Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard (3 page)

“It overlooks the water?”

“Yes, Vineyard Sound. Very beautiful. You can see the ferries coming and going, and the other boats, yachts, sailboats. It's so picturesque. I think a visit like this might inspire you to take up painting again, dear.”

Waverly was seeing the whole scene in her mind's eye now. Like a beautiful picture slowly coming into focus: charming old building…art gallery on the first floor…studio apartment above…overlooking the water…on Martha's Vineyard…cool marine breezes…soft summer nights? It was like a dream come true. How could she possibly say no?

“I know it'll be work for you, honey. I'm not saying it'll be easy by any means. But you're young and energetic. And I think it might be good for—”

“Yes!” Waverly shouted into the phone.

“What?” Her mother sounded genuinely surprised. “Are you agreeing?”

“I'm in like Flynn, Vivian!”
Waverly laughed at her rhyme.

“Really? You'll come then?”

“You bet I'll come. It sounds absolutely fantastic.”

Vivian let out a happy yelp. “Oh, Waverly, this is going to be so wonderful! The three of us together, working on a project like this. So memorable. Oh, you've made me very happy, darling! I can't wait to tell your aunt the good news.” But the connection was deteriorating again.

“I can't wait to come out there!” Waverly shouted over the noise into the receiver. Eventually the connection improved, and they both aid hasty good-byes. Waverly promised to get busy on her arrangements and to let her mother know when she would be arriving.

“I hope it'll be soon!” Vivian exclaimed.

Then Waverly hung up the phone and stood there in amazed wonder and unexpected happiness. Was it possible that, at long last, her life was getting on track and was about to take a turn for the better? It really did seem too good to be true, and that worried her a little. But if she couldn't trust her own mother, whom could she trust? Even if Vivian had exaggerated the charms of the old building the gallery and apartment were located in, or even the view of the water, it was
Martha's Vineyard
for Pete's sake.
Martha's Vineyard!
Waverly was about to escape a hot and steamy summer in Chicago. Seriously, how bad could it possibly be?

Blake Erickson stared out across Vineyard Sound and wondered if this was a huge mistake. What had made him believe that this kind of isolation was a smart move? Oh, sure, the island was crowded enough—especially with tourist season kicking into full gear. But catching a ferry, commuting to Boston's Logan International, and the six-hour flight to LA…well, it wasn't exactly the simplicity he'd been longing for. And yet he loved Martha's Vineyard. It was as if he'd always belonged here but never knew it. Now that he was settled into his house, he realized he'd never felt so at home.

He switched camera lenses and snapped some more shots of the Sound. Several sailboats were out this evening, and the misty ocean air and what was probably a layer of industrial pollution off the mainland were combining to create a rather spectacular sunset. He wondered if he had time to go over to the other side of the lighthouse, in order to shoot it in the foreground. Or, perhaps, if he waited long enough, the entire sky would be awash with this peach-and-rose-toned light. Some might say these shots were cliché or even quintessential Martha's Vineyard, but he was still new enough on the island to appreciate this sort of thing. After nearly twenty years of the Hollywood rat race, this peaceful place was almost like a sanctuary and most welcome to him.

“Hello there!” hailed a woman's voice.

He lowered his camera and peered at the stout woman trudging through the beach grass toward him. With short gray hair, cut nearly as short as a man's, she was wearing lilac-colored sweats and sturdy-looking shoes.

“Greetings, neighbor.” She waved heartily as she approached. Then he spotted, not far behind her, another woman. Walking more slowly, taller, thinner, the other woman wore what appeared to be a pale blue caftan, and her coppery hair was long and blowing in the wind. At first he assumed the second woman was younger, but as the two got closer he could see that they were both older. Probably in their sixties or seventies. And the coppery-colored hair was streaked with gray.

“Hello, ladies,” he said politely, trying not to show how they were interrupting his quiet evening.

“I'm Louise Grant.” The stout woman nodded to the woman who'd just joined her. “And this is my sister, Vivian McDaniel. We purchased that bungalow over there. This week. Got the keys today.” She was still puffing from her short walk.

“I'm Blake Erickson.” He smiled. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. We're very pleased to be here.” Louise pointed to the small gray-shingled house across a section of beach grass from his place. “Cash purchase, but it came unfurnished. The previous owners moved to the other side of the island, took everything with them. Every last thing.” She shook her head as if this were scandalous.

“Yes, well, we knew the house was empty, Louise.” The taller woman spoke quietly. “But I thought we could rough it.”

Louise let out a deep throaty laugh. “Yes. My sister is an adventuress. She thought it would be
fun
to spend the night here tonight.”

Vivian sighed. “We're prepared. We have our sleeping bags and some food and things. We can get by, Lou.”

“Except it appears we have no electric or water.” Louise directed this comment to Blake. “I do not understand why they haven't been turned on yet, although I called about it this morning. I paid the bill over the phone.”

“I've heard that things don't move too quickly around here,” he explained. “I suppose it takes some getting used to…the slower pace.”

“Which is exactly why we're here,” Vivian said. She turned to look out over the Sound. “Just beautiful.”

Blake followed her gaze, nodding. “Yes. I was just getting some photos of the sunset.”

“How long have you lived here?” Louise asked him.

“Only a few months,” he admitted. “So I'm pretty much a newcomer too.”

“I'm from Boston,” Louise told him. “My sister is from San Francisco.”

“Well, there and many places.” Vivian smiled wistfully.

“And you are sisters?” He looked from one to the other, thinking about how different they appeared to be in every way. “I'm sorry, but I've already forgotten your last names.”

