Two Weeks in August
two weeks in august
In Blythe’s backyard, the rose of Sharon bushes put out their white, pink, and lavender flowers. They were beautiful, but they were also a definite sign of the approach of summer’s end.
Bob and Teri arrived for their two-week Nantucket vacation. They settled into Celeste’s house and were in charge of the children, who all moved to Celeste’s house to be with their father. Brooks remained at Blythe’s, but he left the house early and came home late, always talking to someone on his AirPods. Blythe often heard him laughing, so she didn’t worry that he was lonely. She knew from her club bills that he was playing tennis and sailing.
One night, she invited him to share dinner with her. As they finished her special chicken curry that she’d made to please him, she asked him about his travels with his international parents.
“You’ve been in so many countries,” Blythe said. “You’re very fortunate to get to travel like you do.”
Brooks smiled. “I like it better staying here all summer.”
“I’m glad. You’re very welcome, you know.”
Brooks stared down at his plate, embarrassed.
Her heart went out to him. “Brooks, I enjoy your company and I know Holly is thrilled when you talk to her about sea gerbils, and I’m sure Teddy would like to play tennis with you. He’s really good, even though he’s younger than you are.”
Blythe had intended for her words to make Brooks feel better, but she saw how his eyelashes trembled. He was biting his lips to keep them still. He was trying so hard to be stoic, she thought he would pass out right in front of her if she said anything too kind.
“Plus, Daphne doesn’t like anyone and Miranda can be”—she stalled, trying to find a word that would make Brooks feel better without betraying her daughter—“sensitive.”
Brooks managed a smile. “You have a super nice family, Mrs. Benedict.”
Reaching out, she patted his arm. “And you are a super nice guy. Now, please, go. I can deal with the dishes.”
“Thank you.” Brooks fled the room.
For days after that, when Blythe saw him in the kitchen, they exchanged a few words. One evening he spent with Holly and her sea gerbils. He was always tan and clear-eyed, and Blythe knew she didn’t have to worry about his loneliness.
At last Blythe had that most blissful of possessions—free time. She could sleep late. She could eat an entire pint of ice cream in the middle of the day, sobbing as she watched Love Actually for the forty-first time. She could curl up with a book and read it straight through. She could go the beach and fall asleep, waking with a lovely tan and a red nose, and she could go out to dinner with friends.
Aaden called or emailed her every day. She knew she had to make a decision. How many people had the chance to reunite with their first love? Fate was offering her something precious and she couldn’t easily dismiss it.
One night she went out to dinner with Sandy.
“I really don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go to Ireland, but I’m struggling to let go of what was such a delicious, passionate love.”
“Well, remember that was when you were a teenager,” Sandy reminded her.
“True.”
“When you had no bills to pay, no stampeding herd to cook for. No children.”
Blythe tapped her lip with her forefinger as she thought, before sighing and replying, “Okay. You’re right. I don’t want to be away from my children, even on the days when they’re monsters.”
“Has Aaden suggested having the children live with you?”
“No. I’m sure he doesn’t include them in his vision of our future together.”
“But he has a large family over in Ireland, right?”
“Yes. Siblings, aunts, and uncles, millions of cousins. Oh, Sandy, what would you do if you had the chance to spend the rest of your life with your first true love?”
Sandy laughed. “My first true love was my horse. But if you’re thinking about being with Aaden, you probably should remember you’re not the girl you were the first time you fell in love. I mean, I’ve seen what a good mother you are, and I’ve heard about what an excellent teacher you are. You’re older. You’ve learned a lot.”
“Yes, I’ve learned a lot, but when does a person ever learn enough ?”
“Sweetie, you’ve wandered off down an existential road, and I can’t follow.”
“Oh, my head hurts!” Blythe wailed.
—
The children checked in with Blythe every day, wanting to watch television—anything but the Red Sox, which they claimed their father was addicted to and would never share the television (she was well aware of this habit of his)—or to eat some of Blythe’s cookies or just hang out. They gave her the latest update of Celeste’s recovery—she was fine, going out, seeing Roland. They complained because Teri’s food was gross. They complained because their father arranged for them all to go on a whale watch, which meant an entire day riding in a twenty-four-foot skiff that bounced over the wind-driven waves that made Holly throw up and all of them seasick and they never saw one single whale but Miranda and Teri both came home with painful sunburns.
“Your father was trying to give you a special treat,” Blythe reminded them. “Don’t be so critical! I’m sure it was expensive.”
“Oh, we know it was expensive. He’s told us that twenty times,” Teddy informed her, scowling.
“Be nice,” Blythe ordered her children. “It’s hard to please everyone, and your father and Teri are doing their best.”
“Don’t you miss us, Mom?” Miranda twined around Blythe’s shoulders. She could be an aloof teenager one moment and the next, miraculously transform into a winsome child.
“Yes, I miss you all,” Blythe said. “But I know you’re not far away.”
