Even though they weren’t married, Keely spent that night in the Maxwell house.
In Sebastian’s room. Donna had asked them to stay. She wanted lots of people in the house during the night in case her husband had a problem.
Donna slept in her husband’s room—the dining room—on a futon carried in from the family room. So she was downstairs and on the other side of the house from Sebastian’s room.
Even though Keely knew her presence was expected and approved, she had to stuff a pillow in her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I can’t believe I’m here! In the inner sanctum! Look at all your trophies. And posters of JLo!”
Sebastian pulled her close to him. “In a show of respect, I took down my poster of Gisele Bündchen in her Victoria’s Secret Fantasy Bra.”
“If I’d only known I’d be in this narrow little twin bed with you someday, I would have been much happier as a kid!”
“Be happy now,” Sebastian said, and kissed her mouth.
How she loved being in that house at night. Memories like moths fluttered through her senses as she recalled all the nights she and Isabelle had whispered secrets to each other, or lay side by side reading the same book for school and sharing their thoughts, or fell into helpless fits of giggling over something as normal as the school principal’s name, Mr. Cross.
Yet it wasn’t only because of the people who lived in the house. Keely loved the house itself, for its expansive graciousness, its combination of authentic and historic wide board floors and its old, almost threadbare, carpets. For its high ceilings and two staircases, one broad and elegant with art hanging from the wall, and the other narrow and uncarpeted, the one the housemaids used back in the 1800s when the house was built. For its modest but sparkling chandeliers in the front hall and the upstairs hall and the master bedroom. For its many cupboards and crannies, its floors that sometimes bulged or slanted like the floors of a whaling ship, its six over six paned windows, so much more interesting, Keely thought, than the large windows of her parents’ ranch house.
She adored being in the kitchen. During her life, she’d spent hundreds of hours sitting at the oval walnut table. Now in the mornings, when she made breakfast for herself, Sebastian, Donna, and Al, she fantasized that this was her house, and she was making breakfast for herself and her family. She imagined children racing into the room, yelling for food, kicking each other under the table, while she reminded them to use their napkins instead of wiping their fingers on their pajamas.
One morning, as Keely was cutting up fruit for breakfast, a tap came on the sliding screen door. She reached into the refrigerator for eggs and when she shut the door, Tommy was coming up the back steps of the wide porch with Brittany in his arms.
Tommy had put on weight—beer weight, it looked like. He had quite a beer belly and his face had gotten round. His beautiful black hair was cut short, almost military style; Keely would bet that his father made that a stipulation of being employed at the accounting agency. He wore suit pants and a button-down shirt and wing-tipped shoes. You, my old friend, have been tamed, Keely thought, and the thought made a sorrow sweep through her, a sense of something ineffable lost, as if a wild bird had been caged.
Yet he looked happy. And he had Brittany and Isabelle. She was glad for him, and glad for herself, that she felt only an enormous fondness for this man.
“Tommy.” She pulled him and his daughter to her in a warm hug, then held them away from her so she could scan him up and down. “Look at you, all grown up.”
“You look grown up yourself,” Tommy said.
“Sit down. I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.”
“How’s Al?” Tommy asked, as he fastened Brittany into her high chair.
“Still sleeping. Joe Garcia, the LPN and a big strong man, comes over every morning to help Al get washed up and dressed. He’ll be here at eight. And my mother arrives at nine.”
“Isabelle said that Eloise is making a big difference.”
“Maybe only a small difference,” Keely said, “but it all adds up.”
She set a plate before Tommy and put Cheerios on the high chair tray. Sebastian entered the room then, and Keely, delighted with life, gave him a big smooch on the lips.
“What was that for?” Sebastian asked.
“Think about it,” Keely replied flirtatiously, because he’d wakened her this morning by gathering her in his arms and making love to her. “Sit down. I’ve got bacon and eggs ready for you.”
It was a pleasure to have so many people in the room, talking and laughing. Or maybe it was simply that she was over-caffeinated by her fourth cup of coffee, but this sunny morning seemed especially fine. When they all went off to work, Keely sang as she did the dishes.
Joe Garcia came and left. Her mother arrived, kissed Keely’s cheek, and went in to see Al.
As Keely dried her hands, her mind was already framing the next scene in her new novel. She wanted to get back to her mother’s house where her laptop lay waiting. This was the way her mind worked, ambushing her with important new information when she wasn’t near her computer. She took out her phone and dictated some sentences and emailed them to herself. They’d be waiting on her computer at home.
“I’m off now, Mom,” she said, peeking into the dining room where her mother and Al seemed to be in some kind of conversation.
Eloise waved goodbye.
Keely stepped out into the bright hot day, and as she walked to her car, her phone rang.
“Keely, can you come over here a minute?” It sounded as if Isabelle was crying.