“I'm Vivian McDaniel.” She extended her hand.

“Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand. Her fingers were frail and thin and cool.

“I'm Louise Grant.” The other sister stuck out her hand, strongly grasping his and shaking it firmly, almost like a man. “McDaniel used to be my name too. My maiden name,” she explained. “Vivian never let go of hers.” She made a funny face. “She's one of those women-libbers, if you know what I mean.”

He chuckled.

“I'm an independent woman,” Vivian said in a weary tone.

“That's for sure and for certain,” Louise said. “Vivian has owned several successful businesses and traveled the world.”

“I've been a rolling stone.” Vivian sighed. “But now it's time to settle down and gather some moss.”

“I suppose a nice warm coat of moss might be comforting in one's old age.” Louise chortled.

“So you're really going to camp in your house?” he asked curiously. He tried to imagine these elderly women in their sleeping bags on hard wooden floors. “With no water or lights?”

Vivian shrugged. “I was in Nepal last spring. This won't be all that much different.”

“So we wondered if we might be able to borrow some candles and matches from you—and a bucket of water.” Louise smiled hopefully.

“We'd go back to town,” Vivian added, “but I doubt anything is open by now.”

“Not in Vineyard Haven,” Blake said.

“Although Oak Bluffs might have something open,” Louise pointed out. “But I'm not supposed to drive at night, not until I get my cataract surgery next fall, and Vivian informed me she was not inclined to drive over there tonight.”

“I would rather go to bed in the dark…without water.” Vivian sounded tired.

“I don't think you'll need to do that,” Blake assured her.

Louise laughed. “Anyway, this will be a first for me—at my age, that is. But Vivian got the idea we can hearken back to our Campfire Girl days. I just hope she's right.”

“I told Louise we'd pretend to be on a scavenger hunt.” Vivian's face lit up in a smile, making her look instantly younger. “I figured we'd start with our closest neighbor.”

Blake smiled back at her. He'd hoped to remain outside until dusk to get some more photos, but he knew that wasn't terribly neighborly. And part of his plan for this reinvented life in the Vineyard had been to do things right—like loving his neighbor. This seemed a good opportunity. Besides, he'd have lots more chances to take photos.

“Come on over to my place,” he said congenially, as if he entertained old ladies on a regular basis. “We'll see what we can find for your campout tonight.”

He led them over to his house, telling them a bit about himself as they strolled through the tall grass. Explaining how, after more than two decades, he'd finally made his escape from the film industry.

“But it's quite a change,” he admitted as he turned up his walk. He'd spent a painstaking week repaving it with used bricks he'd set in a herringbone pattern, and it still filled him with happy satisfaction to see what his two hands were capable of doing.

“Los Angeles and Martha's Vineyard are definitely worlds apart,” he said. “I have to admit I experienced a little culture shock at first.”

“But you're adapting?” Louise asked with a creased forehead, making him wonder if she was uncertain of relocating—or perhaps this was merely a vacation spot for the two sisters. That's what most of the homes around here were used for, although he hoped that theirs would be a more permanent arrangement. The idea of having neighbors throughout the long winter, even if they were elderly women, brought some comfort with it.

“Absolutely. I love it here.” He opened his door. It was still painted a glossy red, though he planned to remedy that before long. “Come on in. If I'd known I was having visitors, I'd have cleaned up some.”

“So you're a bachelor then?” Louise's brows arched curiously.

“I am.” He nodded and waved to the casual-looking space. Several days' worth of newspapers, a pair of flip-flops, a T-shirt, some used dishes, an opened bag of chips, and a couple of soda cans were strewn about. The sort of things one usually didn't notice unless unexpected visitors popped in.

“Well, I'll have to introduce you to Janice,” Louise said in a mysterious tone.

Vivian laughed, but he thought there was a slightly sarcastic edge to it. “Janice is Lou's daughter. She's running for the state senate.”

“Massachusetts,” Louise informed him. “My late husband, Vance Grant, was a state senator too.”

“So it runs in the family?” He kicked a dirty sock under the couch.

Louise nodded. “Janice just turned thirty-eight, although you wouldn't know it to look at her. Women age so much more slowly these days. But then she's never married either. Perhaps that keeps a woman's youthfulness. Not that Janice hasn't had the opportunity. But she's been so career-minded, what with her legal practice and now this senate race, the poor girl just hasn't had time to meet Mr. Right yet.” Louise peered curiously at him above her glasses, as if gauging whether or not he might fit the bill.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I'll see if I can find what you need.” He rummaged through his kitchen drawers until he found a box of “emergency” candles that someone in town had said he would need, removing half a dozen. “This should get you through the night.” Then he located a book of matches. “You know, I might be able to help you with the water,” he said as he returned. “If your house is like mine, there's a valve outside that turns the whole works on.”

“Really?” Louise looked impressed.

“How about if I walk back with you and check it out? If I find out I'm wrong about the valve, I'll return with some water.”

“Sounds lovely,” Vivian told him. “I suspect we'll want to adopt you before long.”

He grinned mischievously. “Well, at least until you get to know me better. Then you might want to pretend you don't know me.”

“Or else”—Vivian had a twinkle in her eyes—“you might decide to relocate to a different part of the island in order to escape us.”

He laughed as the three of them went back outside to where the dusky light was growing thinner.

“You know, Blake,” Louise said as they walked, “my Janice is coming out here the end of next week. Perhaps you'd join us for dinner one night. Hopefully we can get our household in order by then.”