Winter Solstice Read online

“Guilty as charged,” Eddie says.

  “Is she at work right now?” Bart asks.

  “As far as I know,” Eddie says.

  “Great,” Bart says. “These flowers are for her, actually. I’m going to surprise her.”

  “Well!” Eddie says. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. And you’ll give that envelope to your mom? Put it in her hands?”

  “You bet,” Bart says. “Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Pancik.”

  Eddie heads back to the car, buoyed by the interaction. Bart Quinn is a polite young man, a war hero, and thoughtful! What woman doesn’t want to get flowers? Eddie should bring Grace flowers tonight, for no reason other than that he loves and appreciates her. If it goes well with the Christys, he’ll get the flowers; otherwise, he can’t really justify the expense.

  Eddie hasn’t mentioned anything to Grace about seeing Benton Coe. He has given it thought and has decided it’s best if Grace doesn’t know that Eddie knows that Benton has returned. He’s going to watch for changes in Grace’s behavior; you’d better bet he’s going to watch!

  When he climbs back into the car, Masha is holding the second copy of the Winter Street Inn listing sheet.

  “I want it,” Masha says.

  “Excuse me?” Eddie says.

  “This inn, it’s for sale, right? And I want to buy it. I’ve always wanted to run an inn. Haven’t I always wanted to run an inn, Raja?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Raja says.

  “Probably because you tune out ninety percent of what I say.” Masha turns to Eddie. “If I’m not talking about dinner, he doesn’t hear me.”

  “You’ve never once said you wanted to run an inn,” Raja says.

  “Maybe I never said it because I never thought it was possible,” Masha says. “But now, with the money, anything is possible.” She swats Eddie’s arm again. “For us, a couple of kids from Lynn.”

  Eddie says, “Running an inn is a lot of work. More than you probably realize.”

  “I’m no stranger to hard work,” Masha says. “And I like meeting new people.”

  “Well, we have some other exciting properties for you to look at,” Eddie says.

  “I want the inn,” Masha says.

  “Honey,” Raja says.

  “Can’t we look at the inn?” Masha says. “You said it’s on the market.”

  “It’s going on the market,” Eddie says. “It’s not on the market yet. We can’t look at it today. But I have some other exciting properties to show you.”

  “But… ,” Masha says.

  “Let the man do his job, Masha,” Raja says.

  Eddie starts with the three houses close to town because they are all Bayberry Properties listings. All three are Glenn’s, but Glenn told Eddie to “have at it,” meaning Eddie will be the only broker present. On the one hand, this is good because Eddie will get a chance to bond with the Christys. On the other hand, it’s bad because Eddie suspects that Glenn Daley doesn’t consider the Christys real, viable clients.

  “Lottery money,” Glenn says. “Always iffy.”

  The first house is on Hulbert Avenue, listed at $11.2 million. It’s on the “wrong” side of Hulbert, meaning across the street from the water, but that’s what makes it affordable. Houses on the “right” side of the street go for double that price tag, but it’s a moot point because those houses come on the market only once in a lifetime.

  When Masha walks into the house on Hulbert, she says, “Is it just me, or does this house smell like mice?”

  “I’m not sure what mice smell like,” Eddie says, although he does agree the house has a funny smell. “This is an older house, in need of some TLC.” The furnishings are worn and tired, the prints of the sofa and chairs have been bled of their colors, the coffee table is marred with white rings. Eddie can see that Masha is underwhelmed.

  “I can’t believe they’re charging eleven point two million for this,” she says.

  “What you’re paying for here is the address,” Eddie says. “Hulbert Avenue is very prestigious, and it’s close to town.”

  “But it’s not in town,” Masha says, smiling. She has a very pretty smile, Eddie sees. “The inn is in town!”

  “Let’s look upstairs,” Eddie says. “There are four bedrooms.”