And sometimes, she thought, hiding a smile, I’m having a very good time without you.
—
Most of those lovely two weeks when the children were with Bob and Teri, Blythe spent with Nick.
One afternoon they biked out to Madaket on the west end of the island, where the waves were high enough to body surf and the beach seemed to stretch on forever. They dove and swam in the cold dashing water until they stumbled out, exhausted and drenched. They lay on beach towels, their backs warmed by the sun. Blythe tried to hide a hum of pleasure when Nick gently stroked sunblock on her back. They ate peaches and salty chips and drank cold clear water and were too waterlogged and sunstruck to have any kind of conversation. At the end of the day, they had dinner at Millie’s, and there they talked, about everything, their favorite television show, whether there was life on other planets, their most embarrassing moments when teaching, the most famous person they’d ever met, whether or not Bob would get a reverse vasectomy for Teri, how glad they were to have biked out because they had just eaten seventy thousand calories of delicious food and needed to burn some off.
One evening, they were invited to a cocktail party in a rambling seaside mansion in ’Sconset. The guests crowded into three different rooms where platters of amazingly constructed canapés with French or Italian names were artistically displayed. A live jazz band turned the largest room into a dance hall, and while Blythe and Nick knew some of the guests, they never did find their hosts.
It was mid-August, and in spite of French windows thrown open to the lawn, the air was steamy. Everyone at the party seemed to be drinking more, laughing louder, and shouting inarticulately, like children who knew the party was almost at an end and exams started in only a few days.
After an hour or so, Nick spirited Blythe away from the crowd and out into the warm night. The quiet calm of the streets was a relief.
“How did you enjoy the party?” Nick asked.
“It was…exciting.” She added, “But exhausting.”
Nick laughed. He took her hand and they strolled away from the mansion on the cliff, toward the small village with its small antique cottages and lavish gardens. They were quiet, taking in the fragrance of roses and the shushing sigh of waves breaking on the beach below. They walked along the bluff path until they entered a leafy tunnel formed by trees. Nick settled Blythe against the trunk of a tree and stood close to her, kissing her softly. Hidden from the rest of the world, they embraced.
One day it rained. Nick came over to help Blythe assemble a jigsaw puzzle, a photo of Nantucket from the air. Sometimes as they placed pieces in their spots, their hands would touch, and Blythe’s fingers sparked and she closed her eyes to enjoy the moment. Outside, the sky was dark. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed and rain cascaded down the windows, blurring the world around them.
“I’ll make more coffee,” Blythe said, because it was cool in the room.
She was lifting the cream from the counter when Nick entered the kitchen, came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed the back of her neck. Her heart lurched and desire flooded her body. She leaned against him and then slipped around so they were face-to-face, body to body, desire rushing through them. They kissed for so long, the coffee grew cold.
Finally, Blythe gently pushed Nick away. “We can’t. Brooks might come in any moment. Actually, any of my children might arrive.” She touched Nick’s face tenderly.
“And I’m still Sandy and Hugh’s guest,” Nick murmured. He ran his hands over her shoulders and arms, as if he couldn’t stop touching her. She didn’t want him to stop touching her.
“We’ll have to wait until we’re back in Boston,” Blythe said.
Nick moaned as he stepped away. “Thank God it’s August.”
One night they went to dinner at the yacht club, just the two of them, which was pretty much a public proclamation that they were officially a couple. Another night, Blythe invited Celeste and Roland for dinner at her house, so they could get to know Nick. Was it odd, hoping her ex-mother-in-law would like her new boyfriend? Blythe didn’t think so. The world had changed, and she was glad.
Nick drove Celeste and Roland home and returned to Blythe’s house. The August heat and humidity hung over the island like a damp rag, and Blythe had turned the air conditioner on.
The lights were low in the living room, which made the room feel intimate. Blythe and Nick sat in the well-loved, saggy armchairs across from each other, with their feet up on what Blythe liked to call their “heirloom” coffee table, which had been in the house for over sixty years and still stood, scarred but strong.
“I like Celeste,” Nick said.
“She liked you,” Blythe said. “I could tell. I hope I can be like her someday, more relaxed and wise.”
“You are the mother of her grandchildren,” Nick said. “That means a lot. I think you’re already relaxed and wise. You seem comfortable with your ex-husband living with another woman.”
Blythe laughed. “Relaxed? I’m delighted! I’m not being juvenile. I mean it. Bob is a nice man. A good father. We parted as friends, and sometimes I wonder if we were ever more than friends.”
“Friendship is a good basis for marriage,” Nick pointed out. “Maybe essential.”
His tone deepened when he spoke. Blythe took a moment, then asked, “Were you friends with Brielle?”
“I was.” Nick put his hands behind his head and settled more comfortably in his chair. “I loved her, too.”
Something about the cool air-conditioned air and the shadows in the room allowed Blythe to admit, “I never loved Bob the way I loved my high school boyfriend.”
