Free The Hot Flash Club Chills Out by Nancy Thayer

at the end of a long day?”
    “Is that what you want, Shirley?” Faye asked. “You could have that, if you married Stan.”
    Shirley’s face fell. She stuck her lower lip out in a little pout. “That’s mean, Faye.”
    “Why? I don’t mean to be mean!”
    Shirley heaved an enormous sigh. “It’s not like Stan and I are anywhere close to talking marriage. I’m not even sure that we’re seeing each other exclusively.”
    “Have you slept together yet?” Marilyn asked.
    Shirley leaned her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands.
    “That bad, huh?” Polly’s voice was gentle.
    “Not
bad,
” Shirley amended. “Just not
wonderful.
It’s kind of like he’s operating on a timetable. One compliment, two kisses, three touches, in, out, and we’re done!”
    “But he could still bring you chicken noodle soup,” Faye said. “Or rub your feet. He would be company. You wouldn’t feel alone.”
    Shirley lifted her head and with her fingertips, pulled down the skin beneath her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Everyone laughed.
    “Where’s the
romance
?” Shirley demanded. “That’s what I want to know!”
    “Maybe we’re too old for
romance,
” Polly suggested.
    “Oh, easy for you to say, when you’ve got wonderful Hugh in your life,” Shirley huffed, leaning back in the booth and folding her arms over her chest.
    “It’s not all romantic, believe me,” Polly retorted. “Sometimes it is, yes, that’s true. Hugh’s a wonderful lover. And he’s so imaginative and playful. When we go off on trips together, we have a spectacular time! But daily life is—
challenging.
For example, once again, this year we didn’t spend Valentine’s Day together, because his daughter had one of her intimate family dinners. His children and grandchildren always come first for him, and since they always include his ex-wife, they never invite me. That leaves me alone a lot, and that makes me fret and fume and stomp around feeling rejected.”
    “And anger gets in the way of romance,” Faye said quietly.
    “You bet it does!” Polly agreed.
    “We know too much,” Marilyn said musingly. “We’ve lived long enough to lose patience with Cinderella stories. I think
romance
belongs to the young and foolish.”
    “Well, hey, I’m
old
and foolish!” Shirley joked, a hopeful note in her voice.
    “Look!” Faye interrupted the conversation, leaning toward the window, pointing. “Land!”
    “Ahoy, matey,” Polly cried. “Let’s go up on deck!
    “Here.” Shirley took out a tube of sunscreen and passed it around.
    “Shirley, it’s only May,” Marilyn said.
    “Yes, and the sun is strong, and even stronger when you’re near water.”
    So as the four leaned on the railing, watching the island come closer, the scent of citrus and coconut drifted around them, waking up little brain cells that had been snoozing for years. There were no palm trees on Nantucket, but there were long expanses of sand, and dozens of boats bobbing in the harbor, and a stubby little lighthouse nestled on a point. Gliding past it, the ferry entered the harbor, its engines churning slowly, and they saw the town rise before them in shades of gray and lilac and white. Gold gleamed from a church steeple and spring buds filigreed the scene in pale green.
    “It’s beautiful!” Polly breathed. “It’s like another world!” Grabbing Shirley, she hugged her. “Thank you!”
    As they watched, the ferry rumbled into its slip. Chains clanked as the ramps were dropped and fastened, and the boat dipped and rose as cars and trucks roared to life and filed out onto land.
    “Time to go!” Faye said.
    They grabbed their bags, clattered down the metal stairs, and joined the line of passengers disembarking.
    And then, there they were, on Nantucket.

9
    T hey scouted the area for Kezia Jones, Nora Salter’s caretaker, who had said she’d meet them at the boat.
    “Maybe she’s over by the luggage racks,” Faye suggested.
    They followed the