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breath, as if she’s wounded him. After a moment, he says, “You’re going to college in a couple of weeks. I’m going back to Tufts.” He shakes his head. “This was a mistake.”
    “No.” She reaches over to put her hand on his arm. “No mistake. I’ve been wishing for that for a long time.”
    Ben remains silent. He pulls up in front of her house, her parents’ big house on the bluff where she has never yet, in all these years, invited Maggie. He knows that. There is more than age between them, but age does matter.
    Turning to face her, he carefully reminds her: “Emily, you just turned eighteen.”
    This means so much. She wants to do it right. “I know that. And I’ve never … but I want this, Ben.” Summoning up all her courage, she says, “I want anything I can have with you.”
    He frowns. He takes a deep breath. He touches the side of her face, stroking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Can I see you tomorrow night?”
    She restrains herself from throwing herself across the seat on top of him. “Yes.”
    “Six o’clock,” he says.
    “Six o’clock,” she promises.
    “The light will be good out on Coskata,” he tells her.
    “I’ll bring a picnic,” she tells him. “We can eat on the beach, watch the sunset.”
    “Nice.” Gently, he kisses her cheek. “Tomorrow, then.”
    Emily lets herself into the house. It’s quiet and dark. She takes off her heels again and pads across the floor to the living room window facing the ocean. It’s calm tonight, and the moon stripes the water with a trembling light.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    During her senior year at Nantucket High, Maggie had bucked up her courage and submitted some writing to the school newspaper, which was not such a stretch since one of her close friends, Kerrie, was the editor. People liked her articles, short witty pieces about “Backstage at the School Play,” “How to Buy a Posh Prom Dress Here in Sleepy Hollow,” or “The Accidentals and the Naturals Do New York,” so she wrote one every month. It wasn’t fiction, but it was still fun.
    And in August it leads to the most amazing job.
    Late one afternoon, the phone rings. “Maggie, it’s Marilyn O’Brien.”
    “Mrs. O’Brien. Hello.” Maggie has half-turned to call her mother when Mrs. O’Brien says, “I’d like to talk with you about writing an article for Nantucket Glossy .”
    Maggie almost falls over. “Really?” she says, then hits herself in the thigh with her fist for sounding like such a simpleton.
    “Really. I’ve enjoyed your pieces in the school paper. You have agift for seeing things that others miss. I’d like to hire you to write about some of the public fund-raisers taking place this month. You’ll know most of the students who’ll be working at them, and many of the guests, and I think it would be fun to have a young person’s view of it all.”
    Maggie forces herself to say, “Um, I’d love to, Mrs. O’Brien, but what about Kerrie Smith? She was the editor of the paper.”
    “I know, dear, and I’m impressed with her editorials. She’s more confrontational than you are. Your style is more suited for my magazine. Your writing has flair.” Mrs. O’Brien adds the fee she’d pay Maggie for each article, continuing smoothly with other details: how long she’d like the pieces to be, the slant she’d like Maggie to take on her first piece, to stress the fun and glamour of the upcoming party.
    “The Theatre Workshop is having its summer fund-raiser in Beverly Hall’s garden,” Marilyn says, and Maggie gasps. Beverly Hall is a famous photographer with a house overlooking the water out on the western part of the island. Maggie’s heard it rumored that Beverly has seven different gardens on her land, each landscaped in a different style. Maggie’s yearned to see them—and now she’s being paid to do it?
    “The evening’s theme is Shakespeare in the Garden,” Marilyn continues. “For entertainment, some of Nantucket’s actors will