“Um, can it wait? I’ve got—”
“Please.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
She ran up the stairs to Isabelle’s apartment and found Isabelle siting on the sofa, tears streaming down her face.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
Isabelle waved her hand at her computer. Keely went to the table, woke the computer, and read the email there. It was a pleasant but definite rejection of Isabelle’s novel by Sally Hazlitt.
“Oh, sweetie.” Keely sank down on the sofa and put her arm around Isabelle. “I’m sorry. But remember, that’s only one agent, and there are dozens out there.”
“But she took your book!”
“Yes, and she’s one agent. One. You need to buck up and send off multiple submissions to other possibilities. I’ll look through the list with you. And in the meantime, did you google a list of young adult agents?”
Isabelle lifted her head, sniffed, and pushed her hair back from her face. “No. I didn’t. Because a young adult book doesn’t seem as important as an adult novel.”
Keely removed her arm and gawked at her friend. “Isabelle Maxwell Fitzgerald. You don’t even know what you’re saying. If anything, young adult books are much more important than adult books.”
Isabelle directed a suspicious glare at Keely. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course!”
“Then why don’t you write young adult books?”
“Because I wouldn’t be any good at it. Isabelle, you should go where your talent is leading you.”
Isabelle sighed. “Okay. Maybe you’re right.”
“Come on. Let’s google YA agents and select a few.”
An hour later than intended, Keely entered her own house. It was quiet and shadowy, all curtains and blinds closed to keep out the sun. She poured herself a glass of iced tea, turned on her room air conditioner, whose steady hum insulated Keely from other noises, and curled up on her bed to read Isabelle’s YA novel.
At some point, she heard her mother come in, rustle around in the kitchen, and go out again. Keely didn’t even call hello; she was entranced with the book.
She finished the book at five. Sally was probably still in the office. Keely punched the Sally button on her keypad.
“Hi, there,” Sally answered. “What’s up?”
Sally was all about not wasting a minute of time.
“Isabelle has written a dynamite young adult novel. She’s sending it around to YA agents. I’d love it if you could recommend it to a few good agents.”
“Oh, good grief, Keely, I don’t have time for this.”
“Sally, this book is extremely good. Amazing. I could hardly put it down.”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not promising anything.”
“Thank you, Sally. Really. This means the world to me.”
“Then hurry up and finish your book.”
“I’m on it.” They disconnected. Keely took a moment to think how far she’d come, how much her life had changed, that she had an agent and was working on her third book. A kind of courage swept through her. She picked up her phone and called Gray.
“Hi, Keely.” His voice was deep and calm.
“Hi, Gray. I’m calling to tell you that—” She took a moment, not wanting to blurt it out. “I’m going to marry Sebastian. It’s official. I have his ring. My mother knows and his family knows. So I thought, well, that I should tell you, too.”
“I see. Well, Keely, I appreciate your calling. I wish you well.”
Keely almost laughed. He was always so formal. Yet she was grateful for his kind response and she guessed his formality acted as a shield for his emotions.
“Thank you, Gray. I wish you well, too.”
She clicked off, slipped her phone into her pocket, and realized suddenly that she was very hungry. She’d read Isabelle’s book all day without stopping. And her brief conversation with Gray had somehow lifted a burden from her. She felt light. She felt like her true self. She went into the kitchen and opened a can of pickled beets—one of her favorite foods—and stood eating them over the sink, so she wouldn’t stain anything. Now and then, she burst out laughing.
In June, the days flipped past like a flock of butterflies—vibrant with color but too fast. Families with children returned for the summer. College kids worked as waiters alongside year-round employees. The super wealthy attended galas but otherwise stayed secluded in their compounds with their many staff venturing out on errands. Ferries brought over countless vacationers while private jets streaked to the airport.
The summer days were hot and fine for swimming, and the sky blazed with stars at night. The Maxwells and Eloise bustled around taking care of Al. Keely got to hide away with her computer and write. If she kept up this pace, and she knew she could, she would finish the new novel before Thanksgiving. Keely and Sebastian were waiting until spring to be married. They wanted a proper ceremony, but most of all, they wanted Mr. Maxwell to be in better health.
Keely was so happy she was terrified. Writing during the day, being with Sebastian at night—could this happiness last?
One afternoon she finished early. She showered, dressed, jumped in her car, and drove to Fast Forward to pick up two iced lattes. She’d surprise Sebastian at his shop with coffee and a kiss. The day was cloudy, almost cool, and brisk. Families in bike lanes struggled to pedal against the wind.
She turned into the parking lot and squeezed her car between two pick-up trucks. Keely thought she saw Isabelle’s red Jeep parked at the far end, so she wasn’t surprised when she entered the print shop and found Isabelle sitting near one of the desks with Sebastian.
