Page 65 of 28 Summers
“We do now. Ursula is running for office.”
“Ursula is running for office,” Mallory says. “The United States Congress. You’re going to be thrust into the public eye. And we both have children now…”
“We both had children last year,” Jake says. “Last year was great and this year has been even better.”
“Maybe we should stop,” Mallory says. As soon as the words are out, she wants to snatch them back. Neither of them has ever said this before. “I noticed you didn’t want me to pick you up on the dock.”
“Simple precaution.”
“I think it would be better foryouif we stopped,” Mallory says. She stares at the two fortune cookies on the coffee table, still wrapped in plastic. It would be helpful if they reallycouldpredict the future. “It’s a miracle we haven’t been found out yet.”
“I think it would be better if wedidn’tstop,” Jake says. “This weekend is important to me. It has become a part of who I am. Do you understand that?”
Mallory climbs into Jake’s arms and rests her head on his chest. She loves their Sunday-night routine and she hates it. She would give anything for it to be Friday again. She feels this way every year. “Tell me the truth,” she says. “Is there a tiny part of you that hopes she loses?”
“I will tell you the truth,” Jake says. “And only you. There’s a tiny part of me that hopes she wins.”
The midterm elections in November are quiet. Few Americans are paying attention, but Mallory Blessing is. She watches Tim Russert all evening long until he announces winners in the minor congressional races, including Indiana’s Second Congressional District, where a young attorney named Ursula de Gournsey—born and raised in Indiana, valedictorian of the University of Notre Dame’s class of 1988—has come home and won in a landslide, running as an independent.
Summer #11: 2003
What are we talking about in 2003? Homeland Security; space shuttleColumbia;Mr. Rogers; the Atkins Diet; Saddam Hussein and the Iraq war; pumpkin-spice latte;Lost in Translation;P90X; Martha Stewart insider trading; “Shake it like a Polaroid picture”; New York City power outage; Arnold Schwarzenegger; weapons of mass destruction;Everybody Loves Raymond.
Mallory has lived on Nantucket for ten years and she’s learned that the best month here is…September. The days are filled with golden sunshine and mild breezes. All of the shops, galleries, and restaurants are still open but the crowds are gone. It’s heaven!
The Saturday after Labor Day, Mallory’s heart is still recovering from Jake’s departure. The best thing for her is to get outside, and, thankfully, the weather is glorious—it’s seventy-four degrees with a cloudless, cerulean-blue sky. God doesn’t make days any finer than this one, so Mallory packs a picnic, her beach blanket, a basket of toys. She slathers Link with sunscreen and straps him into his car seat in the back of the Blazer.
They’re off to the beach!
This is funny, right, because they live at the beach? However, Link is still so little and the south shore’s waves so unpredictable that Mallory prefers to take him to the north shore on Nantucket Sound, where the water is flat and calm.
She can drive the Blazer right onto the sand at Fortieth Pole. Mallory lets some air out of her tires and they sail up over the whoop-de-dos in the dunes to the beach.
They have the golden crescent of sand almost entirely to themselves; it’s just them and one guy with a silver pickup who’s surf-casting a couple hundred yards away while a chocolate Lab sniffs the seaweed at the waterline.
“This is the life,” Mallory says to Link as she frees him from his car seat. “September is still summer, buddy.”
“Summer!” Link calls out as he kicks his feet. He can’t wait to get into the water.
What does the best beach day ever look like? Well, to Mallory, it looks like hours of warm sunshine, dips into cool clear water, reading on a blanket while Link digs a hole and then throws one rock after another into the ocean because he likes the sound of the splash. They share lunch—a chicken salad sandwich, celery and carrots with hummus, cold slices of watermelon, lime-sugar cookies. Then Mallory sets up a spot for Link under the umbrella and he lies down for his nap. Mallory curls up next to him and closes her eyes.
She jolts awake when she feels something cold and alive touching her foot. It’s the chocolate Lab, sniffing her. She tries to gently shoo it off the blanket as the owner comes jogging down the beach. Mallory puts her finger to her lips. It’s okay that the dog wokeherup but if the dog or its owner wakes Link up, she will not be amused.
Mallory stands as the guy grabs the dog by the collar. “Come on, Rox,” he whispers. “Sorry about that.”
Mallory follows them a few steps toward the water so their conversation doesn’t wake up Link. “No problem,” she says. The guy is cute—tall, with a crew cut and friendly eyes. “Did you catch anything?”
“Nah,” he said. “I’ve had crappy luck.”
“Well,” she says, “there’s always East Coast Seafood.”
“I wanted to come over here anyway,” the guy says, “because I sold you that car.”
It takes a minute for Mallory to figure out what he’s talking about. “The Blazer?”
“It was mine,” he says. “I sold it to you. I got your name from Oliver, the bartender at the Summer House—”
“Yes!” Mallory says. She takes another look at the guy. He does seem sort of familiar now that he’s told her this, though she never would have recognized him in a million years. “You’re…”
