Maddie let his monologue sink in. “You never spoke to her again?”
“No.” It came out in a whisper. “I couldn’t.” He didn’t elaborate.
So Maddie simply sat there, hands still clasped together, tears spilling down her cheeks. She remembered her grandmother reading to her, kissing her fingertips, then touching Maddie’s forehead with them when the story was done and whispering the word about a cow.
Her father returned to the chair and sat. He made a soft noise, as if he’d been wounded by the emotions he’d buried in a deep recess in his mind, like the kind she’d carved out in hers. “Oh, Maddie,” he said, extending his hand, reaching for hers.
She pulled away.
After a few minutes, anger dried her tears. Yes, she thought, she was angry. She’d never thought of her father as a stupid man. Yet now . . .
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Rafe’s coming tomorrow,” she said brusquely.
“I know.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No. He’s at his father’s this weekend. And working on the river. I can leave today if you want.”
She wished she could get up and pace the way he had. Even better, go outside for a long run. She sighed. “Yes. It will be better if you’re not here. I need time to tell Rafe what’s going on. He’ll have questions; I want to be the one to give him answers. And I need to do it alone.”
Her father didn’t respond. Maddie couldn’t remember when—or if—they’d ever argued. It was painful for her; it must be for him, too.You should have thought about that before you lied to me, she wanted to blurt out.
Then he said, “I know you want to protect your son. The way I tried to protect you.”
She wanted to remind him it was hardly the same thing, because she had every intention of telling Rafe everything. She bit her lip again. “Well, Rafe’s not a child. And I want him to meet some people and experience a little of the island before I decide what to do.”
“Before you decide what to do about what?”
“My grandmother left me her whole estate, Dad. It’s worth a lot of money. Owen was right about that.”
“Oh” was all he said, his voice weak.
And that’s when, for some stupid reason, she started to feel sorry for him. Sorry he’d lost the only woman he’d ever loved. Sorry he’d made a hasty choice in telling Maddie that Grandma was dead, then didn’t feel he could reverse it. And she was sorry that she had to dismiss him now, especially after all he’d done for her and her son. Her father had made a mistake. Over the years, Maddie no doubt had made many—and, yes, some were to protect her child.
But her mistakes were not as big.
And yet, he was her father.
She sucked in her cheeks, held her breath, then slowly let it out.
“Dad?” she finally said. “Can you stay for the day? I’m not good at walking, which you probably noticed. But you can drive my car. We can have lunch somewhere. And maybe see some places where you and Mom used to go? Would you like that?”
“I would.”
She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “So would I.” He was a good dad. And a good grandfather. And she couldn’t let her self-pity override those facts. Even if the story he’d just told her was another big fat lie.
* * *
With her father behind the wheel, they drove up to the cliffs and the Gay Head Lighthouse; they browsed through the shops, which, she explained, were owned by the Wampanoags, and pointed out that most of the crafts and jewelry they sold were designed, carved, and woven by them. She didn’t add that Joe had told her those things. Then they went to Lobsterville Beach, and Maddie pointed out where her grandmother’s other properties were, and where she had tumbled.
He laughed. “Well, you did say you fell down a hill. But you failed to mention it was made out of sand.”
When it was lunchtime, they went back to the cliffs, because her father once liked the clam chowder at the restaurant there. After they finished eating, Maddie had an idea.
“Grandma Nancy had a climate-controlled storage unit by the airport,” she said. “She kept Mom’s paintings there.” She waited for him to comment.
“I’d love to see them.”
