He put his feet in. It was really, really cold. But shit, it might feel good to go in after that drive. Wash off four hundred miles and unread e-mails and unpaid credit cards and the hours he had yet to bill this quarter right here in this bay or whatever it was.

He stripped off his shirt. He'd been eating lean, just in case anything did happen with Carla. His chest was pale but if he tensed up there was a pretty creditable six-pack for all to admire. The sun felt so great on his back. He could go in wearing his boxers. He took off his jeans and laid them on a rock. Or he could go in without his boxers.

Nobody was around.

He stripped down to nothing and felt fantastic. Ha! This little towel barely covers my dick, he thought, and laughed. It was possible to laugh at himself here in Maine. He wrapped it around his waist-Lottie always liked that effect; she said he had swimmer's shoulders, and she was right-and walked out a long way to the water's edge. Clearly low tide. Jon hadn't thought about tides since he was a kid.

He dropped the towel on a rock, ran through the shoals, and dived in.

"Jesus Christ!"

A small wave lapped at him.

"Fuck! It is fucking cold!"

He was puffing like a whale, making terrible noises. But Jesus, it was like ice. Why would anyone swim here?

"Whoo!" He ducked his head under and threw it back. Cold cold cold! But God he felt good. He splashed his arms and puffed some more. He was a sea monster in the icy water. He was a kraken. "Release the kraken!" he roared, and splashed some more. "Release the kraken!"

As Jon ducked his head in and out of the water again, he noticed someone on the shore. Not Lottie and not Ethan. A man. A man in a blazer?

The man in the blazer was sitting on Jon's jeans and shirt on the rock. He looked very comfortable. Jon had been in for two minutes and his teeth were starting to chatter. Then the blazer man spotted Jon's towel at the edge of the water. He headed deliberately toward it. "Hey!" Jon called out when he picked it up. "Hey-that's my towel!"

Either his voice didn't carry or Blazer did not care. Blazer did not let go of the towel.

"That's my towel!" Jon cried out with a note of alarm, which sounded babyish, even to him. He was freezing now but he kept treading water. He wanted to get out and he wanted his towel. How long till hypothermia set in? Would he die here? Would he be a dead kraken?

"Yo!" Jesus, will he ever go?

The man folded the towel neatly, put it over his arm, and placed it and the rest of Jon's clothes far from the water. Nice of him, but who gives a shit if my towel's a little wet? Blazer man turned to head back to the path and Jon started stomping out of the water. I don't give a flying fuck if the old codger sees me. It'll be the thrill of his life, I bet, even if my balls are the size of chickpeas right now.

When the water was at his knees and the towel was only twenty paces away, a figure stood up from the rocks that jutted around the corner of the cove where Jon had been swimming-or rather, splashing. Holy Christ, had she been there the whole time?

"You must be Lottie's husband, Jon," she said in that voice of hers. It was Caroline Dester. She had a full frontal view. "Beverly!" she called to the man in the blazer. "Come back and meet our new houseguest."

Jesus. Caroline Dester was ten feet away and he was standing there with his dick hanging out. The sun was warm on his back but he was so chilled he shook.

"Oh, that must be yours," said the man-Beverly?-and he pointed to the towel, still some distance from Jon up the rocky beach. "I folded it for you."

"Thank you," said Jon. There was nothing for it now and he decided what the hell. "Jon Mellish," he said, and boldly extended his hand to Beverly. Caroline was approaching him, getting more stunning with every step. "Lottie Wilkes is my wife. And you are?"

"I am Beverly Fisher. I've taken the house for August with your wife and the others. It's a pleasure to meet you." He turned to Caroline as she approached, smiling broadly. "This is the lovely Caroline Dester."

"Ms. Dester. Delighted to meet you," said Jon. Water is dripping off my dick, and I'm shaking hands with a movie star. Shit. Fuck.

"My pleasure," said Caroline. Christ, she was cool. Eye contact only. Meanwhile, God only knows where Beverly Fisher's eyes were looking. "Lottie has said so many wonderful things about you." She had? "I understand that when you're not standing naked on beaches, you're an accomplished attorney."

If Jon hadn't been so ruddy from the swim, she would have seen him blush. Good old Lottie. "Would you excuse me while I get my towel?" he asked.

Neither of them made a move, but Beverly said, "Of course."

Of course, my ass, thought Jon as he turned up toward the house. Well, I'll give you the full show. At least I've been working out.

