Free Nantucket Sisters by Nancy Thayer Page A

trails behind her friend, trying not to be too obvious about scanning the rooms. Thaddeus’s house is as big as this, but it’s messy, cluttered with the paraphernalia of active lives. This house is like a stage set.
    Emily’s bedroom faces the ocean, its wide windows raised to letthe sea breeze float the sheer white curtains like sails into the room. Emily’s got a canopy bed and, by the window, a white chaise next to the windowsill covered with books.
    “Okay,” Emily says, throwing open her closet doors. “Let’s see. You don’t want to be too glitzy, you need something sophisticated, which makes me think, what shall we do with your hair?”
    Maggie’s heart is thumping. She’s somehow passed through into an alternate universe, and while she’s trying to process it all, Emily starts yanking dresses off their padded hangers. Black crepe. Lime satin. A sleek crimson slip dress. A long coil of silver.
    “Emily!” Maggie can’t help exclaiming at such abundance.
    “Oh, shut up,” Emily says. “You know I have to go to all the yacht club dances. Try these on. All of them.”
    For an hour Maggie and Emily concentrate on slipping the garments off hangers and onto Maggie’s voluptuous body. They settle on the silver dress, which has a lot of give in the material and a boat neckline so Maggie won’t be seeming to flaunt her bosom.
    “If you think it’s too tight around the hips,” Emily says, cocking her head, “have your mother take it out a bit. The seams are generous, and your mother will know what to do.”
    “But then it won’t fit you,” Maggie protests.
    “That dress looks awful on me,” Emily says. “I’m so flat I look like a drainpipe in it. Now sit down here and let’s think about your hair.”
    Maggie’s thick black hair falls past her shoulders in waves. “A chignon?” she suggests, twisting her hair up.
    Emily squints. “No. No. Just”—sweeping Maggie’s hair up with both hands, she pulls it back from her face—“a high ponytail, I think. We’ll straighten it. I’ve got a silver clip to hold it back.”
    “And maybe my mom’s rhinestone earrings?” Maggie wonders. She’s always wanted to wear those earrings, long dramatic falls of sparkle.
    “No. No, that’s too much. This dress is already enough shine, and then the clip … and a touch of makeup.”
    Both girls stare at Maggie’s reflection in the mirror, the shape of her face, the slant of her cheekbones, the thick black eyelashes over arctic ice blue eyes, the fullness of her lips.
    “You’re so pretty,” Emily declares. Not giving Maggie a chance to object, she says, “ Now . You’ll need a date.”
    “I know …” Maggie’s still turning her head this way and that, studying herself in the mirror.
    “I’m hungry.” Emily tugs Maggie’s hair. “Take off the dress, come downstairs, let’s find a snack. We need energy to think about this. Come on, you must have a crush on some guy. Or are you weirder than I thought?”
    Yanked back to reality, Maggie slowly admits, “Well, there is Shane.”
    “Shane? You know a guy named Shane ?”
    Maggie pulls the dress off over her head to hide her blushing face.
    “Out with it!” Emily commands.
    “Shane Anderson.” Maggie sighs.
    Emily makes a hurry-up sign.
    “He’s eighteen. He’s tall, played football in high school. Nice, too.”
    “Handsome?” Emily asks.
    Maggie blushes red.
    “Wow. So does he like you?”
    Maggie nods. “He’s part of the group I hang out with. He’s really sweet to me … but, Emily, I don’t want to start all that dating stuff. I want to be a writer. I can’t do that if I get pregnant.”
    “For heaven’s sake!” Emily scolds. “You’re only asking him to a party with you, not having his babies. Sometimes you are absolutely unbelievable.”
    “Not everyone’s as sophisticated as you,” Maggie swipes back.
    Emily hands her the phone. “Call him. Ask him to the gala.”
    Maggie chews her lip. “What if he says