  The upstairs of the house proves to be just as disappointing as the downstairs. The two bedrooms that have water views are small, and they share an outdated Jack-and-Jill bathroom with pocket doors that stutter on their runners. The two bedrooms in the back of the house are bigger, but they look out over scrubby wetlands. And as everyone knows, wetlands breed mosquitoes. Eddie can’t believe the price tag on this pile either; it’s basically a teardown. But that’s what Nantucket has come to these days. Land is at such a premium that an empty lot on the wrong side of the right street will cost you eight figures.

  Eddie nearly decides to skip the two houses he has on Lincoln Circle. They, like the Hulbert Avenue house, are older homes in need of serious updating. Eddie has shown both of the Lincoln Circle homes before. They have a certain charm; they’re quintessential Nantucket summer cottages, nothing flashy or newfangled about them. Masha won’t be impressed… but Eddie will show them anyway, if only for a comparison to the bigger estates he has in store for the Christys out in Wauwinet, Squam, and Shimmo.

  The first Lincoln Circle home has a screened-in porch with a fireplace, a charming feature that Eddie shows off right away.

  “Nice,” Masha agrees. However, she sniffs at the kitchen with its particle-board cabinets and drop-in stainless steel sink. “Our kitchen in East Boston is nicer than this,” she says. “How much did you say this house costs?”

  “Twelve point three million,” Eddie says. “Again, you’re paying for the address. And this house has full water views from the second floor.”

  “It feels like a rip-off,” Masha says.

  “Okay,” Eddie says. He decides to cut his losses and skip the second listing on Lincoln Circle. He should have realized that the Christys would want a house with all the bells and whistles, a house that feels like it’s worth twelve million dollars. “Time for something different. I can assure you, the next house I show you will be much, much more to your liking.”

  “I liked the inn,” Masha says.

  Raja puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a silent shake of the head. The meaning is unmistakable: they are not buying an inn.

  As Eddie drives along Polpis Road, he chastises himself for not doing a better job of reading the Christys. He should have skipped the old-school summer homes. Those will eventually sell to someone who grew up summering on Nantucket and always dreamed of owning a house on Hulbert Avenue or Lincoln Circle. To appreciate the pedigree and charm of those cottages, one needs to have an affinity for understatement and reserve.

  Eddie is so consumed with disappointment and doubt in himself—What if I blow this sale? I can’t blow it! I’m counting on the commission!—that he almost doesn’t notice Grace pedaling down the bike path. Eddie hits the brakes and swivels his head. That’s Grace, all right, head hunched over the handlebars like Dennis Quaid in Breaking Away. She’s headed toward town.

  “My wife!” Eddie says. He realizes he’s cutting Masha off; she’s in the middle of a long-winded story about a cruise she and Raja took to the Bahamas. Their luggage was lost and not returned to them until the very end of the trip. How did they even get on that topic? Eddie wonders. He follows the thread backward and thinks, Oh yes. The last time Masha and Raja were on an island. “I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “It’s just that that was my wife back there, riding her bike on the path. We just passed her.”

  “Funny,” Masha says. “That happened to us once. Raja stopped at Lanzilli’s after work to buy some cheeseburger-flavored Pringles, which he loves but I refuse to buy, and I was at Lanzilli’s because we’d completely run out of toilet paper. I’ve never been so surprised to see anyone in my life, and I’ll tell you what, neither was Raja. He thought he was getti
ng away with something.”

  Eddie can’t come up with a response to that; he’s too busy checking the rearview mirror for another glimpse of Grace. It was her—she was wearing her new favorite hat, the dark-green one with the faux-mink pom-pom on top, and she had on Allegra’s old navy Whalers hoodie, which she favors because it makes her feel young.

  “Is your wife a big biker?” Masha asks. “Neither Raja nor I exercise, except when we walk Jack.”

  “And I walk to the T station,” Raja says.

  “We both walk to the T station,” Masha says. “But it’s only half a block away, so it doesn’t count for much.”

  Eddie knows that Grace took to riding her mountain bike while Eddie was in jail, but she hasn’t, to his knowledge, ridden it since he’s been back.

  Why today? he wonders. It isn’t as though she has to go to the bank or the grocery store. She’s all the way out here on Polpis Road. It’s not raining or even very cold, but neither is it sunny and mild like it was on Wednesday.

