Read Summer House for Free Online Page B

dropped out of another college—the third he’d been admitted to after failing out of the first and being banned from the second for being drunk and high and mooning a professor on campus. He’d raided his college fund to travel around the continent, phoning from time to time to assure them he was okay. He’d phoned three weeks ago, and he’d promised to arrive on Nantucket, in time for Nona’s birthday.
    Perhaps when they were all together, all her children, safe on the island, enfolded in family routines as polished by the years as soft-buffed silver, perhaps then Helen’s headaches would cease. She would be so grateful for that, even if it lasted only a few days.
    Nona’s birthday. Helen would focus on that. She needed to get ready for the trip. She rose. Worth might be awake now, might enjoy sitting down to a proper breakfast for once. She’d ask him.
    Worth didn’t often eat breakfast, even though Helen reminded him that doctors said it was the most important meal of the day. Her husband sprang from bed wide awake and energetic, ready to take on the world. Even coffee didn’t interest him. But then, Worth was a good sleeper, not a continually exhausted insomniac like Helen. Worth fell asleep when his head touched the pillow around eleven at night, and he snored, twitched, and slumbered luxuriously in what was obviously a refreshing, rejuvenating state until, around seven thirty, he awoke in full consciousness, threw back the covers, and strode into the bathroom for a brisk shower. He dressed entirely, crisp shirt, cuff links, suit, tie, and wingtips, without even a sip of juice. If Helen tried to press breakfast on him, he told her he’d grab something when he got to the office, and he’d snatch up his briefcase, peck her on the forehead, and march out the door.
    It still seemed wrong to her, separate bedrooms, even though it had been her own relentless insomnia brought on by hot flashes that, a few years ago, drove Worth out of their marriage bed and down thehall to one of the guest rooms. It suited them both, really, since they went to sleep and woke at different times, but she missed the warmth and weight of Worth’s body in the bed, missed the accidental touch of his knee against the back of her leg, which often inspired them toward lovemaking.
    Although, now that she thought about it, in the first few months after his move, they had made love more than usual. And it had been better. Worth had taken the trouble of seducing her, and she had returned the favor. It had been like having a lover.
    When had that changed? They still made love occasionally, not as often as Helen would like but, as Worth reminded her, he was sixty. He showed affection in other ways—he brought her flowers, and books, he complimented her on her hair, he noticed when she looked good—but it seemed to Helen that marriage was not just about dutiful displays of fondness but profound physical encounters. Perhaps not as often now, but still, even at their age.
    Worth must be awake by now. She could make eggs Benedict. Or even pancakes. Her spirits rose as she headed up the stairs and down the hall to Worth’s bedroom.
    As she drew close to Worth’s door, she heard him talking on his cell phone. Good , she thought, because he was awake, and then, Oh, dear , because she hated it when his work, his important overriding work, invaded their home on weekends.
    “Come on, Sweet Cakes, don’t be that way. You know I’m thinking about you every minute. You know the only thing I want to do is take you back to bed.”
    What? Helen stopped dead in the hall, as if she’d run into an invisible wall. What was Worth saying? Who was he talking to? Sweet Cakes?
    “You know I do. And you know I will. I promise. But I’ve got to get through this family business first. I’ve explained it to you. Come on, talk nice to me.”
    Talk nice to me? Worth’s voice held a low, playful, sexual urgency Helen hadn’t heard for years. The very sound of it