Starbuck, Nantucket Redemption, page 9
Used to the perceptive nature of her children, especially Sophie, she said, “I slept pretty well although I did miss you. I know you had to make those calls last night, but I wish you could have come back to the house when you were done.” The little white lie to her children made Charlotte feel dirty.
Peter replied, “Well, they lasted far longer than I expected. We have a major customer meeting coming up, and I needed to make sure the team there was ready for it. Since the last call didn’t wrap-up until nearly four, I felt it best to just crash there in the guest house so as not to wake you.” Both Sophie and Spencer were too busy with their breakfast to notice the annoyed look in their father’s eyes.
Quickly changing the subject, Peter asked, “What do you guys say we go to Great Point today for a picnic?”
“Yay!” shouted Spencer and Sophie, almost simultaneously.
“What do you think, Charlotte?” asked Peter.
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Charlotte with a forced smile and feigned enthusiasm. “It’s a beautiful day and perfect for a picnic.”
“Great,” said Peter. “I’ll get the car packed-up with the beach stuff while you pull together the provisions.” With that, Peter pushed back his chair and headed to the garage, happy to escape the tension in the room. He crossed the lawn and noticed a few weeds had sprouted in the grass. “Looks like the landscaping team has dropped the ball again,” he muttered to himself. Reaching the carriage house, he entered through the side door and went to work to fit out the Range Rover for the trip to the beach.
After loading the car with all of the necessary beach gear - blankets, beach chairs, sand toys, and umbrella - he added the tackle box and threw a couple of surfcasting rods on the roof. There was nothing more frustrating than seeing a bluefish feeding frenzy close to the beach and not being able to do a thing about it. Finishing up, Peter grabbed his favorite baseball cap off a hook in the garage and jumped in the car.
He drove over to the side entrance by the kitchen and collected Charlotte and the kids. He also packed the cooler along with two boat bags filled with towels, sunscreen, books, magazines, chips, cookies, and water.
They left the house, drove through Sconset, and headed out of the village. Peter and Charlotte were quiet as they drove past the lighthouse and Quidnet. They were silent as they passed through the moors, and then the cranberry bogs, still a month or two away from being flooded and relinquishing their bright red fruit. Finally, Peter turned to Charlotte and said quietly, “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Charlotte looked at Peter but didn’t reply, her usually bright blue eyes dull and lifeless. She turned her attention back to her window and looked out across the moors and scrub pine.
Peter slowed the Rover and made the tight right turn on to Wauwinet Road. They followed this winding road to the end, where they pulled into a small dirt parking lot next to a small gatehouse. Peter opened the center console of the Rover and grabbed his air gauge and a couple of small flat-headed screwdrivers. Having done this dozens of times, everyone knew the drill.
“Can I help you let the air out of the tires, dad?” asked Spencer expectantly.
This was usually a job that Peter preferred to do quickly. But realizing where things stood with Charlotte right now, he took a deep breath. “Of course. Hop out and let me show you how to do it.”
Spencer was excited. He jumped out of the Rover and knelt down next to his dad by the front tire.
“The first thing we need to do is remove the small plastic cap from what they call the valve stem,” said Peter. He slowly removed the cap and handed it to Spencer for safekeeping. “Then I use the end of this screwdriver to depress the air valve. This allows the air to escape the tire.” The air hissed as Peter depressed the valve. “Then, I count to thirty very slowly.” He handed Spencer the screwdriver. “Do you think that you can do that?”
Spencer looked up his dad, his bright blue eyes wide with excitement. “Yes, I can,” he said responsibly. He depressed the end of the screwdriver on the valve, and the air started to hiss. “One...two...three...four...”
Peter moved over to the opposite side and began the process on the other front tire. He knew it actually took about seventy-five seconds to get the tires down to the targeted pressure of fifteen pounds but wanted to give himself a little leeway with Spencer.
“I’m at thirty, dad!” he heard Spencer shout from over the hood.
Okay, be right there to check,” Peter replied. He finished counting, and using the air gauge on his tires confirmed it was at fifteen pounds. He then circled around the front to the car and knelt down next to Spencer. He put his gauge on the stem. “Looks like you have a little farther to go,” said Peter. “Why don’t you do another thirty seconds.”
