“Try again,” he said.
By nine-thirty all the umbrellas were up and Vance’s arms ached. Bruce was the crappiest umbrella planter Vance had ever seen, although Kevin wasn’t bad, just a little shallow. Vance showed the boys where the Sleepy Hollow chairs were kept and instructed them on how to properly open and close the chair without snapping their fingers off. He left them out on the beach, practicing opening and closing the chairs like the amateurs they were.
When Vance got back to the office, Mack was in the lobby schmoozing with the guests. Vance went into the utility closet and shoved past the stand of vacuum cleaners. There, in the back of the closet, sat Vance’s locked toolbox. Vance found the key on his ring and opened the box. Inside was his hammer, various nails and screws, a set of adjustable wrenches, a ratty, torn-up copy of “The Downward Spiral,” Vance’s published short story, and Mr. Beebe’s handgun. It was a.38. Vance held it straight out in his arms. Mack was lucky Vance didn’t have the gun when he made his cutesy remark. Mack was lucky Vance didn’t feel like going to jail, otherwise he would be Vance’s first target, no question about it.
“Not bad for a bellman,” Vance said softly. “Pow.”
Within twenty-four hours of summer solstice, two important women in Mack’s life arrived on the island: Andrea Krane and Cecily Elliott. Cecily arrived first, at ten o’clock on Sunday night. Mack was watching TV with Maribel asleep in his lap when the phone rang.
“I’m home. Mom and Dad said I should call. Hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“Cecily?” Mack said. Maribel blinked her eyes. “How are you, kid?”
“Butt tired. I partied until seven o’clock this morning, then spent the day trying to get my dorm room clean enough so they would give Dad his security deposit back.”
“Are you happy to be home? We missed you, kid.”
“I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen years old, Mack.”
“I know. How was graduation?”
“Boring. Hot. I was hungover for that, too.”
“How’s the boyfriend?”
“I’ll fill you in tomorrow,” Cecily said. “Can I please talk to Maribel?”
Mack covered the receiver. “It’s Cecily. She wants to talk to you.”
“Of course,” Maribel said. She took the phone from Mack. “Cecily? Hey, girlfriend, how are you? No, you didn’t hurt his feelings. He understands there are some things that can only pass between the lips of women. Now, tell me everything.” Maribel disappeared into the bedroom.
Mack listened to Maribel’s muffled laughter through the wall. The friendship between Maribel and Cecily surprised him. For the past several years, Therese had been trying to light a fire between him and Cecily, insisting that if they got married, the Beach Club would go to them both. Mack loved Cecily like a sister and he supposed Cecily reciprocated, although she was frequently sarcastic with him, and sullen. She’d had a crush on him when she was eleven or twelve, but as soon as the crush faded it seemed as if he’d disappointed her, fallen short of her expectations. This made him feel like doing a better job, so he tried to stay updated about her boyfriends and school, but everything she told him sounded suspiciously like old news, or a lie.
Cecily adored Maribel, and for good reason: Maribel was beautiful, friendly, intelligent, genuine, and all despite the fact that she’d been raised by a single working mother in rural New York. Mack had met Maribel during her first summer on the island, when North Beach Road was part of her daily running route. Mack found himself waiting for her to show up, the blond runner. He volunteered to sweep the parking lot around ten o’clock, hoping she would take off her headphones and talk to him, but she never stopped, except for a brief moment, to drink in the sight of the ocean. One day Mack waited in the middle of the road with a bottle of Evian. She waved him away, but her eyes lingered on the bottle; it was, thankfully, a very hot day, and she gave in. She poured half the bottle down her front and inhaled the other half sloppily, letting it drip down her chin. She gasped, “Thanks,” and was about to run off when he said, “Can I call you?” She readjusted her headphones, and said, “Library, in the afternoons.” Mack remembered his first time walking into the Atheneum, its intimidating white columns, its intimidating quietness. He found Maribel in the stacks, reading a paperback romance, licking her finger as she turned each page. He tapped her on the shoulder and she whipped her head around, narrowed her blue eyes. She couldn’t place him. He said, “I manage the Beach Club. I see you running.” She reddened and quickly replaced the book on the shelf. “You like romances?” he said. “No,” she answered sternly. “I don’t.”
But she did. Her job at the library was a summer position, and when the fall came, she stayed. And stayed, for six years.
This past Christmas Eve, Maribel had the stomach flu and yet she insisted on going to the midnight service at the Unitarian church. No sooner had the choir filed in singing “Oh, Come All Ye Faithful,” then she had to be sick. Mack escorted her out and she threw up all over Orange Street. They sat on the steps in the cold still night, with the clock tower above them as they listened to the faint singing from inside. “The most beautiful night of the year,” Maribel said. “And I ruined it.” Mack almost proposed right then, and what a story it would have been, but no, he didn’t have the courage, if courage was what he was missing. In the end he just held Maribel’s hand, and when she felt well enough, they walked home. After six years, Maribel didn’t pester him about marriage, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he had to make a decision soon. First, he had to decide about the farm and the Beach Club, and then he had to decide about Maribel.
An hour later, Mack went into bed. He found Maribel fast asleep in her clothes, holding the receiver of the phone to her chest. Her lips parted and she gave a sudden kick.
“Jump-starting your motorcycle,” Mack said softly. He kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
Maribel’s eyes flew open. “What am I doing?” she asked.
“Running in place,” he said. He wasn’t sure if she was awake or not. “What did you and Cecily talk about?”
“Nothing,” Maribel said. Her eyes fell closed again. “Love.”
Mack saw Cecily the next morning after breakfast. He was standing on the front porch of the lobby when she popped out of her house. She was in bare feet, wearing baggy Umbro shorts and a Middlesex Field Hockey T-shirt. Cecily was tall and lanky and had long red curls, two shades darker than her mother. She walked toward Mack gingerly, over the asphalt and the broken hermit crab shells.
“You need to toughen your feet,” Mack said.
“I liked being in a place that had grass, you know. Don’t you ever miss grass, Mack?”
“If we had grass, I’d be mowing it,” he said. He met Cecily on the first step and hugged her. “I missed you, though. And hey, congrats on getting into UVA. We have a bellman here from Virginia.”
Cecily lifted her leg to inspect the sole of her foot. “I know. Mom told me.”
“So when do you leave for college?”
“Geez, Mack. I just got here. Can’t you let a person relax for a minute? College isn’t exactly an exciting prospect for me. I just spent four years in a dorm, okay? We’re talking about more of the same.”
“Sorry,” Mack said. “I thought college was pretty cool and I was only on the Cape.”
“College is college,” Cecily said. She squinted at him. “I can’t believe you haven’t proposed yet.”
“How rude of me.” He dropped to one knee. “Cecily, will you marry me?”