"Marketing," she told him noncommittally.
“That right? My nephew's in advertising. Don't know if it's the same thing. Works crazy hours for not enough money, if you ask me." He chuckled. "But what do I know? I just drive people around this rock all day."
The car crested a small hill, and suddenly the ocean spread out before them, a vast expanse of blue stretching to the horizon. The afternoon sun glinted off the water, creating a path of golden light.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, noticing her gaze. "Don't matter how many times I see it, still takes my breath away."
"Yes," Jess agreed softly. "It does.” How many evenings had she spent watching that same view in her younger years? How many sunsets had she taken for granted?
They turned onto Cliff Road, and she felt a flutter of anticipation or anxiety - she couldn't quite tell which.
The houses here were larger, set back from the road behind tall hedges and wooden gates. Old money and new money side by side, distinguished only by the subtle signs true islanders recognized: the patina on a brass door knocker, the particular shade of blue on a porch ceiling, the way hydrangeas were arranged in window boxes.
"Here we are," the driver announced unnecessarily, turning into a curved gravel driveway.
Her childhood home looked smaller than she remembered - a gray-shingled Cape with white trim and blue shutters, its front garden a riot of spring daffodils. A wooden sign beside the door read "Whitmores - Est. 1892," the date marking when her great-great-grandparents had first purchased the property.
Before the taxi had fully stopped, the front door flew open and Jess’s mother appeared on the porch.
At sixty-seven, Marianne Whitmore still moved with the brisk energy that had made her an effective school principal for thirty-odd years. Her silver-streaked brown hair was pulled back in its usual neat bun, and she wore crisp white capris with a navy sweater.
"Jessie!" she called, hurrying down the steps. "You're home at last!"
The driver had barely set the luggage on the gravel when Marianne enveloped her daughter in a tight hug that smelled of Chanel No. 5 and lemon furniture polish.
"Look at you," her mother said, holding Jess at arm's length. "Too thin, as always. Why doesn’t anyone eat in New York? And your hair - you've cut it again. It was so pretty longer."
"Hello to you too, Mom," Jess grinned. She handed the driver a generous tip. "Thanks for the ride."
"No problem. Good luck with the wedding," he said with a wink before climbing back into his car.
Marianne was already halfway up the steps, calling over her shoulder. "Come in, come in! I've made your favorite - lobster rolls with those sweet potato fries you always loved. And wait until you see the sample centerpieces Nadine dropped off! I've been telling her hydrangeas are traditional, of course, but she brought these lovely arrangements with white peonies mixed in that she thinks you might prefer."
Jess stood for a moment in the driveway, looking up at the house. Her mother's voice continued from inside, a stream of wedding details and questions that didn't require actual answers. The familiar sound of it washed over her, at once comforting and suffocating.
"Need a hand with those?"
Her father appeared in the doorway, Jackson Whitmore’s tall frame slightly stooped now, his beard more salt than pepper. He had the patient, weathered look of a man who'd spent decades married to a human hurricane and had long ago learned to find calm in the eye of the storm.
“Hey Dad,” Jess said, her voice softening. She abandoned her luggage to climb the steps and hug him. He smelled the same - pipe tobacco and the cedar blocks he used in his closets. His arms went around her, strong and steady as they'd always been.
"Welcome home, kiddo," he murmured into her hair.
Inside, Marianne was already arranging china on the dining room table. “Jackson, bring Jessica's bags up to her room, will you? And honey, you must be parched after that flight. I have fresh lemonade, or would you prefer iced tea? I also told that friend of yours we absolutely must have the scallop appetizers, and I wasn't sure about the beef option either - couldn’t you have used a professional instead of Nadine Pike? What does a housewife know about wedding planning?”
Jackson caught Jess's eye and rolled his own heavenward, a subtle gesture that made her smile despite the tightness in her chest. He hefted her suitcases and headed for the stairs while Marianne continued her monologue without pausing for breath.
"Mom," Jess interrupted gently, "can I just have a minute to catch my breath? It's been a long day."
Marianne blinked, then nodded. "Of course, darling. You must be tired. Go freshen up, and we'll talk over dinner. We have so much to discuss!”
Jackson set her bags down in the hallway and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "She's been like this since you guys set the date," he said quietly. "Brace yourself for a whole week of wedding talk."
"I know," Jess smiled fondly. "I can handle it."
I think,she added silently.
2
