Under a Summer Sky, page 4
After the breakfast dishes were washed and dried, Noah rolled his mountain bike out into the driveway and lifted Laney’s ten-speed off the back of her car, checked their tires, filled two water bottles, strapped beach towels onto the back of his bike, and told his mom they wouldn’t be back until late afternoon.
It was another beautiful, blue sky August day, and as they rode down Ocean View Drive—a bumpy, weathered road whose view of the ocean had long been obscured by the gnarled pitch pine and scrub oak that thrived on the sandy, windswept peninsula—Laney took her hands off her handlebars and threw her arms up in the air. “Woo-hoooo!” she sang, sailing past Noah.
Surprised and laughing, he sped up. “Excuse me, miss, but you’re not practicing proper bike safety.”
“Oh, don’t be an old poop. . . .”
“I’m not an old poop,” he protested, tentatively letting go of his handlebars.
She looked over at him and grinned. “Now, give those underarms some air.”
Noah made sure he had his balance and slowly lifted his arms.
“Now shout, ‘Woo-hoooo!’ ” she commanded, bumping down the weatherworn road.
“Woo-hoooo!” he called, laughing and feeling more alive than he’d felt in a long time.
As they came around the corner, he grabbed his handlebars and shouted, “Watch out for the sand!” Laney grabbed her handlebars too and skidded onto the roadway that led to the Coast Guard Beach.
Noah stood on his pedals as they climbed the hill and then cut across the sidewalk to a path that ran beside the Coast Guard station. He slowed down and stopped, putting his foot on the bottom rail of a weathered split rail fence for balance, and Laney pulled up beside him. “Wow . . . it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed breathlessly, gazing at the gorgeous, panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean.
Noah watched the tide lapping along the long sandbars and nodded. “I love it here.” After a moment, he pointed down the dunes. “There used to be a house down there.” Laney looked and he continued. “It was built in 1926 by a man named Henry Beston. He lived there for a year or so and wrote about his experience—sort of like Thoreau’s Walden. A couple of times, Micah and I stopped to look inside. It was a great little house. It had a woodstove, a water pump, a bed, a desk . . .”
“What happened to it?”
“It was swept away in the blizzard of ’78.”
Laney nodded. “I remember that storm—I was a senior in high school. Maine wasn’t hit as hard as southern New England, but I’ll never forget seeing the pictures of the deep snow and the devastation.”
Noah nodded. “The erosion was so bad this parking lot washed away too, and sometimes, chunks of asphalt still wash up on shore.”
Laney shook her head. “That’s amazing.” She looked around. “Where do people park now?”
“There’s a parking lot down the road and a tram that shuttles beachgoers.” He pointed to a small white vehicle that was just pulling in, towing a train of open-air cars with bench seats. The tram stopped, and a throng of people climbed out, wearing bathing suits and sunglasses and carrying umbrellas, beach bags, towels, coolers, Boogie Boards—everything needed for a day at the beach.
“Why wouldn’t you just go to a beach that has a parking lot?”
“Because the Coast Guard Beach is the best.... Besides, the tram is fun, and it drops you off right here.”
Laney nodded, suddenly wishing they were spending the day at the beach—the ocean looked so inviting.
As if he was reading her mind, Noah said, “We’ll go for a swim on our way back.”
“Sounds good,” she said with a smile.
They got back on their bikes, crossed the driveway, entered the bike path, and sped down a winding, narrow hill to the long, wooden bridge that crossed Nauset Marsh. The tide was out, and the air was heavy with the thick, briny scent of decay and muck. Noah looked back and pinched his nose, and Laney laughed—she didn’t mind the smell. In fact, she loved it! She glanced down at the long marsh grass, swaying in the warm summer sun, and she imagined the plethora of wonderful organisms living in the boggy quagmire—just waiting to be studied.
