"Sounds kinda complicated," he stated, chuckling.
"It can be," Caroline nodded, finally spotting her escape as the island grew larger on the horizon. "Excuse me, I need to gather my things before we dock."
She retreated from the railing, moving toward the enclosed cabin where she'd left her carry-on bag. The ferry was crowded with a mix of spring tourists in bright vacation clothes, islanders heading back from the mainland - but not many business types like herself. Though not surprising for a weekend perhaps.
Caroline navigated through them with easy precision, avoiding eye contact that might invite further conversation.
Inside the cabin, the air was warm and smelled of coffee and salt. She claimed her bag - a sleek gray hardshell case selected for its practicality rather than style - and found a seat by the window. From here, she could watch Nantucket come into focus while mentally reviewing her plan.
Step one: Check into the White Elephant, the hotel she'd selected for its business amenities and proximity to downtown.
Step two: Visit her aunt, assess her condition firsthand.
Step three: Review the shop's financials and operations.
Step four: Identify potential exit strategies for the business and discharge any liabilities.
Step five: Ensure all legal documents were in order for expected eventual sale.
Clean exits. That's what she specialized in, and what she could offer her aunt in these final stages. Not emotional support - Caroline had no talent for that - but practical solutions. A weight lifted from Ellen’s shoulders, knowing that her affairs were in order.
The island grew larger in the window, its contours becoming distinct. Low bluffs lined with expensive homes, their gray shingles uniform against the backdrop of an impossibly blue sky. The harbor came into view - sailboats bobbing at their moorings, fishing vessels tied up at the commercial wharf, the white buildings of downtown gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Caroline had to admit it was beautiful, in a quaint, though impractical sort of way. The kind of place that existed primarily as a fantasy for wealthy urbanites, a picturesque escape from reality. She wondered how people actually lived here year-round, especially during winter when the tourists disappeared and the ferries ran on reduced schedules. What did they do? How did they survive economically?
She imagined her aunt in this setting - patient, perceptive Ellen, according to memory. Running her small bridal shop for decades, apparently content with the limitations of island life. It seemed incomprehensible to Caroline, who measured her success in quarterly targets and year-end bonuses.
The ferry's horn blasted, signaling their approach to the dock. Caroline gathered her belongings, straightened her blazer, and performed a quick final inventory: portfolio, suitcase, phone, wallet, keys. All present.
As the ferry maneuvered toward the dock, the engines shifted pitch, the vibration beneath her feet changing from a steadyhum to an irregular rumble. Caroline braced herself against the seat, annoyed at the momentary loss of control. This was why she preferred planes to boats - the efficiency, the predictability, the lack of constant movement. But much to her annoyance, all weekend flights to the island had been sold out. An important detail she annoyingly hadn’t foreseen.
Through the window, she could now make out individual figures on the wharf - dockworkers ready to secure the ferry's lines, taxi drivers waiting for passengers, people waving to arriving friends and family. So different from the city’s anonymity, where people moved past each other without acknowledgment, each focused on their own trajectory.
The ferry bumped gently against the rubber bumpers of the dock, and the engines cut to idle. Around her, passengers began to stand, collecting bags and children, phones and forgotten sweaters. Caroline remained seated, waiting for the initial rush to subside. She'd learned long ago that patience in these situations ultimately saved time - better to wait one minute than to spend five in a crowd moving at the slowest person's pace.
When the cabin had cleared sufficiently, she rose, straightened her skirt, and made her way toward the exit. The deckhand from earlier caught her eye as she passed.
"Hope your aunt feels better soon," he said. "Tell her that Joe from the ferry sends his best."
Caroline nodded, filing away the name in case Ellen asked about the journey. These small courtesies could be navigated like any other professional interaction - acknowledge, respond appropriately, move on.
Outside on the deck, the spring air was cool, heavy with salt and the faint scent of diesel, even though sun beat down from a clear sky, its brightness magnified by reflection off the water. Caroline squinted slightly, wishing she'd brought her sunglasses from her bag before exiting the cabin.
The metal gangway clanged under her heels as she descended to the wharf. Each step brought her closer to the reality of her task - not just the practical aspects she'd outlined in her plan, but the emotional complications she'd deliberately avoided considering.
Ellen was dying. The shop would need to be readied for sale. And Caroline, who specialized in clean solutions, would have no choice but to navigate the messy, sentimental waters of family obligation.
5
As Caroline’sfeet touched the solid wood of Nantucket wharf, she straightened her shoulders and tightened her grip on her portfolio. Then navigated the crowded wharf like a slalom course, sidestepping a group of tourists arguing over their ferry tickets, maintaining a careful distance from the fishermen hosing down their equipment, her movements brisk and purposeful. The briny scent of seaweed and fresh catch hung in the air, mingling with sunscreen and the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle growing wild along the edge of the parking lot.
The taxi line stretched far longer than she'd anticipated. Caroline assessed the situation quickly, noting the number of waiting passengers, the rate at which cabs were arriving, and calculating her wait time at approximately twenty-two minutes. Inefficient. She stepped out of line, adjusted her course, and pulled up the maps app on her phone. The hotel was only a twelve-minute walk. She preferred walking anyway - it gave her time to think, to assess, to prepare.
She set off toward town, her carry-on rolling smoothly behind her. Straight Harbor View Lane to Main Street, thenright on North Beach Street to the hotel. Simple, direct, efficient - the way Caroline preferred all things.
The pier gave way to a cobblestone street lined with shops. Her heels caught occasionally between the stones, forcing her to adjust her stride - another inefficiency, another small irritation. Women in flowing dresses and trainers moved past her with ease, their footwear far better equipped for the uneven surface. Caroline noted this adaptation to local conditions with clinical interest rather than envy.
She passed a series of small boutiques, each with hand-painted signs and artfully arranged window displays. A cheese shop with wheels of something local stacked in the window. A bookstore with titles arranged by color rather than author or genre - an organizational choice that made Caroline's eye twitch slightly. A children's clothing store featuring tiny Nantucket red shorts and miniature boat shoes.
