Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard (5 page)

With her letter of resignation in her bag and high hopes in her heart, Waverly walked into the Art Institute, still rehearsing the little speech she'd been preparing in her head during her commute. Her plan was to go directly to Geoff, present him with her letter, and honestly explain the situation. At first she'd been reticent to give up her job. She knew it was unwise to let the security of tenure and benefits go. But just as she'd lit a match to her shredded-up vision board last night, she decided it was time to burn her bridges here as well.

Her goal was to get out of Chicago, once and for all. Hopefully she'd prove herself to her mother and aunt in Martha's Vineyard and would carve herself a place to stay. Before long they would discover how much they needed her to run their art gallery.

It was the first time since losing Neil that she'd felt this certain about anything. Maybe she was delusional or desperate, but she felt confident she could do this.

“Very interesting,” Geoff said quietly after she'd finished her spiel.

“Interesting?”

“Yes, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you, Waverly.”

“Oh, yes…it is.”

“But the interesting thing is that my niece is just graduating, and she approached me for a job in this department.”

“Really?” Suddenly Waverly felt a little concerned. Was he already filling her job?

“Yes, but I told her we had nothing. And you know I had to lay a couple of people off last summer.”

“I know.” She nodded, remembering how thankful she'd been at the time that her name hadn't been on that list.

“So, if you're really serious about this change, maybe I'll give Darcy a call.” With her resignation letter still in hand, he peered over his glasses at her. “I see that you gave two weeks' notice in here, but would you want to make it just one week?”

“One week?” She blinked.

“I'm not trying to rush you,” he said quickly. “Feel free to take two weeks if you need it.”

She thought hard. “No, no…one week would be fine.”

He stood now, reaching to shake her hand. “It's been great having you here, Waverly. You're a diligent and hard worker. If you ever need a letter of recommendation, please feel free to ask.”

She smiled nervously. “I don't think my mother and aunt will be needing anything like that.”

“No, of course not.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Say, what about your apartment? Any plans to sublet that?”

“I had hoped to find someone…or somehow break my lease.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if Darcy might want to look into it.”

Waverly brightened. “That would be wonderful.”

She quickly wrote down the terms of her lease, the address, and some other details, along with her phone number.

“That's a handy location,” he said as he looked at the paper. “I suspect Darcy will be very interested.”

So it was that, by the end of the week, everything had fallen neatly—or somewhat neatly—into place. Darcy was thrilled to get the job and the apartment. And the super promised to get the AC fixed, although he was taking his sweet time about it. However, Waverly was distracted by her long to-do list. She spent the next five scorching evenings packing up her things, sorting out what she wanted shipped to Martha's Vineyard, which would be picked up on Monday, what she wanted to store, and what she wanted to donate to charity. By Saturday night she was nearly finished—and exhausted. And by Sunday morning, Chicago's record-breaking heat wave ended. Naturally, it was that afternoon when her air-conditioning unit finally got fixed.

“Leaving the Windy City to run off to Martha's Vineyard, are you?” the super asked as he put the metal faceplate back over the AC unit.

She smiled. “Yes. My mother made me an offer I couldn't refuse.”

He nodded. “Yeah, hard to turn down a mother.”

She pointed to the miscellaneous boxes and bags of things piled near the front door. “All that is for Salvation Army to pick up,” she explained. “I'd like to put it outside my apartment on Monday, if you think it would be all right.”

He frowned at the stuff. “Giving
all that
away?”

“Yes. I already stored a lot of things. Everything else in my apartment will go into the moving van and be shipped to Martha's Vineyard.” Of course, even as she said this, she felt nervous. She hoped it wasn't a mistake to do this. But then she reminded herself, this was like taking a step of faith. God had opened a door, and it was up to her to walk through it.

“Looks like a lot of good stuff in there,” he said, still studying the piles.

“Help yourself to anything you like,” she told him.

He bent down and started to pick through her old things as if on a treasure hunt. “Tell you what.” He slowly stood up. “Why not let me take care of it for you?”

“I'd love that,” she admitted.

“I'll take a few things, give a few things away, and then I'll see that Salvation Army gets what's left.
Deal?”

She nodded eagerly. “Deal.”

“Well, you have a good time in Martha's Vineyard,” he said as he shook her hand. “Always heard it was a swanky place. Didn't the Kennedys live there?”

“I'm not sure,” she confessed. “I haven't had time to do much research on the area yet.”

“I 'spect you'll learn plenty about it once you get there,” he told her. “When do you leave?”

“The moving van comes on Monday, and my flight's on Tuesday.”

“The new renter's scheduled to come in the end of the week. That'll give me just enough time to do a little painting and cleaning in here.” He peered around. “Although it looks like you kept the place pretty clean.” He grinned, exposing a gold front tooth. “Pleasant surprise too. Most people leave these apartments in a mess. ‘Spect I'll be giving you most of your deposit back.”

“Well, you have my forwarding address,” she reminded him.

