ON HER QUEST to make a romantic dinner, Jenna stopped at the store on her way home and bought food. It always took a while because she bumped into so many people she knew. The sense of community was one of the things she loved about living on Martha’s Vineyard. It was also one of the things she hated. Like today, for example, when she wasn’t feeling sociable. She was still wound up after her encounter with her mother and wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
It was unlikely she’d make it through a shopping trip without having at least three lengthy conversations, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try.
She kept her head down and didn’t look at anyone.
“Jenna? Jenna! I thought it was you.”
Surrendering to her fate, Jenna glanced up from the apples. “Hi, Sylvia.”
She’d been at school with Sylvia, but their lives had diverged. Jenna had gone off to college and Sylvia had stayed on the island and proceeded to pop out children as if she was on a personal mission to increase the number of year-rounders (personally Jenna was relieved to see half the population decamp to warmer climates in the winter months. The roads were clearer, the beaches were empty and you didn’t have to stand in line for ages at the bakery).
Jenna put field greens, tomatoes and bell peppers into her basket. “How are the children?” Why had she asked that question? There were six kids. She could potentially be here for hours. The Denton family could make up a class by themselves.
Six kids?
Where was the fairness in that? Not that Jenna wanted six. She wasn’t greedy.
If she could just have one she would never complain again.
She only half listened as Sylvia talked about the stress of ferrying the children from piano lessons, swimming lessons, art class and football.
“Time you and Greg started a family,” Sylvia said, as if producing babies was simply something Jenna might have forgotten to do in the day-to-day pressure of living their lives.
Jenna fingered an overripe tomato, wondering whether the pleasure of pulping it against Sylvia’s perfect white shirt would outweigh the inevitable fallout.
Probably not. That was the downside of being a teacher. Islanders would no doubt decide that someone with so little self-control wasn’t fit to have responsibility for impressionable minds.
Regretfully she dropped the tomato into her basket with the others, made a vague comment about being busy and then imagined how Sylvia might interpret that. If she wasn’t careful it would be all round the whole island that she and Greg were too busy to have sex.
“Greg and I love being just the two of us.” She pinned a dreamy look on her face, hoping she wasn’t overcompensating. “I’m cooking a romantic dinner.”
“I envy you,” Sylvia said. “If Mike and I want to be romantic we have to pay a babysitter. And he and I only have to look at each other for me to get pregnant, so I daren’t touch him. He’s quite the superstud.”
Mike was a mild mannered, overweight accountant who left the talking to his wife in most social situations. The idea of him as a “Superstud” challenged even Jenna’s overactive imagination.
She resisted the temptation to ask Sylvia if she had any sex secrets that might increase the chances of conception. She was too afraid of hearing the details.
“I must get home. Dinner to cook.” She grabbed a bottle of wine and then hesitated. Did wine have a negative effect on fertility? Maybe. On the other hand, it was excellent for encouraging relaxation and there was no doubt they both needed a hefty dose of that.
She left the wine in the basket.
After her earlier encounter with her mother she needed it.
“By the way,” Sylvia’s voice was casual, “I was driving through Edgartown half an hour ago and I happened to see a pickup truck parked outside your mother’s house. Guess who was driving it? Scott Rhodes.” She glanced over her shoulder and spoke in an undertone, as if the mere mention of that name might be enough to get her arrested. “He looked as bad and dangerous as ever. I swear the man never smiles. What is his problem? I didn’t know he knew your mom.”
She hadn’t known, either.
What was he doing calling on her mother? And if Sylvia had seen him half an hour ago then that meant Jenna must have missed him by minutes.
Scott Rhodes?
She remembered the summer she’d first seen him. He’d been working on a boat when she and Lauren had walked to the harbor to pick something up for their mother. He’d been stripped to the waist and across the powerful bulk of his shoulders she’d seen the unmistakable mark of a tattoo. That tattoo had fascinated her. Her mother wouldn’t even allow her to have her ears pierced, and yet this man openly flaunted the ink on his skin.
She frowned. Flaunted wasn’t the right word. On the contrary, he appeared supremely indifferent to the opinions of others and that, to Jenna, had been the coolest thing of all.
As someone who was constantly being reined in (don’t do that, Jenna; don’t say that, Jenna) she’d always felt envious of his complete disregard toward the opinion of his fellow man. Take this conversation for example. She couldn’t imagine Scott Rhodes stopping to have a conversation with someone unless he wanted to.
She, on the other hand, did things like that all the time. Hi, Angela, great to see you (not great at all in fact), Hi, Elise, of course I’d love to come to your fund-raising supper (I’d rather pull my eyelashes out). She sometimes felt as if she was trapped in a web of other people’s expectations. Scott Rhodes, however, answered to no one but himself and she envied that. There was something deliciously dangerous and forbidden about him. Even looking at him made her feel as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, as if by stepping into his space you made a statement about yourself. About who you were. Danger by association. She expected to feel her mother’s hand close over her shoulder any moment.
