He gestured toward her shoes. “You out for a run?”
She swallowed. She supposed he wasn’t there only to see Rafe. Most likely, he missed her, too.
“Just a short run to the beach. I can go later.” She said “later” as if “later” he’d be gone, as if she expected he’d reserved a round-trip cab ride to and from the ferry, that he’d drive the journey of multiple hours back to Green Hills in the same day he’d arrived. “How long can you stay?” she swiftly added.
“Actually,” he replied, “I’d like to join you for tomorrow’s festivities. I’ve never been to Cranberry Day, though your mother told me stories about it every fall.”
Pressing her lips together, Maddie tried to look happy. It wasn’t often that he mentioned her mother, as if the mere word was too painful. “Well, you’re certainly in time to taste-test my Three Sisters Stew,” she said.
Then she took his arm and led him up to the cabin. And wondered how she was going to tell him that, except for the potluck tomorrow night, Cranberry Day was only for tribal members. Which did not include him.
So Rafe is serious about living here. Which means Maddie will want to live here, too. I never expected, or particularly wanted, her to stay. Why would I? I got to be ninety years old without needing to dig up the past like a load of clams, only to find out they were rotted, pecked to death by the gulls.
No. I never wanted my granddaughter to become an island girl. The risk is—always has been—too great.
All I wanted was to see her. After forty years I deserved that much. I thought if I saw her from afar that would be enough. But before I knew it, I was forced into sharing Rex’s cabin with her, talking to her, getting to know grown-up Madelyn. Doing things like trying to decipher these old recipes for her. But I’m glad I showed her some things from the past. And told her good things about her heritage. Because Stephen wouldn’t have known what to tell her.
And Maddie was entitled to know the good things.
Not the other stuff.
No. Not that.
She’s been here a few months now. Long enough to know that reality isn’t always the fluffy lies in the tourist guides.
So it might be okay if she stays a while.
As long as she never finds out.
Lucky for me, few people knew the truth.
And now they’re dead.
Except one or two. And I never did know how much they knew.
Chapter 3
Stephen set his overnight bag under what Rex had told Maddie was an oval-leafed, thick-barked sassafras tree that sat at the end of the driveway and emitted a soft aroma of root beer.
“Let’s walk to the beach,” he said. “I don’t remember ever being on this side of the harbor.”
Together, father and daughter ambled down the dusty road, their footsteps barely making a sound.
Stephen smiled as they walked. “I was never here at this time of year,” he said. “It’s quiet, isn’t it?”
Of course he hadn’t been there in the fall. He’d been busy teaching, providing for his small family, then for the second child—a brother or a sister for Maddie—that he and Hannah had hoped to have, something Maddie only recently learned.
“Grandma says fall is nature’s way of easing us into winter,” she said. “That it’s the bridge between chaos and solitude.” A couple of shorebirds chirped as if they agreed.
Stephen didn’t reply.
“Rafe’s with Grandma’s brother, Joe, right now,” Maddie said. “They’re at tribal headquarters, setting up tables and chairs for tomorrow.” The tall trees gave way to sand dunes and clusters of beach roses, their leaves having already turnedamber and golden. “And I don’t know how to tell you this, Dad,” she finally added, “but Cranberry Day is only for tribal members. Except the potluck. Grandma said they’ve been inviting their neighbors and friends in recent years.”
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
“As you said, you’ve never been here in the fall. I’m sorry you came all this way.”
He nodded. “There’s a lot I need to learn if you wind up living here for a while.”
