1
The puddle jumperplane dipped its wing as it approached Nantucket, giving Jess Whitmore a perfect view of the island’s curved shoreline.
White-capped waves broke against the sandy beaches, and the familiar patchwork of gray-shingled roofs spread out below.
She pressed her forehead against the cool window, her stomach tightening with a mix of nostalgia and excitement. The island looked exactly as she remembered, yet somehow smaller, as if she'd outgrown it.
The plane’s wheels touched down with a gentle bump, and the other passengers - mostly tourists and a few locals - broke into scattered applause. Jess didn't join them. She straightened her clothing instead, smoothing invisible wrinkles on her sweater as the plane taxied toward the modest terminal. The woman beside her, all Lilly Pulitzer and pearls, gave her a curious glance.
“Native?” she queried, and Jess nodded. But were you still considered a native when you’d left fifteen years ago?
The cabin door opened, releasing a rush of island air - salt and beach roses and freshly cut grass. Jess inhaled deeply,surprised by how instantly familiar it felt. Her body remembered this smell, even as her mind struggled to reconcile the confident, successful New York marketing executive she'd become with the naive island girl she'd once been.
She stood, gathering her cream leather carryon from the overhead bin. The bag - Italian, expensive, a gift from her fiancé, Julian - looked jarringly out of place against the weathered wood paneling of the small aircraft.
Much like her, it belonged to a different world.
The terminal hadn't changed. Same cedar-shingled exterior, same wide windows facing the tarmac, same faded blue benches where people waited for arriving passengers. The only new addition was a mural of Nantucket harbor painted along one wall. Jess found herself staring at it, searching for inaccuracies but finding none. The artist had captured the exact shade of the water at dusk, that impossible blue-green that shifted with each passing cloud.
As she walked through the arrivals area, she became acutely aware of her outfit - designer purse, tailored black pants, lilac cashmere sweater, and gold jewelry she'd thrown on that morning in her Manhattan apartment without a second thought. Around her, everyone wore faded shorts and boat shoes, sun hats and linen shirts with sleeves rolled up, ready for fun and relaxation. No one else looked like they'd just stepped out of a board meeting.
"Jessica Whitmore? Is that you?"
She turned to see an older woman with silver-streaked hair squinting at her by the small coffee counter.
"Mrs. Harrison,” Jess greeted, placing her after a moment. Her fifth-grade teacher, now with deeper lines around her eyes but the same keen gaze. “Hello.”
"Look at you! All grown up and fancy." Mrs. Harrison waved a hand at Jess's outfit. "Your mother mentioned you werecoming home for the wedding. Big New York career girl these days eh?"
Jess nodded, shifting her weight. "Senior marketing executive with Holland & Jones,” she said, the title feeling both important and oddly hollow here. "Good to see you again … I should grab my bags," she excused, gesturing apologetically toward the baggage claim.
Outside, the line for taxis was mercifully short. Jess wheeled her luggage to the first car in line, a battered blue sedan with "ISLAND TAXI" painted on the door. The driver popped the trunk open, his Red Sox cap faded almost white along the brim.
"Where to?" he asked as he lifted her bags into the trunk.
“101 Cliff Road, please." Jess climbed into the back seat, breathing in the scent of beach sand and pine air freshener.
The driver settled behind the wheel, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "Whitmore place?"
"Yes," she said, not entirely surprised he knew. Everyone knew everyone on this island. Or at least, they knew the older families, the ones who'd been here for generations.
"You'd be the daughter then. The one getting married next week."
Jess felt a flicker of irritation. "That's right."
"Congratulations." He pulled away from the curb. "Big wedding?"
"Small, actually. Just close friends and family."
"Best way to do it," he nodded sagely. "All these summer people with their million-dollar tent charades. What's the point? Marriage is the same whether you spend ten thousand or a hundred thousand."
Jess hummed noncommittally, turning to look out the window. The taxi wound along the narrow roads, past low stone walls covered in wild roses and beach plum.
Weathered gray cottages nestled behind windswept hedges, their window boxes overflowing with geraniums and trailing vines. It had been way too long since she’d been back she knew, but since her parents loved coming up to Manhattan to visit her, there was little need.
Everything was familiar - the same houses, the same gardens, even some of the same cars parked in the same driveways - yet it all seemed to exist in a different dimension from the sharp-edged, fast-paced world she now inhabited.
"So what do you do up in the city then?" the driver asked, his eyes finding hers in the mirror again.