He took the twenty paces nice and slowly. At last he reached the towel and wrapped it around his waist. Not that it even made a difference now.

"Hope to see more of you soon!" called Caroline.

As Jon walked deliberately back to the cottage, he heard Beverly speaking to Caroline. "It has been quite some time since I've seen a naked man in the flesh." Great. Where has he seen them? "Jon Mellish is a strapping fellow, no doubt about it. No wonder Lottie married him."

Damn right, thought Jon.

Once he'd whipped into the outdoor shower at the back of the cottage and blasted himself with hot water, he was surprised at what he felt. He didn't blame Lottie; that was the oddest thing.

"Ha!" he yelled aloud. Caroline Dester just saw me naked and I was supposed to make such a good impression on her. She must think I am a moron, but I don't even care.

The Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap tingled on his scalp.

Yes, Lottie could have warned him that Caroline and Old Blazer prowled the little rocky beach in front of the house. She could have kept guard and then introduced him to Caroline when the time was absolutely right so Caroline would have (a) wanted to screw him and (b) snapped him up to be part of her legal team. But Lottie had done neither.

If Caroline wanted to add him to her legal team, she still could. Clothed or unclothed.

He laughed and rinsed the last of the gritty sand off his toes. He had been at this "cottage" for less than an hour and he already felt like a million dollars. "I feel like a billion dollars," he said to Lottie as he bounded into their little room downstairs. She was reaching up to a high shelf above the little daybed for a fleece for Ethan and a little skin showed. He grabbed her around the waist and gave her a tight and provocative hug from behind. She fit herself into his embrace.

Lottie turned around. He kissed her mouth and she kissed him back.

"I missed you," he said into her hair.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

The sound of buzz saws started at eight a.m. on Saturday, their second Saturday at Hopewell. Rose was sitting at the ancient table in the kitchen, reading a Down East magazine from July 2006. She and Lottie had decided last night they wouldn't go into the Harbor to get groceries: the Harbor on the weekends was strictly for tourists. She had planned a morning of looking out on the water and an afternoon reading the early childhood books she'd lugged here with her. She hadn't even cracked one open yet. But now this noise.

"What is going on?" said Caroline. She rarely emerged before ten o'clock. The saw was making her tense; Rose could see it in her face. Even so, every expression she had was an adorable expression, Rose thought. Even when she looked upset she looked adorably upset. Seeing her do anything was like watching a scene in a movie.

Caroline was an awfully good actress in the one film Rose had seen her in. The long, meandering one that people thought was improvised but was actually tightly scripted. She'd be good as the female sidekick in the movie of Fred's new book. She'd class up the act. "I don't know. I hope it stops soon, though." Another saw started up. "It's eight o'clock in the morning. On a Saturday."

"Et in Arcadia ego," said Caroline.

"Nicely put," said Rose.

"It was my one line in that Woody Allen movie when I was a kid."

"That was you?"

"That was me."

"Woody Allen always picks Oscar winners. Diane Keaton. Cate Blanchett." As soon as she said the words, she wanted the earth to swallow her.

"Thanks," said Caroline. Her long eyelashes lowered.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry." Very bad gaffe, Rose! Save it somehow. "You were robbed." She must have heard that a million times before. Say something honest. "It must have been excruciating. I can't even imagine."

"No, you can't," Caroline said. She was being honest too.

"I haven't seen you in everything but you always light up the screen when you're on. And you've been doing it a really long time."

"A really long time." Caroline looked in the fridge, took out nothing. "That Woody Allen was my fifth movie. Or maybe the seventh? I can't remember. We'd have to IMDb it."

"Everything's online now." There'll be no ephemera when this generation fades away, Rose thought. Historians will be so much the poorer. The saws roared again. "That noise is horrendous."

"Why are they cutting down trees, anyway?" Caroline asked. "The trees make the place. I love how you can barely see the cottages, even when they're next door to each other. I could spend a lifetime up here. Away." A noisy, bright orange vehicle clattered past the kitchen window. Even Beverly could have identified the color. "What is this about? We're supposed to be on a tranquil Maine island and suddenly we're in a construction site."

