Page 22 of Waves of Time

“Quite a distance.”

Hilary’s cheeks burned. “After Aria was born, he…” She paused, thinking back to those painful, sleepless days and nights, at which time Marc had decided he didn’t have what it took to be a father. “Well, he was offered a wonderful position out west, and we decided together that he couldn’t give up his career just for us. He sent money over the years. We made it work.”

“That sounds very painful,” Frank said.

Hilary raised her shoulders, unsure of what to say. “And you? Do you have children?”

“No,” Frank said.

“Did you ever want them?”

Frank sighed. “Children are wonderful. Truly. But I was always a little too devoted to my career to think about having any of my own.” He paused, then asked, “I don’t suppose your career ever suffered because of motherhood?”

Hilary had to suppress a laugh. Thousands of memories floated through her mind: when Aria had gotten strep throat for the fourth time that year and kept Hilary from a big interior design gig in Paris; when Aria had broken her leg and kept Hilary from traveling to an interior design convention that would have aligned her with some of the biggest players in the industry; when Hilary had tried to leave Aria with her parents so she could hit up another gig on the west coast, only for Aria to cry and beg her mother to come back. Hilary had seen no other way.

“It’s a miracle that I made it as far as I did,” Hilary confessed. “Which is, of course, not Aria’s fault in the slightest. Being a mother is more than a full-time job. It’s…” She paused.

“A complete overhaul of your existence,” Frank tried.

“Something like that.”

Hilary was surprised at Frank’s empathy surrounding her life and past. By the time he pulled out a bottle of wine from his makeshift wine cellar— an area of the house he hoped she would revamp when the time came— Hilary felt so comfortable with him, so much like herself, that it was easy to launch into a conversation about his desires for the house, how he visualized his future on the island, and whether or not he imagined himself ever getting involved with anyone seriously again. This last question surprised Hilary when it fell out of her mouth. She normally wasn’t so forward.

Already, she thought:this is it.The date has already begun.

Before Hilary knew it, it was seven o’clock. Frank announced they had to head out for dinner soon, that he’d made a reservation. Hilary waited on the back porch with a glass of wine, her heart in her throat, as Frank ascended the staircase to change into something more dinner appropriate. “You can’t be the only one who looks so good,” he told her before he disappeared. She felt light as air, as though she could have done backflips across the entire back porch.

Aria texted Hilary as she waited for Frank.

ARIA: How’s it going?

HILARY: We had a great meeting about the house.

ARIA: … and?

HILARY: And what?

“Are you ready?” Frank appeared on the back porch in a cream suit jacket and a pair of slacks, his white button-down opened to mid-chest. Hilary swallowed the lump in her throat.

“You look fantastic,” Hilary said, glancing back down at her own outfit and feeling lackluster.

Frank waved his hand. “I just threw some things on. It’s easy for men to look all right, don’t you agree? We just have to throw on a suit jacket and spritz a bit of cologne, and we’re ready to go.”

“I’ve been joking with friends about that for years,” Hilary said, laughing as they strode back through the house toward the garage. It was rare to meet a man who was so self-aware. At the garage, Frank pressed on the door opener to reveal a dark green Ferrari, which Hilary wanted to gasp over. She decided gushing about his clothing and then his car was too much, so she kept quiet and got into the front seat.

On the drive, Frank played a Supertramp album and tapped one of his hands lightly on the steering wheel along with the beat. Hilary felt increasingly nervous and wasn’t sure she’d said anything clever in her entire life.

Frank had booked them a table at Chez Val’s French restaurant, which specialized in French Riviera cuisine with multiple fish dishes and the very best wine. Hilary had never been to the restaurant, although it had been on her list for ages. The waiter led Hilary and Frank to a reserved table on the wrap-around veranda, which offered a beautiful view of the harbor and the sailboats lined up on the docks, shifting gently in the dying sun.

“Isn’t this heaven?” Frank said with a sigh. “I’m so glad I finally made Nantucket my home.”

“So, you’d been considering it for a while?”

“I’ve wanted to make the move for years,” Frank said.

Together, Frank and Hilary discussed which bottle of wine to order and decided to go with an exquisite chardonnay that Frank had tried on a recent trip to Marseille. After the waiter portioned out their first glasses, Hilary sipped the wine with her eyes closed and whispered, “Oh my gosh. You weren’t kidding. This is divine.”

“Isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it.”

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