Donna sat across from them.
The three glanced up when the silver bell over the door tinkled.
Keely paused. “It looks like I’m interrupting something serious. I’ll go.”
Sebastian stood up. “No, Keely, stay. This concerns you.”
“Oh, dear,” Keely said under her breath.
He crossed the room, kissed Keely on the cheek, and ushered her to the desk. He pulled a chair over for Keely.
Keely set the coffees on the desk and sat down.
“We’re talking about the house,” Donna announced, looking Keely square in the eye.
Isabelle continued. “And the future. Mom and Dad need to move into a smaller house. Everything on one floor. No stairs. Mom wants to simplify their lives.”
“Okay…” Keely nodded.
“So we’re discussing options,” Sebastian said. “They could sell the house and they’d have plenty of money to buy a smaller house on the island. And maybe they’d have enough left over, especially considering the IRAs and savings they have, to split the profit between me and Isabelle.”
Isabelle took over. “But I don’t think they should sell the house. I think you and Sebastian should buy it from them for a dollar or something and live there. I’d hate for our wonderful old house to go to anyone who’s not part of the family. Plus,” she added with an embarrassed grin, “it needs a lot of TLC. I don’t think many people would want to restore it. They would just knock it down and start over.”
Keely blinked and shook her head. “You’ve skipped way ahead of me here. Don’t you and Tommy and Brittany want to take the big house? I mean, there are already three of you. You might have another child, even two or three.”
“Not for a while,” Isabelle said. “Besides…this is a secret, but Tommy is working on a deal to become partners in a marina out at Madaket. We’d want our own home, our real home, to be out there. Anyway, Keely, think about it. Does Tommy want to deal with keeping an old house in shape or does he want to spend any free time out on his boat?”
Before Keely could speak, Donna waved her hand dismissively. “I told you Keely wouldn’t like the idea. She’s far too busy with her work to want to take on that house.”
“Wait,” Keely gasped. “This concerns Sebastian, not me.”
Donna leaned forward, putting herself between Sebastian and Keely. “You’re going to marry Sebastian. You have a say in this matter. I can understand why you wouldn’t want our shabby old house. You probably have the money to buy a showplace.”
“Mrs. Maxwell—”
“Donna.”
“Donna, I love your house. I’ve always loved it. But I would do whatever Sebastian wants to do. If he wants your house, I’d be delighted to make our home there.”
“You’d have to pay market value,” Donna said. “But I suppose you make enough money to do that.”
Keely exchanged glances with Sebastian, who said, “I suppose you and Dad would be good enough to be the mortgage-holders.”
Isabelle added, “And, Mom, since you and Dad gave us the money for Tommy’s boat when we got married, you’d have to give Sebastian and Keely an equal amount when they marry, and you could just not give them the money but deduct it from the down payment.”
Donna held out her hands in surrender. “Fine. Whatever. Sebastian, you really must take the house. It exhausts me. The thought of sorting through all the years of accumulated stuff…never in a million years would we be able to get the house ready to show.”
“Mom,” Isabelle said. “Even if Sebastian and Keely take the house, you still have to clear out years of junk…”
“Yes, of course. I know that. But if we don’t have to put it on the market, I can take my time.”
Isabelle said, “And of course we’d help you.”
Keely added, “I’ve gotten very efficient at clearing out old…possessions.”
Donna nodded. “I know, Keely. Your mother says you’ve been invaluable.” Her face changed, softening. “It’s daunting, you know, changing one’s life so completely. This is not where I thought I’d be at this age.”
“I’m sure it’s not where Dad thought he’d be at this age, too,” Isabelle added delicately.
“Please,” Donna said softly, “could you all give me a break?”
Sebastian leaned over to put his hand on his mother’s. “We’ll do anything you want, Mom. Just ask.”
Donna’s face flushed. “I don’t know what I should ask for, not now.”
“A cruise,” Keely said. “You want to go on a cruise.”
“But I can’t. Not with Al so incapacitated.”
“Mom, we can take care of Dad,” Isabelle assured her.
Donna nodded. “I’ll think about it.” She sniffed, and surprised them all with a smile. “Actually, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
The silver bell tinkled and a man entered with a portfolio under his arm. “I’m sorry. Are you closed?”
“No, no.” Sebastian stood up. “We’re just finishing a business meeting. How may I help you?”
Keely, Isabelle, and Donna rose, too. Waving goodbye to one another, they went out to their cars. Donna drove away, but Isabelle came to talk with Keely.
“Are you okay with this?” Isabelle asked.
“I think so. It’s overwhelming, what we all talked about. You know how I’ve always admired your house and your family. I grew up wanting a house and a family like yours—actually no, I wanted your house. And now…”
“Now,” Isabelle said, “like it or not, you’ve got us all.”