They followed the hilly terrain out to Route 6 and across the quiet side roads to the rail trail—an old railroad bed that was being converted into a paved path for cyclists, walkers, and runners. Noah cruised along through the shade and sun with his T-shirt billowing around him, and as they passed through Nickerson Park, Laney realized she enjoyed having him in front of her so she could watch his long, muscular legs, his broad shoulders, and the way his short sun-bleached hair cut across his tan neck—she was so busy watching him, in fact, that when he slowed down unexpectedly, she almost rode into him.
“Whoa!” she said in surprise, bumping off the trail and squeaking to a stop. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, frowning, “but that was poor use of proper bike signaling!”
“Sorry,” he said meekly. “I didn’t realize you were that close. Anyway, there’s a really good place for lunch just ahead. Are you hungry?”
“That’s a silly question,” she teased, still frowning. “According to you and Micah, my appetite is insatiable.”
He grinned. “You know we were just teasing.”
“I know,” she said with a forgiving smile.
After a lunch of burgers, fries, and milk shakes at Cobie’s, they headed back to the Coast Guard Beach for a swim. As their bicycle tires bumped back across the wooden footbridge, Laney looked down; the tide was coming in, and the marsh grass was now swaying under the gentle current of gray-green water. They climbed the hill, parked their bikes, and while Noah unstrapped the towels, Laney watched the weary line of sunburned people waiting to catch the tram back to their cars. Two little boys were chasing each other and giggling, and although their dad—with the patience of a saint—was trying to reel them in, his arms were full of the toddler his wife had handed to him before hurrying off to the ladies’ room. The two little boys, brown and sandy—and sensing their dad’s disadvantage—continued to chase each other until the younger one tripped and fell, scraping both knees. He let out a howl that would put wolves to shame, and his mom returned just in time to scoop him up; the tired little fellow wiped away his tears with a sandy fist, realized everyone was watching him, and shyly buried his face in her neck.
“Boys!” Noah said with a grin.
Laney shook her head and laughed. “Yep. Boys are trouble!”
7
Maddie smoothed the white, sun-dappled, linen cloth on the table and set an arrangement of freshly cut black-eyed Susans and blue hydrangeas at its center; then she stepped back and eyed it critically. Asa looked up from lighting votive candles. “That looks nice.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You don’t think the colors clash?”
“Nope.”
“Because I could separate them into two . . .”
“I like it just the way it is.”
“I don’t know. . . .” she said, sighing skeptically.
“Are you ready for a cocktail?” he asked, changing the subject. “Or would you like the whole rooster?”
Maddie smiled. “Where’d that come from again?”
Asa straightened up, his blue eyes sparkling. “My dad used to say it.”
Maddie shook her head. “I miss your dad . . . and your mom.”
“Me too,” Asa said softly, pulling her into his arms.
Just then, they heard laughter on the stairs. “Well, well, look who’s home!”
Noah came up the stairs. “I know, I know—we’re late,” he said. “We stopped for a swim and lost track of time, and then Laney had a close encounter with a seal.”
Laney came up next to him, her eyes wide and her hair still damp. “He was right next to me! I don’t know who was more surprised, but he just stayed there, gazing at me with his big brown eyes. Then he slipped under the water and swam away, brushing me with his flipper.”
“Wow! That is a close encounter,” Maddie exclaimed.
“I know.”
“Well, if you’re going to be a marine biologist,” Asa said, “you need to get up close and personal.”
Laney laughed, pulling her towel around her. “Noah wasn’t kidding when he said I’d get to experience the Cape firsthand if I came here.”
“Speaking of which,” Noah said. “What time is everyone coming tonight?”
“Soon,” Asa said, glancing at his watch.
“Do we have time to shower?”
“If you do it right away,” his dad said. “And if you’re planning to use the outdoor shower, you better be quick or Uncle Isaac will steal your towel.”
Noah nodded. “I’ll be quick. Laney, you can use the upstairs shower.”
“Okay,” she said, brushing the sand off her feet.
