Chapter 40
I kiss Stewart goodbye at the sleeping porch door. The damp lawn is covered in acorns under the big white oak. I’m not letting him into my bed tonight, and he doesn’t even ask. “Can I really pick you up at four?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, and kiss him again, this purely delicious man. I run my fingers along the collar of his sweater.
“Can I take you out on the boat?”
“Yes, after dinner,” I say, and his face goes slack.
“What?”
“I have to apologize. To them. Your dad must hate me.”
“This isn’t really about my dad,” I say, and smooth the front of his hair where it’s sticking up.
“I know. But Gus. What day is it? I’ll come by in the morning. When are they all up?”
“It’s Saturday. Ten is a safe bet.”
In the morning, I make the four lemon pies in our little oven. I could go into the fish house to do it in the big oven, but today I want to be here. Stewart’s coming to face the music.
He knocks when we’re all seated around the table, eating soft-boiled eggs and scones. I let him in. He’s in a polo shirt and shorts, hair wet from a shower, with a loose bouquet of peonies in his hand. All eyes go to me and then back to Stewart.
“Stewart,” Christopher says. “Where were you?”
He raises a hand. “Hey. I’ve been in Boston mostly. How have you been?”
Christopher looks at me like I might have the answer and then turns back to Stewart. “You didn’t say goodbye.”
“What are you doing here?” Gus is totally thrown.
Stewart says, “I came to see your mom.”
Their eyes return to me and I smile at them. This could not be any more awkward.
Clutching his bouquet with both hands, Stewart addresses the table. “I came to see her last night to apologize. Because I love her. And I’m here to see you because I wanted to make sure it’s okay.”
“Knew it,” says Christopher.
I’m having a hard time reading Gus; he isn’t smiling but he isn’t angry either.
“Gus, I consider us friends, and I hope you do too. And you don’t secretly date your friend’s mom, obviously. So I wanted to ask.”
Gus nods at Stewart and then looks to me. He’s asking if this is okay. He’s apologizing for being less than forthcoming about his friendship with Stewart. He’s reading my face and he likes what he sees there.
“He’s a good guy, Gus,” I say.
Gus smiles at me and nods again. “You can date her on a trial basis,” he says, and Stewart laughs with relief.
“Good enough,” he says. And then to my dad, “Sir?”
“We’ll see,” my dad says.
“You will,” says Stewart.
Sixteen days later, the whole town watches us set sail for Nantucket on Savannah. I can tell Stewart is nervous and wants to get this trip behind him more than he’s planning on enjoying it.
Gus, Clay, and Sadie are losing their minds over this boat.
They’ve explored every corner, including the galley below, where Gladys and my dad are hard at work.
My dad has brought crabmeat and insisted on bringing his cast-iron skillet from home to sear the crabcakes.
Gladys insists that the one on board is adequate, and my dad laughs and laughs.
Christopher sits with Victoria and Henry on the deck.
He likes the way the cool air hits his face, and I think he likes the white noise of the wake behind us.
It feels like a miracle to get Christopher out at sea, but it’s been a million tiny steps I should have insisted on years ago.
Oscar, Lilly, and Busy are drinking champagne and watching Stewart and me behind the helm.
“I’ve literally never seen him so uptight,” Busy calls to me. “The sails are up, it’s a straight shot down the coast. Stewart, no need to be white-knuckling it on the helm.”
Stewart flexes his hands and then regrips. “There’s plenty of need.”
“How’s the new job?” I ask Busy, to change the subject.
“My boss is a control freak and until very recently was a bit depressed.”
Stewart nods. “All true.”
Victoria holds up a glass of champagne and motions for me to come sit with her. “Go,” Stewart says. “I’m fine here.”
He’s not fine. I can see it in the set of his jaw, in the little bead of sweat on his hairline, even though it’s cool out here and I’ve just put on a fleece.
“Come with me,” I say. “Let Oscar steer.” I put my hand over his on the helm. I’m trying to say too much here: I’ve got you, and also the two of us don’t need to do everything.
He puts his arm around me, and we stand together at the helm. His hand is strong on my shoulder and mine is soft on his hip.
“If we survive this trip, you have to stay with me forever,” he says.
“Did we have a contract?”
“It’s maritime law. I don’t make the rules,” he says.
“Dolly, come. You don’t need to babysit Stewart,” Victoria says.
“Go, it’s okay,” Stewart says. So I release him and make my way over to sit with Victoria, Henry, and Christopher, accepting my champagne glass. Stewart is watching me and smiling, and I have this feeling that the distance I’ve just put between us feels as cold to him as it does to me.
“Oscar,” he calls. “Come take over. I’m on a break.”