“It’s going on the market,” Eddie says. “It’s not on the market yet. We can’t look at it today. But I have some other exciting properties to show you.”
“But… ,” Masha says.
“Let the man do his job, Masha,” Raja says.
Eddie starts with the three houses close to town because they are all Bayberry Properties listings. All three are Glenn’s, but Glenn told Eddie to “have at it,” meaning Eddie will be the only broker present. On the one hand, this is good because Eddie will get a chance to bond with the Christys. On the other hand, it’s bad because Eddie suspects that Glenn Daley doesn’t consider the Christys real, viable clients.
“Lottery money,” Glenn says. “Always iffy.”
The first house is on Hulbert Avenue, listed at $11.2 million. It’s on the “wrong” side of Hulbert, meaning across the street from the water, but that’s what makes it affordable. Houses on the “right” side of the street go for double that price tag, but it’s a moot point because those houses come on the market only once in a lifetime.
When Masha walks into the house on Hulbert, she says, “Is it just me, or does this house smell like mice?”
“I’m not sure what mice smell like,” Eddie says, although he does agree the house has a funny smell. “This is an older house, in need of some TLC.” The furnishings are worn and tired, the prints of the sofa and chairs have been bled of their colors, the coffee table is marred with white rings. Eddie can see that Masha is underwhelmed.
“I can’t believe they’re charging eleven point two million for this,” she says.
“What you’re paying for here is the address,” Eddie says. “Hulbert Avenue is very prestigious, and it’s close to town.”
“But it’s not in town,” Masha says, smiling. She has a very pretty smile, Eddie sees. “The inn is in town!”
“Let’s look upstairs,” Eddie says. “There are four bedrooms.”
The upstairs of the house proves to be just as disappointing as the downstairs. The two bedrooms that have water views are small, and they share an outdated Jack-and-Jill bathroom with pocket doors that stutter on their runners. The two bedrooms in the back of the house are bigger, but they look out over scrubby wetlands. And as everyone knows, wetlands breed mosquitoes. Eddie can’t believe the price tag on this pile either; it’s basically a teardown. But that’s what Nantucket has come to these days. Land is at such a premium that an empty lot on the wrong side of the right street will cost you eight figures.
Eddie nearly decides to skip the two houses he has on Lincoln Circle. They, like the Hulbert Avenue house, are older homes in need of serious updating. Eddie has shown both of the Lincoln Circle homes before. They have a certain charm; they’re quintessential Nantucket summer cottages, nothing flashy or newfangled about them. Masha won’t be impressed… but Eddie will show them anyway, if only for a comparison to the bigger estates he has in store for the Christys out in Wauwinet, Squam, and Shimmo.
The first Lincoln Circle home has a screened-in porch with a fireplace, a charming feature that Eddie shows off right away.
“Nice,” Masha agrees. However, she sniffs at the kitchen with its particle-board cabinets and drop-in stainless steel sink. “Our kitchen in East Boston is nicer than this,” she says. “How much did you say this house costs?”
“Twelve point three million,” Eddie says. “Again, you’re paying for the address. And this house has full water views from the second floor.”
“It feels like a rip-off,” Masha says.
“Okay,” Eddie says. He decides to cut his losses and skip the second listing on Lincoln Circle. He should have realized that the Christys would want a house with all the bells and whistles, a house that feels like it’s worth twelve million dollars. “Time for something different. I can assure you, the next house I show you will be much, much more to your liking.”
“I liked the inn,” Masha says.
Raja puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and gives him a silent shake of the head. The meaning is unmistakable: they are not buying an inn.
As Eddie drives along Polpis Road, he chastises himself for not doing a better job of reading the Christys. He should have skipped the old-school summer homes. Those will eventually sell to someone who grew up summering on Nantucket and always dreamed of owning a house on Hulbert Avenue or Lincoln Circle. To appreciate the pedigree and charm of those cottages, one needs to have an affinity for understatement and reserve.
Eddie is so consumed with disappointment and doubt in himself—What if I blow this sale? I can’t blow it! I’m counting on the commission!—that he almost doesn’t notice Grace pedaling down the bike path. Eddie hits the brakes and swivels his head. That’s Grace, all right, head hunched over the handlebars like Dennis Quaid in Breaking Away. She’s headed toward town.
“My wife!” Eddie says. He realizes he’s cutting Masha off; she’s in the middle of a long-winded story about a cruise she and Raja took to the Bahamas. Their luggage was lost and not returned to them until the very end of the trip. How did they even get on that topic? Eddie wonders. He follows the thread backward and thinks, Oh yes. The last time Masha and Raja were on an island. “I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “It’s just that that was my wife back there, riding her bike on the path. We just passed her.”
“Funny,” Masha says. “That happened to us once. Raja stopped at Lanzilli’s after work to buy some cheeseburger-flavored Pringles, which he loves but I refuse to buy, and I was at Lanzilli’s because we’d completely run out of toilet paper. I’ve never been so surprised to see anyone in my life, and I’ll tell you what, neither was Raja. He thought he was getting away with something.”
Eddie can’t come up with a response to that; he’s too busy checking the rearview mirror for another glimpse of Grace. It was her—she was wearing her new favorite hat, the dark-green one with the faux-mink pom-pom on top, and she had on Allegra’s old navy Whalers hoodie, which she favors because it makes her feel young.
“Is your wife a big biker?” Masha asks. “Neither Raja nor I exercise, except when we walk Jack.”
“And I walk to the T station,” Raja says.
“We both walk to the T station,” Masha says. “But it’s only half a block away, so it doesn’t count for much.”
Eddie knows that Grace took to riding her mountain bike while Eddie was in jail, but she hasn’t, to his knowledge, ridden it since he’s been back.
Why today? he wonders. It isn’t as though she has to go to the bank or the grocery store. She’s all the way out here on Polpis Road. It’s not raining or even very cold, but neither is it sunny and mild like it was on Wednesday.
Why today?
And then Eddie notices a big black truck barreling toward him. He freezes. Is it Benton Coe’s truck? He looks at the man driving, while at the same time trying to memorize the license plate—M23…—but he can’t do both at once. He got half the plate and a split-second glimpse of the driver, who was wearing a hat and sunglasses. Impossible to tell if it was Benton Coe or not, and half a license plate is useless. Benton Coe does drive a black truck, or he used to before he left for Detroit. But then again, half the contractors on Nantucket drive black trucks. That could have been anyone. Eddie can’t let his wild imagination get the best of him.
He has missed the last three or four paragraphs of Masha’s ongoing monologue. Now she’s talking about a recipe for s’mores you can make under the broiler, which makes you feel like you’re beside a campfire even when you’re sitting in an apartment in East Boston.
Eddie’s phone pings. He’s distracted and nearly misses the turn for Medouie Creek Road. They are now out in Wauwinet, not far from the house where Eddie and Grace used to live. He wonders if Grace decided to bike out here to look upon their house and maybe even wander through their old gardens. The people who bought the house, the Pattons, live in Dubai and are on Nantucket only in August, so there would be no danger of interrupting anyone at home.