* * *
They were driving to Edgartown, to the restaurant Brandon’s mother wanted to cater Brandon and Jeremy’s wedding. Maddie asked questions about the wedding plans, but his answers all were, “I have no idea. That’s Jeremy’s and my mother’s problem.” Then he chuckled. “All I want to know about is the food. I love good food, so it’s the only thing I can relate to.”
The trip into town passed quickly, and soon they reached a sign that read:HISTORIC VILLAGE.Maddie had heard of Edgartown but didn’t expect both sides of the narrow streets to be lined with stately white colonial houses that nearly hugged the redbrick sidewalks. Many of the houses had wide, welcoming porches rimmed by perfect plantings of fat-blossomed hydrangea bushes. She guessed that most of the homes were built in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, when the whaling industry was booming and the town must have been bustling with needed services: blacksmiths, candle-makers, and dry-goods shops, instead of the present day restaurants, clothes boutiques, and surf gear retailers.
As they sat in traffic on the single lane of Main Street, the sun was bright and warm, the air conditioner inside the car hummed, and Maddie decided that the town was extraordinary. Picture-perfect, like Menemsha Harbor, but in a different-lifestyle way.
Then Brandon groaned.
“I should have taken my mother’s handicapped tag,” he said. “Actually, I wouldn’t. It’s illegal to do that.”
Maddie was startled. “Your mother’s handicapped?” Surely, it was a joke.
He flicked his eyes from the street to Maddie, then back again. “She didn’t tell you? Well, she does like to deny it. She doesn’t even use the tag when she’s by herself—God forbid that anyone would think she was not ‘tip-top.’ But, yes, Mom has a heart condition. I thought you knew.”
She flinched. “I had no idea.”
“It’s been about five years since her diagnosis. It’s controlled by medication, but she has more bad days than she’ll admit.”
“Oh, Brandon, I’m sorry. Though I haven’t seen anything slow her down in this past week.”
He snickered. “She hides it well.”
Maddie wondered if all the people here were as resilient as Evelyn, or as pragmatic as Grandma Nancy, who’d relinquished her driver’s license when she’d turned eighty. Maddie suspected she could learn a lot from islanders. More than from the journalism topics she researched for her classes.
Just then a parking space opened up catty-corner from a bookstore. Brandon quickly slipped his vehicle in.
“It’s an easy walk from here to the Lord James,” he said. “My mother thinks it’s the best restaurant on the island.”
Maddie thought for a second. Then she smiled. “I’ve heard of it. And I think I’ve met the owner.”
Brandon looked at her curiously. Then he got out, went around the front of the Volvo, and opened the door for her. She grabbed her crutches, shimmied out, and stepped onto the sidewalk with surprising agility. She might not be as resilient as Evelyn or as pragmatic as her grandmother, but Maddie knew a few things about how to cope with the unexpected.
After a short walk to a crosswalk, they went down a slight slope to the restaurant.
“Any chance of a table for two for lunch?” Brandon asked a young blonde hostess.
She studied a tablet while Maddie leaned on her crutches.
“It’s about a forty-minute wait,” the hostess said.
“Seriously?” Brandon asked.
“I’m sorry. On such a beautiful day, you’d think everyone would be at the beach. Or out on their boats.”
Maddie looked into the dining room. An expanse of windows showcased the harbor where the sun shined off a crowd of gleaming white yachts that peacefully bobbed on the quiet water.
She turned to Brandon. “We can wait. Or, I can if you can.”
“Sure,” he said. “If you want.”
Maddie wanted. And she wouldn’t mind seeing the big man named Rex who’d rescued the padlock off the shed. If he was around.
“Name?” the hostess asked.
“Morgan. Brandon Morgan.”
The hostess consulted her tablet again. “Oh, yes, Mr. Morgan. We have a table waiting for you.”