After his shower, Noah ducked upstairs with his towel around his waist. Laney was still in the bathroom, so he grabbed his faded jeans and a button-down shirt from his room and retreated to Micah’s room to get dressed. Then he headed down to the kitchen to give Laney more privacy, lifted the top off the big pot simmering on the stove, and breathed in the wonderful, steamy aroma of fresh thyme, cream, and clams.
“Is it ready?” a familiar voice asked.
Noah turned around to find that Asa’s brother and his wife had just arrived with their girls. “Hey, Uncle Isaac.”
“Hey, kiddo, how’s it goin’?”
“Really well, thanks,” Noah said, shaking his hand. “How ’bout you?”
“Oh, fine, fine—your cousins are all running wild . . . and running me ragged, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” Isaac paused and smiled, eyeing his nephew. “Speaking of girls, I hear there’s a pretty brunette here for the weekend.”
Noah grinned. “There is.”
“Yeah . . . tell me more.”
“Her name’s Laney, and she’s from Maine and . . .”
Just then, Laney appeared in the doorway, wearing white shorts and her new pink Cape Cod T-shirt. “Are you talking about me?” she asked, smiling and tucking her hair behind her ears.
“I am,” Noah said, blushing. “Laney, this is my uncle Isaac. He’s my dad’s older brother.”
“Hey!” Isaac teased. “You don’t need to add that when you introduce me.”
Noah looked puzzled, and Isaac clarified, “Older . . .”
“Oh, right. Sorry!”
Isaac smiled and turned to Laney. “It’s nice to meet you, Laney.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Coleman,” she said politely.
“So has my nephew been behaving himself?”
Laney tucked her hands in her back pockets and laughed. “He has.”
Isaac smiled. “I hope he’s better behaved than his father was when he was . . .”
“Eh, eh, eh,” Asa warned, coming in from the porch. “You don’t want your daughters to hear about all your escapades, do you?”
Just then, two of Isaac’s daughters came in from the living room and leaned against him. “Tell us, Uncle Asa,” they pleaded. “What did our dad do?”
Asa grinned, and his brother gave him a warning look. “Who’s ready for chowder?” he asked.
8
“You have such a great family,” Laney said as they walked down the steep wooden steps to the beach. “Your uncle Isaac is so funny, your parents are wonderful, and their friends definitely know how to have a good time.”
“Yeah, they’re a fun group—they’ve been getting together for years. My great-grandfather was the one who started the whole gin and chowder thing, but it was my grandfather and his best friend, Nate Shepherd, who really got it going. Legend has it that they used to have some pretty wild parties and invite all the neighbors—and all the kids would come along and have a bonfire down on the beach, and now those kids are the friends who are here tonight.” He smiled and shook his head. “My grandparents were very old school—cocktails at five, Big Band on the radio, getting dressed to the nines for dinner—but no white dresses or slacks before Memorial Day or after Labor Day. It was very ladi-da,” he added wistfully. “But, I guess, after my grandfather died, the gatherings fell apart . . . that is, until my uncle Isaac convinced my dad they should start them up again.”
“Well, it’s a wonderful tradition.”
They continued to walk along Nauset Light Beach under the moonlight, watching the beam from the lighthouse skim across the clouds. A rogue wave rushed up the beach, and Laney had to scoot around Noah to avoid getting wet. Laughing, she said, “When I was little, I always thought the foam along the edge of a wave looked like the bubbles on the edge of pancake batter when it’s poured on the griddle.”
Noah laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
She bumped him playfully, and he smiled, but then grew quiet.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He stopped walking and searched her face. “Laney, I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. I don’t want you to ever ask me why I didn’t tell you something.”
“Okay,” she said tentatively.
They continued to walk along in silence, and finally, Noah said, “Remember the other night when we were talking about how young my dad was when I was born?”
She nodded, studying his profile.
“Well . . .” He paused, struggling to find the right words.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“I do though . . . because it’s part of me, and if we’re going to keep seeing each other—which I hope we are . . . I mean I hope you want to.”
“I do want to.”