“Okay’, said Spencer. He bit his lip in concentration as he again depressed the valve.
Peter started on the driver’s side rear when Spencer called out again. Peter laid the gauge on the valve stem and confirmed that Spencer was at twenty. “Fifteen more seconds, Spencer, and then we should be there.” Peter waited while Spencer counted patiently to fifteen and then confirmed the tire was ready. “Perfect,” he said to Spencer. Taking the cap from Spencer, he threaded it back onto the valve stem. “Can you do the one in the back too?”
“Yes!” said Spencer, and he sprinted to the back of the car. Peter could hear the hiss of the tire and his son’s soft voicing counting out. It made him smile. A few minutes later, they were done. “Thanks for the help, buddy,” said Peter, rustling his son’s hair. Spencer smiled but didn’t reply. It looked to Peter like he was feeling quite good about himself.
“Boy, that seemed to take forever,” said Charlotte, as Peter and Spencer climbed back into the car.
“Well, you wanted me to be more involved with the children,” Peter replied, somewhat sarcastically.
Charlotte looked at him with cold eyes. “Is that why you wanted his help? To make a point with me?” she said.
Peter paused. “Of course not. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” he said. “Actually, I just wanted to make him feel some ownership of the process.” Peter looked down at his lap. “My father first showed me how to do that when I was his age, and I guess I wanted to keep the cycle going.”
Charlotte nodded. “I understand. And I also think they love this island just as much as you do. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
Peter smiled faintly and selecting drive, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed past the big hotel, The Wauwinet. The road changed to dirt and became very bumpy. Spencer and Sophie were giggling in the back as the car hit one bump and then another, a couple of them so bad that Peter thought his head would have hit the roof had not had on his seatbelt.
He looked over at Charlotte, who had her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “You okay?” he asked.
“I am, but if I had known it was going to be this rough, I’d have worn my sports bra,” she replied.
Peter smiled. “It’s only for another quarter mile before we hit the sand, and then it will really smooth out.”
True to his prediction, the dirt road turned to very soft sand, and Peter checked the dash to confirm the Rover was in all-wheel-drive mode and also turned off the traction control to avoid confusing the vehicle’s computer. His last car had nearly burned out the transmission the first time it had made this trip, and he wanted to avoid that. Satisfied, he slowly accelerated to about twenty miles per hour. With the soft tires, the car floated smoothly on the sand.
They followed the route for a few hundred feet until they came to a fork. “Do you guys want to take the inside route or go along the beach?” asked Peter.
The nearly seven-mile trip could be taken one of two ways. The inner path weaved a course through the moors and low scrub punctuated by several small bodies of water where kestrels, swans, and other waterfowl were residents. Despite its beauty, it was a bit more challenging to navigate as it was a single track that had to accommodate two-way traffic. A pull-out every thousand feet or so was designed to allow oncoming vehicles to pass, but that usually meant that someone would have to back-up to the nearest one. Not only was that cumbersome, but it also slowed down the trip. The other option was to just follow the beach next to the water. Plenty wide enough for two vehicles to pass and had the added benefit of ocean scenery.
“Beach!” said Spencer and Sophie in unison.
“Beach it is,” said Peter, taking the right turn and heading out toward the water. Peter followed the path across the dune cresting a small hill and descended down to the beach. The sand here was covered in dozens of vehicle tracks, but things settled down quickly, and Peter found a pretty smooth and uniform track to follow. The car felt good under him, and he nudged the wheel gently to keep it centered in the path.
Going the entire way out was about seven miles. Keeping it as the mandated speed limit of fifteen miles per hour meant a nearly thirty-minute trip. Peter had first driven on this beach over thirty years ago and knew just about every part of it by heart. He accelerated up to about thirty and even increased it to nearly forty in a few sections where the tracks were particularly smooth and consistent. Arriving at an area known as the Galls, for the first time, they could see Nantucket Sound to the left and the Atlantic to the right. This small spit of land was often flooded over during heavy storms and had grown and receded many times over the years.
