Main Street has many comfortable seats on a Sunday morning. The dramas and excitement of Saturday night have washed or rolled down the cobbles, and Sunday morning comes gleaming up the harbor. It dapples the bricks through the elms, reflects off the gallery windows, and lights up my coffee cup. The air is cool and clear, the traffic light, and the parade interesting. 

The traffic doesn’t come in and out of the elementary school as it used to. Parents are spending an extra moment or two with the kids, hoping that they remember how to smear blood on themselves and play dead if the moment occurs. The building has so many doors, so many windows, and hasn’t become the hard target that all of the good schools aspire to be these days.

Not all that long ago, when I believed that my parents would be hosting the holidays for the next few years at least, a question was pressed into my chest. “So,” my uncle asked. “What is it like on Nantucket in the winter.”

Like anyone who has one foot on island and one foot on shore, I had developed a series of responses to this question. Always aware of an opportunity to be an embarrassment and an outrage to my father, I had several samples of island life ready to present.

The sands are shifting in October. The cars depart downtown early, leaving the sidewalks to the leaves and gulls. The visitors still come to the beaches, and, on particularly warm afternoons when the sky is Canadian blue and the water rolls, the islanders will venture out for another visit. But that stretch of Nobadeer that had so many towels and bodies and surfboards lies empty. Your footsteps will stay for days.

Labor Day has crept upon us, tardy and idle. It slips up after the great tide of summer tourism has turned. Nobadeer has opened up, the waves are available at Cisco, and the surf fisherman can reclaim Madaket. Across the island, the traffic has eased. The weekdays remain crowded with pickups and vans, but you can make left hand turns on the weekends.

The storm dropped a period on the summer.

It stopped the Opera House Cup. It grounded the Rainbow Fleet. It closed the harbor. All across the world, as Jim Cantore got excited and the cone tightened, people watched the storm take aim at Nantucket.

The big red sign said “Stop! Don’t come in! Stay Outside!”

So she came in.

Lily was picking up sandwiches and drinks and cookies. Lily was wearing a darling beach coverup with tassels and little silvery beads. Her sandals didn’t exactly match, but they didn’t clash either. They were cute. And she was receiving a text.

Lily didn’t deserve to get yelled at. She thought.

They brought the Oldest Member down to the beach after his nap. He didn’t want to go.
They were all there and he knew why.
The Oldest Member was turning 98 today. The number was absurd, as is any number over 75. His mother had had the consideration to give birth during the month of August, so that his family always had a good reason to visit when the water was warm, the surf was high, and tomatoes were plump. Had the great blessed stork visited her a few months earlier, and had he been born in March, he suspected that his birthday would not be quite so well attended.