As if on cue, the back door opened, and her father stepped inside.
He looked at her. He waited.
“I read your note,” she said.
He handed her a bag from Rainy Day, a gift shop in Vineyard Haven, and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry, Maddie. Forgive me?” He sounded like he meant it.
“Oh, Dad, of course I forgive you. We’ve all been a little stressed.”
“Alittlestressed?” Grandma called out. “Why do either of you think I spend all day, every day at Joe’s? These crippled up hands of mine couldn’t make baskets every day if my life depended on it. But the hubbub around here has been too much for this old girl. And the secrecy! I’ve known about thebaby for the past two months at least! Good grief,lookat the girl!”
All eyes floated down to the five months’ of evidence; Maddie and her father laughed.
Then she reached into the bag from Rainy Day and pulled out a soft, stuffed bunny in pastel sea-glass green—a shade similar to one she’d chosen for the bookshop.
“The woman in the store said it’s a perfect color for a baby who isn’t here yet. And look”—he pointed to the eyes and mouth—“these are hand-embroidered so nothing will fall off.”
Maddie pressed the bunny to her chest and whispered, “Thanks, Dad. It’s wonderful.”
He hugged her again.
After several seconds, Grandma interrupted. “Enough blubbering. I waited ’til we got all this out of the way before I had my breakfast. Now somebody please hand me a croissant before I starve to death.” She chuckled, though from her, it came out more like a cackle.
Stephen chuckled, too. “Go sit,” he told Maddie. “I’ll get everything. Coffee?”
“Goldenrod tea this morning, thanks, Dad. No caffeine for me.” She patted her belly, hoping Grandma was right, that their Creator had been guiding Maddie all along—no matter what Rex decided to do. If she ever got the chance to tell him what was going on.
Chapter 22
Breakfast turned into a small, but festive, party. Grandma, Stephen, and Maddie gorged on the flaky croissants while Grandma and Stephen took turns sharing tales of when Maddie was a baby: her first word (oddly, it had beenquahog, which she’d spoken clearly one summer when she was about a year old, and they were at Grandma’s); her favorite toy (a Cabbage Patch doll named Lorna that wasn’t exactly a doll for a baby, but her father had bought it and her mother had propped it up on the bureau out of reach and Maddie loved staring at it); the time when the plumber (who was at the cottage fixing something or other) had tickled her under her chin right after she’d had a swallow of creamed turnip, and she instantly upchucked (Grandma’s favorite word back then) all over him.
“A minor offense!” Maddie cried out now with a laugh.
To which Stephen replied: “Speaking of ‘minor’ incidents … and not to put a damper on the morning, but I must digress.” Then his jovial mood tempered. “While I was out this morning, I checked in at Deke’s. They heard back from your insurance company, Maddie—your accident was not minor. Your car is being totaled.”
Under the circumstances, yes, her father’s news put a damper on the party. Especially since Maddie hadn’t told them about the cracked windshield or the air bag going off or the fact that she’d blacked out for a minute. And now Stephen was understandably upset because he’d seen the car’s crumpled remains.
“Oh,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, not wanting to break their happy mood. “I guess I’ll need to buy another car. I’d better do it fast, because I think the little box I’ve been driving around in is killing my back. Not to mention that keeping it any longer would be wasting money.”
He set down his fork and got serious. “Whatever you get should be a brand-new model, with all the latest safety features—for the baby.”
She smiled.
“And safe for you, too,” he quickly added. “Maybe an SUV?” He stood up. “Wait here,” he said, as if Maddie or Grandma would be going anywhere.
He disappeared down the hall and quickly came back with his laptop. Then he started typing. “How many miles were on the Volvo?”
“A hundred sixty thousand. Give or take.”
“That’s more than I have on me,” Grandma commented, while Stephen’s fingers flicked over the keyboard as if he’d been a techie all his life.
“The car is fifteen years old,” her father continued. “Your insurance might still give you a few thousand dollars for it.”
Maddie lowered her head, her happy mood headbutted by reality again. “Oh, great,” she sneered, then jerked her chin up. “Hey! Maybe I can drive Orson. At least until Rafe’s graduation.” Then she remembered that Orson had a stick shift. “I can ask Joe to teach me to shift it. In fact, let’s get rid of the rental tomorrow. I’d rather put the added cost toward buying a new car.” When she saw Joe next, if he agreed, she’d set up a training time.
“Good idea,” Stephen said, as his fingers kept searching. “Until I have to leave, we can share mine.” Then he stopped typing, sat back in his chair, and groaned. “What with startup costs for the bookshop nearly maxed out, I think we can rule out you buying a new SUV. At least for a while.”
A pall blanketed the room as if a Vineyard skunk had waddled in.
