Lifting her head, she glanced over at the tray Evelyn had brought her. A small teapot was on it, along with two “bedtime chocolates,” as she’d called them: once a caregiving mother, always one. And it was evident that Evelyn cared deeply for her son.
Rafe paused, which Maddie knew meant he was thinking, not because he was angry with her the way her father might be when he learned what was going on.
“But, Mom, I’m still working at the river,” he finally said.
As he’d done every summer since starting high school, Rafe was a volunteer, cleaning up the banks of the Hoosic River in the Berkshires, learning ways to protect the earth and its wildlife. It wasn’t exactly a job for a business major, especially since Owen had wanted him to spend the summer as an intern at his firm because he said it would look good on his grad school application. But because Rafe preferred to be outdoors, not in-, he’d begged Maddie to convince his father this would be his last summer to be “a kid,” and that after college was over, he’d have plenty of years to do the things he didn’t want to do.
So Maddie intervened and told her ex that a volunteer job helping the environment was trendy, and that key words like “environment” and “volunteering” tipped the scales toward a grad school applicant being accepted. Especially if, in his essay, Rafe tied it in with a goal of wanting to go into business to help the environment on a larger scale.
“If I can find someone to take my place, maybe I can get there next Tuesday or Wednesday,” he added now. “Will that be too late?”
“It should be perfect. My appointment is Tuesday. Maybe the doctor will say I can leave anytime. We could stay a couple of days here, then go home together.”
Rafe groaned. “I can’t believe you can’t drive. What about your car?”
She said she wasn’t going to worry about that yet. Then she realized she could sell it right there on the island—or donate it to someone in need. She’d be able to afford to do that, wouldn’t she? Either way, she’d never have to return. Which would be more than fine with her.
“I could take the bus so we’d only have one car over there,” Rafe continued. “Then I could drive us home in yours, and you wouldn’t have to worry about how or when to get it.”
Maddie pondered that. “The bus might take too long. You might need to go through Boston.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. But when I get there, how will I find you? And where is Martha’s Vineyard, anyway? I know it’s an island, and it’s off Cape Cod, right? So, is there a bridge?”
* * *
“My son knows nothing about my grandmother,” Maddie told Evelyn the next morning. “He doesn’t know anything about the Vineyard, either. He asked me if there was a bridge.”
Evelyn smiled. “My father told me that in the olden days when he was a boy, he went with his father to bring their catch to the fish market in New Bedford. They crossed Vineyard Sound in their canoe. They used the canoe to fish, and they used it for transportation. Later, when he had an honest-to-goodness fishing boat, he used it to get to New Bedford, too. He said it took less time than driving down-island in his pickup and taking the ferry to the mainland. When your mother and I were girls, we went with him a few times.”
Maddie set down her coffee mug. They were sitting in the breakfast room, an octagon-shaped, glassed-in space that overlooked the meadow. The sun was out; it warmed the many colors of the tall wildflowers that waved in the breeze.
“It’s bizarre, isn’t it?” she asked. “That I’m upset because my son knows nothing about his great-grandmother, when I know practically nothing about my mother, let alone my grandmother. You’ve told me more about them—and my grandfather—than I ever knew.”
“Your mom and I were raised the same way. But as I said, our paths went in different directions. Brandon’s dad went to law school to be a lawyer like his dad and his dad’s dad, and I didn’t want him to be in Boston without me. It was hard enough when we’d been separated during our undergrad years—he went to Harvard; I was lucky enough to get a scholarship to Smith.”
“What a coincidence,” Maddie said. “My son is going to Amherst, just across the Connecticut River from Smith.” She wondered if the Ivy League women’s college was where Evelyn had learned proper manners—or if she’d learned them by marrying a proper summer boy. “But you came back to the island.. . .”
Evelyn nodded. “The Vineyard was and is and always will be home. This house had been in my husband’s family for such a long time—it started as a seasonal place, but he always said that it felt like home, too. I was the island kid whose parents had little money, much like your mother’s family. After I got married, we stayed in Boston off-season, where my husband had his law practice, and where we raised Brandon. But we cherished our summers here. But right after my husband turned sixty, we learned he had lung cancer; he said this was where he wanted to be if he was going to live. Or if he was going to die.”
“Oh, Evelyn, I’m so sorry.”
The woman offered a slight smile. “Brandon took over his dad’s practice, which keeps both of us, and frankly, this place afloat. But my husband and I had a wonderful life together. Not many people can say that, so I have no right to complain.” She leaned across the table and patted Maddie’s hand. “But enough about me. You’re the one who deserves to complain this morning. How do you feel? Any pain?”
Maddie shook her head. “I took a pain pill last night, but only half of one today.” She’d thought she’d need the extra help before hobbling down the hall when Evelyn called her to breakfast. Thankfully, the “hospital room,” as her benefactor cheerfully described the guest room, was on the main floor and not upstairs with the rest of the bedrooms. Maddie didn’t want to ask if Evelyn’s husband had died there.
“That sounds like progress to me,” Evelyn said.
“Let’s hope.” Then Maddie tried to reposition her weight onto her left side as if that might help an ache that was resuming in her foot. “It would be nice if I could take a shower.”
“Your discharge papers say not today but maybe tomorrow if your pain stays under control, and if you’re not teeter-tottering from the medication. I’ll help you wrap a plastic bag around it and secure it so water can’t get in.”
“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“If my son hadn’t been halfway to Boston, I’m sure he would have come back to help.”
“Speaking of sons,” Maddie said with hesitance, “would you be able to drive me to the cottage again today? I hate to keep imposing, but before Rafe comes next week, I’d like to spend some time going through my grandmother’s papers. Maybe I can find things of hers—or my mother’s—that will interest him.” She didn’t add that it would give Maddie something to do other than stare at the walls of her attorney’s house, lovely as they were.
“Hmm,” Evelyn said. “You remind me of your mother. Never wanting to give up, give in, or just relax. Don’t worry. That’s a marvelous way to be. But I think you should wait a couple of days before you start wandering around the cottage on your own. Give the healing process a chance to begin, you know? Besides, you need to elevate that foot, remember? Also, I’d like to go with you to be sure you don’t overdo it and lose your balance. I do, however, have a few commitments in the next couple of days. They’re not critical, but they must be done.”
