Since Izzy had known this was coming, she had a big Toblerone bar in her bag. “What you did wrong was to be born smarter and more talented than Eric. You intimidated the hell out of him.”
“I didn’t,” Alix said as Izzy opened the chocolate and they took a seat at a table. It was still early in the season so the big boat wasn’t packed with people. “I was always very nice to him.”
“Yeah,” Izzy said. “You were. That’s because you didn’t want to hurt his teeny tiny ego.”
“Come on,” Alix said, chewing. “He and I had some great times. He—”
“He used you!” Izzy’d had to stand back and watch Eric cuddle up to Alix while she practically did his work for him. All the other males in their classes were intimidated by her. Her father was a successful architect, her mother a celebra
ted writer, and, worse, Alix’s designs won every competition, every prize, and were praised by the entire school. “And what did you expect from him when you were always in the top five in your class? I thought Professor Weaver was going to kiss your feet when he saw your last project.”
“He just appreciates designs that can actually be built.”
“Well, duh. That thing Eric designed before you started helping him couldn’t have been put together by the crew that built the Sydney Opera House.”
Alix gave a small smile. “It was rather like a spaceship, wasn’t it?”
“I expected it to go into orbit at any second.”
Alix seemed to be recovering but then her eyes turned sad again. “But did you see his date at the farewell party? She was barely twenty, if that.”
“Go ahead and say it,” Izzy said. “She was dumb. Really stupid. But that’s what Eric needs for his fragile ego. To make him go up, others have to come down.”
“I don’t know if you’re a therapist or a guru.”
“Neither. I’m a woman and I see things. You’re going to be a great architect and the only way you’re going to find love is with a man who is in a completely different field.” She was speaking of her own fiancé, who sold cars. He didn’t know Pei from Corbusier from Montgomery’s latest organic masterpiece.
“Or I could find an architect who is so good he isn’t intimidated by me,” Alix said.
“Frank Lloyd Wright is dead.”
Alix gave another small smile and Izzy was encouraged to change the subject. “Didn’t you tell me there was a man living in the guesthouse of where you’re going to be staying?”
Alix sniffed as she bit into a chocolate muffin Izzy had bought for her. “The lawyer said that Miss Kingsley’s nephew is staying there and that he can answer any questions I have. Or if the house needs repair he can do it. He’s called Mr. Kingsley.”
“Oh.” Izzy’s voice showed her disappointment. “If Adelaide Kingsley was ninety-something when she died, that means her nephew is at least sixty. Maybe he’ll give you a ride on his electric scooter.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m trying to. Is it working?”
“Yes,” Alix said, “it is.” She looked toward the snack bar. “Do they have any chocolate chip cookies?”
Groaning, Izzy silently cursed Eric the ex-boyfriend. As she went to the counter she muttered, “If I gain weight, I’m going to put hair gel in all his glue. His models will fall apart.” She was smiling as she took four big plastic-wrapped cookies out of a basket and paid for them.
By the time the ferry docked, Alix had stopped crying, but she still looked like a martyr about to be led to a stake.
Izzy, full of cookies and hot chocolate—she couldn’t let Alix eat alone—had never been to Nantucket and she was looking forward to seeing the place. With their big leather bags (gifts from Victoria) over their shoulders, they stepped onto a long, wide wooden wharf. Little shops that looked like they used to be fishermen’s shacks were filled with shirts with tasteful logos of Nantucket on them. She would have liked to stop to buy her fiancé some caps and sweatshirts but Alix was plowing on, chin up, eyes straight ahead, looking at nothing, just walking.
Izzy saw some kids come around a corner, ice cream cones in their hands. Maybe if she could get Alix settled with a cone, she could do some shopping.
“This way!” Izzy called and Alix followed her. There was a little ice cream place on the edge of the wharf and Izzy sent Alix inside. “Butter pecan for me,” Izzy said.
Numbly, Alix nodded and went inside.
Izzy took out her cell phone and called her fiancé. “Not good,” she said in answer to his question. “And I don’t know when I’ll be back. The way she is now, she’ll climb into bed and never get out. I know,” she said. “I miss you too. Uh-oh. Here she comes. Oh, no! She’s bought herself a cone with three scoops of chocolate on it. At the rate she’s going she won’t need the ferry to get back. She’ll float. I think—”
Izzy broke off because a man walked between her and Alix. He was tall, a little over six feet, broad shouldered. He had a rough, graying beard and a tangle of hair that reached almost to his shoulders. He walked with long strides, and his jeans and denim shirt showed his toned body. He glanced at Izzy, seemed to dismiss her, then looked at Alix, who was walking toward her friend, her hands filled with two ice cream cones. He looked Alix up and down, seemed to hesitate for a moment, as though he were going to speak to her, but then he walked on and disappeared around the corner.