Caroline Doyle grippedthe metal railing of the Steamship Authority ferry, her fingers whitening at the knuckles as the vessel cut through choppy waters toward Nantucket.
The leather portfolio tucked under her arm contained everything she needed: spreadsheets printed on crisp paper, legal documents organized in color-coded tabs, and her return ticket to Hyannis secured in the front pocket.
Two weeks - that's what she had allotted herself to assess the situation, tie up loose ends, and be back in Chicago ASAP. The salt spray misted her face, and she resisted the urge to wipe it away, knowing from experience that rubbing would only smear her makeup.
She checked her watch - a sleek Cartier that had been her own gift to herself after closing her first major restructuring deal. Two-thirty. The ferry would dock at three, giving her enough time to check into her hotel, freshen up, and make it to her aunt’s place by four.
The thought of Ellen caused a small furrow between Caroline's brows. They'd spoken only a few times in the past year, each call more labored than the last as her aunt’s strengthebbed. Their relationship had always been more practical than warm - Ellen existed as a name at the bottom of occasional birthday cards, until her father had recently advised that his sister’s health decline had begun to accelerate.
But Caroline was now executor, power of attorney, and apparently, temporary proprietor of a Nantucket bridal shop she knew nothing about. At Ellen’s request it seemed, though Caroline couldn’t be absolutely certain about that either. Her father was famed for his rigid adherence to practicalities, as opposed to sentiment.
Like father, like daughter.
The ferry's diesel engine hummed beneath her feet, a steady mechanical rhythm that reminded her of the city’s constant pulse. She certainly preferred that urban heartbeat to the irregular splash of waves against the hull, the unpredictable gusts of wind that occasionally sent her carefully styled hair into disarray.
Caroline tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, wishing she'd thought to bring a hair tie in her purse.
A seagull wheeled overhead, its harsh cry cutting through the afternoon air. She watched it with mild interest, noting how efficiently it banked against the wind, adjusting its course with minimal effort. Nature's own optimization algorithm. She appreciated that kind of elegant efficiency.
Unlike this trip. There was nothing efficient about traveling to an island she’d visited just once, to manage the affairs of an aunt she barely knew, especially not when the affairs in question involved a small business selling wedding dresses. Caroline wrinkled her nose. Her expertise lay in restructuring failing companies, creating clean exits and tidy endings. Definitely not in sentiment.
”First time to the island?"
She turned to find a weathered-looking man in a Steamship Authority uniform beside her. He had the leathery, wind-burned complexion of someone who'd spent decades on the water, his eyes crinkled at the corners from squinting into the sun.
"No," she answered politely but tersely, turning back to the horizon. "I've been once before. Years ago."
So long ago she barely remembered it - a childhood trip when she was perhaps seven or eight. Her father had been distant even then, fulfilling his obligation to visit his sister with the same detached dutifulness that Caroline now recognized in herself.
The deckhand didn't take the hint. “You look like you're here on business, not for fun.” He nodded toward her portfolio and city attire - charcoal pencil skirt, cream silk blouse, and a light wool blazer that was proving wholly inadequate against the wind coming off the water.
Caroline considered deflecting but calculated that a short answer might end the conversation more quickly. "Family business."
"Ah." He nodded sagely. "Got family on Nantucket then?"
She rolled her eyes inwardly. ”An aunt."
"Who's that then? Been working this ferry thirty years, I know most of the year-rounders."
Caroline sighed inwardly but maintained her polite expression. "Ellen Doyle."
The man's face transformed, weathered lines rearranging into an expression of genuine concern. “Ellen from Sea Glass Bridal? She's your aunt?"
She nodded, preparing herself for what would inevitably follow.
"Fine woman, Ellen. Just the finest. My daughter found her wedding dress there. Ellen spent hours with her, wouldn't let her settle for anything less than perfect." His voice dropped slightly. "Heard she's been poorly. Real shame."
"Yes," Caroline agreed, the single syllable neutral and unrevealing.
"You staying long?"
"Just a short stay. I have work commitments back in the city." Caroline checked her watch again, a gesture that usually signaled the end of unwanted conversations in Chicago.
On the ferry, it had no such effect.
"What do you do? In the city.”
"Financial restructuring." She didn't elaborate, didn't explain that she specialized in creating exit strategies for businesses that were failing or in transition. That her colleagues called her "The Cleaner" for her ability to tie up loose ends neatly, to make endings as painless and efficient as possible.
