Maddie told him about her transportation dilemma.
Joe pondered it for only a few seconds. “Can you get a ride up to my place?”
“Probably.” If Kevin wasn’t around, Dave might be at the bookshop. If not, she could always call a cab.
“Well,” Joe said, “Orson’s up there. Keys are in the kitchen on top of the fridge.”
“She can’t drive a stick shift,” Grandma’s voice squawked in the background.
There might have been another option, but Maddie didn’t have the patience to think about it then. If it was either drive Orson or spend the day traipsing around with the meter of a taxi click-clicking, she’d pick Orson. How bad a stick-shift driver could she be?
“Tell Grandma I’ll be fine. It’s straight down State Road with only a couple of turns. I’ll take good care of the old guy. And maybe tomorrow you’ll have time to give me a thorough run-through? I’d like to use him until Rafe gets here.”
Joe said it wouldn’t be a problem because, with sweet Joe, not much ever was.
After hanging up, she grabbed her things and headed out the front door to try and get a ride to Joe’s. But as she dashed out the door, something caught her eye. It was white. It was tucked partway under one of the granite steps. AndMADDIEwas printed on the front.
With her hand starting to shake, she grabbed the envelope, tore it open, and pulled out the expected sheet of paper. It didn’t take long to read the message:
LAST CHANCE.
Her legs wobbly, her heart racing faster than it should have, Maddie shoved the note into her purse and briskly trekked down to the bookshop where, luckily, Dave was hard at work. Kevin wasn’t there; Dave said he had “stuff going on today.”
She didn’t take the time to wonder if that meant he andTaylor planned to greet Rex at the boat. It didn’t matter; Maddie would be there, come hell or high water—as high as that which, on occasion, flooded Five Corners down by the ferry. With luck, an accident with Orson wouldn’t stop her, either.
Dave said he’d be glad to take her to Joe’s. On the way to Aquinnah, she asked if he would wait until she felt sure that she could safely drive the stick.
As expected, the back door to the house was unlocked; the key to Rafe’s shiny red pickup was right where Joe said it would be. When she went back outside, Dave already sat on the passenger side of the pickup; he said he’d decided to review the gears with her.
Orson started up right away and hummed like a new top. Dave directed Maddie to go out to the road and up to the circle by the lighthouse; he said it would be good practice.
His idea turned out to be essential; she ground every gear, her stomach lurching in tandem with each misstep on the clutch. Or maybe the lurching was due to the new note in her purse.
After fifteen or twenty minutes, and Dave’s patient instruction, the grinding eased; she made it around the loop from the lighthouse to the shops at the Gay Head Cliffs, around to the Aquinnah Cultural Center, and down to the restrooms in pretty good time without many mistakes. She repeated the trip a second, and third time. After the fourth, she drove back to Joe’s with confidence.
And Dave said she’d do fine.
She thanked him for his impressive tutorial, said goodbye, and started off to the hospital, firmly expecting that Dr. Mason would say not only was Maddie too old, but also her blood pressure was too high to give birth to a healthy baby. And that she was sorry, but because she was pregnant there wasn’t much she could do to stop Maddie’s trembling.
Maddie hated that she seemed to need having something to worry about.
She drove so slowly—with only two or three missteps—that she didn’t make it to the hospital until twelve fifteen. Plenty of time to call Brandon, because the time had come. She parked the truck and picked up her phone.
After two rings, his voicemail kicked in.
“This is Brandon Morgan. I am out of the country on business; I’ll return the last week of April. If this is urgent, please contact my law partner, Heather Goodwink, at our regular office number. Otherwise, leave a message, and I’ll try to get back to you in a day or two. Thanks for your patience.”
Maddie disconnected; a sound like agrrrrose up from her toes. She would not leave a message. Brandon couldn’t help if he was in Montreal.
Once inside the hospital, Maddie found Dr. Mason’s office. It was only twelve thirty. Though she hadn’t had lunch, she wasn’t hungry. But once seated in the waiting room, she was able, oddly, to relax. Which wasn’t easy, since two other patients there were both very much pregnant and might have been Maddie’s age—if their years were added together. They no doubt presumed she was there for perimenopause pamphlets. After all, her once gleaming black hair now showed a strand or two of silver.
“Madelyn?” a woman’s voice from across the room called.
Maddie stood and followed the woman down a hall and into a tiny examining room. After a few standard welcoming checks—BP, temp, pulse rate, et cetera—another woman appeared: She wore a white coat and a smile and didn’t look much older than the duo in the waiting room. She introduced herself as Dr. Mason.
“So,” the doctor said once the formalities were done, “you’re expecting.”
That’s when Maddie bit her lip, lowered her chin, and no longer was relaxed.
