanor to join him and friends going out on their yacht on Monday, and she had never been more grateful to have a reason to think about something other than her legal matters. She fussed around all morning, trying to find a bathing suit she could fit into, and then something comfortable, modest, and attractive to wear over it, which she knew was asking a lot from a piece of material.

Why was she worrying about the way she looked? Was she nervous about going out with Silas? That was ridiculous. She probably had indigestion. She wasn’t worried about getting motion sick. There was almost no wind, and she was sure they’d be staying close to shore. Still, she was uneasy.

The June day was hot and clear, so she remembered to put sunblock in her beach bag. She brushed her long hair and left it down, because it was still lovely, but quickly changed her mind. She didn’t want to look, as the British said, like mutton dressed as lamb. She clamped it to the back of her head, put on a light touch of lipstick, removed the lipstick, sighed, and put it on again. After all, it was Burt’s Bees balm, which was good for protecting the skin.

Silas came for her in his rather rusty old heap of a Jeep. He actually came to her door, carried her beach bag, and helped her into the Jeep, which was quite gentlemanly of him and made her flush but not so much he would notice. Eleanor had intended to talk with him about his legal matters—wills, power of attorney, funerals, all that—but Silas was in a good mood, telling her the jokes he’d heard at his men’s poker night. She laughed and allowed herself to enjoy the day.

They took the yacht club launch out to their friend’s yacht. Eleanor swallowed her surprise when she saw how long it was, how its four decks towered above the water. She knew Clarissa and Chip “had money”—money was the number one topic of conversation on the island. But Clarissa had never flaunted it like Muffy did. An astonishingly gorgeous young man in crisp white shorts and a shirt with the emblem of the boat on its pocket held out his hand to assist Eleanor aboard, and a beautiful young woman in a similar uniform held out a tray with flutes of champagne and glasses of iced tea.

Eleanor chose the tea, and a moment later she felt Silas’s hand on her waist. He guided her into the top deck where their hosts and a few other guests were seated in comfortable cushioned wicker chairs. Eleanor had never been so happy to see old people in her life. She was friends with Muffy Andover (she’d secretly made fun of the woman’s name) and Muffy’s husband, Mick, both with tanned faces wrinkled like a closed accordion. (Eleanor thought it was a wonder the boat didn’t sink from the sheer weight of all Muffy’s gold jewelry.) Their hosts, Clarissa and Chip Lourie, were pleasant and welcoming. When Clarissa leaned to kiss Eleanor on her cheek, she whispered, “I’d rather be reading a book.”

“Not I,” Eleanor whispered back. “This boat makes me feel like I’m living in a book!”

Another couple, Bonnie and Donnie Hamilton—who went to St. Paul’s church and knew that people made fun of their matching names, but what could they do?—were the last to board. The yacht rumbled beneath them like a great sea monster waking up, and they headed out of the harbor and toward Great Point.

Eleanor relaxed. Everyone else was more or less Eleanor’s age. The men had potbellies, the women had dimpled thighs and upper arms, and they were all sprinkled with brown old-age spots, as well as white old-age spots, which Eleanor had never known about until recently. Eleanor was the only widow. Chip Lourie was a good ten years older than Eleanor, and weighed down with various ailments.

Clarissa yelled—because the breeze the boat caused whipped away their words—“Every year Chip predicts it will be the year he sells this old thing. Every New Year’s Eve, we place bets on who will go first, me, Chip, or the boat.” She threw her head back and laughed, and as Eleanor laughed with her, she admired her for joking about death. Eleanor would bet fifty dollars that Clarissa and Chip had all their legal affairs in order.

“How’s your summer going?” Chip asked.

They talked about various galas to raise money for the many organizations on the island, and what neighbor’s house had just sold for how many million, and how they’d spent their winter. Eleanor and Silas and the Louries were the only ones who didn’t have winter homes in Florida and the others were aghast.

“What is there to do here in the winter?” Muffy asked.

“Read books!” Eleanor told her.

Muffy looked even more appalled.

Silas spoke up. “There are lectures and movies and great local theater and concerts held by the Nantucket Community Music Center, plus lots of dinners with friends.”

Muffy nodded sadly. “I suppose you can always travel.”

Bonnie saved the day. “We often visit our grandchildren.”

“Yes!” Silas said. “For Christmas, and—”

He was interrupted by everyone else wanting to show pictures of their grandchildren on their phones. Clearly this was the favorite subject, and for a while Eleanor leaned back, tilted her face up to the sun, and relaxed.

“How is your granddaughter?” Clarissa asked Eleanor.

“Oh, she’s lovely. Ari’s twenty-two. She just graduated from Bucknell.”

“Wonderful!” Clarissa said.

“She’s working