Nick laughed. “I think our high school loves are like the first time we wait at the top of those crazy elevated water slides. We’re already terrified and thrilled just to be there, and we can’t know what the ride will be like.”
Blythe shuddered. “Or like the first time on a Ferris wheel. When it stops, and you’re at the top, and the bucket is rocking.”
“Right. After that, everything else seems tame.”
Blythe thought about that. “Or, safe. Everything feels safe.” After a moment, she added, “But isn’t it nice to have memories of…being enraptured?”
Nick made an odd noise in his throat, half cough, half comment. “We have memories. I’ll always love Brielle. You will always love the girl you were when you loved Aaden and the boy Aaden was when he was young. It’s a gift life gives you. You can keep it.”
“I can keep it,” Blythe echoed. She did not have to deny or forsake her memories of love with Aaden. In a teasing voice, she asked, “How old are you?”
Outside, a breeze set the branches of a maple tree swaying, casting shadows and light on Nick’s face.
Nick said softly, “I’m old enough to know that I’m in love with you.”
“Oh!” Blythe’s heart was a pitcher overflowing with happiness. “How can you say that when you’re way over there?”
“I’m right here with you,” Nick said.
“Not close enough for me,” Blythe told him. She rose from her chair and sank onto Nick’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and folding herself close enough to whisper in his ear, “I love you, too.”
—
One morning, Blythe gathered her children and took them to the moors to sit by the Doughnut Pond and watch the iridescent blue dragonflies skim the air. The beaches were crammed by crowds wanting one last swim before summer ended. Blythe needed quiet and she thought her children could use it, too. Really, legally, Bob should have them but she thought he and Teri could use some private time today. She ordered her children to put their phones away for ten entire minutes and simply sit by the pond, enjoying the view.
A white heron flew onto the small island in the middle of the pond and daintily picked at its feathers.
“Look!” Blythe whispered, not pointing so she wouldn’t startle the bird.
“Cool,” Daphne said, and maybe she meant it or maybe she was humoring her mother.
After ten minutes, the children exploded from their perches and raced off to check out the other ponds and, Blythe knew, check out their phones.
Blythe remained seated on the soft summer grass. From here she could see hills stretching toward the sky, and some of the leaves were already red. The heron flew away. The dragonflies continued to float past, and one landed for a while on her toe. She lay back in the grass and sighed with pleasure. She belonged here. She belonged here just as much as Aaden belonged in Ireland. She decided to call him that afternoon.
—
Later, her four children, exhausted by reality, chose to indulge in the comfort of Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. Shamelessly bribing them with popcorn and lemonade, Blythe left them in the family room and settled in the living room to talk with Aaden. It was almost midnight there, but she thought he’d be awake.
“Blythe.” Aaden answered, and his deep voice could still move her.
“I can’t talk long. The children are here.” She was using them as an excuse to keep this conversation short. She was dreading it. “Aaden, I’ve decided. I can’t come to Ireland. I can’t see you again. I don’t want to leave my children, and I’m going to be teaching, and I like my life.”
“Are you saying this is final?” Aaden asked. “Do you mean that we are over?”
She heard the pain in his voice. “Not over, really. We’ll always have memories—”
“I don’t want you in my memory. I want you here, in bed with me, now.”
Blythe paused, stunned by her own feelings. She was irritated! She wanted this to be over. With a choked voice, she managed to say, “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. My life is here.”
“Is there someone else?”
To her surprise, a laugh bubbled up from her chest, freeing her from the chains of her own memories. “That’s not for you to know. I’m sorry. I’m glad I got to see you again.” She thought: But am I? “But we’re over. I wish you well. But we’re over.”
“You have broken my heart, Blythe.”
“I think you’ll be fine,” Blythe told him. “Your heart—”
Someone screamed.
“ OH NO! ” Holly cried in the family room. “Pause it! Pause it!”
Honestly, Blythe thought, how does anyone with children ever have the chance to have a conversation, let alone a love affair?
“Goodbye, Aaden,” Blythe said firmly. And she ended the call.
She walked to the family room.
“You dumbhead,” Teddy yelled.
“That scared me,” Holly argued.
“You didn’t have to toss your Skittles on the floor.”
Skittles? Blythe wondered. How did her children have Skittles?
“I didn’t mean to. I was scared.”
“Pick them up so we can restart the movie.” Teddy sounded exasperated with his younger sister, but after a moment, he relented. “I’ll help you pick them up.”
“Don’t eat any of them. They’re mine.”
“I don’t want your gross carpet Skittles.”
A few moments later, ominous music blared from the television.
Blythe wanted to laugh and cry. Her glamorous, romantic life, filled with fighting children and carpet Skittles and Minecraft and coding and everybody always wanting something, a jigsaw puzzle life where she was always scrambling to find the piece that fit—that was the life she chose.
And she wasn’t done yet.