There are a few people Margaret actually knows-a newscaster from the Boston CBS affiliate, the personal assistant to the secretary of state-and she greets these individuals with joy and pulls on Drake’s arm as she introduces him.
“This is my boyfriend,” she says. “Dr. Drake Carroll.”
Boyfriend. The term actually makes Drake grin. He hasn’t been anyone’s boyfriend since he was sixteen years old. No, scratch that-twenty-three years old, his first year of medical school. Stephanie Klein. He had had to break up with Steph because the workload was too intense and Drake was intent on excelling. And therein ended his long-term relationships with women.
But now he is Margaret Quinn’s boyfriend. They are in love.
In love. Margaret shimmers in her gold beaded cocktail dress. She looks like someone from another era-the 1920s perhaps, or the 1950s. She is a Sinatra song, timeless and elegant.
He’s in love!
He gently leads Margaret away from her adoring fans to a quiet alcove where whaling ship logs are displayed in glass cases.
“I know this is insanity,” Margaret says. “I’m sorry.”
Drake takes both of her hands in his. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” he says.
She looks stunned. “You don’t?”
“No,” Drake says. “I’m too old.”
Margaret’s cheeks turn pink; it’s the classic Margaret Quinn blush that, she once confided, she went to a hypnotist to eradicate because she thought it would harm her chances of getting a network job. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I guess I thought…”
“Margaret,” he says. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?”
AVA
She needs Jennifer, but Jennifer is nowhere to be found. Ava glimpses her mother and Drake, but her mother is surrounded by a wall of people three deep and there will be no breaking through.
Nathaniel is here with Delta Martin. Ava wonders if he knew he was coming last night and simply didn’t tell her, or if he called Delta up today and wrangled an invitation so he could surprise Ava. When she saw him, they chatted for two seconds, then Delta seemed eager to whisk Nathaniel away. There was someone she wanted him to meet who had a potential building project in Madequecham.
Nathaniel had grabbed Ava’s arm and quickly whispered in her ear, “Meet me on the widow’s walk in thirty minutes.”
That had been twenty-two minutes ago. Ava knows this because as soon as Delta and Nathaniel walked away, Ava whipped out her phone to send Scott a text: I love you.
Obviously, Ava isn’t going up to the widow’s walk to meet Nathaniel. She would never do that to Scott. And yet, twenty-two minutes later, Scott hasn’t responded to her text. He always responds to her texts. He must be all wrapped up in his duties as nursemaid to Roxanne.
Ava stops at the booth for Le Languedoc, where they are serving escargots swimming in garlic butter. Ava loves escargots, but she forgoes taking one because she doesn’t want her breath to reek of garlic.
Because she is planning on going to the widow’s walk to meet Nathaniel in eight minutes.
She heads to the bar for more wine, and across the room sees Delta Martin by herself eating the foie gras crème brûlée from Dune. If Delta Martin is by herself, Nathaniel must have already gone up.
Wine in hand, Ava enters the elevator. She pushes 3, which takes her to the top floor. When she steps off the elevator, she finds “the door.” Behind “the door” is a half flight of stairs that will take her to the widow’s walk. She takes off her perilously high Christian Louboutin heels and leaves them at the bottom of the stairs. Ava climbs until she reaches a trapdoor in the ceiling. There will be some clambering required-tricky in her gown, while holding her wine. But at that instant, the trapdoor pops open and Ava sees Nathaniel’s face framed by the black velvet sky.
“Hey there!” he says, and he seems as amused as he is happy to see her. “You came!”
Nantucket is renowned for its historic homes that feature “widow’s walks,” although anyone who works at the Nantucket Historical Association will tell you that “widow” is a modern addendum. Back in the days of whaling voyages, these platforms built on the roofs were simply called “walks.” But when Ava sees a “walk,” it always brings to mind nineteenth-century women whose husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons went to sea.
The view from the top of the Whaling Museum is spectacular. Ava can see all the way across town to the Unitarian Church, and there is a sweeping vista of the harbor. Lights twinkle along the shoreline in Monomoy, Shimmo, and Shawkemo. Ava feels like she should be able to see Bart, wherever he is. The thought makes her shiver-plus it’s chilly and she didn’t bring her wrap.
Nathaniel whips off his tux jacket and places it over her shoulders.
He says, “Did you get my flowers?”
“I did. Thank you, they’re beautiful. But Nathaniel-”
“Stop,” he says. “I don’t need any explanations. I know you’re promised to Scott.”
“I’m not promised to Scott,” Ava says. “I’m dating Scott. But I’m my own woman.”
“Good,” Nathaniel says. “Then kiss me.”
For a second, Ava resists. She thinks, No way. I will not do this to Scott. I will not be that person. But the wine and the beauty of the night conspire against her, as does the fact that Scott isn’t here now and won’t be here tomorrow in time for the baptism. He’s with Roxanne. He has not yet responded to her text: I love you, too.
And, it’s Nathaniel.
Ava hadn’t taken the escargot because she knew this moment was coming. She had been able to feel it-in her blood, in her bones.
She kisses him.
MARGARET
Unflappable is definitely an adjective from Margaret’s past.
I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?
She’s at a loss for words. The man is dead serious-that much she can see from the earnest look on his face.
Say yes, she thinks. That’s the answer from her heart. She is so in love with Drake that every time she blinks, she sees chocolate cake. Lifelong happiness-whether that means fifteen years or thirty-seems like a reality for the first time in a long time. And things are so much easier now than they were when she fell in love the first time. Margaret’s career is established. She has five to eight more years before she will be replaced by Norah O’Donnell. Maybe she’ll head into retirement doing a segment here and there for 60 Minutes. She knows Drake is on a similar timetable. They’ll have plenty of money and time to travel.
So-yes!
But then reason kicks in…
She’s sixty years old. Marriage means, most likely, moving in together. She is in no way attached to her soulless apartment-a three-bedroom, two-bath affair with a terrace overlooking Central Park. That apartment has a kitchen she never cooks in, a dining room she never eats in. She likes the gym and the lap pool in the building, and she has learned all of the doormen’s names. Drake’s apartment is much more lived in than Margaret’s, but she has stayed there only half a dozen times. He has a very cool platform bed he keeps sheathed in gray jersey sheets. Margaret finds these sheets soft and comforting; it’s kind of like sleeping on one of Drake’s running T-shirts. He has a quilt on his sofa that his mother made him out of his old neckties. And there are a couple of pieces of good, expensive art picked out for Drake by his friend Nance, a dealer in SoHo, back when Drake decided he should develop an interest in something other than medicine.