“Okay, well then it’s something you should know because I have this thing about being completely honest and forthcoming, no matter what the outcome . . . and this is due, in large part, to my dad taking a very long time to answer questions I’d been asking him since I was little. In fact, he didn’t answer everything until I turned sixteen.”
Laney nodded, and Noah looked over and smiled. “Well, first I should tell you how incredibly blessed I am to have the family I have. My mom—Maddie—is the best mom on earth, and I know she loves me with all her heart. In fact, I don’t think anyone outside the family would even guess she’s not my real mom.”
Laney looked up in surprise, and Noah’s eyes glistened. “My biological mom’s name was Noelle—she died in childbirth . . . having me.”
“Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “More than anything, I wish I’d had the chance to meet her. My dad gave me a photograph of the two of them—it was actually taken at a gin and chowder party,” he added. “She was beautiful. Long dark hair—a little longer than yours—dark blue eyes, and young . . . but older than my dad.” He paused. “This is one of the biggest questions I had. I knew Maddie wasn’t my real mom, but I desperately wanted to know more about the woman who was. And my dad would only say that she died. But, come to find out”—he paused—“she was married.” Laney raised her eyebrows, and in the moonlight, she could see the solemn look on Noah’s face. “And she wasn’t married to just anyone—she was married to my grandfather’s best friend.”
“No,” Laney whispered softly. “How in the world . . . ?”
Noah shook his head, as if he had trouble believing it too. “My real mom was a nurse, and she took care of Nate’s first wife, Anna, when she was dying of cancer, so my dad had known her almost all his life. After Anna died, Noelle’s job ended, and she went on to take care of someone else, but a year or so later, she and Nate ran into each other, and even though Nate was eighteen years her senior, they fell in love, and married . . . and although my grandparents, Samuel and Sarah, missed Anna, they welcomed Noelle into their lives.
“By the time Nate remarried, my dad was a teenager, and whenever Nate and Noelle came over socially, she was always friendly—always genuinely interested in what was going on in his life and my uncle Isaac’s . . . and always teasing them about all the girlfriends they must have . . . even though my dad didn’t have any. She was beautiful, thirteen years older than my dad . . . and he thought she hung the moon.
“Then, the summer before my dad went away to college, Nate hired him to paint their house in Orleans, and since Nate worked in Boston, Noelle was often home alone. My dad and Noelle became very close—they talked about everything—even the growing attraction they felt, but Noelle told my dad she could never betray Nate . . . and she didn’t . . . until a rainy afternoon toward the end of the summer.” Noah shook his head. “My dad said they never meant for anything to happen—it just did—and afterward, they couldn’t seem to find their way back to the way things were before. He said he loved Noelle more than life itself, and he would’ve done anything for her.”
“That’s so sad,” Laney said softly. “Did anyone find out?”
“Well, the summer ended, and my dad went off to college, so he didn’t see Noelle for several weeks. But she wrote often, and he started to live for the next time he would see her. An opportunity finally came at the end of September when my dad traveled to Boston to meet Isaac, and my grandfather, and Nate for a Red Sox game. While they were at the game, my dad overheard Nate tell my grandfather that Noelle was out on the Cape alone.”
“Noo . . .” Laney whispered with raised eyebrows.
“Yup. After the game, instead of taking the bus back to school, he took the bus to Hyannis and hitchhiked the rest of the way to Orleans. He spent the night with her, and the next day she drove him back to the bus station in Boston. No one ever found out—as far as he knows—and then he didn’t see her again until Christmas. And it was on Christmas, in front of everyone, that Nate announced that he and Noelle were expecting. My dad was devastated and jealous . . . it was as if he’d made himself believe she didn’t sleep with Nate . . . and this proved she did.”
“But how did Noelle know who . . . ?”
Noah shook his head. “I asked my dad the same question, and he said it never occurred to him that he could be the father. And after Nate made the announcement, he just assumed their relationship was over. He was jealous, angry, heartbroken, and confused. Noelle tried to reach out to him, but he wouldn’t listen. She wrote to him . . . but he just put her letters in a box and never opened them.”
