He asked more about her career, then about Rafe, then about her father. He asked her what Green Hills was like, and if she’d liked growing up where the only body of water was a river and an occasional freezing cold lake.
She laughed and asked him to please stop quizzing her about her life because it wasn’t terribly exciting. She said she wanted to know more about him.
“Oh,” he said, “you might regret that.”
A small twinge sparked in her heart; she recognized it as her guard moving into position now, ready to lock up her emotions the way her foot was locked into the stupid cast.
“Try me,” she said.
“Well . . . ,” he started slowly, either for effect or because he wasn’t sure where to begin. “I was born and raised on Chappaquiddick, like almost a dozen generations before me. I have a sister named Taylor. I was a rambunctious kid.” One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “The island offers adventurous boys lots of things to explore. I loved to race around Chappy, chasing innocent birds and four-legged critters, and I liked riding my bike all the way to Aquinnah. My father had a plot of land there where he built the cabin.”
“Was he a Wampanoag?” Maddie asked.There,she thought, pleased that she’d asked.
“Nope. He won the land in the annual fishing derby in Edgartown.”
A small piece of her was disappointed. “It sounds like you grew up as an outdoors kid.”
“I did. Until I learned how to drive. That’s when, from time to time, I spent a few nights at the Graybar Hotel. In Edgartown.”
She frowned. “Did you work there?” She expected he’d say he worked in the kitchen, and that his passion for cooking had started there.
“Not really.” The half smile returned. “The Graybar Hotel is a reverential name for a jail.”
Maddie was startled. Was he serious?
“I got myself into a few scrapes back then,” he continued. “Nothing serious. I think my father was trying to teach me a lesson. He knew all the cops, so he had them arrest me for things like chasing squirrels with a twenty-two pistol or speeding down Chappy’s main road in January, when no one was around.”
It was kind of funny, but Maddie wasn’t sure if she should laugh. Instead, she said, “I’m surprised there’s a jail here.”
“They need a place to put miscreants like me. And ours is a classic. It was built in 1870, when Ulysses S. Grant was president. It still has some of the original, iron-bar doors with the giant lock and key. Which is why the name ‘Graybar Hotel’ is fitting.”
She took another taste of the incredible crab cake. “Basically, then, you’re an ex-con.”
He nodded. “You haven’t heard the half of it. My business partner can tell you an even juicier story that happened to me up in Boston. Not many people on the island know about that. For some reason, it didn’t scare her off from fronting the money so I could buy the Lord James. You’d like her. Her name’s Annie Sutton. She used to write best-selling mystery novels, until she got hooked into Hollywood, where she lives now and works as a screenwriter. She owns part of the Vineyard Inn, where Francine works. Anyway, we keep hoping that someday she’ll move back.”
Maddie couldn’t tell if he had more than a business relationship with Annie Sutton, whoever she was. But because it was none of her business, she digressed to the ex-con part of his story. “I don’t picture you as someone to be afraid of.”
“You haven’t seen my battle scars,” he said in a sweet, endearing way.
Then she got him to move on to happy things, like how the restaurant was doing (“Terrific”), where he lived (“In an apartment above the shop”), and if there was anything about the island that he disliked (“No”).
They ate; they talked about food, music, and films. They shared silence, too, as they lazed under the sun and watched the gentle waves. It was a perfect afternoon. Until Maddie’s phone rang in the side pocket of the wheelchair, which was still up on the boardwalk.
“Your phone?” Rex asked.
She nodded and said she’d call whoever it was back, but he’d already hopped up and retrieved it for her. But by the time he handed it off, the call had gone to voice mail. It had been Rafe.
Quickly, Maddie called back.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, “guess what? I just got on the ferry. I’m almost to Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Today?” she asked. “Now? But it’s only Thursday.”
“I got someone to take my place. I still have a couple of weeks left till I have to be in Amherst. So I figured why not surprise you? And stay there a few days? Anyway, the ferry docks in Vineyard Haven at three fifteen. If you can’t pick me up, can I walk from here?”
More than a little ruffled, Maddie said she’d arrange a ride.
“Thanks, Mom. And by the way . . .”