  Why today?

  And then Eddie notices a big black truck barreling toward him. He freezes. Is it Benton Coe’s truck? He looks at the man driving, while at the same time trying to memorize the license plate—M23…—but he can’t do both at once. He got half the plate and a split-second glimpse of the driver, who was wearing a hat and sunglasses. Impossible to tell if it was Benton Coe or not, and half a license plate is useless. Benton Coe does drive a black truck, or he used to before he left for Detroit. But then again, half the contractors on Nantucket drive black trucks. That could have been anyone. Eddie can’t let his wild imagination get the best of him.

  He has missed the last three or four paragraphs of Masha’s ongoing monologue. Now she’s talking about a recipe for s’mores you can make under the broiler, which makes you feel like you’re beside a campfire even when you’re sitting in an apartment in East Boston.

  Eddie’s phone pings. He’s distracted and nearly misses the turn for Medouie Creek Road. They are now out in Wauwinet, not far from the house where Eddie and Grace used to live. He wonders if Grace decided to bike out here to look upon their house and maybe even wander through their old gardens. The people who bought the house, the Pattons, live in Dubai and are on Nantucket only in August, so there would be no danger of interrupting anyone at home.

  Somehow the thought of Grace pedaling out to set her eyes on their old life makes Eddie even more depressed than thinking of her rendezvousing with Benton Coe. Eddie failed her, failed her badly. He lost everything they had—and still she has stayed with him.

  He will make it up to her. He will sell the Christys a house, this house on Medouie Creek Road, listed at thirteen and a half million, and he will invest every cent into Grace’s future happiness.

  But first he has to get his head back in the game!

  The nice thing about Masha is she doesn’t require anyone else’s participation in the conversation; she just prattles along happily by herself.

  Eddie pulls into the driveway. “Here we are,” he says. It takes a second to recall that this is Rachel McMann’s listing; her turquoise Mini Cooper is parked in front of the garage.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Masha says, interrupting herself when she sees the house, the pool, the pool house, the trimmed boxwood hedges and manicured lawn, the hydrangea bushes neatly bundled in burlap for the winter, and the view of the harbor spread out before them like a painting.

  Rachel is standing in the doorway, wearing a dress that would look right at home on Marion Cunningham from Happy Days. She has an apron on over the dress, and she’s holding out a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies; Eddie can smell them from the front walk.

  So this is how she does it, he thinks.

  He might as well be invisible. From the second the Christys walk through the door, Rachel takes over. She has made cookies, and she has classical music playing and a fire burning in each of the six fireplaces. She has staged every single room. There are fresh flowers in the common areas, including an arrangement of fresh lilies in the vestibule that towers over Eddie’s head. There are French milled soaps in the bathrooms and stacks of novels on each of the nightstands. The house has every amenity known to man: six bedrooms, each with its own bath, and a deep Jacuzzi tub in the master; a cathedral-ceilinged gourmet kitchen; a library; and in the basement, a home theater, a billiards room, and a wine cellar.

  Masha is speechless.

  Raja eats four cookies in rapid succession, then takes a fifth, which he carries around with him as they head outside to look at the pool and the pool house, which also features a steam sauna and a fully equipped gym, the answer to the Christys’ lack of exercise. Then they all meander out to the end of the deep-water dock.

  “Do you two have a boat?” Rachel asks.

  “Not yet,” Masha says. “But we might soon, right, Raj?”

  Rachel leads them back to the house to warm up by the fire. Masha says she needs to use the little girls’ room.

  “Powder room down the hall on the left,” Rachel says. “I’m just going to box up these cookies for you to take home. Feel free to wander. Jump on the beds if you want to, shoot a game of pool. I want you to feel at home.”

  Masha disappears into the powder room, and Raja stands up, seemingly at a loss without her.

  “Want to go back upstairs?” Eddie asks.

  “There’s a built-in cigar humidor in one of the master closets,” Rachel says. “I may have forgotten to point that out.”

