Deciding that it was a perfect day to walk on the beach and think, she pulled out onto Beach Road and, instead of going up-island, she turned toward Oak Bluffs. With the sun glinting against the sky, and the air as pure and fresh as spring, she made sure to notice the flowers blooming along the roadside—happy purple crocuses and yellow daffodils that would soon be joined by rich colors of tulips. It was like that in Green Hills, though they would appear later. Nature in the Berkshireshad a slower timetable; maybe Maddie did, too. Maybe everything had been happening too soon.
Should she go back to her old life, with a newborn in tow? At least she knew what to expect. She knew the people and the place and what and whom to trust and what and whom not to.
At least the bookshop wasn’t open yet, so she’d save public humiliation if she quietly stepped aside. With luck the townspeople could find another tenant, so it wouldn’t cost her every dime she had.
Driving past the center of Oak Bluffs, she soon came to the narrow strip of land that stretched between Nantucket Sound and Sengekontacket Pond. After the small Jaws Bridge (named for its edge-of-the-seat role in the 1970s movie), Maddie steered Orson into a parking space and got out. She walked along a sandy path bordered by thickets of beach roses that would unfold their pink and purple fragrant blossoms later in the season.
She reached the beach, where she looked down at the sand, where soft mounds were sculpted not by footprints, but by the morning breeze. She took off her shoes and socks, longing to feel the sand beneath her feet.
Then she moved slowly, her toes combing the myriad shells—quahog, scallops, razor clams. After only a short time, a hint of blue caught Maddie’s gaze. Bending down, she scooped up a piece of sea glass, its color powdered by the dust of ocean salt that had taken many seasons in the water to create. It was large, about two inches high, and close to that across its widest part; it tapered to a point, thus shaping a heart. On a day when she thought hers might be breaking, it felt more than coincidental that she’d found it, as if it was waiting for her.
Her eyes teared; she slipped the treasure into her pocket. And that was when she knew what she must do next.
If she returned to Green Hills, she would raise the baby byherself, and stop being dependent on others—specifically, her father. She’d find a way to get a place of her own with room for the baby and for Rafe when he was around.
If she stayed on the Vineyard, she’d remain with Grandma Nancy and fulfill her unspoken commitment to care for her. If the baby’s constant presence would be too chaotic for Grandma, Maddie would reconsider how to rearrange the living quarters.
If Rex wanted to be a real father, that would be up to him.
Most of all, Maddie needed to feel in charge of her life as much as anyone could be. It was something she hadn’t considered before coming back to the island. Until then, having been raised in a small, safe town, she’d been protected—overly, she knew—by her father, which was not his fault. After his wife died, his life must have been difficult. But because Maddie had been sheltered, her expectations for her own life had, like Green Hills, been small, with no room for expansion. That needed to change.
She’d start by tossing out her expectations of others—which would free herself and them. She would take care of herself, starting by returning to the hospital and listening to whatever else Rex had to say. Then she’d carve out a future that had room to keep growing and adapting along the way. She and Rex could co-parent. Or not. If nothing else, it would resolve the issue of where they would live.
Reaching into her pocket, rubbing her thumb over the surface of the sea glass made smooth by time and the tides, Maddie knew that love came in many forms, but real love needed an open dialogue. Truth was going to be important for her, for the baby, and for Rex, if he was so inclined. She could only hope that he wouldn’t abandon this child, too.
He wasn’t in his room.
Maddie glanced at her watch; it was past one o’clock.Maybe Greg and Rosie were late getting him to PT. She half considered going to the café for lunch, but decided not to. Once Rex returned, she would not stay long. It would only take a few minutes to say she was sorry for walking out, sorry for having taken for granted that this baby would be his first child. She would, however, add that she was sorry he had not told her sooner. Then she’d tell him she could not have him as involved in her pregnancy as she had hoped, at least not now. She’d say, with honesty, that she and the baby would be fine. And then she’d leave.
With those decisions, she sat down to wait, and to hope that she remembered everything she wanted to say.
Ten minutes later the door opened: it wasn’t Rex, but a young aide.
“Oh!” The girl stopped as if surprised to see someone. “Sorry. I’m here to …”
“Mr. Winsted is in physical therapy,” Maddie said with a smile.
The girl grimaced. “I don’t think so.”
Looking at her watch again, Maddie said, “He should be. Usually, he’s there from eleven thirty to twelve thirty, so he must have gone in late. I stepped out for a bit, so I’m not sure when they took him.”
Tiny frown lines scattered across the girl’s forehead. “No,” she said, “they sent me in to get his things. He’s been moved to the hospital. To ICU.”
Maddie went rigid. “Intensive care?” The baby kicked.
“Yes. Second floor over there, too. But I don’t know if he can have visitors.”
Maddie bolted to her feet. “What happened? He was fine a little while ago …”
The girl’s eyebrows went up, then down. “All I know is I have to get his things.”
Grabbing her purse, Maddie brushed past the aide, rushedout the door, and sprinted down the stairs and toward the main hospital in search of the nearest staircase because surely it would be faster than waiting for an elevator.
She found it.
With one hand on her belly, she whispered, “Hold on, okay?” Then she bounded up the steps, two at a time.
The doors into the ICU were shut. Locked.
