years ago. It was done by some big-name architect, and decorated by one of the big New York designers, and it was . . . wait for it . . . twenty thousand square feet.”
“Who in the hell needs twenty thousand square feet?” Michael gasps. “I mean, seriously? What for? What does anyone need with that? Do they have an army of children?”
“No, young couple in their late thirties—he’d evidently made a killing from hedge funds—and they had two small children. And here’s my favorite part: throughout this article they kept being quoted saying things like they were very unpretentious, and they wanted the house to be cozy and informal. They said they were very down to earth and wanted it to be inviting and reflective of who they are.” Daff cracks up laughing, along with Daniel, while Michael shakes his head in astonishment.
“How do you make twenty thousand square feet cozy?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.
“You don’t.” Daniel shrugs. “And trust me, everyone I’ve ever met who lives in one of those houses will tell you the same thing: they’re very down to earth and not pretentious in the slightest, and they’re ever so slightly embarrassed they ended up with such a big house.”
Daff sighs. “Give me an antique any day.”
“Me too,” Michael says. “As far as I’m concerned the old houses in town right here on Nantucket are sheer perfection.”
“I love those!” Daff says. “Didn’t we drive past them on the way out here the other day? I’d love to see them again properly. Can we do a tour?”
“Of course,” Michael replies. “Just give me a chance to get the bikes cleaned off. Daniel, are you going to come?”
“I don’t think so,” Daniel says. “But thanks. I feel like I’ve abandoned work a bit, so I’m going to look for somewhere with wifi in town and get some work out of the way.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. The girls are with me this weekend and I need to get all this stuff done before they arrive so I can just truly focus on them.”
“You sound like a wonderful father,” Daff says, her eyes suddenly sad as she thinks about Jess.
“I have wonderful children,” he says, and bidding them good-bye he turns to go inside.
Nan lies in bed, surrounded by magazines. It’s not often she does this, relax in bed and let the house get on without her, but for the first time in months she feels safe enough to do it, safe enough mostly because Michael is back, because the house finally feels alive again.
The wheels of the house, deep in the underbelly, are creaking and groaning but turning again, pushing a life force, an energy, through the house that is gathering a momentum of its own.
What a relief that it is not solely down to Nan to breathe life into Windermere; what a relief to know that Windermere has awoken, will continue, possibly even without Nan.
For Nan is tired these days. Unsurprising perhaps, given how much she has had to do, especially now that Sarah has gone to the Cape with her husband’s family until the end of the summer. Nan hadn’t realized, before now, quite how much she takes Sarah for granted, nor quite how much Sarah does for her.
And she misses her, wishes that after all her work in transforming the house, Sarah were here to join in the fun of being with these wonderful people. And she also wishes Sarah were here to insist on sending Nan upstairs, protesting all the time, when Sarah can see that she’s exhausted.
Nan is careful not to show anyone how tired she is, doesn’t want anyone to worry about her, but this morning, after breakfast, after she made pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon for everyone, she walked back upstairs and saw that she had forgotten to make the bed, and it looked so warm, so inviting and cozy, that all at once she felt exhausted, so she kicked off her shoes and sank back into bed, falling quickly into a deep sleep.
She didn’t even hear Michael poke his head around the door, smiling at her as he walked over and tucked the covers around her, much as you would do to a child.
Nan awakened feeling a little better, but still not quite herself. Probably coming down with something. She had, after all, been around those adorable little girls—Stella and Lizzie—and weren’t children just like little mobile Petri dishes of germs? Wouldn’t it be just her luck to have picked up some