Not that she’d been that interested. Not really. She was in love with Greg and had been her whole life. Greg, who she knew so well he almost seemed like an extension of her. Greg, who smiled almost all the time.
Scott Rhodes didn’t seem to smile at all. It was as if he and life were on opposing sides.
While she’d been watching that day he’d paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and she noticed that his forearm was strong, deeply tanned and dusted with dark hairs. He had the same dark hair on his chest and she was studying it with rapt attention (Greg’s chest was smooth) when he glanced up and caught her looking. There was no smile, no wink, no suggestive gaze. Nothing. He was inscrutable. When his attention had shifted from her to Lauren she’d felt a sense of relief, as if she’d somehow escaped from making a mistake of monumental proportions. After a few seconds he’d turned back to the boat as if neither of them existed.
Jenna remembered nudging Lauren. “That guy is super hot.”
“What guy? I didn’t notice.”
Jenna had wondered at the time why her sister would lie about that. And she had lied, she was sure of that. Not just because every passing female had noticed Scott, but because Lauren had answered a little too quickly.
Scott never stayed on the island for long. No one ever knew where he went or when he’d be returning. As he’d never been the sort to grow roots or drop anchor, no one expected him to stick around.
And he never stayed on the island itself. He slept on his boat, anchored offshore.
Why would Scott Rhodes be visiting her mother?
That promised to be an interesting conversation.
Hi, Mom, I hear you had the devil on your doorstep…
Aware that Sylvia was still waiting for a response, Jenna shrugged. “My mother knows everyone on the island. And she still plays a role in the yachting community. Scott knows boats.”
Sylvia nodded. “That’s probably it.” It was obvious that she didn’t think that was the reason at all, and neither did Jenna.
It nagged at her as she drove the short distance home, enjoying the last of the daylight.
The cottage she shared with Greg between Chilmark and the fishing village of Menemsha had a view of the sea from the upstairs windows and a little garden that frothed with blooms in the summer months.
It was, in her opinion, the perfect place to raise a child.
She pushed that thought aside along with all the questions she had about Scott Rhodes, and parked her car.
In the summer this part of the island teemed with tourists, but in the winter months you were more likely to see eiders congregating near the jetties, riding the current and sheltering behind fishing boats. The sky was cold and threatening and the wind managed to find any gaps in clothing.
Jenna fumbled her way into the house, grateful for the warmth.
She lit the wood burning stove in the living room, unpacked the shopping and started cooking.
She made a chicken casserole from scratch (beef was Greg’s favorite but she’d read somewhere that red meat reduced fertility), threw together a salad and set the table.
Then she tidied the cottage, took a shower and changed into a wool dress she’d bought to wear at Christmas two years before. It had looked good on her then. It didn’t look so good now. It clung in places it wasn’t supposed to cling. Had she really put on that much weight? She was going to eat less, she really was. She was going to stop baking. Do more exercise. Try and get a bikini body by the summer. In the meantime she needed to order some of that control underwear.
She dragged the dress over her head, stuffed it in the back of the wardrobe along with all the other clothes that didn’t fit and instead pulled on her favorite pair of stretchy jeans and a sweater Greg had bought for her birthday. It was a pretty shade of blue shot with silvery thread and it fell soft and loose to the top of her thighs, concealing all evidence of her dietary transgressions.
She was checking the casserole when she heard the sound of his key in the door.
“Something smells good.” Greg walked into the house and dropped his keys on the table. “You look gorgeous. Is that sweater new?”
“You bought it for me!”
“I have great taste.” He kissed her on the mouth. “How was your mother? Are you in need of therapy?”
“Yes, but I decided on the sort you can pour into a glass. It was that or chocolate chip ice cream.”
“That’s what I call a dilemma.” Greg hung up his coat. “Walk me through your decision-making process.”
“Wine is made from grapes and grapes are fruit, which makes it one of your five a day. So it’s healthy.” She handed him a glass of wine. “And if I’m not pregnant, I might as well drink. How was your day?”
“If I tell you my day was good are you going to take this away from me?”
She grinned. “No, because by the time I’ve finished whining you’re going to need it.”
“Wine for whine. Sounds like a reasonable deal.” Greg took a mouthful of wine. “I’m braced. Hit me with it. What was today’s gem?”
“Nothing new. She reminded me about the painting incident and held me personally responsible for her gray hair.”
“Her gray hair makes her look distinguished. She should be thanking you.”
“She praised you, of course.” She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “You, Greg Sullivan, are the all-conquering hero. A gladiator among men. A knight in shining armor. I was lucky you were there to save me from my wicked ways.”
