“Did I leave you enough?” she asked, prepared to apologize for having raided the last of his blueberry crop.
“Got plenty.” He tipped his pail to show a hefty mound of luscious-looking blue orbs. “I know where they hide.”
“Great. Well, happy cooking. Or baking. Whatever it entails.” She brushed back a runaway shock of her not-quite-shoulder-length hair, shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and rocked back and forth a little. “And thanks again for picking up Rafe.”
“Happy to help. Like I said, I had to come up-island anyway.” He gestured to the pail again.
“Well, my son has asked Nancy to teach him how to weave her baskets. He feels like he fits in here, so thanks for all you’ve done to help make that happen. But I’ll be sure he doesn’t designate you as his personal chauffeur.”
“Ha ha. I don’t mind. And he does fit in, Maddie. The same way you do.” The big man shifted onto one foot, and the other. Then he paused and looked at the ground. For a second, it seemed like he wanted to say something more. But instead of speaking, he lifted his chin, gave her a nice smile, and walked away toting his berries. He hopped in his truck and, as the ignition hummed, he raised his hand in a short wave. Then he deftly backed out of the bumpy, narrow dirt driveway as if he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.
As Maddie watched him go, she wondered why she felt disappointed that he hadn’t said more. Trying to shrug it off,she fixed her eyes on her footing and climbed the few steps back onto the porch.
Which was where Grandma now stood at the screen door, hands on her hips.
“He left awfully fast,” she groused, speaking her piece, as Grandma liked to do.
Maddie tried to act unaffected. “The Lord James will be busy today.”
“Well, while you two were jabbering, Rafe and I decided we’ll take a poll at the potluck about which style of baskets we should make.”
“Great idea.” Maddie offered half a grin and hoped that cleaning up the kitchen would dissolve her frustration. But as she maneuvered around her grandmother and went back inside, she saw Rafe standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes, and humming, so she refused to spend another second thinking about Rex. After all, life was beautiful, and friends didn’t always need to know what was going on in each other’s head.
And Rex was, indeed, just a friend.
Which was good, because Maddie had too much going on in her life to have room for anything more.
Chapter 2
Grandma announced she needed a nap, that she’d been up too dad-blasted early and had eaten too darned many pancakes. She teetered off to the bedroom; Maddie pitched in and she and Rafe had the kitchen spotless in no time. When they were done, she asked if he wanted to go with her to Morning Glory Farm to buy fresh ingredients for her potluck contribution.
“Corn, squash, beans,” she said as they donned zippered fleeces and went outside to her old Volvo. “The Wampanoags call them the Three Sisters; they’ve been tribal staples for hundreds, if not thousands of years. When I was cleaning out Grandma’s closet, I found her well-worn recipe for ‘Three Sisters Stew.’”
“Cool,” Rafe said. “But isn’t it late for corn?”
She shook her head and tossed him the car keys. “No. But I have no idea why.” In the Berkshires, fresh corn was gone by mid-September, but supposedly, the Vineyard often got an extra month out of its crop. She’d also heard a rumor that it didn’t get as cold there or have as much snow as her hometown in the hills. As a runner, not a skier, Maddie hoped that part was true.
From his brief stay in August, Rafe remembered the way to State Road and how to get down-island to Edgartown. They rode in silence a while, each glancing outside now and then to take in the October vistas of ocean, ponds, and rolling green land decorated with red- and gold-leafed trees and white clusters of grazing sheep. “Calendar pictures,” she suddenly remembered her mother calling the island views.
“This place is neat.” Rafe interrupted her thoughts as he wheeled the car through Chilmark and into West Tisbury.
She agreed. A moment later she asked, “Have you thought any more about grad school?”
He paused, cleared his throat, and nodded. “Yup. And I’ve decided to hold off for a year.”
Unlike Owen, Maddie rarely challenged Rafe’s point of view. Instead, she gave him space, the way her father had given—and still gave—her. Rafe’s father, however, was going to be livid. “Are you still thinking about moving here in May?”
“No,” he replied.
Her heart sank a little. As badly as she’d like to see him go to grad school, she also pictured him at home here on the island, even more than she pictured herself.
Keeping a steady focus on the road, he said, “I don’t have to think about it anymore, Mom. I made my decision to live here the day you told me we’re Wampanoag. Maybe even before then. Like when I stepped off the ferry the first time.”
Reaching across the console, she gave his shoulder a light squeeze. Then she sighed. “But if we’re both living here, what will we do about your grandfather?” Though she hoped to stay with her grandmother until, well, until Nancy died, Maddie wasn’t sure she could abandon Green Hills—or her father—forever. She liked it there. The upper floor—their floor—of the house was spacious and comfortable; each room was filled with shelves packed with volumes of books—eclectic titles of fiction, biographies, history, science, politics, art, and more.When Stephen had still been teaching, he often said his dream for his “later years” had been to have a part-time job in a bookstore. Instead, since he’d retired, he’d become hooked on TV soap operas and game shows.
She shook off that last thought.
“You don’t think Grandpa will want to live here if we do?” Rafe asked.
