Page 50 of Summer Light on Nantucket
Maybe she’d be less cautious this summer.
One morning, Nick called.
“Blythe,” Nick said. “It’s a nice day. Let’s go rent a couple of kayaks.”
If he’d suggested going up in a hot-air balloon, Blythe wouldn’t have been more surprised. She’d never been in a kayak before, and the idea was tempting but worrisome. She’d been with friends in sailboats and motorboats, of course, but this would be the first time Blythe would, as Louisa May Alcott said, paddle her own canoe. What would happen if one of her children needed something? She reminded herself that their grandmother was here on the island, and so was their Aunt Kate. Nick wasn’t inviting her to sail to Maine.
She said, “That’s a great idea, Nick! Let’s do it!”
She pulled on her bathing suit and covered it with a long-sleeved T-shirt to protect her from the sun. Nick arrived in the bright red Bronco, which made Blythe feel young and reckless.
“I brought sunblock. We should use it on our noses. On each of our noses. I mean, we don’t have more than one nose. You know sun reflecting off the water can cause sunburns.” Was she babbling? She was babbling. She laughed at herself, which didn’t make any kind of sense, and behind the steering wheel, Nick smiled.
At the far end of the harbor, Blythe and Nick found Sea Nantucket Paddle Sports and Blythe was delighted by the “Sea Nantucket” pun.The owner had life jackets, which made her feel even better. It was slightly creepy to slip her legs inside the shell sitting almost in the water, but after a couple of strokes with the paddle, Blythe’s body adapted and as they slid through the water away from shore, she experienced a rush of pleasure.
“I feel like I’ve become a very odd fish,” she told Nick.
“You’re paddling like a pro,” he told her.
They headed out to the harbor, carefully weaving around sailboats and fishing boats. A small yacht seemed to tower above them from their water-level view. They glided to the end of the harbor, which was too shallow for anything but kayaks. The ocean had flooded the marshes, making several watery trails that led them as if they were navigating a maze.
“It’s so quiet,” Blythe whispered.
“That’s the pleasure of a kayak,” Nick told her. “No motor.”
He took a trail to the west. She headed east.
The watery path was narrow and shallow. She dipped her paddle and easily touched the bottom and the last of her disquiet faded away. Golden grass enclosed the salt marsh, so high she couldn’t see over it. Birds occasionally swooped low, flashing past her silently moving boat. In the distance, a white heron stood at the end of a sandbar. The sun was strong. The air was still. This place was here all the time, Blythe realized. While she fretted about her children or laughed at a joke or sang in the shower, this still, silent place was always here, the end of the harbor, the beginning of the sea, a luminous world. She watched a crab creep over the sand between the seagrass. She saw flickers of small silver fish—minnows?—in the water. A bead of sweat trailed down her cheek. Her heart beat quietly. She closed her eyes and simply floated there in the brown, peaty water.
“There you are!” Nick came around the corner of one of the winding creeks. “Are you stuck?”
“No. Just enjoying the silence. Thanks for bringing me here, Nick.”
“My pleasure.”
Nick paddled away and Blythe followed. She knew she could easily get lost in these creeks and now she was hot, and her nose was burning.
Later, as they ate lunch at Lemon Press, Nick asked, “Have you decided about taking the seventh-grade job?”
“Not really. I’ve got so much going on with the children.”
Nick nodded. “I get it. But when won’t you have so much going on? When will you feel ready to teach again? I know your kids need you, but you’ve said you love teaching and so many other kids need you.”
Blythe studied the shine of the sun on her fork as she thought. She couldn’t remember a time when anyone had said what Nick had said, that the other kids needed her. Emotion welled up inside her, shoving against her heart, waking a pleasure she’d forgotten was there. She had been a good teacher, even as a substitute. A few times a teacher would be out for a month, and she’d been able to get to know the students, to sense their response to her, to see how their papers improved. Sometimes a former student would stop her in the grocery store or post office and thank her for forcing them to learn how to write, because she was now president of a company. Or a man with a baby in his backpack would yell, “ ’Sup, Mrs. Benedict? Found any dead mice lately?” and while strangers looked askance at Blythe, she would remember teaching a class a Billy Collins poem about loving a dead mouse, and her heart would swell with pride and joy because so many years later, that father remembered that poem.
At least he remembered the dead mouse.
But she was older now, and she had four children. She said, “I know you’re right, Nick. I’ve got to decide. Iwilldecide. I’m glad you’re pushing me on this. It’s so easy to get lost in family problems. And I know I’ll be happier when I’m teaching.”
She took the last sip of her coffee and stood up. “I’m going home. I’ll call Krebs now. Thank you for this wonderful morning. I’m inspired!”
The late June light was strong, warming her shoulders and brightening the streets as she walked home. Her time with Nick alwaysseemed to bring out a part of her that could so easily be forgotten. She remembered how much she’d enjoyed teaching. The silent focus on putting together a lesson plan. The honeybee swarm of energy she felt whenever she entered the classroom. The delight of talking with the class, the joy when some students really got it, and the exhilaration she felt when challenged by a student. The pleasure of intellectual fencing. The beauty of the young faces. Coffee and laughter with colleagues in the teachers’ room. The windows framing autumn leaves, snowflakes, spring flowers.
But how would this affect her family? She wouldn’t be home during the day, and she’d be busy at night grading papers, doing lesson plans. On the plus side, she’d have money of her own to help allow the children to take music lessons or buy wonderful Christmas and birthday presents. She could even take them all on a trip somewhere special—to Quebec or even, if she saved her money, to a play and a night in New York. And she’d be showing her children that a woman could have meaningful work and a family at the same time.
Oh, she was excited.
She found Harry Krebs’s number and called.
