Fiddling with the wampum necklaces, Maddie said, “I guess I’m in the same category. It was pretty dumb of me to think I could climb sand dunes while wearing sandals.”
CiCi smiled. It was a soft smile, a nice smile. “You get a pass because you didn’t grow up here. Pete, however, did.”
Maddie smoothed a few wrinkles from the skirt. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No, thanks. But can I fix one for you before I go? Or do anything for you?”
As CiCi stood up, Maddie spotted the woman’s orange patent heels. They weren’t exactly stilettoes, but Maddie doubted that the agent had worn them on the beach while watching the sunset. Maybe that wasn’t why she was in Menemsha. Maybe there never was a client and his wife with late dinner reservations at the Outermost Inn. Maybe she’d manufactured the excuse in order to check up on Maddie, to see if she’d made her decision. Or maybe she’d really stopped by to see how Maddie was.
Worst of all, Maddie wondered why it was taking her so long to trust people and why she was so lousy at it.
“Thanks, but no tea,” Maddie said.
“Do you have food?”
“I do. And my son will be here Friday.”
“You’re sure you can wait till then? You must not be able to drive. And as good as lobster rolls are from the market or the Galley, a person can only eat so many before getting tired of them.”
Maddie smiled. “Do you know Jeff Fuller?”
CiCi’s eyebrows went up. “Jeff? Sure. Nice guy. Nice family. He’s one of your neighbors.”
“Do you know if his father, or maybe his grandfather, owned an ice cream shack here forty or so years ago?”
She sat back down and studied Maddie. “You were here that long ago?”
So Maddie told her the story of Grandma Nancy’s deal to buy her a double-dip cone if she helped shuck corn for dinner. She mentioned her pink shorts and the T-shirt with the glitter heart that Grandma made for her, and the fact that Maddie was allowed to go barefoot. Back home in Green Hills, she’d thrown a tantrum on the first day of kindergarten because her father insisted she wear lace-up shoes.
Encouraging her to continue, CiCi ignored Maddie’s wishes and got up and made two mugs of tea.
The more Maddie talked, the longer the story became. She told the agent how her mother had died that same year, and how she barely remembered Grandma Nancy at her mother’s funeral, not knowing it would be the last time she saw her. She told her how her dad raised her alone, how Maddie went to college, married the wrong guy but had her wonderful son, Rafe, so it had been worth it. She skipped the part about getting her PhD and having tenure hanging in the balance because she didn’t want to think about that right then. She did admit, however, that she hadn’t known she was Wampanoag.
“My whole life,” she added, “I wasn’t told until now.”
Then she stopped talking. The sunset was long gone, the sky was dark with sleep.
She looked into her empty mug. “Oh, CiCi, I’m so sorry! I never intended to bore you with my life story. And certainly not to keep you so long.” She hoped the woman wouldn’t broadcast the details about her life before sunrise.
“I enjoyed it. It’s not often that someone who is—or might become—a client talks to me like we’re old friends. Usually they turn off their lights and lock their windows and doors when they see me coming.”
Maddie didn’t confess that she might have done the same if she’d seen her walk up the path.
“I’m sure it’s no consolation,” CiCi continued, “but I never knew who my father was. My mother was a hippie in the sixties. I’m not sure she knew who he was, either. Anyway, here on the island, I wasn’t the only single-parent kid back then, so that helped. I used to think—I used to hope—I was Wampanoag. I love everything about the tribe. And they’ve always been so nice to me; I liked to think they knew I was one of them. A few years ago, I got up the courage to have a DNA test. It turns out I’m mostly Scandinavian, with some Irish thrown in. Not a Native American in sight. I was very disappointed.” She pressed her lips together, as if trying not to cry.
Maddie was ashamed that she’d underestimated the woman. Like many people, CiCi had had a difficult life. But beneath her questionable style, the woman’s skin wasn’t as thick as she seemed to want others to think.
“I’m so sorry,” Maddie said.
CiCi shrugged. “To tell the truth, I’d been hoping for a genetic match, too. Like, maybe I’d find my birth father. No such luck there, either. So I decided it was time to forgive my parents and my ancestors for whatever or whoever they are or were. I’ve had a good life, ya know? And I’ve tried to be nice to everyone.” She stood up again, then picked up her oversize, shiny silver purse, and said, “I’ll leave now so you can get some sleep. Please call me if you need any help.” She offered a quiet smile, and added, “Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
And so she did.
* * *
After CiCi left, Maddie stayed at the table awhile, her thoughts returning to the eddy of small fish that Joe said was a sign that the fish were growing up. Maybe his words—and CiCi’s—were signaling that it was Maddie’s time to grow up, too. Which needed to start with forgiveness. And with reaching outside her safe cocoon and being grateful for the people in her life who’d done so much for her.
Hoisting herself from the chair, she moved into her mother’s bedroom. The first thing she did was open the door to the closet; she tried unsuccessfully to picture what had been there. She felt sad for Grandma Nancy, who had lost her only child first to Green Hills, then to life. Maddie couldn’t imagine her life without Rafe.