As the Galls ended and the land widened again, there was a turnoff through the dunes. Peter slowed the car and started to make the turn, giving the Rover more gas to power it through the heavy sand of this challenging section of the beach. Successfully making it through, he eased off the gas and maneuvered the car down a narrow path with a small lake on one side and more dunes on the other. Following this trail for another half mile or so, they eventually emerged onto the beach only to find there were over a dozen vehicles already spread out along the water. Peter sighed, surveyed the scene, and then picked a spot that would give them a nice buffer and a modicum of privacy.
Even in the height of summer, the breeze could be a little chilly, so Peter maneuvered the car to provide a windbreak for their picnic site. Turning off the engine, Peter jumped out and went to the back to open the tailgate. With Spencer and Sophie’s help, they spread the blankets, set-up the two beach chairs, and unpacked the cooler. Spencer was excited to see fresh cookies from the Sconset Market and naturally went straight for them. Charlotte caught his hand. “Later,” she said, “after you’ve had your sandwich. Why don’t you grab your bucket and go play in the sand.” Spencer smiled up at Charlotte. “Okay, mom.” He grabbed his toys and ran down to the water’s edge.
Peter settled down into a chair and cracked a beer. Donning his cap, he stretched his bare feet out over the blanket and surveyed his small domain. Spencer was building a sandcastle fort with stone turrets and crab shells for guards and could see him making noises with his mouth as the slipper shell army was battling the scallops. Sophie, on the other hand, was making a mosaic in the sand using the multitude of rocks and pebbles on the shore.
“Do you have sunscreen on?” asked Charlotte, breaking his reverie. Ever since Peter had had a skin cancer scare a few years before, she was quite diligent in reminding him of the needed protection from the sun.
“I do,” he said with impatience. He didn’t like to be treated as a child.
“Good,” she said.
He thought about last night’s argument and felt it gnawing in his stomach like a bad meal.
Reading his thoughts, Charlotte looked over at him and said, “We need to talk about last night.”
Peter glanced over at her, half expecting an apology.
She continued, “I know it was tough to hear, but I meant every word. We need to make some changes.”
“Are you serious? We’re sitting here at the beach on a beautiful day, and you want to talk about taking half my money?” Peter said testily. “And giving up my company?”
“Peter,” Charlotte said, her voice calm and quiet, not wanting the kids to hear. “I’m not asking you to give up your company. I know how important it is to you. And it’s not about ‘taking’ your money but rather investing it here on the island. Think about all the good we could do.”
“All the good we could do,” Peter muttered. “And what am I to tell all my employees? That we’re just closing the doors?” he said angrily. “You know, this company and its hundreds of employees depend on me. And you want me to drop it all so that I can be around more?”
Charlotte sighed and looked intently at Peter. “What I want is for you to be as invested in your children, your family, as you are with that company.”
Peter turned and looked out at the water. Usually, the view would soothe him, but he just felt agitated.
“What we want is you,” pleaded Charlotte. “We want you home and here with us. I’m not talking one hundred percent of the time, but certainly, a lot more time than you’re with us now.”
“And what if I can’t?” asked Peter, turning back to look at her. “What if I can’t commit to spending more time with you and the kids? At least maybe for a few more years.”
“Then I think we need to consider going our separate ways,” said Charlotte. She lowered her eyes. “If we can’t make these changes now, then I think I want a divorce.”
Stunned, Peter said, “What? Are you serious? After everything I have given you and the kids?” He was furious. “Where the hell is this coming from?” Sophie and Spencer heard the escalating voices and turned to look at their parents, their faces reflecting concern.
Charlotte’s blue eyes blazed. “It’s coming from me spending most of my week alone. Your children spend most of their week without their father. And even when you’re home, you really aren’t there. You’re on the computer or your phone. And we have all this money that we don’t need or will ever use. I want to do some good in this world. Why won’t you let me?”
Peter felt angry at being called on the carpet. He struggled out of his beach chair and stood up.
“Where are you going?” asked Charlotte.
“I’m going for a walk. I need some time to think.”