“She said that?” Greg put the wine down and gave her a sympathetic look. “Maybe it’s time the two of you had a frank, adult conversation.”
“Frank, adult conversations don’t happen in my family. At least, not with my mother. There’s something about being with her that turns me into—I don’t know—I regress about two decades in her company.” She shrugged. “I’m weird around her. We are so dysfunctional as a family.”
“All families are a little dysfunctional.”
“We’re a lot dysfunctional.”
It was easy to talk to him, but being with Greg had always been so easy. When people talked about marriage as something that had to be “worked at” she didn’t understand what they meant. She and Greg just were. They fitted like hand in glove or foot in shoe. They didn’t need to work at anything.
They ate dinner at the table in their cozy kitchen, while the winter wind lashed at the window. After they’d finished the meal and cleared up, they curled up on the sofa.
Jenna topped up Greg’s wineglass and he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Maybe. I’m a wild child, remember? Just living down to my reputation.” She slid off her shoes, curled her legs under her and moved closer, pressing her body against the solid strength of his.
Unlike her, his body hadn’t changed much in the past decade. Greg believed exercise helped control mood and set an example to the community by spending time in the gym and running on the beach. As a result his body was as good as it had been at eighteen.
Jenna still found him really attractive, but if she was honest unbridled lust wasn’t what drove most of their sexual encounters these days.
“Let’s go to bed.”
He turned his head and looked at her quizzically. “It’s not the right time of the month for you to get pregnant, is it?”
Did he really think that was the only reason she’d suggest it?
She felt a flash of guilt, and that guilt was intensified by the knowledge that she’d done those calculations too. And he was right, it was the wrong time of the month. But sometimes sperm hung around, didn’t it? Or maybe her ovaries would be so excited they’d pop out an egg spontaneously. At least having sex meant there was a possibility she could get pregnant. If they didn’t have sex, there was no possibility.
“It’s not the right time for me to get pregnant, but that’s not the only reason to have sex.”
“Isn’t it?” He spoke so softly she wondered if she’d misheard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Only that lately that’s all you think about.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again.
Greg had been the only guy she’d ever kissed (she didn’t count that one session behind the bike sheds with Nick Jones because that had been part of a dare). Sex had changed over time. Being with him didn’t give her the same dizzying thrill she’d had when they’d first got together (take that, Mom. Saint Greg and I had sex before we were married), but in many ways it was better. Familiar. Intimate.
As he deepened the kiss, his other arm came round her waist and Jenna tried to suck in her stomach, regretting the cupcake she’d eaten at breakfast. She shifted closer to him and felt something hard dig into her hip. “Is that your phone?”
“No it’s my giant penis and the reason you married me.” There was laughter in his voice as he nuzzled her neck but she shoved him away.
“Wait! Greg—why is it in your pocket?”
“My penis?”
“Your phone!”
He sighed and eased away a little. “Because that’s where I always carry my phone. Where else would it be?”
“Anywhere else! You’re supposed to be keeping your testicles cool and your phone out of your pocket. We agreed.”
Greg swore under his breath and released her. “This is crazy, Jenna! Next you’ll be asking me to see clients in my boxer shorts.”
“That’s a great idea. Could you do that? I’m kidding,” she said hastily. “Of course I don’t expect you to do that. You’re overreacting. Although if you sat behind a desk I guess you could—”
“No I could not! You’re obsessed.”
“I am not obsessed! I’m focused, which is not the same as obsessed. Focused is good. Focused gets things done.”
He eased away from her. “Jenna, getting pregnant is all you think about. We don’t talk about anything except babies.”
“That’s not true.” Was that true?
“When was the last time we talked about something not sex or baby related? And I don’t count talking about your mother.”
“Over dinner.” She smiled triumphantly. “I didn’t mention babies once. We talked about decorating the upstairs bedroom.”
“Because you want to turn it into a nursery, even though you’re not pregnant.”
Oops. Guilty as charged. “Last week we had that long conversation about politics.”
“—and the impact it might have on any children we have.”
That was true, too.
So basically she was boring. Fat and boring. “It’s possible that I might be a little overfocused on pregnancy, that’s true. It’s what happens when you really want something you can’t have. Like being on a diet. If you can’t eat a chocolate brownie, all you think about is eating the chocolate brownie. I’m talking figuratively—” Of course, figuratively. Nothing to do with the entire tin of brownies she’d devoured the week before. “That brownie invades your head space until you can’t think about anything else. You dream about brownies. Brownies become your life. You’re a psychologist. You’re supposed to know this!”
Greg pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and breathed slowly. “Honey, if you could just—”
“Do not tell me to relax, Greg. And don’t call me ‘honey’ in that tone. It drives me batshit crazy.”
