white sheets, an antique dusky rose quilt spread across the foot of the bed, an old wooden blanket chest at the bottom. The armchair she had always loved was in the corner, her old blanket from childhood draped over the back, more peonies in a blue-and-white-spattered pitcher on the dresser.
Crossing the room, Audrey opened the windows, the view so familiar, the trees, the sound of the birds, the smell of salt in the air, and found herself smiling as she turned to unpack, pulling out a pair of shorts and a sheer cotton top, dying to get out of what she thought of as her English clothes, dying to feel the sun on her legs, the wind blowing the fine hairs on her arms. She pulled on the shorts and top, scraped her long dark hair into a messy topknot, and started to put the clothes away in drawers, instantly feeling younger, lighter, almost as if her marriage, the last five years of her life in England, had never, ever happened.
Her clothes were almost all put away, the dresses hung, the tops and shorts in drawers, when she heard the door downstairs and rushed to the stairs, a huge smile on her face in anticipation of seeing her beloved aunt.
“Hello!” She clattered down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, all legs, arms akimbo, bare feet, stopping short at the sight of a man standing at the counter, unpacking two paper grocery bags.
“Hi!” He grinned at her. “You must be Audrey. I’m Brooks Mayhew.” He put the eggs he was holding down and reached over to shake her hand, apologizing for the paint spatters across his fingers.
“It’s fine,” said Audrey, wondering who this man was who seemed completely comfortable in her aunt’s house. Not a boyfriend, he was far too young, and not an advisor, in his loose, paint-spattered shirt, his baggy seersucker shorts and canvas shoes. His hair was almost shoulder length, his skin tanned, his smile easy and wide. He looked almost as if he could be one of the boating boys, yet the paint didn’t make sense.
“I’m working on a new painting. I promised Judith I’d run out and get groceries for her, and time got away from me. She warned me you might be here. She’s had to go off island, by the way. Said she would be home for dinner, that there’s plenty of food in the fridge and pantry if you want to get something ready.”
“I’m sorry,” Audrey found herself saying, a habit she had picked up since living in England, apologizing for everything, even when it quite clearly was not her fault, “but who are you?”
He started to laugh. “Are you wondering if I’m Judith’s secret lover?”
“I’d be terribly impressed if you were.”
“I’m the neighbor. I’m renting the house next door, and I’ve got a studio down on the wharf. I’m an artist, in case that wasn’t obvious.” He brandished his shirt and hands as evidence. “Judith has become my best friend in a matter of weeks. She feeds my cats when I’m at the studio, and I … well … I try to help out. I go shopping for her, or fix things around the house.” He gestured at the window. “I’ve replaced the frames in here, slowly working my way around the rest of the house.”
“It needs it.”
“You haven’t been here for a few years?”
“Five. I live in England now.”
“I hear. You’ve got a bit of an English accent.”
“Give me a day or two and the English will be wiped out completely.”
“When in Rome,” they both said at the same time, and started to laugh.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“I was going to offer you the same thing.” She walked to the counter and pulled a six-pack of beer from one paper bag. “Not that I knew if we had anything to offer you, but I’m the one who should be the hostess.”
“That sounds very formal. I’ve forgotten about gracious hosting since living here.”
She cracked open a beer and handed it to him, then opened one for herself, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Where are you from?” she asked. “Here?”
“No. New York. Well, Long Island, to be precise. Locust Valley. Lattingtown.”
“Fancy!” Audrey said, proferring her can. “I suppose I should say cheers.”
“Cheers.” He grinned, clinking cans. “It is fancy, and, as you can see, I am not, which is why I am now living in Nantucket, which is about as unfancy as you can get.”