Peter started off, struggling to walk in the heavy sand.
“Where are you going, dad?” yelled Spencer.
Peter turned to look at Spencer. “Just going for a walk,” he said tersely.
“Can I come?” asked Spencer expectantly.
“No,” said Peter.
Spencer burst into tears and ran to his mom for comfort. Peter turned and started walking up the beach.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Peter was angry. What had he ever done but make the best life for Charlotte and the kids? He couldn’t help that the company demanded so much of his time right now. Shimmo had become a large and successful operation because of him. No one else could have done that. Who else could set the strategy, make the critical decisions, and close the deals as he had over the years? This was so like Charlotte, he thought. She was never entirely happy; she has always wanted more.
His anger fueled his walk, and he continued past the other vehicles on the beach. They are having fun and enjoying the gorgeous day and extraordinary location, he thought to himself. They weren’t being ambushed by their wives and held hostage for half their money. He was fuming and muttering about Charlotte and the demand for a divorce. If anyone had seen him, they might have thought him crazy, talking so vigorously as he was to himself.
Peter stopped at a thin rope wire crossing the beach from the dunes to the waterline. Spread across a handful of metal posts, the cable had some red and yellow nylon ties to make it more visible and was low enough that Spencer could have crossed it without too much struggle. Every fifteen feet or so, there were signs warning pedestrians that they were not welcome. It was the line of demarcation between the people’s beach and the seals’ beach.
He looked over the wire to the very tip of Great Point, the northernmost part of Nantucket. He had known the Point, that tapering of the island where the Atlantic meets Nantucket Sound since he was a child barely out of diapers. He came here with his family for picnics and played in the sand much as Spencer had been doing today. When he had grown up a bit, he was invited to join his father and grandfather on one of their many fishing expeditions to the Point for bluefish and striped bass. His father had patiently shown him how to handle the long surfcasting rod, how to hold the line with your finger, and then how to time it perfectly to get the best throw. His grandfather had explained all of the different lures they used, which to use when sunny, which when cloudy, high tide and low. Some danced along the surface of the water while others dove deep and acted like silver minnows to entice a hungry mouth.
He had listened and learned and caught his first bluefish near dawn on a rainy day the summer of his seventh year. He had selected the lure, a silver sliver of metal known as a Hopkins, attached it to the line, and then threw it well into the surf just ahead of a school of blues. He had hooked one almost immediately, and the fight had been tremendous. He felt as if the fish was going to pull him into the water. But he had fought and landed the blue right on the beach. In Peter’s office back at the company, he still had the framed photograph of that fish. His seven-year-old self grinning from ear to ear, hair plastered down from the rain, and struggling to hold up the enormous prize. In reality, it had probably only been nine or ten pounds, but to him, it might as well have been a whale.
Charlotte had caught her first bluefish here as well, the first summer after graduation and just a week after they had been engaged. She had taken to it, well, like a fish to water, and caught her fish on only her fourth cast. Quickly reeling it in and with a heave on the rod, she had managed to surf the fish onto the beach using an incoming wave. Unlike Peter, though, she had no desire or intention to eat it. Peter grabbed the obligatory picture of Charlotte with her fish, and then he released the blue back into the surf.
He had wanted to share that same experience with his own children, but the Point was now closed to people and cars. It was the harbor and gray seals now who had the exclusive right to fish at the Point, and while Peter understood the need for conservation, he bristled at the thought that he was no longer permitted to be at this extraordinary spot. Especially because of the seals. Growing up, seeing a seal was rare and an occasion to note. But with the growth of their population, fishing from the beach had become more and more challenging. It wasn’t that the seals would get in the way. In fact, just the opposite. Seals would wait patiently just off the surf until a fish was hooked. Then they would swoop in and snatch the fish off right off the line. Sometimes the fisherman would reel in a bloody head still attached to the hook, but usually, the seal took it all, the fish and the lure. Peter wasn’t upset about losing a ten dollar lure, it was more the frustration of hooking a fish and then having it stolen from him just a few feet off the beach. It had gotten to the point where a lot of people had just given up surfcasting entirely.
