to find an internship in D.C. or something. So they don’t know about California yet. Do you think that’s bad?”
“To be honest, I’ve never understood why children feel they need their parents’ approval,” Lacey said. “I believe the earlier you stop hoping for that, the happier you’ll be. Look at me—my father went to all kinds of trouble to send me to Radcliffe, but then he sniffed when I pursued a career. But I didn’t let that stop me. I had a career that I adored and a husband, too.”
Jeremy’s face brightened. “Yeah, I figure they might not like the idea at first but once I make it, they’ll be fine with the whole thing.”
“You might be better off not worrying what your parents think at all. Ever.”
“They are my parents,” Jeremy said. “They did raise me.”
“All a parent can do is hope for the best,” Lacey said. This was the philosophy she always believed she would have followed with a child. Raise them as well as you can and then let them go. Jeremy looked at her strangely. Maybe he didn’t understand how much eighty-eight years of life could teach a person. She was relieved when he stood up.
“I should be going,” he said. He leaned over and kissed Lacey’s cheek, another point in his favor. “Thanks for the drink and the cheese and stuff.”
“You’re welcome, my dear,” she said. “Come again.”
Jeremy left the cottage, closing the screen door quietly behind him. Lacey stayed in her chair. She could reach for the remote control and turn on Dan Rather, or she could stand up and retrieve the swordfish potpie from the freezer. But for a moment she did neither. She was paralyzed with loneliness, and anger about that loneliness. She kicked the coffee table and the picture of Maximilian fell over with a clatter. This pleased her for an instant and then she felt irritated. Surely there were better days to get angrier than hell at her dear, departed Maximilian than this, Memorial Day.
3
The Gold Coast
June 5
Dear Bill,
I don’t know why you insist on torturing yourself by continuing to run the hotel. Just imagine—with the money I’m offering you, you could buy a huge home here on Nantucket—right next door!—and a house in Aspen as well—and enjoy life for a change. I have no evil intentions in buying the hotel; I am only trying to right the wrongs I’ve done in my life .
I’ve caught a glimpse or two of you over the past three weeks and I must say, you look harried. Carrying that heavy book with you everywhere! What is that book, anyway, Bill, the Bible? Don’t turn to religion, Bill—turn to me. My offer stands .
S.B.T.
Love couldn’t be certain, but she thought Mr. Beebe, in room 8, was interested in her. He and his wife arrived on Nantucket in their own plane. This wasn’t a big deal—Love knew people in Aspen who owned jets, and some of them were just regular people that she saw in line at all-you-can-eat taco night at La Cocina. But Mr. Beebe called from his jet. To Love, this indicated a blatant disregard for the value of money. She felt the same way about people who used the phones on regular planes. It seemed ludicrous to pay so much money for something so transient. So while Love didn’t begrudge Mr. Beebe his jet, a part of her was annoyed by the phone call.
Mr. Beebe’s question: Would there be a car at the airport to pick him up?
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, loudly (the reception was poor.) “You’ll have to take a taxi. There’s a taxi stand in front of the terminal, and always plenty of taxis waiting.”
“I’m arriving in my own plane,” Mr. Beebe said.
Love agreed with the Beach Club’s policy. All of the guests were important, but no one was important enough to get picked up at the airport. Not Michael Jackson, not George Bush, and not this man, Mr. Beebe.
“Yes, sir, I understand,” she said. “We look forward to your arrival.”
Mr. Beebe was a very handsome man. He stood well over six feet tall and had
“To be honest, I’ve never understood why children feel they need their parents’ approval,” Lacey said. “I believe the earlier you stop hoping for that, the happier you’ll be. Look at me—my father went to all kinds of trouble to send me to Radcliffe, but then he sniffed when I pursued a career. But I didn’t let that stop me. I had a career that I adored and a husband, too.”
Jeremy’s face brightened. “Yeah, I figure they might not like the idea at first but once I make it, they’ll be fine with the whole thing.”
“You might be better off not worrying what your parents think at all. Ever.”
“They are my parents,” Jeremy said. “They did raise me.”
“All a parent can do is hope for the best,” Lacey said. This was the philosophy she always believed she would have followed with a child. Raise them as well as you can and then let them go. Jeremy looked at her strangely. Maybe he didn’t understand how much eighty-eight years of life could teach a person. She was relieved when he stood up.
“I should be going,” he said. He leaned over and kissed Lacey’s cheek, another point in his favor. “Thanks for the drink and the cheese and stuff.”
“You’re welcome, my dear,” she said. “Come again.”
Jeremy left the cottage, closing the screen door quietly behind him. Lacey stayed in her chair. She could reach for the remote control and turn on Dan Rather, or she could stand up and retrieve the swordfish potpie from the freezer. But for a moment she did neither. She was paralyzed with loneliness, and anger about that loneliness. She kicked the coffee table and the picture of Maximilian fell over with a clatter. This pleased her for an instant and then she felt irritated. Surely there were better days to get angrier than hell at her dear, departed Maximilian than this, Memorial Day.
3
The Gold Coast
June 5
Dear Bill,
I don’t know why you insist on torturing yourself by continuing to run the hotel. Just imagine—with the money I’m offering you, you could buy a huge home here on Nantucket—right next door!—and a house in Aspen as well—and enjoy life for a change. I have no evil intentions in buying the hotel; I am only trying to right the wrongs I’ve done in my life .
I’ve caught a glimpse or two of you over the past three weeks and I must say, you look harried. Carrying that heavy book with you everywhere! What is that book, anyway, Bill, the Bible? Don’t turn to religion, Bill—turn to me. My offer stands .
S.B.T.
Love couldn’t be certain, but she thought Mr. Beebe, in room 8, was interested in her. He and his wife arrived on Nantucket in their own plane. This wasn’t a big deal—Love knew people in Aspen who owned jets, and some of them were just regular people that she saw in line at all-you-can-eat taco night at La Cocina. But Mr. Beebe called from his jet. To Love, this indicated a blatant disregard for the value of money. She felt the same way about people who used the phones on regular planes. It seemed ludicrous to pay so much money for something so transient. So while Love didn’t begrudge Mr. Beebe his jet, a part of her was annoyed by the phone call.
Mr. Beebe’s question: Would there be a car at the airport to pick him up?
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, loudly (the reception was poor.) “You’ll have to take a taxi. There’s a taxi stand in front of the terminal, and always plenty of taxis waiting.”
“I’m arriving in my own plane,” Mr. Beebe said.
Love agreed with the Beach Club’s policy. All of the guests were important, but no one was important enough to get picked up at the airport. Not Michael Jackson, not George Bush, and not this man, Mr. Beebe.
“Yes, sir, I understand,” she said. “We look forward to your arrival.”
Mr. Beebe was a very handsome man. He stood well over six feet tall and had
Similar Books
