Excerpt of Beachcombers by Nancy Thayer

Chapter One Abbie, Lily, and Emma, Sort of

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Marina

So here she was, on Nantucket. In a small rented cottage in
the middle of an enchanted island. At least she hoped it was
enchanted. She was waking to another day without family or
love or plans for the future.

Still, she felt just a bit better.

Lying curled in her bed, she forced herself to name just
five things for which she was grateful. It was an exercise
Christie had advised her to perform first thing in the
morning and last thing at night. If nothing else, Christie
had told her, it will give you a little bit of structure,
one tidy line to start the morning and end the day to make
you feel enclosed and on task.

All right then.

Marina was grateful that she’d slept through the night
without needing a sleeping pill. She’d been afraid she was
becoming addicted to them. Over the past few months, the
divorce had plunged her into a state of grief and despair
that at night turned into a raging anger and a kind of
burning terror—what was her life about? Did she mean
nothing? But here on the island, for the past three weeks,
she’d discovered that something in the sea air worked like a
charm to make her fall into a deep, relaxing sleep. Christie
had been right to tell her to come here to heal.

Two—well, she was grateful she’d found the cottage. It
resembled a dollhouse, with wild roses rambling all over the
roof and clematis and wisteria blossoming on the trellis on
the outside walls. The windows were mullioned like a
fairy-tale cottage. The door was bright blue. Inside, one
large room served for living, dining, and kitchen areas. A
ladder led up to the loft with the bed. Windows on three
sides provided views of the birds nesting in an apple tree
on her right, a pine tree on her left, and a hawthorn tree
straight ahead.

Inside, the décor was—well, there was no décor, actually.
The few furnishings had a cast-off and shabby air, but were
basically sound and comfortable. No curtains hung from the
windows. No paintings graced the walls. No rugs brightened
the floors, but she could understand that. It was so easy to
track sand into the house, and the floors were wood and felt
cool and smooth to the soles of her feet.

She was grateful to be in the heart of the town. That was
the third thing, and it had been on her list every morning
and every night. The cottage was off an idyllic lane in the
illustrious historic district. She could walk to the grocery
store, the pharmacy, the post office, the library. Tucked
away at the far end of a long garden, it had once been the
Playhouse for the family that had grown up in the huge old
house at the front. The owner and one of his daughters lived
in the house. Their presence made Marina feel not so alone.
She liked seeing the lights come on in different rooms of
the house. The daughter, Lily, was pretty, but not very
friendly. Well, she was only twenty-two. Marina must seem
ancient to her.

Jim Fox, on the other hand, was really nice. He’d brought
her fresh fish several times already, and often in the
evenings when he came home from work, he jumped out of his
red pickup truck and sauntered down the lawn to chat with
her. Did she need anything? If she did, she had only to ask,
he’d be glad to help. Had she enjoyed the bluefish? Would
she like some more when he went out fishing again? He was so
attentive that Marina sometimes wondered if he were hitting
on her. She doubted it. She was sure she wasn’t giving off
any sexual vibes, since her sexuality was hiding under its
shell like a wounded turtle. Although she could still
recognize that Jim was an awfully attractive man, tall,
muscular, and comfortable enough in his powerful body to be
easygoing and kind.

Fourth, she was grateful for Christie’s enduring, sustaining
friendship and especially for her wisdom this summer.

Odd, how things turned out.

Long ago, when she started seventh grade, Marina had teamed
up with two very different best friends. Christie was her
good friend, pretty, cheerful, popular, and smart. Dara was
her exciting friend, always ready to try something new and
outrageous, more sexy than good-looking. They remained best
friends when they all started at the same gigantic
university in Columbia, Missouri, but by their sophomore
summer, things changed. Christie and Marina decided to go
off to Nantucket to work as waitresses. They’d heard that
the pay was good, the island was gorgeous, and they could
party like crazy on their time off. Dara couldn’t believe
they were going to be waitstaff—she considered such a job
way too far beneath her. She didn’t need the money the way
Christie and Marina did, and she went off with other college
friends to backpack in Europe.

Marina and Christie had so much fun, they returned to the
island for the next two summers. During the academic year,
they still spent time with each other, but Dara ran with a
new, fast crowd, and the trio was never the same after that.
After graduation, they went their separate ways. Dara wanted
money. Marina wanted to turn her love of color and design
into a career. Christie just wanted her high school
sweetheart, Bob.

Christie married Bob right after college—Marina was her maid
of honor. A few years later, when Marina married Gerry
Warren, Christie was Marina’s matron of honor, lumbering
down the aisle, eight months pregnant. After that, Marina
had seen little of Chris?tie. Their lives were so different,
and they were so busy. Christie and Bob lived in happy chaos
with their hundreds of children—really, only an eventual
five—on a lake outside Kansas City.

Marina and Gerry met in college. He was handsome, with
thick, straight blond hair and sapphire eyes. He was smart,
too, and witty. At first she thought he was just a bit too
smug and shallow, but he wanted Marina, he pursued Marina,
and his varied and creative attempts to charm her were
irresistible. Perhaps she didn’t love Gerry, but she was
helplessly seduced by his desire.

Their ambitions were similar, too, and that drew them
together as a natural pair. He was a dynamite salesman; she
was artistic and creative. Marina and Gerry started a
graphic design/ad agency in the Kansas City area. They
invested their own time and some start-up money borrowed
from their parents, and they worked day and night. For a few
years, work was the very air they breathed. They established
themselves, grew a name, became successful, and paid back
their parents. They bought a condo and the posh cars they
displayed as ads for their success—a Jag for Gerry, a Saab
convertible for Marina. But somehow, as the months and years
went by, they never found time to relax. They were like a
clock, their lives the two hands ticking around the face of
the day and night, with never a second to stop.