Rex reached over and held her hand.
Several minutes later he steered the Volvo onto the bumpy road that he said led to his cabin. Maddie commented that Joe hadn’t been kidding when he’d noted that crossing on the bike ferry was a quicker route to Lobsterville Beach.
“My grandmother’s properties are around here somewhere,” she added.
“I know. Keeping them all these years was a good investment for her.”
“Do you know how my grandparents got them? Like if my grandfather won the derby, too?” She wanted—needed—to talk about something happier.
Rex laughed. “I don’t have a clue.” Then he took a left turn onto what only looked like the footpath behind the cottage, where so many trees were shading the ground, sunlight could hardly sneak through. It might have been a driveway, though it didn’t have a mailbox posted at the entrance or a brightly painted wooden arrow nailed to a tree with block letters that read:WINSTED.
And then, there were no more trees. A wide expanse of bright afternoon sky and green grass greeted them; a small cabin sat atop a small slope, not as high as Grandma Nancy’s cottage sat up from the road, but enough so anyone inside could look out the picture window and see a car approach. Maybe off to the west, they could see the ocean when the leaves were off the trees. Rocking chairs beckoned up on the porch; a small garden ran along the front and displayed a number of bright green-leafed bushes with plump hydrangea blossoms in shades of blue. Blue like the summer sky; blue like Menemsha Creek and Vineyard Sound.
She glanced at Rex.
“Like I said, it’s not the Ritz.”
“It’s wonderful, Rex. Did your father build it himself?”
“Pretty much. But I helped. Manual labor was often my comeuppance for doing something stupid. I can’t remember the specifics as to why I was commissioned here; I did so many stupid things back then.” He smiled and shook his head, as if calling up unpleasant memories. Then he gestured toward the passenger door. “Stay put. I’ll come around and help you out. Sorry, but I never thought we’d need a ramp.”
Thankfully, though, he’d remembered to bring her crutches. Between them and his arm, Maddie made it up the four stairs and into the living room, which was when she knew that she desperately needed to lie down.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, his eyes scanning the place as if checking for a bachelor’s mess. Whenever Rafe wasn’t at college, he tended to create what her father called explosions in his room: workout clothes scattered on the floor, socks tangled in the comforter, sports gear wherever it landed. Rex, however, was an adult. A quick sweep of her eyes indicated that he also was a neatnik.
“I’ll get the food,” he added, then went back outside to retrieve her groceries. He returned in a flash, set down the grocery bags, and handed over her purse. “In case you need anything in here.”
He moved into the kitchen; Maddie watched as he adeptly organized the Cronig’s collection.
“Looks like everything but the ice cream survived,” he said. “Don’t worry, though—you can get better at the Galley. It’s a quick trip on the bike ferry. Later I’ll show you how to get there from here. Right now, you look like you could definitely use a nap.”
Maddie nodded. She was too tired to tell him she already knew about—had, in fact, been on—the tiny ferry on the day that she’d broken her foot.
“And you can tell me anytime why you were back in the hospital,” he added. “If you want.”
She leaned on her crutches and stared at him.
He motioned toward her hand. “Wristband,” he said. “I’ve seen more than a few of those.”
She looked down at the bracelet strip. “Oh. Well, I had a little tumble over the railing at the restaurant on the cliffs. Nothing much.”
He set down a small bag of apples. “Huh. I heard that rumor, but it was hard to believe. Like falling down a sand dune and breaking a foot. I don’t think anyone’s done that one, either.”
Though she had no excuse for her broken foot, she could have told him that her tumble down the cliffs was because she thought Rafe’s life was in danger. But because Maddie disliked being dramatic, she simply said, “I guess I’m just a trailblazer.”
He laughed. “Let’s hope not.” He closed the refrigerator door and put both hands on his hips. “And you sure you’re okay?”
“I am. I was in a coma for a couple of days, thanks to a small head injury. While I was sleeping, they gave me a new cast. But I’m fine now. Honest.” She smiled as if that would prove it.
“Okay, then. Go. Rest. Take the guest room in the back. It’s not used very often, so it’s probably cleaner. And maybe quieter, if anything could possibly get quieter around here.”
She started to navigate toward the bedroom when he said, “And the bathroom’s between the two bedrooms—you probably figured that out. Do you need any help getting”—he paused—“into bed?” His voice went tentative; perhaps he was embarrassed.
Sheeesh, she thought.Men. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Okay, but if you need anything, shoot me a text or call. I hope you kept my number in your phone.”
“I did,” she said a little shyly, as if she was embarrassed, which she was. She headed to the guest room, sat on the bed, and parked her crutches next to it. And Rex was right behind her, standing in the doorway.