“I know, but Jen you really do need to relax. If something is taking over your mind, then the answer is to focus on other things. The way to forget the brownie, is to think about something else.”
“Cupcakes?”
His expression was both amused and exasperated. “One of my clients is opening a new yoga studio in Oak Bluffs. Maybe you should go. You might find it calming.”
“Or I might find it annoying. It will be full of serene people with perfect figures who are all in control of their lives. I’d have to kill them, and that wouldn’t be calming for anyone.”
Greg sighed. “Okay, no yoga. Tai Chi? Kickboxing? Book group?”
“Book group? My mother goes to book group.”
“Go to a different book group. Start your own. Do something. Anything to take your mind off babies.”
“You’re saying you don’t want babies?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” He sucked in a breath. “I do want babies, but I don’t think all this angst is going to help.”
“But—” She was about to ask him how he felt about the whole thing when her phone rang.
She ignored it.
Whoever it was could wait.
Of course Greg wanted babies. Didn’t he?
He glanced from her to the phone. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“No. This conversation is more important than my phone.” Her phone stopped ringing but started again a moment later and Greg reached down to pick it up.
“It’s Lauren.”
She stared at him stupidly. “What?”
“Your sister.” He thrust the phone at her. “We can wish Ed a happy birthday.”
“But isn’t it the middle of the night in London?”
“It was obviously a great party. Answer it.” He walked toward the door and she frowned.
“Where are you going?”
“To pack. If you’re going to talk to your sister, I have time to take a six-month sabbatical.”
She pulled a face. “We’re not that bad.”
“No, you’re right. A two-week vacation should cover it. In the meantime I’ll make us coffee.” Greg walked to the kitchen and Jenna watched him go.
He always made her laugh. And he was so calm.
She felt less anxious just being around him. Who the hell needed yoga when they were married to Greg?
Stretching her legs out on the sofa, she settled in to have a long chat with her sister (not that she was going to let Greg get away with that comment about the length of their phone calls. Maybe one call last month had reached the two-hour mark, but she and Lauren lived thousands of miles apart! What did he expect?). “Hi, Lauren. Happy Birthday to Ed! How was the party? I was going to call you tomorrow. Did our gift arrive?” She smiled in anticipation and because she was expecting everything to be perfect it took her a couple of minutes to absorb what her sister was saying. “What?” She sat up suddenly, spilling her wine over her jeans. “Say that again!”
By the time Jenna ended the call she was in shock.
Her hand was shaking so badly she almost dropped her phone.
Greg walked back into the room and put two mugs of coffee on the table. “Did you lose the signal or something?”
“No.”
“Then why so quick? I was going to speak to Ed.”
“You can’t.” Her lips felt strange, as if they didn’t want to move. “Ed is—” She broke off and he looked at her.
“Ed is what?”
Her eyes filled. “He’s dead. How is that even possible? Today was his fortieth birthday. People don’t die on their fortieth birthday. My sister. My poor sister.” This time she didn’t even try to hold back the tears. “I have to go to her.”
“Of course you do.” Looking shaken, Greg took the empty glass from her hand and tugged her to her feet. “Go and pack. I’ll call the airline.”
“We can’t—I can’t—” She couldn’t think straight. “There’s school, and—”
“I’ll call them while you’re packing. I’ve got this, honey.”
“What about the money? We already decided we couldn’t afford to go away in the summer.”
“We’ll manage. Some things are more important than money.”
She didn’t argue.
Only hours before she’d been envying her sister, and now her life was shattered.
It was unbelievable. Unfair.
And to think she’d been about to offload her own problems.
She sleepwalked to the bedroom and pulled out her suitcase. Without thinking about what she was packing, she stuffed random clothes into it. All she could think about was her sister, her big sister, who had always been there for her through thick and thin.
There was nothing her sister didn’t know about her. Not a single thing.
“It’s all booked.” Greg appeared in the doorway, his phone in one hand and his credit card in the other. His face was pale and his expression serious. “Take sweaters. And a coat. It’s cold in England.”
“What? Oh, yes. Sure.” She pushed some thick socks into the case and paused, helpless. “What do I do, Greg? What is the right thing to say to someone who has lost their husband? I wish you were coming with me.”
But they both knew he couldn’t. He had people counting on him, and no one who could cover him.
“You’ll be there with her, that’s what counts. I’ll call you every night.”
Jenna glanced round her bedroom and tried to work out what she’d forgotten. Lauren would have made a list. She probably had a list ready to use entitled “for emergency travel.” Everything would be checked off. Red ticks for the outward journey, blue ticks for the return journey.
There were no ticks on Jenna’s list. Jenna didn’t have a list to tick.
She was the disorganized one. Lauren was the perfect one.
Except that her perfect sister’s perfect life was no longer perfect.
Copyright 2017 by Sarah Morgan