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Damage control his middle name, Nick gave the band leader a curt nod. Quentin Landry, one of Nick’s high-school faculty, responded immediately by having his students play a rousing exit march.
Snapping photos as if in pursuit of a Pulitzer, the tourists who’d witnessed the literal airing of McCabe dirty laundry earlier crowded around a sweetly smiling Chessie. It would be just Nick’s luck if one of them worked for The New York Times Sunday magazine. His wife’s behavior—today’s behavior—certainly fit the eccentric mold outsiders often formed of Mainers, delighted in spreading in travel articles. But Nick—specifically, his career—couldn’t afford eccentricity.
Grinding his teeth, he made his way off the bunting-trimmed podium.
Gabriella and Isabel assailed him. “Dad—”
“I’ll take care of it.” He gave each daughter a quick hug. “You know your mom—always on the cutting edge.”
“But—”
“Go get the picnic hamper. We’ll all four be on our way in just a sec.” He could only hope.
The two girls stared at him.
“I promise,” he said, grimacing.
What had gotten into his wife? Because of her artistic nature, he expected her to be occasionally, creatively quirky. In private. She’d always been sensible in public. Supportive.
Fully intending to keep his private and his public lives separate, Nick pushed through the crowd around the library entrance. “Excuse me,” he said, grasping Chessie’s arm and propelling her through the doorway into the small book drop foyer. “Show’s over, folks.” The sandwich board banged him in the shins.
Closing the outer door with difficulty, he turned to Chessie. Heatstroke might be a reasonable explanation for her bizarre behavior this morning. But she beamed up at him, her hazel eyes clear and purposeful.
“Performance art?” he asked, hopeful.
“Absolutely not,” she replied with a seriousness that short-circuited his brief glimmer of optimism.
“Are you angry with me? With the girls?” Arguing on one of his rare days off wasn’t his idea of fun. He hated confrontation on the home front. He relied on Chessie to negotiate peace.
She cocked her head. “Angry is such a negative word.”
“What then? Pick a word, any word. As long as it explains why you threw our laundry onto the front lawn. Why you’re wearing a…a picket sign.”
“You noticed.” She sighed. Her angelic expression hinted at sarcasm.
“Of course I noticed.”
She patted his arm. “That’s a start.”
“A start?” In exasperation, he rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I have one day to relax before summer school begins. The driver’s ed car’s in the shop. The state accreditation team’s making its first visit in two days. The air-conditioning in the science lab has been acting hinky. My best English teacher just told me she’s pregnant and won’t be back for the fall term…” He took a deep breath. “I wanted one day—one day—to recoup with my family.”
“I needed fifteen minutes to work on an idea,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“An idea for a pot?”
“Sort of.”
“And we didn’t give it to you.”
“That’s what I thought at first. But then I realized you three wouldn’t give it if I didn’t take it. Couldn’t take advantage of me if I didn’t let you.”
As he tried to digest this, she flashed him a grin. Her megawatt smiles never ceased to take his breath away, but this one felt like a shot to the solar plexus.
“And now that you’ve asserted yourself…” He hesitated, wary. “And now that we’ve taken notice…we’ll kayak to the islands for a picnic?”
“Not exactly.”
“Honey,” his holiday slipping away, he glanced at his watch “the tide’s only going to give us so much leeway.”
“Ah, yes. Time and tide wait for no man.” Her shoulders drooped slightly. “The high-school principal’s credo.”
“Are you trying to pick a fight? Is your p—”
The librarian poked her head into the foyer. “Is there something I could help you find?”
If only. “No, thank you,” Nick replied. “We’re okay.”
As the librarian made her way back to her desk, Chessie glared at Nick. “No, my period isn’t coming,” she whispered, “if that’s what you were about to suggest. It isn’t always about hormones.”
He backpedaled. “Chessie, give me some credit. Is your…pot you wanted to work on under deadline?”
Nice save. His wrist, the one with the watch on it, twitched.
“Not in the usual sense.” She narrowed her eyes. “I told you a trustee for the Portland Museum of Art loved the idea for this piece. She wants it for her private collection. And she carries such influence in the New England art world that a successful sale might be the opening I’ve been looking for. The opening that could take my career to the next level.”
“I didn’t understand.” A library patron tried to enter the cramped foyer with an armload of books, but the heavy sandwich board Chessie still wore got in the way.
“Sorry.” Awkwardly, Nick and Chessie squeezed farther back into the corner.
“I know you didn’t understand,” Chessie continued, lowering her voice even more. “Neither did the girls. That’s just the point. But you will.”
Nick felt queasy. He liked explanations. Concise and logical explanations stripped of a storyteller’s suspenseful pacing. He didn’t like surprises. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Give me a hint.”
“Let’s just say I’m having my midlife crisis. I’ve worked hard for it. I deserve it. And I’m going to enjoy it.”
“Chessie. You’re only thirty-seven.”
“And getting older by the minute.” She reached for the door. “Go on. Take the girls to the islands. I’ll spend the afternoon in my studio. We’ll watch the fireworks together from the terrace tonight.”
He stayed her hand on the knob. “You’re kidding about the midlife crisis.”
She paused. “If that explanation gets you thinking about the lopsided dynamics of our family life, so be it.”
“What lopsided dynamics?”
“Hadn’t noticed, had you?” Chessie bristled, an unusually combative look in her eyes. “How about my unappreciated backstage roles as the family’s chief cook and bottle washer, laundress, taxi driver, mediator, cheerleader, nurse, convenient lover and general bend-over-till-I-can-touch-my-nose-to-my-behind Gumby?”
“You can’t possibly think of yourself that way.”
“I don’t, but the rest of you—”
“Shh!” A child in the picture-book section put her finger to her lips.