Lottie wandered sleepily onto the porch. She was wearing the Oxford cloth shirt Jon had driven up in. Swamped by the shirt, she looked even more like a child than usual. She had Robert's cottage guide in her hands. "It's the work party. That's what all the noise is. 'Do not be alarmed by the noise and activity that will begin early in the morning on the second Saturday in August.' That is so Robert," she said. "I haven't even met him and I know that is so Robert. 'It is the annual all-island work party. You need not join in, though you will be welcome. The tasks are generally divided by gender-'"

"Very Little Lost Island," said Rose.

The violent whines of the chain saws sounded again. "I hope they're only taking down the dead ones," said Caroline.

"Islanders?"

"Trees."

"Jon would love to traipse around clearing brush," said Lottie. "Super manly. I don't think he has anything like work boots, though."

"There are work boots in the hall, where the jackets are," said Caroline. "What do the women do?"

Lottie continued: "'. . . with the men clearing brush, and scraping and painting the railings of the dock, the boardwalks, et al. The women minister to the public spaces: the assembly room, the library, the teahouse.' He wrote in a newer note, though, in pencil: 'This has changed in recent years.'"

"Thank God," said Rose.

"Has anyone even seen the assembly room?" Lottie asked.

"It's where the kids play at night," Caroline said. "Up at the top of the island."

"I might go over to the library," said Rose. "I'll volunteer there and see if they'll take me, a humble renter. I think it's on the east side, over by the tearoom, so maybe this awful chain saw noise will not reach that far."

"I may go too." Caroline's voice dropped half an octave. "If it's all right with you."

"I'd love it," said Rose. She actually would.

"I'll keep Beverly away from the painters on the dock," said Lottie. "Or who knows what colors he'd choose."

"He's a good soul," said Caroline. "Even if he is color-blind."

They heard heavy footsteps in the hall. Lottie grinned. "Jon. He clomps."

"It's sort of okay to have another man here," said Caroline. Rose was still adjusting. The cottage was big, but the four of them had just learned how to get along. Now with Lottie's husband there Rose felt less ownership. It made her miss Fred more than she already did.

"Plus Ethan!" Lottie said. "He slept through the night last night. All night. In his own bed. He was still asleep when I woke up."

Rose's heart hurt. Lottie gave her a hug. "Don't say it, Lottie," said Rose. "I know you see them here."

"What is up with all this noise?" Jon walked into the kitchen already dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, but looking as sleepy as Lottie. They clearly did not get much rest last night. "Good morning."

"Buzz saws," said Rose.

"Sounds more like chain saws," said Jon.

"It's the all-island work party. You can tramp around in the woods clearing brush."

"Not my idea of vacation. Is there any coffee?" Jon asked.

Lottie explained the Beverly situation with the coffeepot. "So we're doing pour overs. Or drinking instant."

"I'm not drinking instant," said Jon. "We've got to be able to find a decent coffeemaker. We could go to the mainland today, Lottie, and buy a coffeemaker and do Maine things."

The chain saws stopped but there was a new sound. Less revving. More steady. Loud.

"Is that a helicopter?" Caroline asked. She looked pale.

"No, that's just the chain saws," said Jon. "When they're not sawing they sound like helicopters."

"I wouldn't mind escaping the work party," said Lottie. "I'm feeling more Wilkes-Mellishy than islandy today. If we drive over to West Dorset we can play minigolf and get soft ice cream and avoid the crowd in the Harbor. I can't believe Ethan is sleeping through all this." She looked over at Jon, gathered her hair up into a wild loose bun, and shook it out again.

"Let's go check up on him," said Jon. Good for Lottie. Good for them both.

"I can't stay here," said Caroline. "Rose, let's go."

"Could you hold on for a moment while I brush my teeth?" she asked.

"I think so. I'll leave a note for Beverly."

Rose used the little sink in her bathroom. These are the taps that everyone wants in Brooklyn, she thought. They looked so jolly, like jacks: COLD and WARM, they read. No false promises.

Rose went back out to the porch and found Caroline already at the foot of the stairs.

"Can we take this path?" she asked. "There's no boardwalk but I think it goes to the top of the island and then down to the other side."

Caroline was right-there was a little path in the woods that Rose hadn't noticed. It took them through a heavily wooded stretch of the island. As they walked farther from the cottage, the noise diminished. Caroline's shoulders looked less tense. She's so young, really, Rose thought. Yet she's done so much, accomplished so much. She must work incredibly hard.

A mourning dove sang its soft song. Once. Twice. "You must work incredibly hard," Rose said.