Jogging past the harpooner through the gray air toward the water, listening to the soothing cries of the morning gulls and the restful putt-putt of a fishing boat as it chugged out of the harbor, she tried to clear her mind. But a single thought kept barging in:
Three to four.
Million.
Plus the cottage.
For a total of somewhere north or south of five.
She put her hands on her hips and exhaled a loud groan. Then she resumed her running position and continued her trek.
Not surprisingly, with the inheritance on its way, getting tenure no longer seemed as important. Which made her kind of sad. She’d worked hard to get to this point. She’d worked hard and sacrificed a lot. With a father who’d kept pushing her to do her best, to be her best, everything had been in her favor. Tuition was fully paid because her father had been grandfathered into that perk for the offspring of a tenured professor. As soon as she’d moved back into the historic house where she’d grown up, she recognized that her son felt safe and loved there, too. Plus it hadn’t been long before he was busy inspecting the many nooks and crannies within the hundred-year-old walls.
But even with everything in Maddie’s favor, it took many grueling years for her to get her PhD. In the process, she’d had too few stolen hours with Rafe, too little time seeing friends, and, God help her, less time for dating. After several futile attempts at the latter, she gave up: one man was too old; another, too young. But then came Harry Miller, who was “single, never married, no kids, a veterinarian.” Perfect. Well, not quite. After dating for six or so months, one evening he picked her up; they were going to an outdoor concert on the lawn at Tanglewood. Maddie had packed a picnic supper for them. But when she set it on the back seat of his car, she picked up a piece of paper that she thought was trash. Instead, it was a sixth-grade report card for a child named Harry Miller Jr. She asked; Harry (apparently Harry Sr.) replied. Yes, he had a wife and three kids stashed in Great Barrington—he’d “forgotten” to tell her about them.
Maddie immediately retrieved her picnic basket, told him to get lost, and resurrected the “Onward!” spirit she’d developed after her divorce. She buried her hurt and herself in her dissertation and finally reached her goal a month before her thirty-seventh birthday. And now it looked like she was a shoo-in for tenure.
Even with her hard work and her father’s connections, she’d never thought she’d be so lucky.
“Now you’re an official nepo baby,” Rafe had said when she first learned she was on tenure track.
She had no idea what “nepo” meant.
“Think nepotism,” he responded. “Nepo is what kids of celebrities are called when they get famous, too. Get it?” At the time he was fourteen, sometimes too smart for his age.
“Well, this nepo has earned it,” she said.
He agreed. Though on Wednesday nights and every other custodial weekend, Rafe was still exposed to his father’s money-driven life, unlike Owen, Rafe had a heart. She was glad he’d witnessed how much hard work it could take to reach a goal.
And now, as she made it down to the beach, only to see it was high tide—not helpful for running—she peeled off her sneakers and socks and let the cool sand cushion her bare feet. Then she walked, while still thinking, still wondering.
Could she be a worthwhile professor if she wasn’t mentally hungry? If she didn’t need to struggle to build a financial future?
Maybe she should keep her old Volvo so she’d stay humble.
Letting the gentle waves tickle her toes, she knew that, in spite of her good fortune, it wasn’t right that she hadn’t been able (or allowed?) to reconnect with Grandma Nancy. Maddie would have liked that. A whole lot.
“Madelyn!” It sounded like a woman’s voice, muffled through the cloak of fog.
Maddie kept walking.
“Madelyn Clarke? Is that you?”
She stopped. Was it Lisa? Or Evelyn? Or had someone else found out she was there? Her heart started to beat faster, while thethump-thumpof footsteps grew louder, trotting through the sand, heading toward her.
“I guess they call you Maddie.” The voice was closer, less muted now. “We haven’t met, but I think you’ll be glad we finally did!”
Just as Maddie decided she should pick up her pace, an ethereal figure moved through the remaining mist and stopped next to her.
“Cleo Cochran,” she said, extending a hand. “But call me CiCi. For my initials.”
Of course, Maddie thought. CiCi. The real estate agent Lisa had warned her about.
“Hello,” Maddie said, giving up, giving in, and shaking her hand.
The woman was younger than Brandon’s mother, but not by much. Even in the haze, her cerulean, three-quarter-sleeve top and matching capris stood out, as did the gaudy pink-and-blue earrings that dangled from the short crop of her bleached-blonde hair.
“I went to your grandmother’s cottage first. You weren’t there, but you left the light on, so I figured you came down here. Most people new to the island can’t get enough of walking on the beach.”