  “A built-in cigar humidor?” Raja says. He seems nervous, almost intimidated. It is a lot of house, Eddie agrees. Maybe it’s too much house for the Christys; they’re both acting sheepish, like this house is a museum where they’re not allowed to touch anything.

  “Let’s go take a look,” Eddie says.

  “Let Roger go by himself,” Rachel says. “He’s going to be the man of the house, after all. You stay here, Eddie, and keep me company.”

  Keeping Rachel company is the last thing Eddie wants to do, but he complies. Rachel McMann has proven to be a master at the art of selling a house.

  “So what do you think?” Rachel says. She abandons the dishes in the kitchen sink, links her arm through Eddie’s, and leads him to the front room, which has an enormous picture window that looks out over the garden and the harbor. “Are they for real?”

  “Yes,” Eddie says. “I mean, I think so. Hulbert and Lincoln Circle were a bust. They don’t understand the old-money thing.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so,” Rachel says.

  “To be honest, I don’t understand the old-money thing,” Eddie says. “That heap on Hulbert is listed at eleven mil.”

  “It’ll go for ten,” Rachel says. “The lot alone.” She points out the window at a bench in the garden. “Do you know where that bench originally came from? The Tuileries in Paris.”

  “What?” Eddie says. At his former house down the way a bit, they had a bench that originally came from the Tuileries in Paris. It was one of Benton Coe’s big coups, finding Grace that bench. It was one of a hundred ways he seduced her. “Are these Benton Coe–designed gardens?”

  “They are,” Rachel says. “I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think his name would mean much to the Christys.”

  “It wouldn’t,” Eddie says. It does, however, mean something to him. “Was Benton here a little while ago?”

  Rachel shakes her head. “Not to my knowledge. I haven’t seen Benton since the party Tuesday night.”

  “Oh,” Eddie says.

  “Why do you ask?” Rachel says.

  Eddie shakes his head. Benton wasn’t here. He was, likely, checking on one of his other estates out this way—if that was even Benton in the truck. And Grace was just out for a bike ride to get fresh air and exercise before winter descends.

  Or is Eddie being naive?

  Eddie and the Christys wave good-bye to Rachel—who hands Raja a white bakery box of cookies tied with ribbon—and they pile into the Cheroke
e.

  “So,” Eddie says. “What did you think?”

  Raja shocks Eddie by speaking first. “That house was something else.”

  Something else: What does that mean? Eddie decides not to press. He can’t remember where they’re headed next. He checks his phone and remembers the text that came in while he was driving.

  It’s from Addison Wheeler, canceling the other two houses.

  Eddie blows out a stream of frustrated air. He gets the distinct feeling that nobody else in the world of Nantucket real estate is taking his buyers seriously. But Eddie takes them seriously.

  “You can be honest with me,” Eddie says. “Did that feel like too much house? Could you see yourself living there? We do have other options, but I just got word from the listing broker that he’s no longer available to show us the other two houses today. So if you still want to look around, I suggest we plan a return trip for you. Maybe over Christmas Stroll weekend?”

  “I’d like to put an offer in on the house we just saw,” Raja says.

  Eddie’s heart sings.

  “I want the inn,” Masha says.

  MARGARET

  She doesn’t begin the countdown until the final week. Five broadcasts left, then four, then three. She’s in denial, she supposes. Lee Kramer, head of the network, has been running around like Chicken Little since August 1, which was the day that Margaret announced she was retiring.

  “But why?” Lee said. “Is it money? You’re already the highest-paid anchor in the business. You make as much as Rather did at the end.” He said this as if Margaret should be thanking him.

  “Nothing to do with money,” Margaret said, although a part of her was curious to see how high she could get Lee to go. But no amount of money would make her change her mind. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “You signed a noncompete!” Lee said.

  “My kids needs me,” Margaret said. “Kelley’s cancer is back. He’s dying, Lee.”

  Lee blinked. “That’s awful, Margaret. I like Kelley, hell of a guy.” Lee took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But aren’t your kids grown?”