Nantucket by Nan Rossiter Page A

17
    A s Liam looked for a parking spot near Old South Wharf, he wondered why he was setting himself up for more trouble. Common sense was telling him he should leave his past where it belonged and let Jack and Tracey solve their own problems. In fact, if he was smart, he’d just go to the boathouse and get started on John Alden’s boat. “I guess I’m not that smart,” he muttered, looking at all the people milling around the entrance to the gallery.
    Liam crossed the street, made his way through the crowd, and stepped into the bright, airy space. He quickly scanned the room and immediately saw Tracey talking to Devon. She was holding a glass of wine and her arm was draped over the shoulders of a boy who looked just like Jack. Liam smiled, realized she hadn’t noticed him, and took advantage of the chance to look at the paintings alone.
    The artist’s work was reminiscent of Andrew Wyeth’s—rustic, simple, and earthy. Some paintings were of old New England barns and sheds, but others were of wooden skiffs, lobsterpots, and lighthouses—perfect for the Nantucket crowd. It was an impressive body of work for an artist who’d only been out of college a couple of years.
    Liam reached the back of the room, turned, and saw the painting that had been used in the newspaper ad—it was breathtaking! He stared at the sunlight peeking through the trees and then looked at the card. It was simply titled, The Island, but Liam knew immediately it was Tuckernuck. As he stood still, studying the painting, he felt someone standing next to him and turned to see Tracey. “I’m so glad you came,” she said.
    â€œMe too.”
    She looked around and motioned for the two kids—who were standing near the crudités table—to come over, and the little girl elbowed the boy to get his attention and then nodded to her. They shuffled over and Tracey put her arm around the boy’s shoulder. “This is T. J.,” she said, “and this is Olivia,” she added, pulling her daughter against her other side.
    Liam reached out to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you too,” they said shyly before whispering a request to go outside.
    â€œOkay,” Tracey said, “as long as you stay together. . . . T. J., you take care of Olivia.”
    They both nodded and skipped out, relieved to be free of the stuffy art show.
    â€œCute,” Liam said as he watched them go.
    â€œThanks,” she said. “They’re good kids.”
    She took a sip of her wine and motioned to the paintings. “His work is beautiful, isn’t it?”
    Liam nodded. “It’s gorgeous.”
    â€œHe even painted your island,” she added with a smile.
    â€œI see that,” he said, then pointed to the card next to it. “What does the red dot mean?”
    â€œIt means someone bought it.”
    â€œOh,” Liam said, sounding disappointed.
    â€œThat’s why you have to get here early.”
    â€œI would’ve been here early,” he said, eyeing her, “but I was feeling a little hung over.”
    â€œYou were?” she teased. “I can’t imagine why.”
    â€œYou mustn’t be, though,” he said, nodding to her glass.
    â€œOh, no . . . this is called hair of the dog,” she said with a laugh. “You should try it.”
    He shook his head. “I’ve sworn off drinking.”
    Tracey laughed. “I know all about swearing off drinking—especially Peachtree!”
    Liam smiled. “I remember that night . . . some of it anyway.”
    â€œI remember it very well,” Tracey said, searching his eyes.
    â€œI remember the important part,” Liam said with a slow smile.
    â€œYou mean the part where you got me drunk and took advantage of me?”
    â€œI think it was the other way around,” he teased, recalling the night after their high-school