“That’s not fair,” Mack said. He sometimes thought of showing up in Baltimore to live with Andrea, marry her, shoulder half her burden, and be like a father, or an uncle, to James. But wasn’t Lacey right? Wasn’t that just idle thinking on his part? Still, he couldn’t imagine a life without Andrea, although if he married Maribel he would have to let Andrea go. “The reason it’s a problem, Lacey, is that I don’t know what to do.”
“I stand by my word. You don’t love either one,” Lacey said. “When I spent time with Maximilian I knew I was with the only man for me. There was never another man, Mack, not even when Maximilian was away at the war.”
Mack ran a hand through his hair. “I know,” he said. Maximilian and Lacey had a storybook marriage, like his parents, like Bill and Therese. Meant for each other, born to be together, holding hands every night before they went to sleep-it drove Mack nuts. Imagine being content every hour for forty-five years-surely Lacey was exaggerating. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t love either of them.” When he said this, though, it sounded like a lie. He knew he loved them both.
That night when Mack left Lacey’s, he checked in at the front desk of the hotel with Tiny.
“Anything going on?” he asked.
Tiny looked up from her book, One Hundred Years of Solitude. This was the perfect title of a book for Tiny, who always seemed to be alone in her thoughts. She got her nickname because of her small voice, although her voice wasn’t small so much as distant, as though she were talking to everyone from a faraway place, another dimension that she alone had reached.
“The couple in room four had a row and both room three and room five called to complain.”
“What did you tell them?”
“What could I tell them?” Tiny said. “I can’t be held accountable for other people’s bad behavior.”
“You must have told them something.”
“I told them if it continued, I would call the manager and have him take care of it.” She smiled a rare smile. “That would be you.”
“Okay,” Mack said. Vance poked his head out of the back office and made a face. “I’ll check it out. Then I’m going home.”
Mack tiptoed down the boardwalk with every intention of checking on room 4 but when he passed Andrea’s room, the temptation was too great, and he knocked lightly on the door. A few seconds later, she let him in. The room was dark; Andrea had been asleep. She was wearing a white cotton T-shirt and white panties and her hair was loose around her shoulders.
“It’s late,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. She kissed him.
“Only ten o’clock,” he said. He became aroused by the feel of her body through the T-shirt. She was still warm from bed. He sat on the bed and pulled her into his lap, and kissed her. Normally, this was when she pulled away, but tonight she responded with her tongue. She wiggled deliciously in his lap and ran her hands under his shirt. Mack rolled her onto the bed.
“I’ve been wanting this since the second you got here,” he said.
Andrea ran her hand lightly over his erection. Mack groaned and sucked on her neck. He climbed on top of Andrea and rocked gently into her soft thigh. He was going crazy holding back, but he didn’t want to scare her; he could feel himself sweating and he pulled off his shirt. He ran his hands under Andrea’s T-shirt and caressed her full breasts. He lowered his mouth to her nipple and it hardened. Andrea pressed her hips into him.
“Will you let me inside you?” Mack asked. He cupped Andrea’s ass inside her panties. “Will you?” If she said yes, he would go home and tell Maribel tonight, he swore it.
“No,” Andrea said, breathing into his ear. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Mack said. “Please?”
“I’m sorry, Mack,” Andrea said. She pulled away and snapped on a light. “I got carried away. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Mack squinted from the sudden brightness. He flopped onto his back, his erection pushing through his chinos. “Sorry?” he said, trying not to get angry. He lay there for a second, catching his breath. The room spun. Mack reached for Andrea’s hand. “This actually hurts.”
“Shame on you for showing up unannounced,” she said.
Mack looked to the window and saw that Andrea’s shades were up. A figure stopped at the window, then slunk away.
“Turn off the light,” he said. He went to the window and dropped the shades, then he put his shirt back on. “I have to get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Give me a kiss good night,” she said.
Mack kissed her. “I love you.”
“I know,” she said.
Mack stepped off Andrea’s deck onto the boardwalk. He heard the sound of water rushing onto shore, and then, faintly, a woman crying. At first, he tried to convince himself it was a gull, but as he listened closer, he heard breathy sobs, definitely a woman crying. Maribel. Mack ran around the corner to the Gold Coast, trying to imagine what someone would have seen through the window: him lying on his back, shirtless, holding Andrea’s hand, his erection straining through his pants. Oh, God, Maribel.
A blond woman sat on the deck of room 4. Mack cleared his throat and she looked up-it was difficult to see in the dark, but Mack knew instantly it wasn’t Maribel. This woman’s face was streaked with makeup; Mack recognized her from breakfast.
“Mrs. Fourchet?” Mack said. From Quebec, Mack recalled, where her husband owned a Porsche dealership.
“My husband hates me,” she said in a defiant voice.
Another loud voice came from inside room 4. “I do not hate you, Meredith. Now will you please get inside?”
“We’re paying to see the ocean, Jean-Marc,” the woman squawked.
“It’s too dark to see anything,” the man said. “Now get in here.”
“Folks, I’m going to have to ask you to pipe down,” Mack said. He was so relieved that he smiled as he said this. “Could you please be a little quieter?”
The door to room 4 opened and Mr. Fourchet stepped onto the deck. “I paid six hundred bucks for this room. I’ll have a brass band on this deck if I so choose.”
Mack had to wipe the grin off his face. “A brass band?” Mack said. “Ask me in the morning and I’ll see what I can do. Do you like the tuba?”
Mr. Fourchet looked at Mack strangely, then he shrugged and said in a softer voice to his wife, “Come in, Meredith, please?”
“I’m not coming in!” Mrs. Fourchet shrieked. “And if this fellow wants to call the police then so be it! The Nantucket Police Force can take me away. Ha! The Nantucket Police Force, I’m sure that’s an intimidating group.”
“Meredith, stop giving him a hard time,” Mr. Fourchet said. “Will you come inside?”
“No!” Mrs. Fourchet said. “I’m not going anywhere until I see the Nantucket Police Force drive their dune buggy up the beach.”
The door to room 3 opened: Janet Kava, wearing a pair of thick glasses, stepped onto her deck. Janet was a mathematics professor at the University of Pennsylvania. She and her partner, Eleanor, had brought along their new adopted baby.
“Mack,” Janet said. “Thank God you’re here. These people have been screaming at each other for half an hour.”
Mrs. Fourchet shot Janet a withering look. “Dyke,” she said.
“Excuse me?” Janet Kava said. She poked at the bridge of her glasses with a purposeful finger. “What did you say?”
“Your baby cries all night long, but that’s okay, I suppose,” Mrs. Fourchet said. “That’s okay because she is the love child of you and your lesbian friend.”