Maddie swallowed. Hard. Her special place, her secret hideout, her playroom filled with dolls and toys, a cot, and an old seamen’s chest was now gone. The only access had been through a tiny door inside her mother’s bedroom closet; the only light had leaked through a single round porthole.
Slowly, Maddie looked to Joe, hoping he would answer Grandma’s question.
After gathering his thoughts, Joe tactfully said, “Sorry, Nancy. But with the tiny door through the closet being so small, and the porthole not big enough to use as an egress, the hobbit house wasn’t up to today’s safety codes. The town made us take it down. When we came up with the design for a safer, beautiful addition, they were thrilled.” He smiled broadly and held out his hand. “Come with me and see for yourself.”
Poor Joe, Maddie thought. He’d had nothing to do with the changes (they’d been her decision alone), but he was willing to take Nancy’s heat over the outcome.
Another moment elapsed before Grandma decided to let her brother lead her down the new hallway, created out of what had been her mother’s closet, where passage into the hobbit house once was. Now, however, the hall led to the big, sunny new bedroom.
Grandma stood in the doorway and didn’t move, her body as rigid as the statue of the swordfish harpooner that stood high on the dunes down by the beach. She stared at the wrought iron, queen-size bed Maddie had bought and the white downcomforter that was certain to keep Grandma warm in winter, no matter how hard the coastal winds blew.
But as Joe edged Grandma into the room, her face crinkled into what looked like balled-up waxed paper, her eyes pitching from one side to the other.
In addition to a long, double dresser—also of white ash, also custom-crafted on Chappy—matching nightstands stood on either side of the bed. Extra storage space came with a walk-in closet. And a peaceful rocking chair upholstered in a print of blue hydrangea blossoms sat in the corner by the picture window that looked out to the backyard toward Menemsha Beach and the tranquil water of Vineyard Sound. Next to the chair Maddie had set one of Nancy’s original, handwoven baskets, complete with recent editions of print magazines her grandmother favored.
“It’s for you, Grandma,” she said tenderly. “And look, you have your own bathroom with a walk-in shower.” Maddie walked to the bathroom and motioned toward the space for which she’d spent days and then weeks choosing perfect combinations of white and burnished silver, accented by sea-glass-green painted walls and thick, pale blue towels. A small pot of almond-scented, cream-colored blossoms of meadow-sweet sat on the vanity because she’d read that the herb thrived in moist areas. In small doses, it also made a wonderful tea for settling stomachs—which Maddie could have used right then.
“Very pretty,” Grandma said at last. “It looks like a picture in one of my magazines.” She said it as if she were the owner of several magazine publishing firms, much the way Maddie’s father referred to “his game shows” as if he were the producer.
In any event, hope sparked that Grandma loved her new space.
But as Maddie moved to hug her, Nancy shook her head.“But I want my old room back,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I hope my bed with the squeaky-springs mattress met with the town’s approval, because there’s no way I’ll sleep on one of these fancy things.” With that, she did an about-face and called to Rafe, who’d been standing by the door. “Be a good boy and tell Joe you need to borrow his truck to take me back to Rex’s cabin. I don’t belong here anymore.”
She stalked off.
Rafe looked at Maddie, then at Joe.
“Take the truck,” Joe said to Rafe. “Your mother can bring me home.”
Rafe left to catch up to Grandma.
And Maddie pressed both hands to her stomach, closed her eyes, and tried to breathe. “She hates it,” she told Joe.
“Yup,” was all he said.
She could have begun a back-and-forth conversation about how-can-she-possibly-hate-it and what-on-earth-are-we-going-to-do. Instead, Maddie wandered around the room, straightened the pillows, the comforter, and other things that did not need straightening, while Joe sat in the rocker.
It wasn’t until she heard the back door close that Maddie made a decision.
“Okay,” she said. “No matter what Grandma chooses to do, I’m moving back here. If she hates this room, I’ll use it. As for her old room, if she hates the new bed, too, she can sleep on the sofa. Or, if she wants to stay at the cabin by herself, I can’t stop her. In the meantime, how about if we decorate the tree?” She was proud of herself for not crumbling.
But as they made their way back to the living room, her gaze was drawn not to the tree standing idle in the corner, but to the fireplace mantel. Carved decades earlier from a thick piece of aged oak which, according to Joe, his and Grandma’s father—Isaac Thurston—had found in Menemsha Hills, and had sawed and chiseled, sanded and coated with somethingcalled intumescent paint that was fire resistant. After the fire, it had needed some reconditioning, but, thanks to Kevin, it was back in its proper place, and now served to showcase three items that hadn’t been there when they’d arrived that afternoon: Hannah’s painting of a Menemsha sunset, the small clay pot with the daisy that Maddie painted when she was a child, and the slightly bruised, somewhat battered quahog shell.
On the floor in front of the fireplace was the paper bag Grandma Nancy had been toting. It was empty now; the mementoes—unlike Grandma—were rightfully home.
Chapter 9
When Rex called Maddie later in the evening, he said he’d love to head up-island and see how they were settling back into the cottage.
Maddie sighed. “Don’t bother.” She gave him the rundown of how she and Joe had trimmed the tree, though her heart had barely been in it. “I just dropped Joe off,” she continued, “and I’m driving back to the place Grandma hates.”
“And Rafe?”
She smiled as if he could see her. “He elected to stay at the cabin so she won’t be alone.”
“But you’ll be alone? Is that an invitation?”
Maddie laughed. “Well …” She wasn’t sure if she was ready for anyone to walk in on them. “If I went to Edgartown there’d be less chance of Grandma showing up at midnight if she has a change of heart.”