He gathered up a couple of the bags and promised to return directly to get more. After he left, she looked in wonder around the room. It was still hard to believe she was actually doing this. Even harder to believe how quickly everything had fallen into place. Almost as if God truly were putting His blessing on it. At least she hoped so.

She sat down on the old leather club chair that used to be Neil's favorite and wondered what he would think of her hasty departure. Knowing Neil, he'd be asking her what had taken her so long. No doubt she would have his blessing too.

Now she began to wonder about Martha's Vineyard. What would it be like? What would the people be like? Suddenly she realized how much she wanted to fit in. But when she thought about her no-nonsense working wardrobe, she instantly knew it would never do. Why hadn't she thought to get rid of that too? Hurrying to her bedroom, where most of her clothes were already packed in boxes or ready to go into her suitcase, she quickly began to cull through the pile. Finally, she took most of it and placed it by the door for the super to sort through and probably send on to charity. She didn't really care where her dowdy old work suits wound up…as long as she never had to see them again.

And now,
she told herself,
it's time to go shopping.
When she landed in Martha's Vineyard, she planned to hit the road running. She wanted to look like the manager of a successful, yet beachy, art gallery. As she rode the “L” into the city that day, she imagined herself in classic linens and other casual but stylish garments. Maybe even some dangly earrings, colorful scarves, and beaded necklaces. She would finally get to dress like a creative soul again—return to the person she once was, the person she hoped to be again…only she would do it better this time.

As she shopped, she knew it was a bit foolish to deplete her savings like this. But she remembered what her mother had promised—free rent, a salary, and a percentage of the gallery. What more could she want? Well, besides a bicycle. She planned to get a retro sort of bicycle when she got there. A fat-tired girl's bike with a basket in front. She couldn't wait to ride it around on the island. She would go to grocery stores and open air markets, filling the basket with fresh produce and other good things. Yes, her new life was going to be good. Very good. Perhaps in time she would get used to this strange feeling—what was it anyway? Anticipation? Optimism? Perhaps it was simply hope. Whatever it was, it was welcome. It had been a long time since she'd experienced any real sense of hope.

As it turned out, the soonest flight Blake could get was on Thursday. But that would allow him some time to fix up Sicily's room. He wanted everything to be perfect. For that reason, he had scoured the island, bringing home an odd assortment of things. Now he didn't have the slightest clue what to do with all the stuff. Consequently, the small bedroom looked more cluttered and chaotic than charming.

“Hello the house?” called a woman's voice.

Blake came out and peered through the screen door to see Vivian standing there with a brown paper bag.

“I brought you something,” she told him.

“Come in,” he said, opening the door.

“I got carried away at the farmers' market.” She held out the bag sheepishly. “It probably has to do with having been in Nepal all those months. But when Louise saw how much produce I bought, she couldn't stop laughing. Can you use some?”

He peered into the bag to see a colorful assortment of fruits and vegetables. “As a matter of fact, I can.” Then he told her of his plans to meet his nine-year-old daughter tomorrow. “She has a connection in Atlanta. I'll meet her flight; then we'll fly together to Logan. I made a ferry reservation, and we should be here in time for a late dinner. So it will be great to have this on hand.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Well, you must be quite busy then,” she said. “Don't let me keep you.”

“Actually, I am. I'm desperately trying to get Sicily's room ready.”

“Desperately?”

“Yes, But instead of making it better, I'm afraid I'm only making a mess of the whole thing,” he confessed.

Vivian looked curious. “How so?”

So he told her about buying some things. “I imagined putting it together to create a beachy sort of bedroom. The items I got looked good in the shops, but not so good here. I guess that's why I always worked behind the camera and not in set design. Anyway, I think I need to go back to the drawing board.”

“Would you like any help?”

“Do you enjoy that sort of thing?”

She smiled. “I used to run several shops in the Bay area. Some people thought I had a knack for setting up interesting displays.”

“If you can spare the time, I'd love to get some advice.”

“I can definitely spare the time.” She laughed. “In fact, it'd be a relief not to have to go back to the house just now. Louise is unpacking, and I only get in her way. Our design styles are vastly different. She wants everything to be proper traditional, and I suppose I prefer shabby beach chic.”

“Shabby beach chic?” he said hopefully. “That sounds perfect.”

She looked pleased now. “Let me see what you have to work with.”

He led her back to the bedroom. Picking up a shell mobile, he held it up. “This looked like fun in the shop, but now I'm worried Sicily will think I'm decorating a baby's room. Do you think nine is too old for something like this?”

She ran her fingers through the shells, making them clink together. “I don't even think seventy is too old for this.” She started to go through the things he had piled on the bed, studying them and sorting them. Finally she looked at him. “Can you trust me with this?”

“Trust you?”

“To arrange this room for you?”

“You'd do that?”

“I'd love to do it.”

He grinned happily. “It's all yours, Vivian. Knock yourself out. Well, not literally. But do what you like in here. You can't possibly do any worse than I've been doing.”