Though Maddie was listening, it was hard to get past Evelyn’s comment that Maddie was like her mother—never wanting to give up, give in, or just relax. She hadn’t known that about her. There was so much she hadn’t known.
“But if you stay put and behave,” Evelyn continued, “I’ll bring you to the cottage on Saturday. And I’ll drive you to your appointment next Tuesday. And to pick up your son, if he’s able to get here, and if he needs a ride. Unless Brandon’s back by then, in which case, perhaps he’d like to do that.” Evelyn was a well-organized woman. Maddie had a sense that she’d still want to help even if a hefty attorney’s fee for settling the estate wasn’t involved.
“You win,” she said. “As long as you promise to wrap the plastic bag extra tight tomorrow so I can have a very long, very hot shower.”
“Deal.” Evelyn stood up and began to clear the dishes. “And, for the record, it’s nice to have someone need me again.” She checked her watch. “But I’ll leave you alone for now; I’m chairing a meeting at the library this morning, then I have a luncheon engagement. Before I leave, I’ll bring my husband’s walker in here; I recommend that you relocate to the sunroom, and you’ll be able to get around the house more easily than with the crutches. It has a seat, which will be good for carrying your phone or a book or whatever, and you can hang your purse from one of the handles. And help yourself to lunch—I’ve left some things in the refrigerator. Read or listen to music, but don’t spend too much time on your computer. It wouldn’t be restful. And remember to keep your foot elevated as much as possible. And behave yourself, okay?”
Maddie agreed and sipped her coffee again. She liked that this woman had been her mother’s friend. Which made Maddie wonder if this unpredictable diversion had been meant to be.
* * *
The sunroom was peaceful beyond words. A soothing buzz of honeybees wafted through the screen door on a quiet breeze, their sounds merging with the scents of the wildflowers. Maddie was reclined on the thick cushion of a lounge chair; her foot was propped above her heart, because sometimes she actually followed directions. With her laptop by her side (against her caregiver’s orders), she tried to gather the momentum to fine-tune the outline for the article she planned to write—a nonfiction piece about a woman who’d won a large settlement in a malpractice suit. Maddie had based her research on how the national story had been recounted much differently in the Northeast, Midwest, Deep South, and the West—which combined to provide a prime example of how regional media coverage often fed their audiences varied slants of the same story, based on their political and/or cultural leanings. Once the article was published she’d introduce it to her classroom.
But, before opening her laptop, and with the bees providing their sweet symphony, Maddie began to doze. And then, for the first time in many years, she saw her grandmother.
They were together in a classroom, the only classroom in a child-size, one-room schoolhouse that she somehow knew was up-island in Aquinnah. In the dream, Maddie was young; she sat at a small wooden desk with a top that flipped up, revealing a compartment where she’d stored her possessions: a pad of paper, some colored pencils, a drawing of a daisy. Best of all, her grandmother stood at the front of the room, holding a piece of chalk, then turning to the slate board on the wall and printing a single word: “wuneekeesuq.” She said it was from the ancient Wôpanâak language and was a traditional word that meant “Good day.” She then explained that because they lived on what once was Wampanoag land, it would be nice for the children to greet tribal members this way.
For some reason, Grandma Nancy was not home making baskets. She looked the same way as she had looked so long ago: she wore her long black hair in a braid, her arms and legs were long and spindly. Her cotton skirt was pretty; it had colorful beads and some embroidery. Maddie assumed Grandma had made the skirt.
Then, as she stirred from sleep, Maddie wondered if Grandma had picked that Wampanoag word to teach her because, in spite of the drama the day before, she would have a good day today.
Wuneekeesuq.
Then she woke up.
* * *
It wasn’t such a bad thing that Maddie broke her foot. It should, after all, mean she won’t be able to escape from the island easily. At least, not without help.
And she’d have plenty of time to think.
So, in a few days—or less—no matter what her condition, she might make a decision about everything.
And I can go home.
Chapter 9
Evelyn hadn’t returned by one thirty, and Maddie was hungry. After her strange dream, she’d managed to accomplish a little on her outline, which nonetheless felt good. Almost as if things would return to normal soon.
She tried not to laugh at that naive notion.
After a few practice tries, the struggle to stand up became easier; she even wheeled the walker to the bathroom without losing her balance. Buoyed by that success, she proceeded to the kitchen, where a large Post-it adorned the refrigerator door. In perfect penmanship, it read:
Chicken salad sandwich in here is for you. I put iced tea in the pink thermal water bottle. Make sure to try one of my special peanut butter cookies in the jar next to the sink!
~E
P.S. Joe, my property caretaker, might stop by this afternoon. He’ll no doubt want iced tea and a cookie, too.
He can get them himself.
Evelyn was likely sending the caretaker to check up on Maddie. Having a nursemaid felt odd; though Maddie’s dad was great at running to Whole Foods for chicken soup if she had a cold, he wasn’t a warm-fuzzy kind of man.
But now she was being, well, mothered, she supposed. Not smothered (thankfully) but taken care of.
It was nice.
After collecting her lunch, she took the long way back to the sunroom, scouting each room on the first floor, all of which were spacious and meticulously furnished and designed, a blend of old and new. The living room had a thick-cushioned, contemporary sofa that sported eight or ten toss pillows in a mix of colors and designs that complemented a number of what looked like real antiques—a pair of wingback chairs, two delicately painted porcelain vases, and, atop the mantel of a wide fireplace, a gleaming wood-and-brass clock that stood, patiently ticking, tocking. It sounded like the old ship’s clock in the board of directors’ room at the college, where Maddie had been invited to tea on a few occasions.