With effort, Nick closed the door between the foyer and the main reading room. “What’s gotten into you?” He wasn’t a stupid person. He was the principal of a regional high school.
She paused, leveling him with her gray-green stare. “I have work. Work I need to do for myself. For a change. It’s not as if I’m abandoning you. I don’t always have to be the recreation director. It will do the three of you good to spend some time alone together. To have your routine jostled a bit.”
His work routine was always being jostled. He didn’t like upset in his personal life.
“We’ll talk later,” she offered. “There’ll be a quiz on what you’ve learned this morning.”
He didn’t react to her attempt at humor. “I’ll carry the sign home for you.” He needed to take charge, even in this small way.
“Nick, Nick,” she purred, “you always were my knight in shining armor.”
“Were?” He stiffened. “So what am I now?”
“Your armor needs a little buffing.” She wriggled out of the sandwich board.
Confused, Nick took the bulky sign from her and, with difficulty, turned it inside-out so the words were hidden. He opened the door as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
When they’d married eighteen years ago, they’d been in total agreement. He’d be the breadwinner. She’d keep home and hearth. Now Chessie wanted to change the agreement. It made Nick, a man who never tinkered with what worked, want to reach for the antacid tablets.
Chessie knew that, after her demonstration, Nick would want to make it home without attracting any more attention. But the sight of Penn, along with Sean, Kit and Alex waiting for them outside the library told her escape would be impossible. McCabes—even in small groups—were notorious for practicing family by committee.
“So, this is what you had in mind when you said you had other plans and couldn’t come to the family picnic,” his father said.
Chessie saw Nick flinch. “I was going to take my family to the islands,” he replied, a defensive edge to his voice. “I never have time to get out on the water. It seems I rarely have time to see my wife and daughters.”
“Is that what Chessie’s demanding?” With an amused twinkle in his eye, Penn indicated the now reversed sandwich board. “More attention?”
“Pop, butt out.” Good-naturedly, Sean nudged their father.
“Hey, I’m just wondering if I should be wearing a protest sign,” Penn retorted. “I’m his old man, and I never see him.”
“I’m busy, Pop. Making a living.”
“We all are,” Sean noted. “So…great speech.”
“Aunt Chessie, can I play your trumpet?” Sean’s nine-year-old daughter Alex piped up. Nick looked relieved to be out of the spotlight for a moment.
“Sure.” Chessie relinquished her noisemaker. “Do you think you can play it better than I did?”
“You weren’t very good,” Alex said with her typical candor. She put the trumpet to her lips, then blew till she was red in the face. Only a hiss of air came out. With a frown she lowered the instrument. “But you’re better than me.”
The adults laughed.
“Take it home with you,” Nick urged. “You can practice.”
“Oh, thanks.” Sean ruffled Alex’s hair. “Just what we need. More noise in the house.”
“Your Uncle Nick’s afraid Aunt Chessie might try to make a point with it again,” Penn declared dryly.
“So…” Kit indicated both the trumpet and the sandwich board. “Are we talking about this?”
“Sure,” Chessie replied as Nick said, “No.”
If anyone would understand her mission, it was Kit. At twenty-five, her sister-in-law had been on her own for nine years—nine unconventional years—until Sean convinced her that loving him and Alex didn’t mean she had to give up her individuality.
Nick looked at his watch. “The tide…”
“You know McCabe parties go on forever,” Sean said. “Stop by when you get in.”
“Thanks.” Nick smiled, but he didn’t say they’d be there.
Chessie wondered about that as they made their way home. Nick had told her that moving this last time was a good idea because they’d settle into a ready-made family. She and the girls had done the settling, but Nick remained strangely aloof.
“Are you and your family okay?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
She didn’t pursue the issue. Nick’s relationship with his family had always been…special. His mother had died when he was twelve and Jonas, his youngest brother, just one. Nick had been old enough at the time to shoulder some of the responsibility of looking after the kids. She could see where the experience had honed his deeply ingrained provider instinct. But when he’d left for college nineteen years ago, he’d left for a future away from Pritchard’s Neck. And when they’d returned last year, Nick had never seemed completely at ease with either his father or his siblings.
He seemed as emotionally AWOL with them as he was with her.
Chessie couldn’t control his relationships with others, but if her strike woke her husband up, she might not be the only one whose needs were met.
CHAPTER TWO
“CHESSIE?” Nick glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. “We’re home!”
“I’m up in the bedroom.”
She sounded rational. With some sense of relief that she hadn’t ambushed him with more laundry, he climbed the stairs. Yet today’s explosion—having gone beyond anything she’d ever pulled on them before—still worried him. He was tired from exploring the islands with the girls, but he needed to get to the bottom of this before the situation escalated.
But what was the situation? What did she really want from them? From him? She’d spoken in riddles.
Chessie had mentioned a project that was important to her. He’d always liked her interest in ceramics because it seemed to relax her, but maybe the self-imposed pressure to excel had gotten out of hand. Maybe she actually needed to lay off the pottery for a while.
Maybe he could engineer a short break for the two of them, since he’d chosen not to take his scheduled vacation this year. The AP science teacher had promised his spring term students a bus trip to Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire next week. A reward for passing their Advanced Placement exams. Maybe he and Chessie could hook up as chaperones. It wouldn’t be a real vacation, it wasn’t an overnight trip, but it would be a change of scene. Maybe he could afford one more day off work. If he could only get next fall’s hiring completed this week.
There were far too many ifs and maybes.
He found himself stalled in the upstairs hallway.
“Do you plan to step over the threshold?” Chessie leaned against the bedroom door frame, looking up at him. Lost in thought, he hadn’t even noticed her. “I won’t bite,” she added.
