Her eyes darted around, as if she were a thief. Plucking the key up from its spot, she spun, well, sort of spun, around, stuck it into the lock, and twisted it. She steeled herself, grasped the knob, and turned. The door opened.
Moving back to the table, she fished the note out of her pocket, dropped it next to the vase of flowers, and set the key on top of it. Then she went out the front door, glanced around the porch to be sure Evelyn hadn’t come out there earlier, and made her way down the front stairs.
But as Maddie limped toward the driveway, something in her peripheral vision diverted her attention. She jerked her head back to the house; in an upstairs window, she thought she saw the ghostly wisp of a curtain quivering.
She paused. She waited. But when the curtain didn’t quiver again, Maddie decided it had either been her imagination or her guilt; it hadn’t given her the same creepy feeling as when she’d thought she was being watched.
Please God, she mused.Not that again.
Taking a deep breath, she gripped the crutches with determination and proceeded to totter down the driveway toward the street.
* * *
As if to prove that miracles could happen on the Vineyard, in less than twenty minutes, Maddie was at the cottage. She’d been offered a ride by an old farmer in a pickup who was toting three sheep in the bed of the truck. He said she looked like she needed a lift; he was headed to Aquinnah but said he didn’t mind veering off to Menemsha for a lady in distress.
She decided that an old man in a pickup with three sheep in the back so early in the morning most likely wasn’t dangerous. And she’d walked far enough to know that going the rest of the way under her waning steam was not a doable option. So she started to hop into the cab as best as she could, then allowed him to get out, walk around to the passenger side, and give her a hoist.
When they reached Basin Road, he drove up the driveway to the pull-off where he helped her out, tipped his baseball cap, and told her to have a lovely day.
Even if he’d been planted by Evelyn to keep an eye out for her runaway guest, he’d been pleasant. Cordial. And not once had he asked what she was doing out at that hour with a cast on her foot and leg and crutches to boot. He hadn’t even asked her name. She felt guilty for not having asked his.
Though Lisa’s bread was now four days old, Maddie decided it was still edible. Barely. She sliced off a piece and dropped it into the toaster, then put the kettle on to boil water for the instant coffee she’d bought. While she waited for the electrical elements to do their thing, she scrounged through a couple of cupboards until she landed on ajar of preserves that wasn’t yet opened.
“A veritable feast,” she said to no one.
Because the container of cream had also made its way to Evelyn’s, Maddie sinfully added a heaping tablespoon of Vineyard Vanilla ice cream to the mug of coffee and spread the jam on toast.
After she was infused with food and drink, she got to work.
She started in her grandmother’s bedroom, which seemed the most likely place for someone to sequester details about the past.
The closet was narrow, and not very deep. Around a stash of a few plastic bins, the dusty floor was in need of a good cleaning. Shoes sat on top of the bins: a pair of old sneakers, an equally old pair of black flats, and a pair of lace-up boots made for rugged terrain, as if there was any of that there. A wooden pole ran the width of the closet and held several shirts—a few flannel, the others cotton and seersucker. A few lightweight summer dresses also hung there, as did two long corduroy skirts—one dark brown, one navy blue—and a beige cotton skirt with colorful beads woven into a diamond-shaped pattern above the hemline.
She blinked.
It resembled the skirt Grandma had worn in Maddie’s dream.
Trying not to read too much into that coincidence, she surveyed the contents of the bins: threadbare sweaters, hats, and mittens. And yet, compared with the rest of the place, the closet could be called tidy—except for several cardboard boxes, all of which seemed overstuffed and old. However, placed on a shelf that rested above the clothes pole, the boxes did look interesting, as if they might hold secrets. But in order to reach them, Maddie would have to climb up on a chair. Which would be risky, what with the cast and all.
“Damn. Damn, damn.” She groaned.
Cursing, however, did not change the situation. So she raised one crutch and poked at one of the boxes on top. She managed to get it to move . . . then it came crashing to the floor, its lid bursting off, its contents careening all over the place.
“Damn!” she said again, that time shouting it.
Which did no good, either, though it did evoke a shiver of low laughter from the living room.
Maddie froze. Had she imagined it, or was someone out there? Her eyes flashed around the room, searching for something to arm herself with against an intruder. But just as she remembered she could wield a crutch, Joe Thurston walked into the room.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said in that gentle voice of his. “But it looks like you could use a little help.”
Her first instinct was to tell him to go away. Then she remembered that, related or not, he had built her hobbit house. If Grandma Nancy had trusted him, maybe she should, too.
“I’d ask how you knew I’d be here, but I suppose there’s no need to.”
“Evelyn didn’t want to bother you. She knows that a boatload of emotional stuff has been dumped on you, so she suggested I stop by. And don’t worry—you don’t have to call me Uncle Joe if you don’t want to.”
Staring back into the closet, wishing her foot wouldpleasestop throbbing, Maddie laughed. But then, she did something she was neither prepared nor known to do: she started to cry.
