For years, Rafe and Maddie had been Stephen’s only family. Other than a few distant cousins scattered in other states who communicated solely through tedious holiday letters, Stephen had no other relatives. And though he’d reconciled—sort of—with his mother-in-law, Grandma Nancy, last summer, he’d made no overture toward visiting again.
Maddie sighed. “Not counting a few long-ago memories, I’m afraid your grandfather has no reason to move here.”
“But he’d have us.”
“True. But let’s take it a step at a time, honey.” She looked out the side window as the up-island countryside glided past. She wasn’t sure how to tell her son that she couldn’t picture her reserved, white-shirted father—in his dress pants and leather slip-ons—relaxing on the Vineyard for more than a few days at a stretch. The closest he’d come to softening his sports-jacket-and-tie image that he’d had in the classroom was to dismiss the tie. Even now, he remained a long way from collarless, casual, denimed.
Rather than elaborating, she added, “It’s hard to imagine him being happy here, Rafe. The same way I can’t picture Grandma Nancy being happy in Green Hills.” She didn’t add that, as hopeful as she was that she’d remain there as long as Grandma was alive, Maddie also knew that one day her father might need looking after, too. With luck, the situations would not overlap one another.
Rafe laughed. “I get it. But you raised me to ‘never say never’ if I really want something.”
“That I did,” she said.
After they passed Alley’s General Store, she directed him to go right; they soon reached Morning Glory and bought more things than they needed, including a cranberry-apple pie and a jug of cider. Once on the road again, Rafe asked if they could stop at Grandma’s cottage so he could see how the restoration and renovations were progressing.
“Only if you tell me you meant it when you said you want a girlfriend who can carry our Indigenous line.”
“I meant it. If you think it would be good.”
“I think it would be wonderful. As long as you don’t base your decision on that alone. Make sure you’re a good match, and that you’re totally, head-over-heels, crazy in love.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask if that’s how she’d felt about Owen on her wedding day. Rafe did not need to know that her answer would have been no, that she’d mostly been trying to please her father by having his only child be married-with-children and living a life that might help him, a single dad, feel as if he’d done right by his little girl. Not that he’d ever said it.
“Mom!” Rafe cried. “This might shock you, but I’ve learned a few things about girls. And I do have a pretty good brain.”
She laughed. “Yes, you do.” But Maddie also knew when it came to relationships, bookish brains didn’t always equate to being smart. At fifteen, Rafe had been in love with Kiera, a sweet girl who attended public high school and whose parents owned a luncheonette in town where Kiera worked on weekends. Maddie once thought one of the good things about the small town was that kids were protected. True, Green Hills was a college town, but other than an occasional uproar during finals week, it was peaceful. Scholarly. Secure.
Kiera O’Neill had seemed like a perfect first girlfriend for Rafe. He often came home on weekends from Deerfield, where Owen had ensconced him at the noted academy. OnSaturdays, after the luncheonette closed at three o’clock, the young couple walked down Main Street, holding hands, as if they were in a G-rated film. They stayed together throughout high school until Kiera’s graduation, when she told Rafe she was pregnant. Or rather, that shehadbeen pregnant, but her mother had taken her to have an abortion because Rafe “would leave for Amherst soon,” “would rarely be home,” and “would most likely find another girl, a college girl.” With Kiera pegged for the local community college, her mother had predicted that her daughter would end up “being heartbroken, anyway.”
Rafe was the one who’d been heartbroken. He left for college and, other than Christmas break, avoided going home. One night he told Maddie he kept hoping to hear from Kiera, saying she was sorry, that they’d get back together. There would be plenty of time for them to marry and have many kids, maybe even adopt one to make up for the one she hadn’t had.
That was what he’d hoped.
Knowing her son was sensitive, yet strong, Maddie knew Rafe would weather the storm. And he did, though not until the end of his college freshman year when he came home and found out Kiera was married to a young man from North Adams who worked in the IT department at the art museum.
Rafe said he hadn’t known that she even liked art.
Maddie refrained from pointing out that one thing had nothing to do with the other.
After that, he claimed to date “now and then.” In his junior year he was with a sophomore girl (whose name Maddie couldn’t remember) for a few months, but she dropped out of Amherst because she said she wanted to travel (though he later learned she’d flunked out). Rafe weathered that, too, but Maddie knew it was more like a rainy day than the Arctic blast of a Kiera-storm.
Tipping her head against the headrest now, she closed her eyes to the hum of the engine with her son adeptly at the helm. She decided that because he’d pronounced his brain as “pretty good,” she’d let him find the way back to Menemsha.
And that’s what he did, without assistance from his mother or GPS. Or from a girl from Green Hills or Amherst or anywhere else.
It wasn’t long before they reached the cottage.
Once inside, Rafe let out a whistle. “Wow. It looks different.”
Though severe fire damage had been confined to the kitchen and living room, Maddie—with Grandma’s blessing—had decided to update much of the 1940s-era abode. New windows were in place; Sheetrocking would start in a few days. It would be a while before painting, light fixtures, and the grand finale, new furniture, would wrap up the goal of creating an old-but-brand-new home. For now, they had to dodge a sea of tarps and scaffolding and use their imaginations to envision the finished product.
“It won’t be dark and gloomy anymore,” Maddie said.
“Grandma’s gonna love it,” Rafe added.
Though, technically, Nancy was Rafe’s great-grandmother, he, too, simply called her “Grandma,” because it was easier. Besides, he’d never known his real maternal grandmother—Maddie’s mother, Hannah—who’d been killed by a hit-and-run driver when Maddie was only five. As for Owen’s mother, Rafe called her by her first name, Suzanne, because that was what the self-proclaimed socialite preferred.
“Grandma told me to pick out whatever I wanted for paint and furniture and anything else I thought needed replacing,” Maddie said. “She said it will be mine ‘one of these days,’ so I might as well have it how I want. Meanwhile, I hope you’re right by thinking that she’ll love it.”
“Are you kidding? Look how the sun’s coming in,” Rafe said, moving into the living room that offered a big view of the water—and would, as a bonus, showcase every acclaimed Menemsha Beach sunset.
